Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Show me how it ends, it's alright

Show me how defenseless you really are

Satisfied and empty inside

That's alright, let's give this another try

The Sanctuary was a desolate place that served as a memorial of a once thriving civilization; just like Titan, though the cause of the tragedy was far different. Sanctuary was an asteroid field that was once a planet, the Chitauri’s homeworld. But both the planet and its people were thoroughly transformed from what they once were until neither could scarcely be recognized. The world destroyed in an ancient war until only the shattered pieces of stone and a surprisingly thick atmosphere that continued to cling close to the wreckage remained, still orbiting the distant sun at the edge of a colourful nebula. The Chitauri augmented heavily with technology in their bodies until the reptilian beings were a powerful army of biotech soldiers.

Thanos might be willing to fight his own battles and his children could bring civilizations to their knees, but he needed more than that to reshape the universe and bring balance. He needed the Infinity Stones in order to achieve true perfection. And he needed an army in order to retrieve them all, balancing countless worlds along the way. The Chitauri were a useful army for that task as long as there was someone in charge of them. Someone to oversee their growth and augmentation, to ensure that the forces remained organized, and to direct them in battle when necessary.

For now, that was the responsibility of his most loyal servant. But Thanos had plans to have his recent guest lead them.

Earth. Terra. Midgard. So many names for such an obscure and primitive world. Isolated, neglected, and forgotten by most of the galaxy. Barely anything was known about it, though rumor whispered that Thanos might find his second Infinity Stone there. How fortunate that someone who recently spent time on that world had practically fallen at his feet.

The Asgardian would make a fine addition to his forces. But he was too stubborn and proud to easily bow to the will of another. There was an arrogance in him that refused to obey. Cuts, bruises, and even a few broken bones did not change that. He came from a warrior culture and his species’ healing rate meant that his injuries were forgotten soon enough. A few days with the Maw would break most people, but that had not been an option. Thanos had already sent his children on other missions and did not expect to see them for quite some time. He would need to find other methods to bring the Asgardian to heel.

Which was why Thanos had summoned his servant to his throne. Not merely to listen to an update on the army, but also to solve the issue of controlling the Asgardian.

There was no mistake. The grey-skinned being was a servant, not one of his children. Thanos did not raise him. He joined them already grown. There had been no molding or shaping him understanding of how broken the universe was and how it could be fixed. But he embraced the truth without hesitation. His people already accepted the idea that the vast majority must be lost in order for only the strongest few to survive, ensuring that each generation was greater than the one before. Thanos’s methods of selection were simply more equal and fairer.

His loyal servant came from a fairly isolated system. Most other species had never heard of them or seen his kind before. Their skin grey, six digits on each limb, and possessing a paralyzing venom, though one that only worked on a single species native to their world, his people were not considered friendly. They had colonized a few places, but most rarely bothered going far from their homeworld. Certainly nowhere that they could not raise their herds of Lepidos Wyrms.

Thanos was kind enough to allow a small herd of the beasts to roam on one of the nearby planetoids that had survived the destruction of the neighbouring planet; there was nowhere in the asteroid belt itself that had enough space or grazing to support them. The creatures were an important species on their homeworld, practically vital to the native people. Lepidos Wyrms were nearly as long as his servant was tall. The creatures were round with a dozen stubby legs, low enough to the ground that his people could easily swing a leg over them and straddle the beasts. The creature’s back was covered by a protective shell covering, but with a soft underbelly that was more vulnerable. They were herd animals that clustered together so those shells could protect them better, but the people of their world had bred them for generations to make them more docile and easy to handle for their purposes.

Thanos had tried the meat of the Lepidos Wyrm once and was not impressed by the flavour, but it was not meant for him. His servant was the one who made use of the herd. And it was wise to reward loyalty.

And his servant had done all that was asked of him. Serving as the voice of Thanos when dealing with others and ensuring that the army of Chitauri were ready for the upcoming invasion of Earth. He had more than earned every reward that had been bestowed upon him for his service.

As his servant finished relaying the news of the latest batch of soldiers, Thanos nodded and said, “You have done well. I look forward to seeing their results in the upcoming invasion.” Turning his gaze towards the stars and the distant swirling red and orange dust that cut through the endless blackness, he asked, “And your Lepidos Wyrms? Do they flourish? I believe it was not so long ago that you last inspected them. I trust it was a fruitful visit?”

“When I visited the herd, I found much satisfaction. Their numbers grow and they are healthy. Several specimens were ready. I am grateful for your generosity and the resources to raise them.”

“I will always reward those who prove their worth.” Pausing briefly, Thanos said, “And perhaps a reward for you would be the perfect method to break the Asgardian to my will?”

His eyes could not be seen beneath the hood, but the way that he straightened told Thanos that his servant understood. And that he was intrigued by the possibility. Which did not surprise him. He had always seemed interested in the potential offered by species not native to his world. It was why he was one of the few of his people to leave his system. He treated Thanos with a reverence bordering on worship, but all others were merely curiosities and warm bodies for his use.

“I need the Asgardian alive in the end,” continued Thanos. “Alive and relatively intact for his role. But I also need him to obey and simple pain refuses to break his spirit. And I need insurance that he will not betray or abandon me. He will be carrying an Infinity Stone and will be seeking a second. He will need a reason not to simply flee with both when the time comes.”

“We both know that I can give him a reason to serve you."

“Then the Asgardian is yours. Use his body for your own purposes. And when you are finished, he will not dare disobey or fail the task that I shall give him.”

The infinite darkness of space above him, barely broken by the distant stars and the colourful dust of the surrounding nebula, could not hold Loki's thoughts. Neither could the chill of hard stone on his back, the tightness of metal around his wrists and ankles, the press of leather round his throat, or even the dull ache of healing bruises and cuts. His mind could only seem to worry about what came next.

The interchangeable Chitauri warriors that had been alternating between guarding him and occasionally torturing him had brought him to a new part of the asteroid field for their new attempt to break him. They’d chained Loki flat to the ground on his back, arms stretched above his head and his legs together. The restraints pulled tight enough to be uncomfortable and buried deep into the dark stone so that not even Asgardian strength could do anything.

His mind still shied away from the knowledge that he was not truly Asgardian. That his entire life was built on a foundation of lies, no longer able to support their own weight and leaving it crashing down into a broken wreckage of who he believed himself to be.

More concerning than the chains was that, before the shackles were snapped into place, they stripped him bare of everything except for the leather collar around his throat. Loki had not seen this person, but clearly someone in Thanos’s service had knowledge of magic and objects with powerful enchantments. Otherwise, the collar with its glowing symbols would be a mere accessory instead of suppressing his magic. He would have greatly preferred that they removed the collar and left him clothed.

Especially what the implications of their actions might be.

Odin had not raised his sons completely ignorant of the harsh realities of war. Loki knew the cruelties that armies might participate in, both the honourable warriors and those without it. If torture and pain did not give Thanos what he desired, he might turn to humiliation and degradation instead. Loki would have expected to be chained with his legs spread wide or perhaps on his stomach instead to make such acts more convenient for his captors, but it was still the most logical next move to break him.

But he would not. Despite everything that he’d learned about his origins and what he might have done, Loki was still a Prince of Asgard. He must be stronger than that.

He did not know who would come for him. The Chitauri warriors had left after restraining him, barely even looking at his exposed form beyond a vague curiosity. They were a reptilian species; they tended to keep their organs within their bodies when not having sex. They may not even be compatible with an Asgardian.

What if it was Thanos who wished to break Loki’s will personally? The idea caused a wave of horror that he struggled to force down. The sheer size alone—

"I see that the Chitauri have made all the necessary arrangements that they were given to prepare you. Their obedience and lack of fear has always been their greatest strength."

Loki stiffened slightly at the raspy voice. There had only been two beings on that dark and barren collection of asteroids since he arrived. Not counting the troops of Chitauri that he glimpsed, which Loki never did since they clearly didn’t matter. Thanos and the other one. There was never a name spoken for him. Never a title. Loki could only refer to him in his thoughts as the Other.

He craned his neck as much as he could to look behind him and finally spotted the Other as he slowly walked towards Loki's restrained body. Dressed in dark robes that hid most of his body and a grey-and-gold breastplate, all that Loki could tell for certain was that the Other was fairly humanoid in form. The right number of arms and legs, an upright posture, and a head. Though most of his face was covered by a hood and his mouth was behind a golden mouthguard mask. What little of his flesh that could be seen was grey and each hand carried an extra thumb compared to an Asgardian. He seemed subservient to Thanos, loyal and quick to react to any insult to his master, but the Chitauri deferred to him. The Other held at least some position of power within the hierarchy.

Loki was not a fool. He doubted there was anything under the Other's robe. In a way, he told himself he should be grateful. If he had to be assaulted, this was better than his horrid contemplation of Thanos doing it. 

"So this is what it's come to," Loki said, raising an eyebrow. He tried to shift, to sit up and face the foreign creature facing him. "Pain won't make me crack, so Thanos sends me you, to inflict some other form of torture on me. How creative."

The Other's yellow eyes seemed to mock him as he spoke. Loki knew he couldn't stop speaking. If he did, he would give into the horror of realising what was about to happen, and knowing that chained as he was, he could do nothing about it. "Very self-assured of you," he continued, glaring daggers up at the Other. "An army of thousands, at your command, and you figure the best way you can get it is by tying someone up and forcing them. Just how terrible of a performance do you put up that your best option is assault?"

The Others did not argue. He seemed amused by Loki's defiance as he turned around, carefully unfastening his grey and gold breastplate, casting it to the ground. "You seem very confident that you know what is about to happen to you," the Other said, "but I am not so easily predicted. And unlike your species, Asgardian," he continued, his rasping voice almost sounding amused, "my people have no need for sex."

He let the rest of his robes fall to the ground, giving Loki a clear view of the Other's bare back. No markings, decorations, or scars. And not a single hair from his smooth head to his bare feet. A perfectly uniform grey like ash. He tossed away the gold mouthguard before peering over his shoulder at Loki with yellow eyes surrounded by red circles that would look sickly on any other species. But the look in those eyes has too much energy for him to be unhealthy. He was too interested, calculated, and unnerving. 

And then the Other turned and Loki's thoughts staggered to a halt, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Low on his body, from where a navel should be down to his pelvis, there was a distended bump that the robes would have concealed. Distended enough to leave the skin translucent. Round shapes the size of his fist could be seen through the taut flesh, faintly glowing blue. Loki could identify at least six of them, but there could be more crowded inside. And attached at the bottom of the bulging sac was...

Well, there were plenty of Asgardian men who would brag and exaggerate about their size, but what Loki saw put those stories to shame. Not that what he was looking at resembled anything that should normally be there.

It was too long, curved close to his body until it reached the bottom of the Other's sternum. As long as his forearm and three fingers thick. As Loki watched, it slowly lowered and relaxed. Moving slowly side-to-side like a serpent considering whether or not to strike. And the tip seemed hard, stiff, and black. Not like it was made of bone; the material seemed closer to that of a thick talon or claw. Loki could make out thin lines that suggested four pieces that could theoretically separate, but were currently pressed tightly shut together to form a sharp point. Like a stinger of a venomous creature.

A long flexible structure attached to a bulging sac of...

A sac of eggs, he realized coldly.

"My species does not use sex," the Other said, seeming proud of that fact. "It is messy and often unsuccessful. There are no such flaws with my broods."

Loki's mouth felt dry. His veins were full of ice, and he could feel each thunderful beat of his own heart in his throat. Even as he told himself to be brave, he could feel his courage faltering. 

Rape was one thing. This was entirely another. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bulging egg sac and the squirming organ attached to it soon enough to convince the Other that it did not bother him to see it. 

"Your species has all that messiness with cocks and cunts. This is called an ovipositor. My eggs do not require another equal, only a host. And while my herd of Lepidos wyrms are the best suited for that task, I have found that other species can serve. I've not, however, had the chance to try your species."

He had to stay strong as long as he could. He couldn't admit how shaken he was, how a cold pit of fear had already coiled deep in his stomach. If he could convince this Other than he was not afraid, it was his only chance to avoid this.

He had to put on a brave face. "Huh. I'll be sure to send the next Asgardian I hate directly to this place. Take a left somewhere in the empty void of Yggdrasil, can't miss it."

The Others actually laughed. His breath stank.

As the disgusting creature leaned over him, pulling his hair back out of his face, yellow eyes boring into Loki's, rooting out a trace of fear, the God of Mischief set his jaw. He stared up defiantly at the Other, gathering bloody saliva in his mouth and spitting into its bared face. 

The saliva splattered into his grey face, dripping down the bridge of his nose. 

Rather than angry, the creature looked amused as he reached up and wiped away the spit. "You hold your defiance well, Asgardian. I almost believe you do not fear what is to come."

"I'm not afraid of you," Loki said, forcing the shake out of his voice. "Do your worst, beast. I won't be broken."

"You're not afraid of me…" the Other contemplated that, a sick smile curling on his mouth. "You will be."

He moved forward, and Loki fought hard to stay still, not to allow himself to visibly recoil. A leg was swung over his hips, and the creature settled down heavily onto his pelvis, like a sick parody of intimacy. Loki tried to move, but he was well and truly pinned beneath the Other, his wrists chained above his head, his legs bound tightly, pulled taut and chained at the ankles. All he could do was thrash. 

The Other's yellow gaze raked down Loki's exposed flesh, tracing the curves and lines of his body with an almost hungry look, much like a lustful lover, only this wasn't Loki's chambers on Asgard, or some hidden corner somewhere, and he hadn't invited this person to come and partake in some fun with him, and this wasn't going to be sex. This look made Loki's skin crawl, made his arms prickle with gooseflesh, and most of all, made him wish for the scratchy grey robe he'd been given in place of his armour, which had been stripped from him nearly as soon as he arrived.

He couldn't help the way he flinched when one of the Other's hands reached down and brushed his stomach. 

"Since you refuse to bow to his will, Thanos has rewarded me with your body to use as I see fit," said the Other, his hands still tracing paths across Loki's skin and occasionally digging his thumbs in, "but you are scrawny compared to the wyrms. And without even the extra space of a womb."

He slid his body a little further back to perch at the start of Loki's thighs, allowing his questing hands to drift further down. Pressing harder as twin thumbs dug deep into the flesh with bruising force and more strength than he appeared to possess. Studying and trying to judge what lay below his skin, unconcerned by Loki's futile efforts to dislodge him. The Other slowly focused his explorations in the space between Loki's hips, a handwidth below his navel. 

"You are fortunate," he continued, one hand drifting up to touch his taut egg sac, "that I have such a small clutch ready. Barely half of what it should be. "

Loki didn't want to imagine what a full size clutch of eggs would look like when the present one had barely been concealed beneath loose robes. Seeing the bulging shape was already horrifying enough. As was the way the long organ attached to it kept tensing into stiff hardness and then relaxing. Preparing itself.

"I suppose you will be adequate for such a small clutch. It may be a tight fit, but you will take it all. Everything that I will give you. Make no mistake about that. I will force it to fit, if necessary, Asgardian."

The hard, pointed end of the tubular organ stabbed into Loki, piercing deep into his abdomen, immediately squirming and shifting inside of him. Loki let out an involuntary gasp, the pain bright and hot.

"No, no, no - please, no, stop," he heard his own voice, but he didn't remember speaking. "No, I'll do anything, please, stop!" 

His voice rose to a shriek. "Stop! Stop it, I'm sorry I'll do anything just stop!" 

"Thanos believes you need incentive." 

"I don't!" His voice was a desperate, broken scream. He knew what followed now and his vows to himself meant nothing. He had to do whatever it took to stop this creature. His words, his dignity, his resolve meant nothing. The only thing in all the Nine Realms that mattered was escaping this. 

His eyes fixed upon the distended egg sac, the way the flesh around it squirmed and writhed, forcing one of the slimy, round, glowing blue shapes towards the apex of the tubule. The ovipositor, that was what the Other had called it, writhed and undulated, forcing the egg down into the thin tubule, stretching and contracting to push it downwards, towards where he had stabbed the organ into Loki. 

The Other pressed a six-fingered hand into Loki's stomach, pushing down on his flesh, as though feeling for where he would deposit the egg, nestled deep within the god's innards. 

The egg pushed further and further down the shaft, closer and closer to the bleeding breach in Loki's skin, and he thrashed and squirmed, doing anything he could to break the connection, to break the chains and escape. 

The Other's breathing grew harsh and laboured, and Loki didn't think it was from exertion. Reproduction had to be favourable for a species to continue. He had learned that in his lessons, he knew that from personal experience, and he was beginning to realise that it didn't matter what he vowed to do, how much he begged and pleaded. 

This was no longer truly about him. This was a means to an end for him, and truly, it was more about the Other. 

He kept fighting. He couldn't lay back and accept his fate, he fought with all the strength he had, throwing himself as much from side to side as he could, pulling in vain against the thick chains at his wrists and ankles. He could see the egg making its way, slowly, down the shaft of the ovipositor, and was desperate to free himself before it reached his body, but his efforts were in vain. 

He felt the tube begin to stretch within the wound, the muscles flexing, contracting, fighting the egg down further, pressing it up against the flesh of his abdomen. The ovipositor was hot and slimy, it stuck ever so slightly to his skin as it shifted. The contractions tore through his muscles and flesh, pushing past them, forcing the round egg into his body, and he heard the screaming in his ears get louder and he knew it must have been him screaming but he could barely associate the feral, haunting sound with something that could come out of his own throat. 

The pointed end of the shaft flared inside his body, and the egg was squeezed out with a ragged groan, falling heavily into his abdomen, resting uncomfortably in the coils of his insides.

Loki sobbed, hoarse and wet, tears burning his eyes, snot bubbling in his nose. It was not like a warrior to cry, it was not like a prince to cry, it was not like a king and he had been a king, once, but he did not feel like any of those things now. He was just Loki, terrified and in pain, violated and too weak to defend himself. He could thrash and try to fight, but for all his struggle he was already weakening, and the Other did not even seem to notice how much the Asgardian fought. If anything at all, he seemed to enjoy the way Loki struggled, like he appreciated a challenge. Like too many before him had given in, and Loki's attempts to get away were nothing but enticing.

But what else could he do, but fight? He could not give in. He could not stop struggling until he had no strength left it was that or know that he could blame no one but himself. If didn't matter how fruitless it was, he had to fight. He was a Prince of Asgard, he had fought so hard, done so many horrible things to prove it. Who was he if he gave up acting like one when things were difficult for him? 

He pulled in vain against the chains binding him, felt the edge of the cuff bite into his skin and tear it open. He kept pulling. 

The chains did not budge, and why would they? The Titan and the Others knew what they were restraining. Loki doubted even his brother could break them, and he had never been as strong as his brother. All he could do by pulling was slice open the thin skin of his wrists, but that didn't stop him from trying. 

The Other gazed at him with yellow eyes full of contempt. Two hands with too many fingers rested on either sides of his abdomen, just below his ribs, squeezing, feeling for the egg that had just been forced inside of him. 

"Such a weak and pathetic display after a single egg. And one implanted so shallowly within you." The Other rolled his hips slowly, grinding them into Loki's thighs even as he leaned forward with his hands planted on the stone on either side of his captive. " I do not see your use, but Thanos believes that you are worthy of the effort. He claims that you can even rule that wretched planet in his name when you deliver what he desires. A very generous offer that you treat as an insult. I would never question his judgment. But you will need to prove yourself to me that you are truly worthy of the respect that he offers you."

Loki opened his mouth to share his opinion on Thanos's respect, but it transformed into a scream of pain and revulsion as the ovipositor started moving again. Pushing in deeper and further into his body, the hard tip leading the way. The Other kept rolling his hips as it explored further up. Loki could feel it under his skin, pressing and shifting at everything inside him that was never meant to be touched. He couldn't stop the screams and sobs torn from his raw throat. Just as he couldn't ignore the sickening sensation of movement, unnatural and wrong, as the ovipositor seemed to press at every vulnerable spot inside him. Weaving back and forth like a snake.

It was almost a relief when it came to a stop barely below his sternum, pressing hard against the organs there. Like it wanted to dig into them. Loki closed his eyes briefly as he tried to breathe past the nausea and horror.

Then the Other stopped moving his hips. Not trusting the change at all, Loki risked looking. Not much of the long ovipositor remained outside of Loki's body. But enough was visible that he could see the slight bulge at the base where it connected to the egg sac. The next egg was about to start its journey.

You're so cold

But you feel alive

Lay your hands on me

One last time

- Breaking Benjamin, So Cold, WE ARE NOT ALONE (2004)

Chapter Text

But does anyone notice?

But does anyone care?

And if I had the guts

To put this to your head

And would anything matter

If you're already dead?

Loki could no longer scream. His throat was hoarse, aching like one of his daggers had been forced into his larynx, slashing it to pieces and leaving him mute. He no longer even had the strength to close his eyes or look away. He laid, stone-still, trying to imagine he was anywhere but beneath the stinking creature, watching another fist-sized egg slowly undulate its way down the tube-like organ that had been forced into his abdomen, pierced just below his navel. 

It was no good. He was surrounded by the head-spinning, sickly-sweet and cloying smell that seemed to ooze off the Other, a smell that brought bile to the back of his throat and held him paralysed, trapped under the wretched beast. 

Every movement of the shaft within his abdomen, as it rooted around inside of him to find a place for the next egg, was agony. If Loki could have moved at all, he would have thrashed and twisted and clawed at himself until he could rip the intrusions out with his bare hands, but even without the chains, he was locked within his own body. 

He had vowed to be brave. He had vowed to be strong. He had vowed that he would not break. He had vowed that he would not scream, but he had broken that vow immediately. He had vowed not to cry, but there were silent tears streaming down his cheeks now. He had vowed this would not be the end of him, that he would hold out against this torture, too, but lying on his back beneath the Other, there seemed to be no other choice but to shatter into a million pieces. 

He had pleaded his voice hoarse. When screaming did him no good, he had begged and pleaded for anything but this. He had told the beast that he would do anything, agree to anything, accomplish anything that the Other and the Mad Titan asked him to do. 

And all of this for three miserable eggs. The sac above him was still distended, still clearly full. He could feel each of the eggs inside of him, one coiled amongst his innards, one pressed against his diaphragm, pushing back against the muscle each time he breathed, and the last one down by his right kidney; any Asgardian warrior had a decent knowledge of anatomy so that they would know where to strike an enemy. He could see the next already descending the shaft of the ovipositor, even while the sharp point continued to move around, digging for the perfect spot for egg four.

Loki couldn't speak anymore. He couldn't even move, he could only watch, eyes dull, as the Other stared down at him. 

He wanted to shriek and cry and fight, but he had no energy for any of that anymore. It was difficult just to keep breathing, just to keep his eyes open, but he refused to allow himself to pass out. There was one thing he would not do, and that was lose consciousness. Even though it might allow him to escape some of his agony, he would not give the Other that satisfaction. Broken he might be, but that didn't mean he had to give in entirely. 

I've been through worse, he wanted to tell himself, but he knew that was a lie. Nothing he had been through had ever come near this bad, and he couldn't claim otherwise. Not even to himself, inside his own mind. 

The God of Lies, and he couldn't even manage to lie to himself. 

He wanted to scream when he felt the next egg begin to push into his muscle, but his voice was no longer his own to control. His body was completely beyond his control, having gone through so much suffering that he could only feel a cold numbness when he tried to move. 

That numbness did not block out the pain he was in. His manacled wrists and ankles were worn raw, torn and bloody where the metal edge met skin. He had screamed his voice hoarse, and his throat felt as torn and bloodied as his wrists and ankles. 

Part of him felt numb and disconnected from the horror and wrongness of what was happening, unable to fight it effectively or escape. Something in him simply resigning to his fate. But not enough of him would let go, allowing him to retreat into the depths of his mind and ignore his body's misery. No, despite laying practically lifeless in his chains, Loki was fully aware of every awful sensation. Perhaps even more aware than before now that he no longer wasted his strength and breath with thrashing and screaming. 

The slide of the ovipositor inside him was unnerving each time, but it was only the start of the cycle. Then came the rippling contractions along its length, which he could also feel under his skin. He could watch the bulging egg as it was slowly coaxed down. It didn't hurt quite as much as it squeezed through the sluggishly-bleeding wound; the previous ones had already torn it open enough to fit. But then he could feel it being pushed deeper. The way it bumped against the first egg, the way he could see it visibly distend his flesh slightly so he could watch it moving inside him despite the tears blurring everything, the sickening sensation of it pushing past various organs, and the duller pain intensifying as the sharp tip of the ovipositor started flaring open to spread his guts apart to receive the unwanted intruder. Loki couldn't help gasping at that point even when the rest of him desperately wanted to dissociate from the experience.

But the worst part about his silence was that Loki was far too aware of the Other's reactions as he finally pushed the egg out of his ovipositor and into his victim's innards. The fast and eager pants became a long groan of pleasure that seemed to ripple through his entire body, the sound something more appropriate for a bedchamber instead of the open space of a barren asteroid. The Other could claim that his species had no need for sex, but Loki could recognize the reaction for what it was. The way that his yellow eyes rolled back, the euphoric expression that briefly crossed his face, and the sounds that made Loki's skin crawl with disgust. Every single egg laid seemed to only strengthen his pleasure. Or perhaps it was Loki breaking further under the experience of each one that made the Other enjoy it more each time.

"So silent now, Asgardian," said the Other as his rolling pleasure seemed to fade. He started shifting his hips again, practically grinding into Loki. "What happened to that fire from before? All your promises that you would not be broken?"

Loki didn't say a word. Just a shuddering wince as the ovipostor began shifting inside him again. The sensation never grew any less nauseating. It felt wrong in such a visceral way that went beyond the pain. It was worse than the heavy weight of the eggs that it left behind in each spot. The movement did not belong there. Its presence within him was so foreign and unwanted that some primitive part of his mind shrieked constantly to tear it out. But he was helpless to do anything except endure it.

He didn't know if his sanity could withstand it. How many more of those eggs could he bear before his mind completely snapped?

"Long ago, the wyrms would try to resist. Clustering together for protection and struggling to escape before our venom left them paralyzed. Now they are bred to be docile and fairly complacent." The Other stared down at him with a faint sneer. "That is what you remind me of now. A lowly wyrm, letting itself be filled because it knows no other purpose than to be used by its betters."

He wished it were possible to lose track of how many eggs were within his chest now, but he could feel each one of them. There were six crammed into his abdominal cavity, distending his muscles, pushing on his innards. He wished it was possible to do anything but feel what was happening to him. He didn't care what it looked like anymore, if it made him weak, he wanted to lose his sense of what was happening. He wanted his body and mind to shut down, to stop feeling and let him fade into a merciful black tide, but Loki didn't tend to get what he wanted. 

His eyes wouldn't shut, his hearing wouldn't fade, and the pain wouldn't go away. He could still see the Other's pale face, hear the wanton way he moaned as the egg made its way down the long tube sticking out of his stomach.

The Other gave him a cruel, taunting smile. "Last one," he said, and Loki couldn't help the snot-filled, bubbling sob that hacked out of his throat at the promise. "And what a pathetic show of so-called defiance you have given me. You promised a fight, Asgardian, and yet you lie beneath me, nothing but a sniveling, mewling quim. "

Loki fought for a breath as the egg pushed its way past his torn and bloodied flesh, finding itself nestled in the tangles and coils of his innards. It struck against one that was already there, jolting them both, and he let out a low, strangled sob, caught somewhere deep in the pain and inherent wrongness of it all. 

"Perhaps you like it," the Other hissed in his face. His breath smelled sickeningly sweet, it made Loki want to gag, but he only managed another ragged gasp. "I've heard tales of base, sex-driven creatures, aroused by anything. Perhaps the reason you do not fight is not that you can't, but that you don't want to."

Loki tried to squirm. He was so weak, his body had locked him in, too abused and violated to move, but he tried once more, thinking that he should be freed now. That had been the last one. 

Tears filled his eyes as he watched another egg enter the ovipositor. The Other gave him an evil grin. "I appear to have miscounted. It seems we will have a chance to test my theory."

Loki didn't think he had another scream in his lungs, but it was tearing from his throat long before the egg reached his own flesh. 

The number was not seven. It was not even eight, but nine. Nine fist-sized eggs, forced into his body, swelling and distending his flesh in some places. 

The Other left him lying there, bloodied, broken and bruised. His wrists and ankles bled sluggishly, sheeting his skin with smears of rapidly drying crimson. He was not unchained, not allowed to move from his exposed position. Left stripped bare and humiliated, violated and wounded in such a way he could only pray to anyone who would listen would never happen again. 

The hole left torn open by the Other and the eggs continued to bleed freely. Anytime Loki tried to shift, more blood would bubble up to the surface of the wound, spilling down his pale skin. 

He didn't know how long he laid there, time was impossible to gauge within the emptiness of space. There was no rising sun, no setting moon, to tell him if days or weeks had passed. 

There was only himself, the hard rock against his back, and the Chitauri. They brought food, at best, Loki guessed it was once a day. He had tried to refuse to eat, the first time they had come, had tried to bite the hands which approached his mouth, forcing food passed his teeth as with his wrists remained chained above his head, but all it had taken was a chittering voice to his left, and the approach of a figure who smelled sickly and sweet, and Loki had given in before the Other was even within sight. 

It was cowardly, weak and pathetic, but he could not risk the consequences of refusal. Of resistance in any form. 

He laid in silence, most days, trying not to lose his mind. Trying not to focus on how he could not gauge what time had passed, on the stifling, vomitous feeling of the eggs pressing against his insides. Tried not to wonder if anyone was looking for him. 

He couldn't help wondering, though.

After what had happened in the palace, on the Bifrost and on Midgard, Thor and Odin would write him off as dead with very little fuss. Maybe a few days of forced mourning, and they would move on. 

Odin would tell anyone who asked, or would listen, of his bereavement over losing his wayward youngest son, tell anyone that it was a tragic accident that nothing could have prevented, and in the privacy of palace walls, never spare Loki another thought. 

Thor might grieve for the little brother he once had, but he would find his way back to Jane Foster and soon forget all about the loss. Loki had not been a kind younger brother. Thor would be better off without him.

That simply left Frigga.

It made Loki's heart ache to admit it, but she wouldn't be searching, either. He tried to convince himself she would, she would care about the fate of her youngest son, but he knew that wasn't true. Not after what he had done to Thor on Midgard. Thor was her son, born of her blood and pain, and Loki was the bastard son of one of Asgard's fiercest enemies. He was a monster, and as soon as Thor told Frigga of the Destroyer, she would forget she had ever considered him her son. 

He would be nothing but the Frost Giant who had tried to kill her only true child. 

He was alone here. He could be kept in the asteroid belt for the next ten thousand years, chained to the rock, muscles atrophying, flesh rotting away, until all that remained were bones and then dust, and no one would care. No one would ever search for him, no one would find him. 

It was sad to think, but it was true. He wouldn't deceive himself thinking that it wasn't. There wasn't a soul left in the world who would care what happened to him anymore. He'd turned his family against him for the very last time. 

Any residual fight he'd had left him with the hope of seeing them again. He missed his brother, the way he would clap Loki's shoulder so hard it almost knocked him flat, he missed his mother's embrace and her knowing smile, he even missed his father's tough love and wisdom. He would do anything to see them again, and knowing he could took the last gust of wind from his sails. 

He didn't fight. He didn't squirm, he didn't resist, he laid there, eyes dull, ignoring muscle cramps and spasms, not moving but to allow the Chitauri to feed him. 

He had nothing left to fight for. He figured that he might as well be dead. Whatever happened to him now was just the desecration of a man who was already a corpse. 

He didn't have to like what they were doing, though. 

Especially not, when, approximately three weeks after he was chained, naked, to that rock, he was approached by a figure who smelled of cloying sweetness, old spiderwebs and decay. He tensed up as he watched the Other approach, breathing coming in ragged gasps before the creature had even reached his side. 

The Other wore his mask and robe again, but that meant nothing. 

The Other ignored his terror, ignored his gasping breath, ignored the fact that he was alive entirely. To him, Loki was not a living being, but merely a shell, a host. 

Loki squeezed his eyes shut as the Other's hand touched his bare stomach, swallowing down a whimper. 

I am already dead, he repeated to himself, a quiet mantra, as he felt cold fingers slide over his abdomen. I am already dead. There is nothing he can do to me, I am already dead. 

And these words changing nothing

As your body remains

And there's no room in this hell

There's no room in the next

But does anyone notice

There's a corpse in this bed?

- My Chemical Romance, Early Sunsets Over Monroeville, I BROUGHT YOU MY BULLETS, YOU BROUGHT ME YOUR LOVE (2002)

Chapter Text

Help, I'm alive

My heart keeps beating like a hammer

Hard to be soft, tough to be tender

Come take my pulse

The pace is on a runaway train

Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer

Cooperation had its benefits, and Loki hated himself for the way he gave into the relief of them. 

He wanted to struggle and fight. To keep fighting, no matter what he was offered when he played along, but he couldn't. He needed the briefest bit of respite he was given like he needed air to breathe, and so he continued to behave like an animal who had felt the touch of a whip too many times to keep fighting. 

The first mercy was shown to him around the same time that the Other began coming to check on him. It seemed they grew bored of watching him shiver. Loki was quite certain that in his naked state, it felt colder than Jotunheim here, and just because he was born to live in those temperatures didn't mean he liked them. Blocked from every bit of magic he possessed, somehow including his shapeshifting, he couldn't assume a more resilient form.

Not that he would. He would never take that form again, not if he could help it. Twice, he had watched icy grey-blue spread up his arms, and twice, it had felt like too much. As though nothing could ever fix the hole the knowledge tore in him. 

Now he knew there were far worse fates, but he still refused to entertain the idea of embracing the truth. Acceptance was a requirement for survival. He didn't have to like it. 

With all of that said, when he showed no fight, just panic, whenever the Other approached, it had only taken a few days for someone to throw a coarse blanket, more like a rag, over his body. It was ripped away with little care whenever the Other came to do his strange ritual, pushing and prodding at Loki's stomach, but it was always replaced after. 

He was a fool for feeling gratitude. It was another sign of being well and truly broken, scrambling for any mercy or kindness his captors showed, but he couldn't help it. The rough blanket kept out more of the cold than his bare flesh could. He wasn't warm, but for the first time since being chained up, he wasn't freezing. 

The second mercy he was offered wasn't much longer after that. When he was approached with a meal, one of the chitauri unfastened the manacles at his wrists. 

The cuts he had worn into his flesh had scabbed over and healed by then, and Loki could barely move his shoulders, even when he realised he could. The first time he tried, he heard a sickening snap and pop in his joint, and the pain made him sob. After a month being held above his head, it took him a long time to be able to lower his arms to his sides, much less use them. 

It was then that he realised he was going to have a problem. 

He tried to straighten the blanket after the Other left once again, and his arms were barely strong enough to lift it. They shook with the effort, and it occurred to him that his legs would be just as bad, when they were freed. 

Even once the chains were gone, he would be lucky if he could stand, much less walk. His muscles had decayed, withered away to mere shells of what they once were, and he was never strong for an Asgardian to begin with. 

It took him three days, he thought, to manage to sit up. He had to claw his way to a sitting position, neither his arms nor core were strong enough to manage to lift himself alone. The exertion left him breathless, gasping with his chest heaving. The eggs inside of him squished uncomfortably as he moved, but it seemed that they had a little more give to them now. It should have been less unpleasant because of that, but it was only concerning. 

They were changing. And he didn't think he was going to like the result of that change. 

The first time someone else came to check on him, Loki was still foolish enough to try and shy away. It was the Mad Titan himself, and he should have known better to fight more with Thanos than the Other. 

Thanos approached him from where his feet were still chained, which meant he couldn't try to scramble back to avoid him. His ankles were still anchored to the rock, and he could get no further from that point than he already was when he was laid out. Still, he held himself as far back as he could, forcing himself to a sitting position, holding the blanket protectively around himself. 

Thanos watched him in silent contemplation, his angry purple eyes fixed on Loki's scared yet defiant expression. "Here I thought you might finally be learning your lesson, Asgardian. Do you believe I will not summon my servant back from his mission to deal with you, if you have not yet been sufficiently taught what your defiance brings you?"

"Don't touch me!" Loki spat, a stupid bit of bravery, in retrospect. He didn't want Thanos to call upon the Other again. 

Thanos ignored him, walking up and planting his boot upon Loki's chest, pushing him back down to the ground with ease. Loki wasn't as strong as he should have been, and Thanos was a Titan. Loki went down without resistance. Thanos's boot was heavy on his ribs, restricting his breathing. 

Most terrifying was the blank expression on the Mad Titan's face. If he stepped down, he may kill the god, snapping his ribs and crushing his chest, and it wouldn't bother him. It would be like stepping on a bug, inconsequential.

"Are you still going to fight me, Asgardian, or am I mistaken, and you have learned the cost of defiance?"

He didn't want to, but Loki made himself exhale, settling as low into the rock as he could, an obvious show of submission. Thanos lifted his foot, allowing Loki to breathe properly. 

The Mad Titan loomed over him as he crouched to press an enormous hand against his stomach. His hand covered most of Loki's chest and abdomen, pushing hard against his flesh, feeling for the distending lumps of the eggs. 

"What are you waiting for?" Loki asked, his voice barely more than a croak. He knew they were waiting for something, why else would they continue to check on him?

Thanos ignored him. His hand slid from Loki's stomach up his chest, locking briefly around his throat. It was such a casual movement, but the obvious strength behind his hand was all the message he needed to send. 

Thanos was not to be questioned or trifled with. He could squeeze the life out of Loki, or break his neck, without even thinking about it. 

The Mad Titan stood and left Loki alone on the cold stone. 

He woke up doubled over in pain, and he realised he could no longer deny what was happening to him. He had wanted to remain convinced that nothing was going to get worse, but the sudden, stabbing pain, deep in his guts, took away his right to pretend. 

He knew what Thanos and the Other had been waiting for. He knew what they were feeling for. He clutched a hand against his stomach, and felt something wriggling against his hand. It felt as though it was tearing through his insides, needle-sharp stabs piercing into his innards. 

He made himself unfurl, laying flat on his back, fighting the urge to claw at his stomach, to try and rend the creature free. He wanted to pull it out of himself no matter the damage he had to do, to use his magic to turn his nails to claws and to tear himself open until it was gone, but he couldn't do any of those things. 

The pain was incredible. Almost akin driving his dagger, slowly but surely, through his insides, only it wasn't a simple piercing pain. 

It felt like something biting. 

Bile rose in his throat. He had to force himself up, which was still a struggle, gagging up the contents of his stomach onto the cold stone. 

It was only when he heard something laughing behind him that he realised he was being watched. 

"I would try not to do that, if I had the misfortune of being you," the Other said, "you will need your strength when more begin to hatch."

"All this effort," Loki croaked, spitting out sour bile. "For the cooperation of one Asgardian. Am I really worth it to you?" 

He wanted the answer to be no. He wanted to be on his last chance, to fight back one more time and be declared more of a nuisance than an asset. He wondered if he could manage one more bit of resistance, in the sake of being put out of his misery. 

The Other laughed in his face. "You feel you have taken effort to break down like this? You flatter yourself, Asgardian. This has been child's play to me. All that you have suffered has been a reward for good service to me. He handed you to me because my use of you would be far less pleasant for you than for me. You haven't even begun to see an effort."

He was released from his bindings the very same day. He spent most of his time trying to learn to live with the pain he was in, and to work feeling back into his legs. Standing up was unthinkable. When he first tried to move, he couldn't even bend his knees. It was as though his muscles only maintained the length for how they had sat the last several weeks. They no longer had the stretch to extend or contract. 

It took force and an entire night without sleeping to get his knees bent and under him. He was angry and humiliated by the time he managed it, thoroughly aware of the judgemental eyes that watched him struggle with quiet contempt. 

He was pleasantly surprised when a pile of clothes were thrown at him the next morning. 

Less so when it was followed by the instructions of getting dressed and going to find the Mad Titan, especially since he hadn't even managed to stand yet, much less walk. 

Still, it didn't seem like an order he could refuse, and Loki was tired of fighting. Fighting got him hurt, it wasn't worth what would be done to him. He pulled the loose tunic over his head, fought the trousers onto his legs, and tried to convince himself it would be possible to stand when he was still only barely convinced it was his legs he was looking at. Emaciated, weak things that they were, any one-time Asgardian warrior would find the obvious lack of strength in his limbs irreconcilable with their previous form,.and that was even accounting for the fact that he'd never been the strongest of the Aesir, or even anywhere close to the strongest. Generally speaking, much to his displeasure, he had always been considered weak, a trickster who relied on magic and deception to win battles. 

Once he was dressed, in clothes that were every bit as rough and scratchy as the blanket, but could not have been better if they were made of the finest silks on Asgard after so long with nothing, he looked around himself to see if there was a way he could help himself get to his feet. He spotted a rocky cliff edge about ten feet from where he was sitting, one which was behind where his hands had been chained and he had thus never seen. If he could crawl, or drag, his way over to it, he could try and use his arms to pull himself up. His arms were also emaciated, but less so than his legs, and he had lost weight from being chained like this and held just above the brink of starvation. He may have been weakened, but he'd never struggled with a pull-up before.  

Besides, it was the only option he had. He didn't think that saying 'sorry, can't do it,' to whoever next came to find him was going to be good for his health, and for some stupid reason, he couldn't make himself fully give up. It was ridiculous, how he had been more ready to let go and die on the Bifrost, when most of his pain was in his head, than now that his every breath was full of pain. 

He managed to haul himself to the cliff without too much trouble, although his arms and legs shook from the effort when he finally got there. From the ground, he pushed his back against the rock as hard as he could, reaching behind himself to push his palm into a crag in the rock. He drew his feet up under himself, and pushed up as hard as he could with his feet and arms, letting the cliff take as much of his weight as he could force onto it. 

For several agonising moments, he went nowhere. His muscles burned, his limbs trembled, and he seemed to do nothing but hold his weight perfectly in place, only a few inches from the ground. 

He clenched his teeth. 

No one was coming to save him. He was either going to stand up, or he would stay there on the ground until someone came to find him, and saving him would not be a priority. He wasn't a prince here. No one here cared if he lived or died. There was no preferential treatment to be had, no one to come and take on some of the work. Life or death would be by his own strength. 

And he refused to die here. He refused to die beaten and broken. If Thanos and his followers were going to kill him, he wasn't going to make it easy. He wouldn't give them a reason.

His left foot slid out from under him, he hit the ground again, feeling a sharp stone cut into his sole, but it would take more than that to stop him. Pain and blood were no longer a good enough reason to give in. Giving in meant certain death. It meant dying here, in this Norns-forsaken asteroid belt, losing any hope of seeing Valhalla.

Loki grit his teeth so hard he thought one might crack. "You are Loki," he hissed, his voice hoarse. "The son of Odin," because he had always been just as skilled in lying to himself as to others. "Second Prince of Asgard. You will not bring shame to your name and that of your father. Stand up."

He tried once more to stand, and despite the way he shook from his efforts, and the way his palm slipped and he slammed his elbow into the rock, gashing it open, he hauled his aching body to its feet. 

Walking was not going to be such an easy task. He was gearing himself up to try when he heard someone speak. "You aren't so spineless as it seemed."

"Either cause the harm you've come to inflict, or leave me be. I grow weary of your mocking," Loki seethed.

"It's strange," the Other said, "it has taken having something eating them for you to summon back the guts to speak to me that way. And here I had thought your defiance died long ago."

"What do you want from me?" Loki's voice sounded like a hiss, winded from the effort just to remain on his feet. 

The Other tossed a staff between his multi-thumbed hands. "I begin to believe you don't want this. Perhaps you'll enjoy it when you fall the second you try to take a step, because your legs won't hold you without that cliff."

"Why would I believe that you mean to help me?"

"Do not flatter yourself, Asgardian. It would simply be wasteful, now, if you failed to obey and were killed. My brood, those that survive, will emerge independent, with no need of me. However, they won't make it that far if you are killed now."

He hated himself for the way he snatched the staff when it was offered. 

The walk to the Mad Titan was long and arduous. Even with the staff to lean on, each step was borderline impossible. His feet left bloody smears on the rock as they tore and cracked under him, skin fragile from disuse. The constant pain in his insides only compounded the agony he was in, and he wondered if this newfound will to live was simply going to make him suffer before he inevitably died anyways. 

It probably was. 

Still, he made it to where he was told to wait for the Titan. He stood in silence, legs aching, knowing that if he gave in and sat down, he would not manage to stand again. 

"Asgardian."

The Mad Titan's voice scraped like steel down his spine. It made him shiver, even as he fought not to. He did not wish to show weakness to the Titan.

"You summoned me," Loki said through cracked lips, taking another step and leaning heavily on the staff the Other had given him. "And I answered. What do you want?"

His voice was harsh and rough. He was getting used to the crackling sound, the way it hurt his throat to force words out. 

"You walk well, considering your condition," Thanos said, eyeing the bloody footprint he had left in his wake. "I expect you won't need to be restrained. You can run if you choose, you won't be getting far."

"A month without being allowed to move will do that to you," Loki said irritably. 

"You know what we were waiting for."

A sharp, stabbing pain, just below his ribs, was a good reminder, if Loki had somehow forgotten. He clenched his hand around the staff, gritting his teeth. "Needlessly," he hissed out through his locked jaw. "Ask your servant. I said I would do your bidding a month ago."

"You would have said anything to stop what you were going through. You are pathetic and cowardly, Asgardian, and you would have told my servant and I anything you believed we wanted to hear."

“What am I here for?” Loki demanded, glaring at the Titan. "I've done what you ordered, you've got me bent to your will. What do you want from me?"

"I have a task for you," Thanos said, "the same task you would have taken on had you agreed to my plans before being coerced. You will take observe Earth, the planet you call Midgard, until you have ascertained how you will collect and put to use an artefact they call the Tesseract. You should be familiar with it, I am led to believe it was your father -"

"He is not my father!"

"Then betraying his wishes should be even easier for you. He had once left it in a town now called Tonsberg. Your job is to discover where it is kept now, and decide who will permit you to use it best. You will influence their minds from afar, help them create a gateway which will bring you to Midgard when you are ready. When you are there, you will construct a gateway and bring down the army of Chitauri onto Earth. You will conquer it in my name. Never let it be said I am not generous to those who serve me, and thus, if you succeed, the larvae you are now aware of shall be removed, and you will be permitted to rule Earth as you please. Fail, and they will eat you alive."

Loki did his job diligently. He didn't have a choice. The gnawing, piercing pain in his insides didn't lessen, it was clear to him the creatures were growing, and on a particularly bad day, he could feel exactly where each of them were, burrowing through his intestines and other organs, and the viscera around them. Nine trails of pinching, tearing and chewing through his insides, until one day he realised it had gone down to eight. 

The creatures ate each other as willingly as they would eat through his innards. It was a small relief, to know that the longer this went on, the fewer there would be inside of him, even though he knew it was doubtful he would find any true mercy in the reduced numbers. They would grow, he was certain. 

The humans studying the Tesseract were numerous, but the most promising was a man named Erik Selvig. He had been present in Puente Antigo during Thor's exile, and knew much more of gateways than the other humans present. Despite knowing of the gods, he remained open to Loki's influence. 

In a chamber Thanos had half-dragged Loki to, as his gait was too slow for the Titan to tolerate that first day, it was a simple matter of meditation for Loki to reach his consciousness to Midgard. He didn't know why that was, he was not usually omnipresent or able to reach his mind to other realms, those were skills possessed by very few people. 

He suspected it had a large part to do with the strange glowing sceptre in the centre of the room. It emitted the same raw power the humans saw in the Tesseract, and he imagined if the Mad Titan and his so-called children had managed to tap into that power, as the humans tried to do on Midgard with the Tesseract, there was likely very little it could not do. 

Including, but not limited to, allowing Loki to influence the minds of the humans at work on the Tesseract from the distance of millions of light-years between himself and the realm. 

Perhaps he should have felt guilty, using a man his brother had befriended for these ends. But Loki did not truly have a brother, and he did not truly have a choice in the matter. 

He had to do this. It was kill or be killed, and if he wasn't careful, the latter was going to sneak up on him before he'd even begun. 

"Do you know why you are here, Asgardian?"

Even after his time with his captors, part of Loki wanted to immediately retaliate with a cutting remark. Or at least keep silent in an act of rebellion. But he needed to pick his battles carefully. It was wise to tread carefully until he could decipher their latest moods and intentions. Especially when it was Thanos who decided to abruptly drag him to a small planetoid himself instead of having one of his servants do so. Rather like how Odin might choose to surprise his sons with an impromptu hunting trip.

Not that Loki would likely see his father again. Not after what he had done. And it was not as if he had the right to call Odin that anymore, did he?

The planetoid seemed to be mostly covered in blue-green fields of scrub grass and brush with a few scraggly clumps of trees. Loki had glimpsed what appeared to be a tiny village made from the local stone, but Thanos directed him away from that glimpse of a primitive civilization. Instead, he brought Loki towards a herd of animals.

He saw at least two dozen of the adult creatures in the herd and at least a dozen more smaller offspring. Loki didn't know exactly what they were, though they resembled giant caterpillars with natural armor plating along their backs. Mostly a dark and dull shade of green, the low-set creatures possessed small heads tucked close to their bodies. They peered out at the world with beady black eyes and their mouths were curved beak-like structures that they used to eat the grass and leaves around them. Their lazy grazing efforts were interrupted by a loud trill of alarm when one suddenly spotted the approach of the towering Thanos. The herd immediately joined in the trilling sound, moving closer together. Clustering their long round bodies in a tight group for protection against the potential threat.

Except for one of them. Instead of hurrying towards the others, one of the creatures kept its distance from the other herd members. Not grazing or moving much. It seemed more interested in trying to roll on its back with its dozen stubby legs twitching weakly.

"Because you wanted to show me those.... things," said Loki suspiciously. "Though I am uncertain why. Especially when the humans studying the Tesseract are reaching the point of being useful when I arrive."

Thanos towered over Loki. That had been clear from the very first encounter. He barely reached mid-chest on the Titan and his hand could have wrapped around Loki's entire head. When the thick fingers curled around the back of his neck as his palm pressed against his upper back, Loki couldn't help stiffening. The contact was light, but silently threatening him with how easily that could change.

"I felt this visit would be educational for you. These are Lepidos wyrms ," said Thanos. "This is not their native world, but my servant brought them here and his children raise the creatures for their meat and as suitable hosts. The oldest of his children is almost mature enough to lay his own eggs soon, though his people are not particularly parental and he has little to do with his offspring. There is no need when they can take care of themselves even before they reach their full size. Still, they were kind enough to send word when the wyrm showed signs that the moment is near." Loki could hear the smile in his voice and felt that chill down his spine. "The timing for these things is not exact, I'm afraid. A rough estimate is the best that can be done. That is why there was little warning for our visit. As soon as they noticed the signs, they let me know."

"What signs?"

Loki tried to turn and look up towards the Titan, wanting a glimpse of his expression in order to gleam possible clues. But Thanos tightened his grip and forced him to look in the direction that he wanted. Making him watch the wyrm that lay on its back with its soft underbelly exposed.

They watched the motionless creature as the minutes stretched. The tight grip on the back of his neck was a bruising contrast to the unfortunately familiar pain that slithered and writhed through his torso. There seemed to only be one or two of them left. He could feel the pressure and movements of them shifting. And he could feel the sharper spikes of cutting pain as the vile things consumed everything that they could reach. An exhausting cycle of being eaten alive and healed by his magic. All of that pain had worsened gradually enough that he could adapt to the awful sensations as they progressed, treating it like a form of background noise.

He could hide all except the worst of his suffering. Mostly.

Trying not to wince at a particularly stabbing jolt of pain, one of the ruthless parasites digging into a sensitive spot, Loki almost missed the first hint of movement. Like a deep breath making the equivalent of the wyrm's chest rise. Or something moving underneath. Loki was paying closer attention the second time. Something inside the creature pushed up hard enough to visibly distend the flesh, causing a noticeable bulge before sinking back down. And then it repeated a third time. Hard enough that he was surprised that the flesh remained intact.

Loki knew what was causing it. But he refused to react to what he was seeing.

"Fascinating, is it not?" said Thanos calmly. "When the larvae is ready to emerge, it secretes a mixture of toxins to prepare the host. Including one that paralyzes the wyrm, though it does not seem to work on any other species. The effects make the next stage simpler for the larvae."

Loki couldn't look away from the wyrm, even without the tight grip forcing him to watch. There was no pattern to how fast or how long the larvae pushed from the inside. Occasionally it would pause briefly before resuming. But mostly it seemed unpredictable. It also appeared completely agonizing, the dark green skin straining under the pressure. But the wyrm couldn't move or make a sound. The sight of it made Loki far too aware of the pressure and movements of the larvae growing inside him.

They could have been there for a few minutes or an eternity. He was too disturbed by the hypnotic sight to tell for certain. All he knew was that it all changed in an instant. Gold blood spurted out in a violent splash as a large gray larvae finally tore through. More blood poured out as it squirmed, pushing itself out of the ragged wound.

Bigger around than the head of Mjolnir, the larvae inched its long form out of the dead or dying beast. Soft and gray flesh splattered by the bright blood. Its mouth was a large round opening with a ring of teeth, already ducking down to tear at the soft underbelly of the lifeless wyrm. Loki swallowed hard against the urge to retch. The long, fat, and ugly thing made him nauseous and he was struggling to hide his reactions.

"You see? The two species maintain a perfect balance. One keeps the wyrms' countless offspring from growing too numerous and the limits of a single wyrm's body ensures that only a single larvae survives in a clutch," he continued. "So elegant. Once it finishes eating what is left of the host, it will spin a sturdy cocoon until it emerges in its final shape. It will look more like my servant and be fully independant, though it will only be as tall as an Asgardian toddler until it matures more."

He could not look away as the creature began to devour its former host, tearing chunks of flesh from its dying body, barely pausing for its many teeth to chew before ripping another piece. The wyrm was now long dead, finally escaped from the pain of being eaten alive. 

Loki knew that pain better than anyone would ever wish to.

He felt his lips curved into a sick smile, even as horror brought bile to his throat. "You miscalculated," he said, "by showing me this." 

Even as he gazed in horror at the scant remains of the creature which had once contained the same parasitic larva as he knew he did right now, and the pools of golden blood on the ground, he knew it was true. This had not crumbled his resolve, it had strengthened it. 

"How so, Asgardian?" Thanos asked, still not removing his hand from where he held Loki's neck, making him watch the horrendous scene before him. The larva was mostly through, spinning a sticky cocoon. 

"I know now more than ever that there is nothing you could possibly do to remove them," Loki said, "whether I succeed or not, if I return to you, I will die."

"And if it is your only option, you will still return. You are too selfish to cast aside your own life, Asgardian. You will do as I bid, in case there is the slightest chance you're wrong. You are, in fact, wrong. I am harsh with my enemies, but I reward those who are loyal to me. I have told you truly: return both Stones to me, and the larvae eating your alive will be removed. When you are recovered, I will return you to Earth, and you will rule. Just as you have always wanted."

"I don't believe you," Loki said simply, "you know me to be an Asgardian, considered, among other things, to be the God of Lies. You might have chosen an easier lie to believe. I would be better served returning to Asgard."

"Your passage to Asgard is destroyed," Thanos reminded him, "you ensured your brother's need to destroy it. You sealed your own fate."

"The Bifrost has not been my only way between realms for centuries, now," Loki said, "why would I try to subjugate Midgard and bring you a Stone when that very Stone could bring me to Asgard?" 

"Asgard will not have you," Thanos retorted, "you are guilty of treason. You allowed an attempt on the King's life."

"They are my family."

Thanos contemplated him. "I think you truly believe they would help you," he decided, "and while I believe there is no chance of that, I cannot allow you to try."

"And how will you stop me? If you want to make use of me, you must send me to Midgard. True, I could die here, like that poor creature, but what a waste of effort spent that would be."

Thanos seemed to consider that. "It is unfortunate for you then, Asgardian, that I expected one final resistance."

A pit of cold dread filled Loki's stomach. For a second, he couldn't feel the vicious parasites, only his own fear, turning his limbs to liquid, making breath freeze in his lungs. 

"I anticipated you might try to run home, Asgardian. To beg for help. Your people could save you, it's true. But you won't tell them."

"You can't force me not to speak."

Thanos smiled. "You believe you are very clever, Asgardian," he said, "and you believe that you have learned much through your observation of the humans. But you forgot one thing: you know only of one Infinity Stone. That is your undoing, for there are six. You know of only the Tesseract, the Space Stone. However, there are five more. Power, Soul, Time, Reality, and the one you will regret the most. Mind."

Loki didn't have time to react. Thanos moved too quickly for him to try and dodge the sharp point of a strange polearm he had never seen the Titan wield before. It touched the center of his chest, against his sternum, and he actually begged it to pierce his skin. To stab into his chest and end his miserable life. 

But it didn't. It touched his chest and he heard Thanos's voice inside his mind now, and this time, his words were anything but a suggestion. 

You will tell no one of your predicament. You will not say a word of the larvae inside of you, and you will ask no one for help. You will not leave Midgard until you have secured the Tesseract and vanquished the humans, and then, you will return both Stones to me, here. You will tell no one of this place, or who has sent you. You will summon the Chitauri and lay waste to Earth, slaying any who oppose you. You will do nothing you suspect will harm the larvae inside of you.

I tremble (I tremble, I tremble)

They're gonna eat me alive (gonna eat me alive)

If I stumble (if I stumble, if I stumble)

They're gonna eat me alive (gonna eat me alive)

• Metric, Help I'm Alive, FANTASIES (2009)

Chapter Text

I can't escape this hell

So many times I've tried

But I'm still caged inside

Somebody get me through this nightmare

I can't control myself

Loki was on one knee by design. 

Keeping his footing was more difficult than he wanted it to be when he wasn't being pulled through space by a ramshackle portal harnessing the power of something far too powerful for it to contain. Taking a knee meant he didn't have to fight to stay on his feet when he landed on Midgard. 

He didn't like the orders. He thought they were excessive. If Thanos wanted the Tesseract and all the other Stones, why bother laying waste to Earth? Dominating Earth would be easier with more Stones. Loki should have been ordered to go to Earth, take the Tesseract, and return to the Sanctuary. 

But Thanos wanted Earth brought to heel. And if Loki could focus on that, on the fact that after all of this, his success meant a throne, and forget what else it entailed, then perhaps it could be done. 

"Sir, please put down the spear!"

There were agents in black clothes creeping towards him, Midgardian weapons drawn. 

The grin Loki forced onto his face died a quick death. He glanced down at the sceptre, as though considering the order. The hidden stone within it winked with blue light, reacting to the presence of the Tesseract. 

Loki looked back to the man, probably as tall as Thor, dark-skinned like Heimdall, an eyepatch like Odin. He was likely imposing - to humans. 

Loki pointed the sceptre at the man and the agile-looking brunet who stood beside him. A blast of blue energy shot from the sceptre. 

Everything went to shit. 

The blast made Loki stumble backwards, clutching one hand to his side as the creature inside of him burrowed savagely into it. The attacks were getting more frequent. Loki knew he was running short of time, and he had only just begun. There was no time to waste being merciful, even if he could fight the orders Thanos had given him. Even though he knew he didn't, his mind told him the only thing he wanted to do, the only thing that was in any way important, was to serve out Thanos's will. 

He jumped from the dais he had been dropped on, grateful for the return of his Asgardian-grade clothing as metal projectiles fired at him, pinging harmlessly off his enchantments and armour. He thrust the blade of the sceptre into an agent's chest, threw daggers into the throats of two others. He fired another blast from the sceptre at a woman behind an electronic device of some sort, struck a man who tried to attack him across the face. 

The brunet from earlier fired a weapon at his face. An enchantment deflected it, but he still flinched. Loki returned fire, the brunet diving out of the way. 

The man he struck in the face was struggling to his feet. Loki planted his boot firmly into his chest, kicking him up off the ground and into a cement wall behind them. 

The man hit the wall with a sickening crunch, and fell to the ground, limp.

No longer under attack, Loki took a moment to look around. Smoke billowed from several damaged devices and machines, the dead and dying littered the ground. 

The brunet was getting to his feet. Loki was sick of him making himself a problem. He ran over to him, grabbed his wrist as he tried to lift his weapon. 

The man looked him in the eyes, a grimace on his face as Loki twisted his arm up into a tight hold, keeping him in pain and on his toes. Pain meant control. 

There was bravery and determination in his blue eyes. He hadn't quit yet, and that was impressive. 

"You have heart," Loki said, a bead of cold sweat dripping down his temple. The creature squirmed inside of him, and Loki fought to stand still as he leveled the sceptre, pointing it at the man's sternum before pressing the point against his chest. 

The world slowed down for both of them. Loki saw everything running through the man's head. He heard his name, Clint Francis Barton. He saw his life as a child, a moment when he was helping a woman who Loki knew from Barton's memories was his mother, robbing a small gas station. He saw a large weapon, a rifle, end up in Barton's hands, watched him try - and fail - to shoot the owner of the shop. 

As the police detained Barton's mother, he heard the young boy who would become the man in front of him apologise. 

"Mom, I'm sorry. I missed."

"You never miss."

It was true. Clint Barton never missed a target, with a bow or a gun. He was a SHIELD assassin by trade, had a wife named Laura who he met at work. They now had two children, a son and daughter. Cooper and Lila. 

Barton's eyes flashed black and then landed on a glowing, pulsing blue. Loki wondered if his looked like that. 

Serve me, he thought, not daring to say it out loud. Aid in my escape. Help me harness the Tesseract and lay waste to this world. 

Barton put away his handgun. 

Loki whirled around, pressing the sceptre to the chest of another SHIELD operative, this time braced for the images that came with the control. He tuned them out more easily. He didn't care who the operative was, only that they helped his escape. 

He heard something snap shut and turned to see the man with the eyepatch, whom Barton's memories told him was Nicholas Fury, the director of SHIELD, closing a case that he knew based on the sceptre's attunement with the Tesseract contained the cube. "Please don't," Loki said, as Fury stood. "I still need that."

"This doesn't have to get any messier."

Loki's mind jumped, unbidden, to the sensation of the ovipositor, pushing, writhing, squirming through his insides. It was too late for reason. "Of course it does. I've come too far for anything else," he said. Took a moment to collect himself. "I am Loki. Of Asgard. And I am burdened with glorious purpose."

The cost was too great already. He had been through too much to consider backing down, even if the sceptre would let him. He didn't know if he truly had a glorious purpose, only that he had to survive, and in order to do that, he had to succeed. 

"Loki. Brother of Thor." An accented voice asked. Loki turned to see one of the scientists, an older man, someone he thought he recognised from Thor's new friends within this realm. 

He wanted to disagree. Thor was not his brother. Loki had no family. Not anymore. 

"We have no quarrel with your people," Fury said, holding out a hand. 

"An ant has no quarrel with a boot."

Fury frowned. "Are you planning to step on us?"

He genuinely sounded surprised. Perhaps even shocked. Loki took a few steps forward, forcing himself to try and walk off the pain in his stomach. "I come with glad tidings," he said, "of a world made free."

"Free from what."

It wasn't a question. Loki answered anyways. 

"Freedom. Freedom is life's great lie." 

That he believed. He knew already that the freedom to choose was a double-edged blade. It was simpler not to have a choice. Easier not to have a choice. 

When given a choice, the wrong path was always taken. Loki knew that well. He had learned the lesson, much to his cost.

"Once you accept that, in your heart," he said, turning on the scientist and pressing the sceptre to his chest. He hadn't planned on taking that man, but Barton's mind suggested he might be useful, and Loki hadn't appreciated being referred to in relation to Thor. "You will know peace."

"Yeah, you say peace," Fury said, "I kinda think you mean the other thing."

"Sir," Barton said, as he was clearly accustomed to calling those he served 'sir.' A year ago, Loki was more used to a title befitting royalty, and he would have balked. Now, it was strange to have someone respect his authority at all. 

Maybe he could come back from where he was. Maybe when Earth was taken, Loki could go back to who he had once been. Someone even better. A proud and powerful king, ruler of a realm he had fought hard to acquire. 

"Director Fury is stalling. This place is about to blow, and drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us."

"Like the Pharaohs of old," Fury said. 

"He's right," Loki hadn't told the scientist, Doctor Erik Selvig, to go and check the monitors, but it was good that he had. "The portal is collapsing in on itself. We've got maybe two minutes before this goes critical."

"Well then," Loki said, turning to Clint. He didn't hesitate, drawing his gun and firing at Fury. 

The unnamed operative picked up the case with the Tesseract and passed it to Selvig. Loki made for the exit of the lab, his new allies following behind him. 

He stumbled as the creature bit into him, doubling over, barely staying upright. He felt a hand against his back, keeping him steady. 

The Hawk and Doctor Selvig were still screaming and fighting behind his eyelids, he could feel them struggling against the scepter without avail, every time he closed his eyes. 

If he could have, he would have told them both that they were the lucky ones. He would have said that even though it felt as though their minds were being split and torn apart by the Stone, that their every resistance felt like a war to them, they were fortunate.

Loki was in such pain as he could barely walk, but he had to play it off. The squirming, writhing creature, the only one left, was still on its path of destruction, sending fierce, stabbing jolts of pain through Loki's abdomen. 

That was why the doctor and agent were lucky. The Mad Titan could have simply used the Mind Stone on him to begin with. Loki was now under its effects, and nothing would have stopped Thanos from doing that in the beginning. He didn't need Loki to be broken and willing to accept his orders. 

He had simply chosen to do so. He had chosen to hand Loki over to the Other after physical torture had no affect on his compliance. It had been amusing to Thanos to see him suffer. 

Loki wandered through the underground alleys, finding a quiet place to sit down. He could feel something at the back of his mind, a whisper from the sceptre. As he watched the stone, it began to glow, a blue fog began to swirl and peel off the stone, and he closed his burning eyes. 

When he opened them, he was in the Sanctuary.

Quick as thought, Loki sent up an illusion. His magic was dwindling, but he couldn't show how weak he was to the Other. He couldn't broadcast his fragility like that. 

"The Chitauri grow restless," the Other's terrible, grating voice clawed at his ears. Loki watched his own illusion, forcing it to hold strong, not to waver, not to show fear.

"Let them go at themselves. I will lead them into glorious battle."

"Battle? Against the meager might of Earth?" The Other rasped. 

"Glorious, not lengthy," Loki said with false confidence. "If your force is as formidable as you claim."

"You question us? You question him? He, who put the scepter in your hand, who gave you ancient knowledge and new purpose when you were cast out, defeated?"

"He handed me over to you!" 

There was more despair in his voice than he wanted. He forced it back to anger. "I was a king! The rightful King of Asgard, betrayed!"

"Your ambition is little, born of childish need. We look beyond the Earth to greater worlds the Tesseract will unveil."

The Other didn't respond to Loki's wavering conviction. Didn't give his outburst the dignity of response. Loki knew why he had been given to the Other. He'd been offered the choice, and like everyone did, he had taken the wrong path. 

He took a deep breath to steady himself. "You don't have the Tesseract yet."

The Other rushed his illusion, but Loki pointed the sceptre at him, unflinching this one time. The Other stopped. 

"I don't threaten, but until I open the doors, until your force is mine to command, you are but words."

"You will have your war, Asgardian," the Other said, slowly pacing around the god. "If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain."

The Other pressed his six-fingered hand against the side of Loki's face, and even though it was an illusion, Loki could feel his cold flesh. He closed his eyes and opened them in the underground again, feeling tears burn them. 

He covered his face for just a second. Not everyone here was under the sceptre's control. He couldn't show signs of weakness to those who could truly perceive it. 

He jumped, feeling a hand touch his shoulder. Lifting his face, he saw Barton standing beside him, a large cup made of some strange white material in his hands. 

"You've gotta eat," Barton said, pressing the cup into his hands. It was warm to the touch. "Chicken soup. We make it for our kids when they're sick."

Loki wasn't ill. He hadn't issued an order to Barton to do anything like this. 

He didn't think that soup would help his condition. He was fairly certain the creature's needle-sharp teeth had eaten through a large portion of his intestines last night while he'd tried to get a bit of sleep. It was only his magic keeping his entire abdomen from becoming a toxic, septic cesspool that would take him out within days or less. He understood anatomy well enough to know that even if he ate the meal Barton had brought, it was unlikely he could absorb any nutrients from it. 

Still, it was a kindness he didn't expect. 

"Thank you," Loki heard his own hoarse voice whisper. "Get some rest."

Thor threw him onto the mountain, driving the breath from his lungs, leaving him struggling to remember not to gasp. Gasping wouldn't make his diaphragm relax. He just had to relax. 

Which was nearly impossible. He was in unspeakable pain.

"Where is the Tesseract?" Thor roared. 

Loki managed to choke out a laugh. "I missed you too."

"Do I look to be in a gaming mood?"

Loki began to struggle to his feet. "Oh, you should thank me. With the Bifrost gone, how much dark energy did the Allfather have to muster to conjure you here? Your precious Earth."

Thor looked at him strangely, so obviously fighting to get to his feet, and grabbed his forearms, hauling him up. Loki pulled away from him, walking a few steps away, rubbing his aching back. 

"I thought you dead," Thor said. 

"Did you mourn?" Loki hissed. 

"We all did. Our father -"

"Your father," Loki growled, finally hitting on something he could be properly angry about. "He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?"

Before Thor answered, Loki saw a large, dark bird fly into a tall tree, squawking as it watched the brothers. He knew it was a raven without seeing it properly. 

"We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"

"I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you, tossing me into an abyss. I was and should be king!"

"So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights. No, the Earth is under my protection, Loki."

Imagined slights. As if everything Loki had been through was imagined. As though he had imagined being lied to all his life. The Norns had once read his fate, declared him to be the God of Lies. Odin had resented that title for a son of the crown, but could it truly be helped if Loki's life was built upon a lie? Was there any other path for him? 

As though he had imagined being betrayed. Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Heimdall. They all betrayed him, went running to find Thor. 

As though he had imagined what had happened in the Sanctuary. As though he was imagining the squirming, writhing, tearing creature inside of him. 

He forced himself to laugh. "And you're doing a marvelous job with that," he said, refusing to entertain Thor's comment about his suffering being imaginary out loud. "The humans slaughter each other in droves, while you idly fret. I mean to rule them. And why should I not?"

"You think yourself above them."

Loki frowned. "Well, yes," he said, completely truthful, for just a second.

"Then you miss the truth of ruling, brother. A throne would suit you ill."

Thor had returned to standing in Loki's face, trying to get his attention. Loki shoved him aside angrily. 

He was a better option for the throne than the alternative. Even if somehow, Thor was right and he wasn't built for ruling, he was better than a member of the Black Order. 

If a throne would suit him ill, it was because of what Thanos and the Other had done. Loki had been bent and broken out of shape, and it he was now ill-fit for rule, it wasn't because he had never been fit. Their constant abuse, what he had been through, the sceptre, they all scrambled his mind. 

And Thor thought he had a right to criticise. 

Loki walked away from his brother, over to the edge of the cliff they stood on. He peered over it for a moment. 

The fall wouldn't kill him. It might have damaged the parasite enough to kill it though , and no sooner did the thought occur to him that he was forced to take a step back and face his brother. "I've seen worlds you've never known about," he said slowly, "I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, and when I wield it -"

"Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be-king?"

"I am a king!"

He knew he didn't believe it. Not really. He believed he could be a king. He even still believed it should have been his birthright. He was the son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim, raised by the Allfather, King over all the Nine Realms. 

He didn't believe that was what made a king anymore. Not after being betrayed. He wouldn't be a king until there was no dissent left. No whispers against him, no defiance. 

He would show Earth just how costly defiance could be.

"Not here!" Thor said, "You give up the Tesseract! You give up this poisonous dream! You come home."

Thor really believed it was possible. That Loki could abandon his goals, could return to Asgard like nothing had ever happened. 

He was a fool. "I don't have it. You need the cube to bring me home, but I've sent it off, I know not where." 

Pacing, somehow, was helping with the pain. 

Loki still wanted to be physically sick, every time he felt the creature move inside of him, but he had gotten good at swallowing down the bile. Becoming sick would not help him. 

But walking back and forth, refusing to sit still, somehow kept his mind off his constant pain. It was clear enough, at least, for him to think. 

His plan was already underway. With an excellent idea of what his body and mind could handle, Loki had chosen himself to be the captured foe in their distraction intentionally. Not everyone would be able to get out of Stuttgart without an issue. Loki had known that a 'distraction' would go further than creating a fuss at the gala. 

He had been captured by design. He didn't believe the humans could torture him, mentally or physically, enough to make him give in. 

Thor might have been able to, but Thor was ruled by sentiment. He wouldn't torture his brother. 

All Loki had to do was bide his time. 

He stopped pacing when he realised someone was watching. 

"There's not many people that can sneak up on me," he said, turning around to see Barton's friend, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, standing before the glass cell. 

"But you figured I'd come," Natasha said. 

"After. After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate," Loki said, dismissively. 

"I wanna know what you've done to Agent Barton."

"I'd say I've expanded his mind."

"And once you've won. Once you're king of the mountain. What happens to his mind?" Natasha asked. 

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?"

"Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

Now this was interesting. He knew most of what she meant already, but he wanted to hear her say it. It could be a good distraction from his suffering. 

He took a seat on the bench within the cell. "Tell me."

Natasha also found herself a chair, sat down before the glass. The expanse of the cell lay between them, Loki sitting in the back, her sitting in front of the door. 

The space would allow her to read his body language. She was a spy, she would try to work out his plan. This was a ploy, a ruse to get information. She may have truly cared about Barton's fate, but assurances weren't what she was seeking here. 

"Before I worked for SHIELD, I uh - well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skillset. I didn't care who I used it for, or on. I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me, he made a different call."

"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?"

"Not let you out," Natasha said. Loki chuckled.

"Ah, no. But I like this. Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?"

"Regimes fall every day. I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian… or, was."

"What is it you want?"

Would she tell him? Would she slip up? Give herself away? She was a spy, true, but that didn't make her infallible.

It's really not that complicated. I've got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out."

Loki saw his chance. His chance to turn the interrogation around on her, to force her to react to him, and not vice-versa. 

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red?" He asked, a smile creeping onto his face. "Dreykov's daughter? São Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" 

Loki rose to his feet, closing the gap between them, leaving only the glass to separate them. "This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer… pathetic!"

How many times had he prayed for help? How many times had he prayed to his mother, father, brother? 

No one had answered. Loki was a god, he knew how futile prayer was. 

"You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers," Loki continued, pulling his thoughts angrily from his family. "You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!"

His voice hiccuped in his last sentence, spraying something onto the glass before him. 

Small red droplets. Loki's stomach sank.

He stared at the droplets of blood on the glass in front of him. 

His blood. The slight hick in his voice, the cough he hadn't managed to swallow, had splattered blood onto the walls of his prison. 

And he had mere seconds before the Widow noticed. 

He summoned his blade to his right hand, slashed it across the lines of his left palm, allowing blood to drip from his fist, and banished the knife. 

"I won't touch Barton," he growled, slamming both closed fists into the glass. The blood on his left splattered out from impact, and he struck his right into the blood that was already there. It was a little dramatic, he hadn't struck hard enough to break the skin of his fists and draw blood, but it was a decent enough cover. "Not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim."

Natasha Romanoff recoiled, horror filling her gaze, but his plan had worked for now. She turned her back on him. "You're a monster."

Her voice was distraught, but from Barton's memories, he knew she was better than that. She was still playing him. 

The issue was, if he didn't give her what she had come for, she would stay. He could feel a fit of coughing building in his chest, and he couldn't hide the blood so easily a second time. 

He shouldn't give up his plan. He had to end his conquest, quickly, even quicker than he had originally thought. If he was already coughing up blood, then actual damage was already being done. He was running out of time. 

But if Natasha Romanoff found weakness in his resolve, if she saw evidence of his condition, it didn't matter what she thought was causing it. Evidence of injury would weaken his campaign. Thor and his friends would use it against him. 

He had to give her what she wanted. "No," he said, the words bitter and twisted in his throat. "You brought the monster."

He hated the self-satisfied look on her face when she twisted around. "So, Banner. That's your play."

Thor interlocked their weapons, holding Loki still. He was still stronger than his little brother, always would be. Loki could feel himself weakening. His magic, usually a strong, reliable source, was like a flickering candle in a hurricane, and every second, his failing body tried to pull more of it towards his injuries, to try and patch his insides back together enough that he could keep moving forward, keep fighting. 

He couldn't match Thor with strength, and right now, he couldn't supplement it with magic. 

Thor moved to hold his shoulders, shaking him ever-so-slightly. "Look at this! Look around you! You think this madness will end with your rule?"

Loki could feel his eyes burning. He tried to turn away, but Thor wouldn't let him. He watched explosions boom over the skyline, buildings crumble, rubble fall. He heard people screaming, the Chitauri screaming, everything screaming and shrieking in his ears. 

He thought he could hear his own screams in his ears, when he still had strength to fight. 

"It's too late. It's too late to stop it," Loki whispered, not that he could. 

The chaos, the destruction, the madness wouldn't end with Loki's rule. He knew that. He didn't expect it to. The Earth was doomed. There was no way around it. 

"No. We can. Together," Thor said desperately. He dropped his hands from Loki's shoulders, reaching for one of his hands. 

Thor's hand touched his stomach as it fished for Loki's own, and a flash of pain and unbidden memories made Loki flinch back. He felt the rough soles of a boot pushing into his chest, crushing the breath from his lungs, a hand on his stomach, pushing against him, feeling for the eggs within. 

He couldn't have hurt Thanos or the Other if he tried. But Thor…

He pulled a knife to his hand, jabbed it into Thor's side. 

"Sentiment."

"If it's all the same to you. I'll have that drink now."

Loki didn't even care that he had been captured. The blue haze was lifted from the corners of his mind. He was bruised and battered. Being thrown around the way he was at broken bones, a fractured rib had punctured his lung and collapsed it. Loki had lain on the ground, wheezing, feeling pressure building his chest for what felt like hours before his magic had managed to fix it. 

But even with the likely concussion, his mind was clearer than it had been for days now. 

And the creature had stopped moving. 

It was finally dead. 

He put his hands up in surrender. "Return me to Asgard, Thor. Make me your prisoner and I will go with you."

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

No one will ever change this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal

This animal I have become

- Animal I Have Become, Three Days Grace, One-X (2006)

Chapter Text

Grab a brush and put a little make-up (you wanted to)

Hide the scars to fade away the shake-up (you wanted to)

Why'd you leave the keys upon the table? (You wanted to)

I don't think you trust

In my self-righteous suicide

I cry when angels deserve to die

Loki was a little flattered with how many chains and guards were placed on him. Sure, Thor made a big show of bringing him back to Asgard, chained and muzzled, but it had seemed like something he was doing for the human's sakes. He hadn't expected the excessive security to continue. 

"Isn't this a bit much?" Loki asked, raising an eyebrow at the Einherjar who was fettering his ankles. "It was just a bit of chaos."

The guard did not speak to him. Loki knew they had been ordered not to. 

Loki was in better spirits than he had been for several months. The creature was dead. It was still in his stomach cavity, of course, but it was dead. If he ever saw Doctor Banner again, he may thank him for the vicious attack. He would work out what to do about the trial eventually, possibly even defend himself, now that the creature was dead and the blue fog was gone from his head. 

He wouldn't admit everything. He would deal with the creature himself, and he would not be telling anyone about it. He wouldn't confess the way he had been dominated. 

But Thanos and the Mind Stone were a possibility. If he warned Odin, he may not be believed, yet, but eventually, Thanos would put his plan into motion. 

He just had to hope it was enough to spare him the axe. Odin did not see him as a son. He would execute Loki, if he felt it was justified. 

"Wrists," the Einherjar said, and Loki held out both hands, allowing the guard to bind his wrists in gold cuffs. 

He pulled them away when he felt a cough build in his throat. He put his hands over his mouth, coughing into them. 

When he held them in front of his face, he saw blood splattered on them. 

At the same time, something moved in his stomach and pain shocked him again as it came back, stronger than ever. 

The guard pulled his hands back down, fixing the chain between his wrists to the metal belt around his waist - which felt extremely unnecessary when he was fettered hand and foot - keeping his arms down and at his front. 

He shifted one of his hands, pressing it against his own stomach, and felt something writhe within it. 

His blood felt like ice in his veins. 

It wasn't dead. 

Terror filled his chest, his breathing started to pick up. 

It wasn't gone, and his mouth tasted like iron, bubbling in the back of his throat as he breathed. 

If he lingered in the trial, he was going to cough up more blood, and with his wrists chained to the front of his waist, he wouldn't be able to cover it. 

Odin would notice. 

With a sinking feeling, he realised he was going to have to rush the trial the same way he had rushed his chat with Agent Romanoff. He wasn't going to be able to tell Odin about Thanos and the Mind Stone if he didn't want to have to tell him about the Other, and he wouldn't tell him about the Other. 

"Move," an Einherjar ordered, and Loki felt a chain tug at his middle. 

He was surrounded by guards, with several chains attached to his stupid metal belt. The whole thing felt extremely unnecessary. He didn't have the sceptre or the Tesseract anymore, and the runes on the cuffs he was wearing blocked his seidhr . He was virtually powerless and still being treated like the most dangerous creature in all the Nine Realms and beyond. 

Loki had met him. He was nothing compared to that. 

His magic being blocked was a problem on its own. Loki needed his seidhr. It was keeping him alive. 

"Loki."

The female voice for his attention, quickly. He wasn't expecting Frigga. Loki could distract Odin, make him angry enough that he wouldn't notice anything was wrong, but Frigga was different. She always seemed to know when Loki was lying. 

If she stayed for the trial, his hope of hiding what had happened was over. She would figure out that something was wrong.

Still, Loki forced himself to be calm. He looked over to her, as beautiful and poised as ever, even through the pain in her eyes. "Hello, Mother," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "Have I made you proud?"

"Please," Frigga said, picking at the palm of her hand. "Don't make this worse."

"Define worse," Loki replied. 

It came out insolent, but he meant it literally. How could he possibly make things worse than they were? He was going to die, either by the axe or by the parasite. He couldn't explain himself to Odin, he didn't have time. He would either die by executioner, immediately after the trial, or spend his last days in isolation. It couldn't get worse. There was nothing he could do to worsen the situation for himself. 

"Enough," Odin said, "I will speak to the prisoner alone."

Frigga clearly didn't want to leave, but she obeyed her husband. Loki felt only relief as he watched her slip out of the room. 

He turned to the king with a dramatic flourish, clacking the shackles at his ankles together as he moved. He forced himself to laugh, even as it threatened to cause another cough which would spray blood onto the ground before him. "I really don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Do you not truly feel the gravity of your crimes?" Odin demanded, "wherever you go there is war, ruin and death."

"I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god. Just like you."

That was a good one, it would make Odin very angry if he compared their conquests. Odin had taken Midgard peacefully, the Midgardians had known but they could not dream to fight the gods, and had known that although it gave Asgard dominion of their realm, it would benefit them in the end to have the protection of their gods. Loki had tried to take the realm through blood and war. Although it was the same idea, to have a god over the humans, it was not the same action. Loki already knew that, it was said only to inflame the Allfather's anger.

"We are not gods," Odin said harshly, "we are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do."

"Give or take five thousand years."

"All this because Loki desires a throne."

No. All of this because Thanos desired the Infinity Stones, all of this because the Chitauri wanted war, all of this because of what the Other had done. All of this because Loki had no other choice, but he couldn't say that. "It is my birthright," was all he said in the end.

"Your birthright was to die!" Odin snarled, leaning forward in his golden throne. Loki took a step back, eyes widening with shock. "As a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me."

Hate? Hate was too kind a word. Where had Odin been when Loki had struggled with the knowledge of his parentage? What had Odin done to stop him, that night on the Bifrost? Where had Odin and the armies of Asgard, who claimed dominion over Nine Realms, been while he was in the Sanctuary?

Where had been the father he was meant to be grateful for now all of his life? All he had ever known was a shadow. The shadow of his older brother and his father's disapproving gaze.

"If I am for the axe," Loki began, brutally honest and bleak, "then for mercy's sake, just swing it. It's not that I don't love our little talks, it's just ... I don't love them."

He did his best to cover a wince as the creature sank its teeth into something on his side, perhaps a kidney, and thought that maybe the axe would be preferable. 

Odin considered him for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he spoke. "Frigga is the only reason you are still alive and you will never see her again. You will spend the rest of your days in the dungeons."

Loki let out a harsh exhale. "And what of Thor? You'll make that witless oaf king while I rot in chains?"

"Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done. He will bring order to the nine realms and then, yes. He will be king."

The chains were removed. That was the most important. He was made to remove his armour and given plain, dark clothing to wear, but he was relieved of his shackles. His seidhr was given back to him, enabling him to continue desperately trying to heal the damage the creature dealt to him. 

"Thank you," he said, not entirely falsely, to the guard who removed first the chains at his ankles, then the one at his waist, and finally the ones at his wrists. 

He was pushed into the cell without a response, but that didn't entirely bother him. He didn't want a response. 

The cell was plain, empty but for him, with white marble floors, ceilings and walls. His own was on the corner of a row of identical cells, meaning two of the three walls were shimmering golden walls of force, translucent and able to be brought down by a guard. 

It was clear the prisoners of Asgard were meant to be bored to tears, left in confinement with nothing to pass the time, but Loki truly didn't mind. 

He walked to the adjoining corner of the two solid walls and sat for the first time since he had struggled back to his feet in Stark Tower, resting his aching body. 

He wasn't expecting a visitor. He didn't really want a visitor, actually. It had been perhaps a day when a meal appeared in his cell, fish stew and crusty bread, which he had devoured as though it was the last food in all the Nine Realms, mopping up the last remains of the stew with the bread. With it came a glass of weak mead, which he drank purely for the energy its sugars would give him. 

At the time, he didn't know that he should check and see that the other prisoners received only mushy porridge and a tin cup of water. He hadn't eaten since the soup that the Hawk had brought him, and was just grateful to have a meal. 

He placed the used dishes in the corner furthest from where he was sitting. The pain of the creature digging around inside of him hadn't lessened, but the painful cramping of his empty belly slowly subsided as the food settled in his stomach. He curled back onto the ground, staring blankly at the white floor. 

He had leather slippers, now, with no laces or fastenings. They were black, and rather flimsy, clearly made to ensure they could not be weaponised like the thick sole of a boot. The rest of his clothes were now a plain forest green, although he did notice he was dressed more nicely than most of the other prisoners. He even had a long tunic to help keep him warm. 

Still, nice clothes were not going to save him from the madness of four thousand years in isolation. When he had first entered the cell, he was exhausted enough he did not care about the boredom it would inflict. Now, a little more rested, it would start to pick at him. 

If he weren't in such a fragile state, he could have played around with his seidhr. He might have cast illusions so real he forgot his actual plight, allowed himself to live in a world of fantasy where he was free and happy, experiencing a life he would enjoy with breaks only to eat and sleep. His magic tutors and his mother had often told him it did not bode well to dwell in illusions and ignore reality, but Loki's reality was empty. 

And that was when a shimmering figure appeared in his cell. 

He scrambled to his feet, cursing as he reached for daggers that had been taken from him, disenchanted so that they would no longer return to his interdimensional pocket when he lost them.

And then he realised it was his mother standing before him. 

"Is this some kind of trick?" He asked warily, "a cruel joke to remind me of the Allfather's words?"

"No," Frigga said gently, "if you think that your father can order me to never see my son again, and I will obey, you do not know me very well."

"I -" Loki's voice choked in his throat. "Why?"

Why would Frigga still want to see him? Why would she care enough to disobey Odin's orders? After all that he had done, why would she care at all?

"Are you truly asking me why I would come and visit my son?" Frigga asked, a sad look passing across her face. "Have you been so convinced that you are not worthy of love, unconditional love, that you are truly shocked I would not abandon you?"

"The Allfather -"

"Your father may say what he likes, he does not command me. Not in the way that he commands the rest of Asgard. I will not allow him to command me away from my children," Frigga said, "as it stands, I must disguise my visit with illusion, and I cannot truly come to you. However, that may change. What I can do is send my maidservants, and try to keep you comfortable. Is there anything that you require?"

"I'm not meant to be comfortable."

"If your father had his way, you would not be. He wishes to disown you. He wishes to pretend as though you had never been his son. I do not wish the same thing. What can I send you to keep you comfortable?"

There was an opportunity there. As it stood, after whatever length of time he had left before the creature gnawed its way out, he would die, and it would live. But there was potential to change that. If what his mother was offering was true, and she would send him things to keep him comfortable, things she assumed could not do any harm to anyone, then perhaps he could find a way to ensure the death was mutual.

But he had to test the water first. "Could you send me a book?" He asked, something small and innocuous for his first try. There was nothing that he could do with a book, but the point was not to acquire something he could use. Only to see if he could trust the offer. 

Frigga smiled. "I cannot send you anything on magic," she warned, "your father would hear of it and put a stop to this. He will not allow you to be sent anything he feels may facilitate an escape. Is there a subject you would prefer?"

"History," Loki said, disinterested. It didn't matter, so long as he got the book. That would be his proof that he could ask for more. 

Loki liked manipulating everyone in his life, with only one exception, which was why his plan made him feel so dirty. 

Locked in a cell under Asgard with only one visitor, there was only one person he could manipulate into helping him. 

He could have told his mother what was going on. He was no longer under the scepter's control. 

But he wouldn't. He would deal with this himself, and there was one thing he was certain of. 

Whatever was still writhing around inside of him, it was not coming out alive. And to do that, Loki needed a weapon. 

First, after the book, he'd convinced his mother to allow him a furnished cell. He didn't care much for the furniture, he'd really only needed a cot, but it brought wood into the cell. 

That was step one. He'd broken the leg off an end table, managed to split it into pieces, and had tried to file down a point, but the walls were smooth as glass, and there was nothing to drag it against to sharpen it. 

So he needed a second step. 

He convinced his mother to bring him a journal and a quill. 

His plan was back in action. 

He honed the nib of the pen against the leather of his prisoner's shoes, until it was sharp enough to whittle the wooden stake. He could have just used the pen nib, but he feared the creature was too large. 

It didn't take him long to have a sharpened stake that could break through even his own skin, when he tried it. 

His symptoms were getting far worse. His every breath rattled in his chest, he seemed to spew up blood whether he coughed or just exhaled wrong. He couldn't rid his mouth of the salty, iron tang. 

It would be soon. The creature would bore a hole deep enough to burst through his skin, and Loki would have one chance to kill it, because if he waited too long, he might fail from blood loss or pain. 

Not that he was unused to pain. His every movement, every breath, every waking moment was wracked with agony. His lips, cheeks and tongue were torn to bits from biting down on them, refusing to allow himself to scream with the other prisoners and Einherjar guards nearby. 

He would show no sign of weakness. If the Black Order and the creature who had done this to him could still find him, still see him through all of Asgard's defenses, he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing this break him. 

He was going to destroy whatever the eggs he had seen forced into his abdomen had culminated to, and he didn't care if it was the end of him. Just so long as the parasite died as well. 

It took a fortnight, he was fairly sure. He had no real way to keep time, but he thought it had been twenty-eight shift changes of the guards, and the Einherjar only swapped shifts once a day. 

The first thing that he noticed, the first thing that changed, was that it became increasingly hard to breathe. He could no longer consciously tell his body to inhale or exhale. It happened without his volition, and his attempts to control it ended in nothing. He couldn't explain it, he didn't know what had happened, but he knew that it was a sign. This was getting worse.

The room felt unbearably hot. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and dripped down his face, and still the temperature rose. He wondered if it was retribution, if Odin had ordered the temperature increased, to take away what comfort his mother had been able to offer. With his heritage, he was susceptible to heat beyond what was normal.

But the air did not feel any warmer. It felt as though the increase of his temperature was coming from within him. 

He remembered that the Mad Titan had told him that the larva would excrete a mix of toxins. The only one which had been described to him was a paralytic that would not work on other species. Loki would not be paralysed for this, but perhaps the other toxins would work. Perhaps it was one of those which was making him so uncomfortable, increasing his temperature from within him. 

It only took perhaps an hour until it was so unbearable that he had to remove his tunic and undershirt, even though he hated being exposed in the open-view cells. He had kept his clothes cleaned by magic since being sentenced, and had not removed them since they had been given to him.

He could see a swelling bulge in his stomach after he removed his shirt. The sight made him feel sick. 

He reached for his stake, taking it in clumsy fingers. He had to time this just right. If he wasn't careful, blood loss and weakness may take him before he could ensure it was dead. He couldn't allow that to be the case. 

His body ached, skin sticky with sweat. He had down on his back, feeling the blessedly cold marble against his burning skin, and it took him a moment to realise the pain subsided, too. 

The parasite wanted him to lay like this, but Loki didn't have the strength to fight it. He let his head loll to the side, peering out the golden fields of his cell. 

There were guards watching the staircase, the only exit. He didn't know if they could see him and were ignoring him, or if they had no idea what was happening. 

He didn't care. Even if they realised he was ill and ran to Lady Eir and the King now, they wouldn't be able to save him. 

He was already dead. He was already dead, all he needed to do was kill the parasite as well. 

He watched his stomach, concave after his ribs, as a horrible bulge swelled in his skin. The piercing pain in his stomach was worse than just pain, it was agony, it was so terrible that if he wasn't determined to kill the creature, he might have driven the stake into his own chest or throat to make the pain stop. 

He clenched his teeth shut so tight he thought they might crack, fighting back screams. He didn't want attention. 

He forced himself to sit up again when he could plainly see the shape of teeth under his skin. It hurt worse like that, his head ached, his limbs felt stiff and heavy, but he needed to be upright. 

His stomach roiled as he watched the bulge in his stomach, where it would push against his skin, and then it would subside. It was working its way through the layers of his abdominal wall. 

He had a scar, below his hip, hidden under his soft green trousers. This creature was pushing higher, above the waist of his clothes, gnawing savagely through each layer of his body, one at a time. 

The pain was blinding. Loki kicked his feet uselessly, trying desperately to relieve some of the stress on his body with movement, but it didn't help. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. 

He could barely think, too terrified to even remember what his plan had been. He dropped the stake, momentarily, and had to scramble to grab it again. 

He forced his eyes back open, vision blurry with tears that he scrubbed away frantically. His chest was tight with fear. 

He looked down just in time to see a horrible, needle-sharp tooth pierced through his skin, blood seeping out around it. Loki watched it with wide eyes, knowing he still had to wait. If he stabbed it now, he would stab himself, as well. 

And to ensure it died, he needed to be able to pull it out. He needed it to create its own borehole. 

The tooth curled inwards and ripped back through his skin, and Loki lifted his own arm to his mouth, biting down hard enough to taste blood as it did so. He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't draw attention. 

More teeth ripped through his skin this time, and within a few more gruesome bites, the horrible, writhing mouth was fully exposed. 

Loki attacked it without mercy. 

It was long after the horrifying, wriggling maw of jagged teeth had stopped moving that Loki stopped stabbing. He stabbed the stake into the fleshy, grey-blue creature over and over again, rending it into pieces, punching the pointed end deep into its disgusting, writhing body. There was unending, unwavering pain as he did so, even though he had ripped the creature from his flesh as soon as it dared show its terrifying mouth. 

The stake broke in his hands, and the pain as the splinters dug into his hands and fingers, a new pain, distracted him. He stared down at the shredded remains of the creature, oozing black-grey slime instead of blood, and the shock of brilliant red all around it. 

He blinked, struggling to focus. His head felt light and spun, but he forced himself to look down and he realised his mistake. 

He thought he had ripped the creature out from his flesh. He had believed he was stabbing it again and again, and only the parasite. 

Now, staring down at his own abdomen, there should have only been one borehole from the creature erupting. 

Instead, he saw endless punctures along his stomach, and a growing puddle of blood forming around him. The sharp edge of the stake was still impaled into his own flesh. 

Loki only managed to reach down and rip it free before he slumped over, and didn't stir again. 

Father, into your hands I commend my spirit

Father, into your hands

Why have you forsaken me?

In your eyes forsaken me

In your thoughts forsaken me

In your heart forsaken me, oh

• System of a Down, Chop Suey!, TOXICITY (2001)

Chapter Text

It started with a low light

Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed

And then they took my blood type

It left a strange impression in my head

You know that I was hoping

That I could leave this star-crossed world behind

But when they cut me open

I guess that changed my mind

Thor was not going to leave before he got an answer, this time. 

Something had been so terribly wrong with his brother the last time he had seen Loki. His brother had walked slowly behind him, muzzled and chained, hunched over long after Thor knew he should have recovered from the Hulk's smashing. He had seemed to limp, which Thor had never seen Loki do before. 

Asgardians were hardy creatures, and even if that was not the basis for Loki's constitution, so were Frost Giants. On top of that, Loki had magic. If he had nothing else to do with that magic, he would direct it towards healing himself. 

Something had to be very wrong if Loki was not doing so. His obvious and continued injury made Thor nervous, and made him certain something was terribly wrong with his brother. 

He intended to know what. 

If he could prove that Loki's acts were not his own, that someone had filled his mind with poison, put him under duress, then Odin would have to reconsider his little brother's sentence. Loki could be freed and cared for, rather than imprisoned for the rest of his life. As furious as Thor was over the ransacking of Earth, he did not wish to see his brother spend the next four thousand years behind a glowing gold forcefield, surrounded by marble and other condemned prisoners that Odin had seen fit to spare from death. Even as the king, Thor would not be able to overturn his sentence without justification. Not when it was handed down by his predecessor.

He wanted to know what had caused his brother to do this, primarily so that he could try to fix it. He wanted to find something broken that could be undone. 

And to do that, he needed Loki to answer his questions.

"Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be king?"

"I am a king!"

"Not here! You give up the Tesseract! You give up this poisonous dream! You come home."

He'd seen the pained flicker in Loki's eyes, just before he had answered. He'd seen the way his younger brother almost wanted to do just that. To hand over the Tesseract and sceptre and let his brother bring him home. 

But something had stopped him. Something Loki knew that Thor did not, something that would not allow him to quit his conquest of Earth. 

If Thor was to help Loki, he needed to know what that was. 

He made his way to the dungeons. Odin had ordered that Loki was to be left alone, without visitors, abandoned by his family, but Thor didn't care. He fixed the Einherjar guarding the entrance with a glare, and despite instruction from the Allfather, they did not stop the prince. 

Thor marched up to his brother's cell, jaw set in a hard line, determined not to leave without answers. 

But the second he peered within the golden-framed cell, his plan fell to pieces, and he recoiled in horror from the scene before him. 

He saw first the blood, dark and crimson against the cold white marble of the cell floor. It was so dark it was nearly black, and it seemed a void, swallowing up everything it touched, absorbing the colour from around it. 

In the centre of that pool of blood was his brother. 

Loki was always pale, but his skin now seemed ashen and grey, a sheen of sweat covering his entire body. His chest was completely bare, and there were deep, purple bruises on his ribs and shoulders, likely from when the Hulk had thrown him into the floor, even though that had been weeks ago, and even on a mortal, those bruises should have healed by now. 

His little brother was barely there. Sharp lines of his ribs stuck out from under his flesh, Thor could clearly see the bones of his shoulders and clavicle. He had never seen an Asgardian so thin.

Thor could barely see his ribs move as he breathed, shallow and rapid. 

His hands were covered in blood, and in one, he held some form of a weapon, Thor could not tell what. 

The worst was his abdomen, by far. Thor could see an enormous wound, easily the size of his fist, still pulsing blood with every beat of his brother's heart. Around that wound were too many smaller puncture wounds to count. Thor could see the ridges of torn muscle within the wounds, pale pink and sickly grey viscera which should have been hidden behind layers of flesh, but had been rendered bare by the insistent stabbing which Loki must have inflicted upon himself. 

"Open this!" Thor shouted, and the Einherjar both came running. 

"Your brother is an illusionist, my prince. This could be a trap."

"I don't care!" Thor growled, "open the cell! I command you!" 

The guards considered one another, and then did as they were told. Thor hardly waited for the flickering golden light to extinguish when he ran inside the gilded cage, heedless of the warnings that he may be running to a trap. 

His brother did not move as he approached. The only action Odin would have approved of that Thor took was to pull the sharpened piece of wood from Loki's cold hand and throw it aside before crouching to feel for his brother's pulse. 

Loki was sprawled upon his back, his eyes shut tight, laying like a dropped doll in the puddle of his own blood. His arms were limp, one splayed across his chest, the other against the ground, where it had held the weapon. Loki's long black hair was tangled and matted with blood. 

"How did you not notice?" Thor hissed, lifting his brother from the ground as gently as he could, gathering him into his arms. Loki's head lolled against Thor's forearm, and he did not even make a sound as he was lifted. "The Prince of Asgard, torn to shreds and you did nothing? He must have screamed, where were you?"

"There was no screaming," the Einherjar said stubbornly, "the prisoner was quiet within his cell."

Thor had no words for the guards before him. He pushed past the both of them and took off running to Lady Eir's ward, leaving a splattering trail of hot blood on the ground behind him. 

Loki made no protest, no movement stirred his body while Thor ran. Had it not been for the shallow swell and contract of his ribs, Thor would have thought him dead, a limp corpse in his brother's arms, waiting for someone to notice that he was already gone. 

And the very worst part was that Loki had done it to himself. It would be horrendous enough if someone had broken into the cell and wounded his brother so mortally, but Thor knew that was not the case. Loki had not struggled with an unknown attacker. His wounds were self-inflicted, an act of self-destruction, the sort that Thor could not fully understand, but he knew his brother had taken before, that horrible night on the Bifrost. 

He knew his brother had been suicidal. There was no way to dress it up. He had forced Thor to fight with him, probably expecting to lose. Loki had goaded him until he struck back, and the only thing his brother had wanted from their exchange was to distract Thor until the Bifrost could no longer be stopped. Thor didn't know if Loki had intended to come out of their fight alive. 

"I could have done it, father! For you!"

"No, Loki."

Thor had relived the horrible moment, watching his brother, so sure of his actions, let go of Gungnir. He'd stared directly at his father and brother, no hesitation in his jade-green eyes, and let go. Thor could do nothing but watch him fall, until he disappeared completely from sight. 

Loki was prone to self-destruct. Thor did not know if he had been all along, and he had simply never noticed, or if it had developed since the truth of his brother's origins had come to light. Loki had taken the truth hard, like a mortal wound that did not show from the surface, but slowly drained him of all will and fight to live. 

Thor didn't care where Loki had come from. Odinson or Laufeyson, Thor loved his brother, even after watching him fall away to madness. Thor wanted to protect him. 

And now, he couldn't even protect Loki from Loki. 

What could be done for a man who intended to destroy himself so thoroughly as Loki did? Could they protect someone completely from their own hand? What benefit was there in doing so? 

If Loki was to spend the rest of his life in the dungeons, if Thor accepted that he likely could not force Loki to confess enough of his reasoning to be pardoned for acting under duress, was it even fair to save his life? What would become of the mad prince the longer he stayed isolated and caged? They could strip his cell of all furnishings, remove anything from within the marble walls that could be used to hurt oneself, fit Loki with soft restraints to stop him being able to inflict harm upon himself, but was that fair to do to a man fated to live four thousand years in a dungeon, when he so clearly wanted to die? 

"You are my brother ," Thor whispered fiercely, looking down at Loki's pale and waxy face. "Regardless of what you have done, or where you came from, you are my brother and I love you. If you will let me, I will protect you from everything I can. You are my brother, I love you and I will not concede to losing you like this, Loki. I will fight for you, so long as there's breath in my body and life in my breast. Please , don't give up on me, Loki."

He got no response from his brother, and by now, he had reached Lady Eir's ward at the very heart of the palace. He burst through the wide double doors, and the healer, along with several of her attending ladies, looked up in surprise from their various tasks. 

"Prince Thor," she said, and her brown eyes fell upon the limp form in his arms. 

To her credit, she asked no questions, voiced no concern over who she was being brought. She saw the blood dripping steadily onto the floor, and she saw the pallid, ashy bare skin, riddled with punctures beginning just below Loki's ribs, and she immediately motioned Thor towards the Soul Forge. 

"Lay him here," she ordered, and Thor did as he was bid. "Do you know what happened?"

"I walked in on him like this," Thor said honestly, laying his brother flat upon the metal table. 

"Prince Thor, you must go now. Find the King," Lady Eir said, and she tapped the side of the table. Immediately, a red-gold  figure of his brother appeared, floating above the bloodied body on the table. 

Something within the figure did not light up in gold. It appeared a sickly, vile grey-black, coiled in Loki's abdomen, where he had stabbed himself. 

"What is that?" Thor asked, horror-struck. 

The grey-black thing inside his brother's abdomen seemed to be hacked apart, torn to pieces by Loki's stabbing, but it was at least as long as Thor's forearm, wide as his first… 

Like the largest of Loki's wounds. "What is it, and what did it do to my brother?" 

"I do not know," Eir said firmly, "but I know that you must go. I need space to work, Prince Thor, if I am to save the prince's life."

"You still call him the prince. You're the only other one, besides me."

Lady Eir gave a wry smile. "I've known you both since you were born. It takes more than an act of treason and a trial for me to turn my back on one of my charges. Loki was brought to me by your parents, and I was told he had been abandoned on Asgard. He has been my charge ever since. Now go. Find the King and Queen, they must know of this."

Thor didn't even make it to the doors before they were thrown open. 

In hindsight, it made sense. The floors were streaked with blood where Thor had carried Loki from the dungeons to the Healing Ward, and anyone could follow it. 

He just wasn't expecting Odin to have been the one who did so. 

"Thor," Odin said, and his clear blue gaze roamed his son, clearly checking for injuries. "An Einherjar informed me that you ignored my orders and went to see the prisoner. I went to check on you and found an empty cell with a pool of blood in the centre, and a trail leading to this ward. What happened ?" 

"It's Loki," Thor said, "I found him lying in the pool of blood, half-dead."

"How was he wounded? No one could have gotten to him."

"He fashioned a weapon from the leg of a table," Thor replied, "I have no choice but to believe he did this to himself, intentionally . Only… that is not all. There is something inside of him. I saw it in the Soul Forge, and Lady Eir did not know what it was."

"You both must go," one of Lady Eir's fellow healers, garbed in a simple grey dress, approached father and son. "There is nigh you can do for the prince now. Go and find your wife, King Odin, I imagine she will need to be informed as soon as possible."

"I will stay," Odin said firmly, "outside the doors of the infirmary, yes, but I will not abandon my son. Thor, go and find your mother."

Thor didn't want to leave Loki, either, but he bowed his head and did as he was bid. 

His mother was weaving in her chambers. Thor suspected that her project was decorative, rather than meant to offer her insights into the future. If she had been looking for answers, she would likely already know that Loki was in such a dire state. She would not have remained in her chambers if she suspected something had befallen Loki in his cell. 

Loki was not Frigga's favourite, in the sense that unlike their father, Frigga did not play favourites with her children. She showed Loki extra attention while they were growing up because Odin had always shown more interest in Thor. 

That said, Thor knew that Loki reminded Frigga of herself, the way he knew he reminded people of his father. She understood her youngest better than anyone else in all the Nine Realms. Despite all his wrongdoings, her love and faith in her son had never wavered. She knew that despite all the harm Loki did, he was capable of equal good, if properly motivated to do it. 

The people of Midgard called Thor, and the rest of his new Midgardian friends, heroes . No one would ever say the same of Loki, but while everyone else had allowed themselves to doubt, Frigga had remained convinced that did not make the youngest Odinson a villain. He had struggled as she made excuses for Loki's attack on Midgard and Jotunheim, in the year before he had attacked Midgard again, but Thor knew now that she was right. 

His brother was no villain. He wasn't a monster, he was broken inside and no one but Frigga had tried to help. 

And now Thor had to tell his mother that she had been right, but it was too late for that. 

"Mother," he said softly, knocking his fist onto the frame of her door. 

She smiled as she turned from her weaving to face him, and it made Thor's heart ache, to know what he needed to tell her. "Thor," she said, in a soft tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you were keeping busy since Midgard."

"I went to see my brother," Thor said, and he immediately knew that was the wrong way to phrase it. The hopeful glint in her eyes at the thought of her sons reconciling made him feel like a monster for allowing her to believe this was good news, even for a second. 

"Did you get the answers you wanted?" Frigga asked, "if you give him time, he will tell you why he's done these things. I know he will."

Thor bit his lip. "Mother… I didn't get a chance to speak with him. You need to come down to the infirmary, Father is waiting there. I found Loki grievously injured. No one knows how, or why."

He thought about the horrible grey thing he had seen within his brother's abdomen on the Soul Forge. Did it have something to do with that? Had Thor been wrong, and despite the stake, whatever that was had caused all of the damage to his brother?

Frigga's eyes trailed down from Thor's face, and he watched the colour drain from her cheeks when she saw the blood Thor was covered in. 

“Thor… did… did he hurt you?” Frigga asked, and Thor knew she wanted to ask the opposite, but couldn’t. It was entirely more likely to have been Thor who hurt Loki, Thor, with a temper he struggled to control and the only one of them who should have had a weapon. She had to ask if Loki had hurt him because Thor was the one standing in front of her. She couldn’t assume the worst of the only son she was permitted to see. 

Thor would have likely been hurt at first, but understood, if she did. 

“No, Mother, I didn’t even get to speak with him,” Thor admitted, casting his gaze down to her feet, unable to look at the horror on her face. “He’s hurt. I… I think he did it to himself.”

He knew Loki had done it to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his mother that. Not with the barely-contained sob that he heard her let out before she regained her composure as the Queen of Asgard. “He’s with Lady Eir now,” Thor explained, “Father is waiting outside the infirmary, where she exiled us. He asked me to come and fetch you.”

“What does Lady Eir think of the wounds?” Frigga asked.

“She didn’t say,” Thor admitted. 

Frigga stood up from her weaving without a word, and walked past him, clearly heading to the infirmary. Thor followed her silently. 

One of her fellow healers headed in the direction of the door, hopefully to encourage the king and the prince to step out of the infirmary. Eir certainly hoped they would. They didn't need to see Loki in this state. Especially with what the soul forge was displaying above his bleeding body, telling her exactly what was about to happen. But she couldn't spare the attention to check that they were gone. She would simply have to trust that they left in time. Her focus needed to be on her patient as the bright particles grew dimmer and dull.

"Hilf," she said, sharp and commanding. Eir placed her hands down hard on the largest wound, ignoring the feeling of something that did not belong there as she attempted to contain the blood still draining out of him. "Forceps and a bowl. Orboda, I need two - three healing stones. The ones for bleeding."

As the other two women moved to obey the directions, Frid already appeared at her side with a damp sponge and water. The soul forge might be providing a glimpse of the damage and a strange foreign body in the chest cavity, but Eir would need to visibly see what she was dealing with.

Unfortunately, his faltering heart did not give her a chance to start cleaning away the mess. The struggling organ grew still, the golden particles of the soul forge dimming further, and a warning bell rang out like a deep gong. His body was surrendering to the damage and blood loss.

But Eir did not earn her rank by allowing her patients to die that easily. Barking a quick order for Frid to apply pressure instead, Eir's hands moved up to his chest. Her palms already glowing with a warm magic light that poured into his silent heart. She did not have the raw power and magic capacity to draw upon that some of the more powerful sorceresses might, but she had the knowledge, skill, and precision necessary for her work. Her magic slipped into his silent heart. Coiling around it and wrenching it back into action. Eir kept it manually beating for a few seconds until it resumed the unsteady rhythm and his weak breathing resumed.

Unfortunately, she knew that they wouldn't be able to apply pressure to control the bleeding while dealing with whatever was buried in his largest wound. If they weren't careful, his heart could easily stop again. Time was not on their side.

Short and blunt instructions were snapped out. Frid immediately started expertly cleaning the wounds as Hilf handed Eir the copper forceps. Blood continued to well up as it was sponged away, but she could glimpse the grey flesh. She didn't bother to try identifying it further. For now, it was more important to remove it.

Eir worked quickly and carefully. The closest pieces were torn and shredded, mangling what appeared to be the head of an unknown creature. But as she moved deeper into the largest wound, it was more intact. And larger than she expected, part of it curled up towards his more vital organs under his ribs. No Asgardian should have something that size inside them like this. In the end, the forceps were too small and she needed to pull the thick and long body out by hand. She was too experienced to gasp like Orboda at the sight of it, but Eir couldn't help thinking that it looked like a horrifying mixture of a maggot and a snake.

She should have known that extracting the creature, as thick as a small apple and almost longer than her arm if it had not been mutilated, would not be easy for his weakened state. Eir was nearly finished pulling it from the large hole in the prince's abdomen when the alarm bell rang out again. But she could not stop in the middle. She could only grit her teeth and carefully pull the last quarter of its length out, dropping it into the bowl with the rest of the retrieved pieces. Only then could she focus her magic back on reigniting the life in his dying body.

This time, his heart did not respond as easily. Much had already been asked of him and he did not have much left to give. But despite what rumours and stories that might have been spread around since the interrupted coronation of his brother, Eir had a few fond memories of the younger prince. And she would not let him slip away without giving him her best effort. Her magic poured into key points in the still and silent organ, forcing it to spark and move the way that it was meant to for a few thousand years more. And it reluctantly answered her call.

"Orboda," she said as soon as she had a pulse going again.

Eir held out a hand towards her other healer. The golden-brown stone with runes carved into the polished surface was placed on her palm. Eir crushed it in her hand, letting the powdered dust sprinkle into the largest of the wounds. It would help staunch the heavy bleeding and encourage his body to replace what was lost, though that would take time even with help. Another healing stone was crumbled and added to the numerous puncture wounds that surrounded the worst of them. Slowing the flow of blood enough to ease the urgency of the situation.

The goddess gave the slightest sigh of relief. 

Eir knew that they would return to the healing chambers eventually. It was a blessing that they were convinced to leave in the first place. But now the entire royal family was present. They tried to meet her gaze, but Eir saw the way that their eyes would drift past her towards the Soul Forge. The Queen and Thor were more obvious about their distraction, but she saw even Odin's eye move towards the wounded patient.

She had not yet moved the patient to a more comfortable and suitable place to recover, though she had sent her assistants to prepare a bed with a Healing Veil. The golden light of it would help maintain his body until he recovered enough to regain consciousness: it would support his need for food, drink, or air while also ensuring that his muscles did not wither away from lack of use.

She had seen in her treatment that they already had. Loki was slighter than the last time she had treated him. The younger prince was always lithe rather than bulky and strong like his brother, but something he had been through had allowed his muscles to atrophy.

Eir saw the curious and worried expressions that her patient's family wore. They naturally wanted answers. They held so many questions that none of them seemed to know where to start.

She should not have been surprised that it was the Allfather who eventually asked first.

"What caused his injuries?"

Choosing her words carefully, she said, "Some seemed self-inflicted by something sharp and made of wood. I found numerous splinters and the angle of the punctures suggests that the weapon was in his hand." Noticing the distraught look in the queen's eyes at the news, she continued, "However, I do not believe that his intention was to harm himself."

Eir led them to where she had left the bowl with the mangled clump of grey flesh that she'd pulled from his body. There had not been much time to study it in detail, but she pulled up a more portable and limited version of the Soul Forge to show what she'd reconstructed of the original shape.

"I do not know what species this creature is. I have not encountered its like before. Nor do our records describe one. But the galaxy is vast and there are more lifeforms than we can document within the Nine Realms, let alone beyond it. What matters is that I found this creature buried into the patient's body, repeatedly stabbed in the same manner as the rest of his wounds. I believe that all of his injuries were sustained either by the creature as it tried to leave his body or by his attempts to kill the beast before it could do further harm."

"How? How could a creature of its size have ended up inside of him?" asked Odin, a faint tension in his words. The only sign that the king would allow, revealing at least some concern about the disinherited prince. "How could it have avoided detection and found its way into his prison cell?"

Taking a slow breath, Eir said, "I do not have all the answers, my king. I can only speculate on what evidence that I find. But... I do not think that the creature infiltrated its way into the prison cell within the last month. It did not breach the walls of Asgard and avoid the attention of the guards in order to harm him. There are signs that it may have already been within him by the time he was imprisoned."

Leaving the dead creature behind, she led the three back towards the Soul Forge and her patient. Thor's hands were in fists at his side while Frigga seemed to be barely holding herself back from reaching for her youngest. Only Odin restrained himself from reacting. A king's dignity and level-headedness on full display. But he did seem to be paying just as much attention to the patient's condition as the rest of the family, taking in every detail. 

Loki's breathing wasn't as strong as she would have liked, but improving that would take time. He would need to heal more from the internal damage, her examination already proved that. It was difficult to breathe properly with the diaphragm damaged. His skin still looked far too pale and almost grey from the blood loss, a sight that distressed both the queen and her eldest son. But the bleeding was under control now and his grievous wounds had been dressed, carefully bound, and hidden from sight beneath the gauze. The patient was no longer visibly dying before their eyes. That was the best that they could hope for at the moment.

Activating the Soul Forge, Eir immediately started adjusting the image it produced of her patient. First narrowing the focus down to just the abdomen. Then changing the settings in order to show them the evidence.

"Despite having a great deal of magic, Loki has rarely demonstrated interest or aptitude for the healing arts. He compensates for the lack of technique and finesse with his strength and available stores of power when it comes to healing magic. It works, but it is the more wasteful and inexact option. It doesn't leave visible marks like scars, but there are traces that can be detected to show where this less delicate method of healing was used. They can last nearly a year before they become too faint to recognize." Eir shifted the golden particles enough that white marks lined various internal structures. "He has needed to heal himself again and again. Reversing the damage that the creature wrought. The oldest signs that I have found were at least six months."

She decided not to mention the other signs of old injuries that she'd found that predate them. Injuries that he had not healed with magic and had needed to heal naturally. Injuries that suggested torture or at least deliberate efforts from someone to repeatedly harm him. Those older injuries would need to be discussed at some point and what they implied, but they could wait. The patient's family already had enough to worry about.

"I am afraid this part is pure conjecture, but I believe that the creature used to be smaller and was potentially not alone when it began. And it seems to have been inside the patient during those months... growing and consuming. He has healed damage to most of his organs in the abdominal cavity.  Stomach, liver, spleen, kidneys... There is also evidence of it devouring the viscera, membranes, ligaments, fat deposits, and likely even the bodily fluids between the organs. His magic kept healing the damage, but the creature continued to consume him. Eventually it ate its way into the thoracic cavity through the diaphragm. That is why he is having difficulties breathing. But that also had the potential for it to attack more vital organs."

Eir heard the faint inhale of her description, but she didn't look up to see their expressions of horror and dismay. She knew how to give worried families their space and privacy even when she needed to remain close. She had just given them a great deal of upsetting information.  And unfortunately, she was not finished. 

An adjustment to the Soul Forge brought up two images, side-by-side. It focused less on the physical body and more on the energy that flowed through him. First, she gestured towards the one on the left. A vague outline of him that shone with a deep, bright, and intense green light. 

"This is an older record from before the patient... left Asgard," she described carefully. "As you can see, he has always held a great deal of magic. It is rare for him to wear himself out with his efforts."

Eir then gestured towards the image on the right. The more current representation of his magic. A pale and gossamer layer barely draped over the outline, only just visible. Not even a true shadow of what he should have. 

"But as you can see, he has exhausted all his reserves trying to heal the damage that the creature caused over the last several months. The only reason that he likely survived the experience was due to him utilising every spark of magic to preserve himself. Maintaining that for a prolonged period of time means it will likely take a while before his magic returns to his normal levels."

Another adjustment and the golden particles of the Soul Forge returned to before. A more basic display of the patient's abdominal cavity, the damaged areas duller than the rest. She could almost trace the creature's most recent path through his body that his magic could no longer erase and his own body was too drained to start healing. 

"While I do not know what species it might be, this creature was clearly a parasite evolved for the purpose of burrowing into another creature for part of its lifecycle. I believe that it had reached the next stage and was attempting to leave the patient's body when it was killed. While not in high enough levels to suggest long-term exposure, I did find traces of toxins. Some that I could not identify and some I do not think would affect Asgardians. At least part of the toxins would interfere with temperature regulation. I suspect that the creature secreted them to prepare the host to -"

A familiar and worrying gong rang out, interrupting her report and yanking her attention to the still figure. Eir bit back a curse as she moved towards the patient himself instead of the Soul Forge. She was a fool. The bleeding might have stopped, but he had been pushed too far beyond his limits and for too long. Straining his body and magic. She should have already moved him under a Healing Veil. But she was overly confident that he was stable enough to spare a moment. 

And now his heart had stopped again.

And you know I might

Have just flown too far from the floor this time

'Cause they calling me by my name

And the zipping white light beams

Disregards the bombs and satellites

That was the turning point

That was one lonely night

The star maker says it ain't so bad

The dream maker's gonna make you mad

The spaceman says, "Everybody look down. It's all in your mind"

• The Killers, Spaceman, DAY & AGE (2008)

Chapter Text

I thought you were joking

So I sighed like a fool, a fool

You wanted a kingdom, and an afterlife

There for you, canopic jars waiting, too

And still you try and distance yourself from death

Like you do, like you do

You always do what you wanna do

Everything happened very quickly. The alarm began blaring, and Thor heard Lady Eir curse under her brother. Mother moved towards her youngest, but Father saw it coming, wrapping his arms tightly around her and holding her back. “She needs space to work,” he said gently, even as Lady Eir barked at one of her attendants to see the royal family out. 

Mother’s eyes were full of tears, but she did not try very hard to fight her husband’s grip, holding her against his chest. “Lady Eir will save him,” he said, but the tight expression on his face made Thor suspect he knew something they didn't. 

Thor recognised the healer who ushered them out; she had often set broken limbs and stitched wounds on the brothers, even as they got older and more skilled. Accidental injuries had become a thing of the past, but the training got rougher, and when they hurt each other, it wasn't necessarily an accident. It had been no accident when, in their last match before the ill-conceived invasion of Jotunheim, Loki had thrown his dagger at Thor’s face, with no spell to blunt it, and it had missed his eye by a fraction of an inch and forced Thor to get six stitches along his eyebrow because the depth of the wound wouldn't heal on its own, even being Asgardian. 

Loki's triumph was short-lived, Thor threw Mjolnir at him and sent him sprawling back and then off to the healing ward alongside his brother to be treated for potential broken ribs. Both of the princes had been scolded for being so rough in training by different parents. Frigga had lectured Thor about his excessive use of force while this healer, Orboda, had sewn his wound shut. Behind a golden curtain, Odin had scolded Loki for opting to remove the enchantments dulling his daggers after one too many hits from Thor. 

The same healer who had stitched his brow pushed the royal family out of the ward. “Lady Eir must have room to work,” she said strictly. 

“Is my brother going to be okay?” Thor demanded, concern cracking through his fractured composure. 

“We must have space to work,” the healer repeated, not answering his question. Thor thought he was the only one who had paid enough attention to notice her wording, until he heard his mother sob. He turned around and saw the queen covering her face, trying to hide her pain, her tears, the hurt and suffering on her face. Odin shifted his hold, holding her in his arms, close against his chest. 

“Lady Eir is the best healer Asgard has,” he said gently, “if Loki can be saved, she will do it.”

Thor had not yet heard his father use Loki's name since the trial. 

“How could this have been allowed to happen?” Thor asked, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Who would dare do this to a Prince of Asgard? Who would have done him this harm when he was lost to us?” 

“The world beyond the Nine Realms is full of horrors we cannot imagine,” Odin said darkly, “creatures we have never seen, mindless monsters and vicious races which will do harm to anyone and anything they find. Your brother brought the Chitauri to ravage Midgard. Those who would command the armies of the Chitauri, those who could have placed them into Loki’s command…” 

He trailed off. 

“My lady, magical resuscitation is having no effect. It may be time to fetch the sword,” Orboda said gently, reluctance plain in her voice. “No one could have done more, the royal family will understand that. The damage was extensive and that thing -”

“Orboda,” Lady Eir said strictly, “we must keep level heads.”

She knew her attendant may be right. She could not get the youngest prince’s heart to commence beating. She would force her magic into it, it would give a couple of weak, stuttered contractions and falter again. It may have been time to get the dulled sword they kept in the infirmary. Lady Eir had seen enough death to know that fighting against it was a battle that would grant one acceptance into Valhalla, but family members found it comforting if their dying loved one could swing a sword at one of the healers as they died, to make their battle physical. 

“What can we still do, my lady?” Frid asked.

“Fetch me more of the stones for bleeding,” Lady Eir ordered. 

“He's not bleeding.”

“He's going to be,” Lady Eir said, “I'm going to crack his chest. Stimulate his heart directly.”

“Is that wise? It rarely works.”

“I can't make him worse,” Lady Eir replied, “Hilf, I need a scalpel and a rib spreader.”

“Yes, my lady,” Hilf agreed, nodding her head. She turned and left. 

“Orboda, fetch the sword,” Eir conceded, forcing her magic through Loki's chest again. She felt one weak contraction of his heart, and then it relaxed and did not beat again. She repeated her force. She had to keep his blood flowing, even just a bit. If she let his heart stop completely, she suspected she wouldn't get it back. 

Hilf returned with her requested tools. Lady Eir lifted the prince’s left arm above his head and counted her way down his ribs. They stuck out more than they should have, far too sharp, accenting his drop in weight. 

She found the fifth intercostal space, swiped it with a disinfectant and took the scalpel from Hilf. 

“Frid, as soon as I've made my cut, you need to apply the stones. We cannot allow him to bleed anymore than necessary,” Lady Eir ordered. 

“Yes, Lady Eir,” Frid agreed immediately. 

“I'm going to cut in between his ribs, spread them apart and manually stimulate his heart, physically and magically. If this doesn't work, then we use the sword and inform the family.”

Her healers nodded. Orboda scurried back over with the dull sword in her hands. 

“Ready?”

Frid nodded, posed herself with her hands above Lady Eir’s, ready to crush the stones as soon as the healer made her cut. 

“Three, two, one,” Lady Eir counted down before she made her slice, cutting as deeply into the tissue and muscle as she could. She would normally try to do each layer separately, but she needed to get into his pleural cavity as soon as possible. She didn't have time to be delicate. 

It took three passes to cut through all of his flesh, tissue and intercostal muscles. Frid crushed the golden stone and allowed the powder to fall across the bleeding flesh. Lady Eir took the rib spreaders, slipped them in between the prince’s fifth and sixth rib and cranked it open, forcing the space between them to expand. If her patient had been awake, it would be excruciating. Thankfully, he wasn't. 

When the space was wide enough for her to slip her hand inside, she stopped cranking it open and pushed her hand inside, reaching past his deflated lung and underneath until she found his heart. 

“Move!” She cursed, squeezing it and then letting it go, forcing her magic directly into it. “Move! You are not giving up on me now, Loki!” 

Her magic swelled into the silent organ, forcing it to expand and contract in her hand, again and again and again until she dared to move her hand back. 

It faltered for a moment, and she forced her magic back into it. “Come on,” she hissed, “come on, you can do this, I've done all the hard work!”

“My lady -”

“Hush!” 

“Come on, Loki,” she growled through gritted teeth, pushing her fingers against the thick muscle again. “Come on!”

The heart contracted under her fingers, without her pushing it. She froze. 

It beat again, and again, and a fourth time. She let out a shaky sigh, pulling her hand back. 

His heart kept pumping. It was weaker than it should have been, but the alarm overhead stopped. 

She removed her hand. 

“Another stone!” She ordered, and Hilf obeyed immediately, crushing a second stone over the new wound. 

His heart kept beating. 

“We’re going to sew him up now, and get him immediately under a Healing Veil,” Lady Eir said, slowly retracting the rib spreader. “And then I will bring the family in.”

It took several hours for the door to the healing ward to open again. The alarm had stopped, but no one believed that meant that Loki was out of the woods. 

Lady Eir stepped through the door, wiping wet hands on a clean towel. She took a deep breath, and then began. 

“I've managed to restart his heart,” she said, “this was the third time it has stopped. I will not deceive you. If it stops again, it is exceedingly likely that I will not be able to start it again.”

Frigga trembled, and Odin reached down, took her hand and squeezed it. 

“His physical condition is critical. I have him under a Healing Veil now. It is my hope that will be enough to sustain him while he heals.”

“Can we see him?” Thor asked, stepping forward from where he stood, just behind his parents. 

“I will allow you to come and check on him, but I cannot have you all in my ward permanently,” Lady Eir replied, “follow me.”

She led them back into the medical wing, and over to a bed covered by a shimmering gold veil. 

There were additional bandages now, much higher on Loki’s chest, up under his arm on his left side. 

“I had to open his chest,” Lady Eir explained, “and stimulate his heart directly. It is possible, perhaps even likely, now, that with damage to his intercostal muscles and diaphragm, he will lose the ability to breathe on his own, but it will be temporary. This will not be serious while he is under the Veil, as it will maintain his breathing for him, with or without his own effort. That being said, if he is to awaken before those muscles have had a chance to heal, it may be rather distressing for him to realise that he cannot breathe. As I imagine you will be visiting him in this ward quite often, I am giving you this warning, in case you are there when it happens.”

“Is he in pain?” Frigga asked, gazing down anxiously at her son's pale and sweaty face, the way his expression seemed pinched in distress. She seemed to reach a hand out to touch him, but pulled it back before it crossed the shimmering boundary.  

“I doubt he feels anything right now,” Lady Eir said reassuringly, “he is unconscious, deeply so. When he begins to wake, I will begin to give him a draft for pain. He will be in pain without it.”

Frigga nodded, “is there anything we can do to help?” 

Lady Eir shook her head. “All that can help him now is rest, time, and the Healing Veil to support his vital functions. I will inform you when that changes, and what you may do to help him.”

“I could bolster his seidhr,” Frigga insisted, “he could have some of mine.”

Lady Eir shook her head again. “He is in no state to sustain a magical influx. I am as of yet unsure if his magical core was damaged, but if it was, and you give him too much to handle, it would do more harm than good. Rest and time, my Queen. That is all that can help.”

“Can we stay?” Frigga said softly, and this time, she stretched out a hand, caressing her son's pale and clammy cheek. "It is your Healing Ward, and I will respect your decision should you deny my request, but might I be permitted to stay at his side, while he rests?" 

"He will not awaken, if you are concerned by the thought of him waking alone," Lady Eir replied, her voice shockingly gentle. "He must rest to recover. I expect he will stay unconscious or sleeping for several days now, at least."

"I only wish to be with him," Frigga said, "I have no expectation that he wakes."

Lady Eir considered it. "I will permit one of you to remain with the patient at all times," she allowed, "but no more. I expect that further complications are unlikely, however, in the event of an emergency, I will not have myself and my healers tripping over you. You may discuss how to decide who stays with him amongst yourselves."

Frigga, like all the royal family, held herself with dignity and grace at all times. However, she could not hide the tears, bright in her eyes, as she watched her youngest son, the weak breaths that stirred his chest the only indication of his continued survival. Odin's eye followed the tear that traced down her cheek. 

"Out of all of us," Thor said slowly, "it is Mother who never gave up on my brother. She should be the one to stay."

Odin nodded. "Of course. I expect to be informed at the earliest possible moment of any change in his condition, Lady Eir," he said, "and before we leave, if I could have a word with you?" 

"Of course," Lady Eir agreed, walking him off into the corner bed of her ward, drawing the shimmering gold privacy curtain around them. "Is there something I can assist you with?"

"Two things, actually," Odin said, "the first is political."

Eir frowned. "I do not involve politics in my healing."

"I know," Odin agreed, "I simply need a record of all his injuries. Everything you have observed, especially those internal, which you do not believe were self-inflicted. These details… they might change the verdict of his trial, if he was not in his right mind due to this… parasite ."

Lady Eir wondered if she had been wrong to keep the details of Loki's other injuries to herself for the time being. If Odin wished to free his son from his imprisonment, the knowledge that he had likely been tortured would be essential. 

However, Lady Eir knew better than to tell Odin of such suffering just yet. This was already too much for him to deal with, he did not need any additional bad news. 

"I can provide that," she agreed, "and what other boon might I grant?"

"If, for some reason, there is a worsening in your patient's condition, do not send a messenger to Thor," Odin said, "after what has happened on Midgard, Thor will blame himself for anything which happens to Loki. He will imagine that anything which took place on Midgard worsened Loki's condition and led to this, no matter the truth of it. Until we are certain, in the worst case scenario, that he will not recover, I do not wish for Thor to be aware if he worsens, if at all possible."

"I will not have him informed," Eir promised, "but that does not mean he may not find out.”

“Of course. You are in no way responsible if Thor does hear of complications. I only ask that you do not intentionally have him informed.”

“Mother?” Thor said softly, “might I have a minute with my brother, before Father and I go?”

“Of course,” Frigga reached over and pulled him into her arms, first, and for one, Thor did not protest that he was too old to be held. “Thank the Norns you went to speak to him. You've saved his life, my son.”

“I haven't saved anything, yet,” Thor said, looking over his mother’s shoulder to his brother. Loki was terrifyingly pale, completely still on the cot, and Thor wanted nothing more than to see him move, to see him wake, even knowing that Lady Eir said if he did, he would be in pain. “I had so many chances to save him and I didn’t. Now he’s lying there, knocking on the doors of Valhalla with only Lady Eir holding him back, and I can’t do anything.”

“He would be dead, had you not gone to question him,” Frigga said firmly, pulling out of the embrace to hold his face between her hands. “He would have bled out in that cell were it not for you. When he awakens, it will be thanks to you, perhaps even more so than thanks to Lady Eir. I had not planned to check on him for some time, he was agitated the last time I visited and seemed not to want to see me. I did not wish to disturb him while he was upset. I would not have arrived soon enough. Only you went in time to save him.”

Thor smiled, a forced, painful smile. “You never even considered obeying Father when he said he was to be left alone, did you?”

“I do not abandon my children,” Frigga said, “regardless of your father’s demands. I would have visited you, in your exile, in time. You needed time to settle, and Loki needed time to adjust to his title before I began disobeying orders.”

“Loki came to see me. He told me that peace with Jotunheim was contingent upon my exile and that Father would likely not wake. I believed him.”

“He's a talented liar, and he was in a position he felt he needed to maintain. You know that I will not excuse his behaviour, but I will not condemn his choices, either. He did what he felt he had to. As did your friends when they defied his orders.”

“I know,” Thor assured her, “he had what he wanted. I do not believe he would have sent the Destroyer to kill us had my friends not gone to find me. Family is complicated… I just hope I get the chance to fix things with him. He's my little brother, I never wanted him to hate me.”

“He doesn't hate you,” Frigga said soothingly, “no more than he hates your father and I.”

“And you're certain he doesn't hate Father?” 

Frigga inclined her head. “He may believe he does, but if things improve, he may change his mind. I'll leave you with him.”

She walked off to get him his space. Thor crouched down until he wasn't standing so high over Loki, gazing at his brother's pale and clammy face. His cheeks were hollow and sunken, dark shadows under his eyes. His breathing was ragged and rough. 

“Get better,” Thor whispered, “I swear on the Allfather and on each Allfather before him, if you get better , I will forget any harm you've done. I will do better than forgive, I will pretend as though it never happened.”

Loki didn't move. 

You said what you wanted

Was to kill me with kindness

So blow out the candles

And pretend you’re not dying

Blow out the candles, blow out the candles

Pretend you’re not dying

Blow out the candles, blow out the candles

• Blow Out the Candles, Ghost Cassette, SCISSORS (2013)

Chapter Text

How do you stay so strong?

How did you hide it all for so long?

How can I take the pain away?

How can I save

It was difficult to let himself leave the infirmary. Lady Eir was clear, one person could stay, and Thor had agreed that it should be his mother. He didn't regret that decision. His mother was the only one who had kept faith in his brother. Thor had allowed the mania he had seen on Midgard and the truth about his brother's parentage cloud his judgment and make him doubt Loki. He hadn't earned the right to sit at his brother's side and await his recovery. He never should have doubted that something was wrong. It didn't matter how good of a liar Loki was, Thor had lived with him all his life. He should have seen it.

He should have seen that something was wrong. He should have told Odin that something was wrong. He should have insisted on being there for the trial, and not necessarily speaking on his brother's behalf and claiming his innocence, but claiming that this bore further investigation. Voicing his doubt that his brother had truly fallen this far.

Still, walking out those double doors was difficult. He struggled to make himself leave, kept looking back at his brother, under the shimmering golden veil, pale and weak. 

“If anything changes, I'll come to find you,” Frigga said, walking over to him, holding his face in her hands. “I know you want to stay, I -”

“You should stay, Mother,” Thor said, “when he wakes up, you're the one he will want to see.”

He closed his eyes, tears burning them, and turned and left the infirmary. 

Odin was standing outside. “Things will be fine.”

How could he possibly be so confident? Even Lady Eir wasn't that confident. She had already said that this was the third time his brother's heart had stopped, and if it did so again, she would not be able to start it again. 

Three times now, Loki had brushed death. And it didn't seem at all unlikely that he would do it a fourth and final time. And here stood his father, trying to tell him that everything would be fine.

Even if he did recover, how could anything be fine again? How could any of them put this behind them? The attack on Midgard might not have been his brother's idea. His brother was likely not in his right mind.

“Why wouldn't you let me be there?” Thor asked. “You want for me to take the throne, you name me as your heir, but you will not allow me to witness the carrying of justice?”

“This was no simple carrying of justice.” Odin died. “I did not wish for you to witness your brother's downfall. Loki could have been sentenced to death for what he did. If that has been the case, would you have wished to see that sentence carried out? To bear witness to his death?”

“I was there! I was there for his crimes, I am the only true witness we had. Heimdall may have observed, you may have observed, but I was there. I should have been present to speak on his behalf, and you know it.”

“Would you have spoken on his behalf? After he attempted to lay waste to the realm you love? What would have happened to the mortal if he had won? Did he not threaten her life the last time you saw him? Do you think that if he had won, he would have allowed her to live?”

“He's my brother .”

Odin's face softened. “He is. But I fear he did not value that tie the same way you did.”

“Because he learned it was a lie!” 

Odin took a half step backwards. “What?”

“If you had told him from the beginning, he wouldn't have thought the truth changed anything! Your son or Laufey's son, he is my brother and he should have known that. He should have known the truth.”

“Perhaps you are right, Thor, but that cannot be changed now. Your mother and I did what we thought was best for him. I worried that he would feel as though he was not loved if he knew the truth.”

“If he knew he was the son of a monster? Maybe that wouldn't have been a concern if you hadn't taught us that the Frost Giants were monsters. The truth is that I do not blame my brother for what he did and Asgard while I was away. He should not have been made to feel that he needed to prove himself.”

“So then you blame me.”

Thor didn't say anything. A resigned look fixed itself upon his father's face. 

“Very well. If what you need is someone to blame, and then you may blame me. The Norns know that I blame myself, so why should my son not blame me also? I will accept your ire, on the condition that you do not turn it towards your mother. She wanted to tell him. I refused.”

Thor had never even thought about blaming his mother. Frigga adored both of her sons, she was a wonderful mother and a wonderful queen. Only a fool would have said otherwise. Thor had never doubted that it was not his mother's idea to lie to Loki for his entire life.

“How could she be responsible? She's the only one that truly loved him. Who never doubted him, who truly saw Loki and I as equal. I followed your lead, at the cost of my brother.”

“And so you wash your hands of your own action?” 

Thor froze. 

“You blame me for what happened. Very well. But do not blame me for how you treated your brother. I did not force you to do so. This changes everything, puts into question every action he's taken since the beginning of this affection, and we do not know when that is. There is much and more that begs to be reviewed. Your mother and I will handle that. I encourage you to think about what you will do when your brother awakens.”

Thor's friends did not know why he was so angry. True, his temper had been short since Midgard, his brother's madness had dug at him. But he had not been like this.

Hogun couldn't have possibly known why his friend was so aggressive, but he did not protest. He was a good friend, simply accepting that the prince of Asgard did not wish to hold back in this sparring match, and matching that. 

Weapons in training could not draw blood, unless the enchantment was broken. However, they could bruise, and they could break bones. He had done so too often to Loki, and was doing so now to Hogun. Volstagg sat on the side of the ring, icing a forming bruise on his side. 

Loki was dying in the infirmary.

Another swing at Hogun, which his friend barely avoided. 

His brother's heart had stopped three times now. If it stopped again, Lady Eir wouldn't be able to start it again. 

Another swing. This one sent his friend reeling back, even as his mace struck Thor's shoulder. He barely felt it. His entire body felt numb. 

Thor had hurt Loki. On the mountain, when he took him off the quinjet. He'd barely been able to stand up again, had limped and staggered away. 

Another three swings and Hogun was on the ground. “I yield,” Hogun said, “Fandral -”

“Hold on,” Sif said, speaking up from where she had been watching from the outside of the ring. “What the Hel is going on, Thor?”

“Sif,” Volstagg said warningly, “leave him be. We’ve all been where he is now, where only hurting someone makes it feel better. If you don't want a turn in the ring, you don't have to take one.”

“That's not it,” Sif said, “the issue is that I thought we moved on from this when Thor was banished to Midgard. I thought we learned better than to speak with actions and not words. I have no objections to beating on the Crown Prince, but I want to know why we’re doing this.”

“You want to talk to me about when I was banished?” Thor said, his voice low and deadly. “When I was banished, there was someone you all called a friend still here, losing his mind , and you did nothing but undermine him and make things worse!”

“Thor?” Fandral said, “are you referring to Loki?”

“Who else?” Thor demanded, “you were so concerned with me, you didn't see that he was suffering! I was fine on Earth! Had you not come to rescue me, he would not have interfered with me! You could have helped him!”

“Your homicidal brother who sent the Destroyer to kill you, tried to annihilate Jotunheim, and invaded Midgard with an army of Chitauri?” Sif asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Just what were we meant to do?

“If you ever truly cared about him -”

“You want the truth? I didn't,” Sif growled, “you cared about him, and we all put up with him for it, but he killed you! Have you forgotten that the Destroyer ended your life, Thor? You are only alive because I'm that moment, your father's criteria were met and you were restored to your full power! Loki killed you in cold blood and you are angry with us for not coddling him? He is not our friend and you know that, he is an enemy of Asgard. Odin only spared his life because of your mother. Those three can wallow and beg your forgiveness for not caring about your homicidal maniac of a brother, but I won't. I say good riddance and to Hel with hi -”

Sif barely managed to dodge Mjolnir when Those threw it. Before the hammer even landed, he had called it back to his head and was charging at her. Only Hogun and Volstagg tackling him managed to stop him.

“Lady Sif,” Fandral began, “I think it may be best if you leave now. We said long ago we were in no position to judge for his relation to his brother. That was meant to be agreed upon.”

“Oh, it was,” Sif said darkly, “I was willing to let a lot go because Loki is Thor's little brother, but this is too far. I refuse to be made into some sort of villain for not accepting a traitor as king of Asgard, and if you three had any pride, you would do the same!” 

“We have both pride and the humility to realise we may not have the full story,” Hogun said patiently, “might I suggest taking a walk, Lady Sif? You may find it to settle you, and then we could resolve this peacefully and without hurting each other.”

“If you want to be wailed on because Thor resents the fact his brother is a traitor, be my guest. When everyone comes to their senses, come and find me.” 

She stormed off. It wasn't until she was out of sight that Volstagg and Hogun let go of Thor. 

“You want to talk about it?”

He wasn't sure of the answer, but he knew he owed them something. “Loki might die.”

“What?” Fandral seemed genuinely stunned. “I thought the Allfather had reached his verdict, he would show leniency, in respect to your mother’s pleading!”

“He did,” Thor said, his voice harsh and painful in his throat. “He hasn't walked it back, it's that… I found Loki injured by his own hands. I don't know why or what prompted him to do it, but he's with Lady Eir now, fighting for his life.”

He didn't mention everything. He didn't mention the strange thing that had been found within his brother's abdomen, the fact that Loki's attempt may have been to rid himself of it and not to end his life. It felt like it was too far. His brother still had the right to privacy. “It was wrong of me to get so angry with Sif -”

“No,” Hogun said gently, “after Midgard, we came to the agreement that we would follow your lead about your brother. If you despised him, we could do the same, but if you didn't, we would tread carefully. He's your family, our opinions do not account for that, but yours does. Last Sif overstepped, and she is angry because she knows she overstepped.”

“I might say, why are you here?” Volstagg asked. “surely you would rather be at his bedside.”

“I would,” Thor said, “but Lady Eir will only allow one visitor. My mother never broke her faith in my brother, she, above all of us, has the right to remain with him. When she takes her rest, I will go sit with him in her place.”

“And that is why you've been so aggressive,” Volstagg said, rubbing gingerly at his sore ribs. You're worried for your brother, and the fight is distracting you.

“Worry only begins to summarize how I feel. We all failed him… I failed him. I let him fall.”

“You could not have stopped him, no one could have. He let go,” Fandral said reasonably, “you told us that. You begged him not to, but he let go.” 

“I let him goad me into a fight instead of asking why he was doing this. Instead of insisting on answers, I took his bait and I fought him. I did nothing to dissuade him from thinking he was valued as lesser now that the truth had been revealed.”

“So then you believe that you drove him to suicide.”

“I believe that he let go thinking he was alone in the world, and if he dies now, he will die believing that, too. And I cannot forgive myself if that is the case.”

Frigga had never wanted to believe, truly, that her son had fallen away to such madness. She had refused to concede with her husband that the invasion of Midgard had been as simple as Odin believed it to be. Regardless of what her son had done, and she knew that it was bad, he was her son and she loved him. She wanted, desperately, to see the good in him. No matter how hard it may be.

He was the boy she had taught her sorcery to, the child whose eyes had lit up and who’s entire face had been aglow when she first showed him the way she could summon fireworks into her palm. He had run across the palace, from the library where he had been practicing all the way to where she was in the throne room, to show her the first time he had managed to summon them himself.

That day, Frigga had spoken before her husband could. She had seen the way her husband's brow had creased, had known that he was about to tell their youngest son and his time would be better spent in the training yard with his brother and their friends, and she had spoken before he could. She had showered Loki with praise, telling him how clever and talented he was, knowing that she was the only one who would ever truly appreciate it, and she had to make it clear to him how proud she was. Odin had remained silent, had reluctantly allowed his wife to speak, and the memory of Loki’s young, gap-toothed smile had warmed her heart on many occasions while he was missing and presumed dead. 

She could not, in good conscience, truly blame him for all that had happened after Thor's banishment. Loki had learned a terrible truth, a secret that Frigga had always known should never have been kept. His reaction, no matter how terrible, was understandable. He had felt betrayed, unwanted, and desperate to prove himself. All that he had done, every terrible, treasonous act, had been to prove to his father and Asgard that he was loyal, and was worthy of being the youngest prince of Asgard. He wanted to prove that despite his birth and heritage, he was no true son of Laufey, no true bastard prince of Jotunheim.

Even though if he had told her any of what he planned to do, she would have condemned the plan and given him advice on how he may have been better served, she blamed herself and Odin for keeping the secret almost as much as she blamed Loki for putting the plan into action. The idea that Loki had sent the Destroyer to kill Thor horrified her. She hated knowing she had come that close to losing her eldest son that day, at the hands of her youngest. 

But she also had to account for the fact that she had lost her youngest son that day. For a year, he had been assumed dead, killed by his own hand when he let go of Gungnir and fell into the void. That weighed just as heavily on her as Loki's cruel and treasonous actions. 

His actions in New York had been staggeringly terrible. Odin had Heimdall could do nothing but watch, each from their own place of silent guard. Heimdall watched from the Bifrost gate, Odin had sent Huginn and Muninn to Midgard to observe what was happening. Frigga was not ignorant of the atrocities, the destruction her son caused, but she had chosen not to attempt to observe. She had resisted the urge to sit before her loom and try to divine answers from her weaving. She could do nothing, with the Bifrost destroyed and her influence not able to reach Loki. It would only hurt her to look. 

But not looking meant she had somehow missed something. Lady Eir said she could find evidence of the parasite dating back six months. Six months, her son had been in agony, draining all of his seidhr just to keep himself alive, doing anything he could to survive. Who could say what he had been promised or threatened with if he did not invade Midgard, if someone had been willing to do such a thing to him. 

Frigga was accustomed to seeing her husband under the Healing Veil while he was within an Odinsleep, but seeing her son, so pale his skin almost seemed grey and translucent, sweat-slick and clammy, the way he did not even looking peaceful in his sleep, was entirely different. She had slipped her hand within the veil to hold Loki’s, feeling his clammy palm against hers. 

Thor had wanted to stay. Frigga had felt that perhaps she should let him, but she couldn't force herself to leave Loki's side. Not yet. She was absolutely certain that if she left the infirmary and couldn't see the weak and unsteady rising and falling of her son’s chest, the sound of the alarm would be back in her ears and she would not be able to believe he was alive. 

She wasn't her husband, she wasn't Thor. Now that her sons were of age, she had no real power beyond her influence on Odin. When her husband was in the Odinsleep, the throne would fall on Thor's shoulders, not hers. 

Which meant that unlike her husband and eldest, she didn't have to care what Loki had done. Not now. 

She only had to care that he got better. 

I was right beside you

When you went to hell and back again

I was right beside you

When you went to hell and back again

And I, I couldn't save, a fallen angel

• Fallen Angel, Three Days Grace, HUMAN (2015)

Chapter Text

The ground walked here is a wonder

It ceases never to hunger

And all things nature's given

She takes all things back from the living

Loki was still not awake. Thor didn't know what to do anymore. 

It had been over a week now. Life should have returned to normal, but it couldn't. With his brother unconscious in the infirmary, what even was normal?

He has not apologised to Sif. He didn't intend to. He had believed he would, at first, but the more he thought about the fight, the more he regretted his attempt to wound her but didn't regret defending his position. 

Besides, she would have to get used to it. Father had assured both Thor and Mother that if Loki could offer even the most broad of assurances that he was not acting of his own accord, he would be pardoned and reinstated to his former status. Disrespect to the Prince of Asgard, second in line for the throne, would not be acceptable. 

It never should have been, but Thor had failed his little brother, letting their so-called friends mistreat him and disrespect him. They didn't trip over formality for anyone, but the disregard for Loki had gone beyond informality. He'd been regularly belittled for everything. The seidhr that Thor's friends would rather mock and shame him for than learn to counter, the fighting style inspired by the Queen of Asgard’s elegant use of her own short blades that looked too much like a dance for them to appreciate the deadly efficiency. 

Thor was just as guilty, joining in the stupid laughter and ignoring anytime he suspected he saw actual hurt or ire in his brother's expression before he could quash it with a mischievous grin, hiding whatever he really felt with a smirk that made most of the others want to wipe it off his face. 

So, Loki wasn't fully innocent, either. He certainly knew how to aggravate people. He seemed to delight in it. 

He seemed to trust, even without proof, that when things mattered his brother would ensure that he was taken seriously. He had maintained his unserious and easily dismissed demeanor, clearly believing that if it was important, that would be put aside. Thor wondered if the strategy had been to maintain himself as appearing less important, less well thought out than he truly was, allowing his cleverness to be seen as a superiority complex so that others wouldn't hate him for outsmarting them. 

It had worked for Thor. He had never felt threatened by his brother's intellect, often he didn't even realise when it was in effect. Loki would phrase something in a certain way that someone else would pick up on what he was suggesting and announce it as though it had been their thought all along. When it was something he could not play games with, and needed understood at that very moment, he had not worn out his welcome by continuously appearing smarter, ensuring that people would be willing to listen to him. 

Loki was more clever than Thor liked to admit, and it often got him into trouble. What really should have been evident on Midgard was that cleverness was not on display. The invasion was sloppy and brash and violent. There was no control, no carefully calculated strategy as though he was simply playing a game of hnefatafl, not with the lives of real people. The closest Thor had seen to a clever strategy was Loki allowing himself to be caught. Nothing beyond that had been well-planned or crafty. 

“You know, you will be able to consider everything you did wrong for the rest of your life. It won't get you anywhere. It will not undo this, regret will not change what has happened. You did what you thought was best.”

Thor turned around, surprised to see his mother standing there behind him. “I thought you were with Loki.”

“Lady Eir needed to speak to you father alone,” Frigga said, “and she will not consent to go far from her infirmary until Loki has awakened. I decided to come and check on another suffering son of mine. I heard about Sif.”

“I'm not sorry.”

“You will be, given time. For now you are angry, and scared. You are preoccupied and not considering anyone except your immediate family. It's a common defence in times of trauma, I saw it in my own people after the war.”

Frigga had lived between Asgard and Vanaheim all her life. She had known Odin when he was still the Crown Prince, being a member of the upper elite of her own realm, family entangled with the monarchy of Asgard, but she was not Aesir. It was easy to forget, that she was away from her home at all times and had learned to make one on Asgard. 

Vanaheim had never officially lost the war. Asgard had never officially won. A treaty was signed to protect both sides from further losses, unlike most dominions of Asgard, which were completely subjugated, beaten into submission and forced to sue for peace. The decision had been made during those treaties that Odin would wed a Vanir woman, blending Vanir blood into the Crown of Asgard. Frigga had been the obvious choice. 

But it was easy to forget how Frigga must have grieved her home and people, to turn away from them in the aftermath of the war to marry the King of Asgard, become queen of the realm whose army had fought the war on the soil she called home. 

Frigga was a true Queen of Asgard, a symbol of poise and grace, fiery temper curbed with mercy that offset her husband's cold justice. If there was a reason Thor had not been present for the trial of his brother, there was also a good reason Frigga had been asked to leave when the sentencing was declared.

“After the war, the citizens of both Asgard and Vanaheim focused inward. The suffering of others, the feelings of others, those were secondary. They focused on their own families. My own family did the same, after the death of my sister's husband. For a time, even I was guilty, refusing your father's proposal twice because I could not bring myself to wed the king who had ordered my sister’s suffering.”

“I didn't know you had refused Father.”

“I am not proud of it. I knew your father, and valued the careful friendship we had. Discussions of marriage were not new to the treaty, my father would not have consented to give my life to a man who only wanted it to ensure his rule. Still, I made him ask a third time. Each time I saw my sister's grief, my faith that I was doing the right thing was confirmed. It was finally your aunt who told me to stop denying on her behalf. I am happy here in my role and I love your father dearly, but I do not regret refusing. That does not mean I would not be sorry to people I may have hurt, if my decision had delayed the peace we found among our realms.”

“Thank you for sharing. Will you tell me why you felt I had to know? I'm not Loki, sometimes I need an extra hint.”

The queen smiled. “I simply wish to caution you against destroying the friendship you value because you are stubborn and angry. You are not the only one who requires me to tell you things outright, Thor. Your brother does too, at times. You ought not compare yourselves so harshly. Your brother puts more effort than he would like for me to tell you in order to appear as smart as he does. His pride depends on it.”

Thor sighed. “Father was right to ask you as many times as he did. He'd probably be lost without you.”

Frigga laughed, and Thor realised he hadn't heard her laugh since Loki was imprisoned. “Take care not to let your father hear that,” she said, “Loki's comes by his fickle pride honestly.”

"Do you have a full report for me, Lady Eir?”

The healer began fussing over her patient as soon as Frigga left, likely wishing to complete any checks or adjustments she had to make before the queen returned. She set about cutting free the bandage over Loki's chest and abdomen. “I do,” she confirmed, “but there are details I will not tell you unless you force my hand.”

“Why might that be?”

“There are aspects of my discovery that I feel should be shared only at Loki's discretion. Officially, he was stripped of his right to medical privacy when you imprisoned him, but I urge you to allow me to give it back in some limited context. I will disclose all physical injury I can confirm, but I suspect your verdict will rely on him confirming any details which are subject to speculation, and so I would rather not speculate to begin with.”

“Will your refusal to speculate put him in some form of jeopardy? Could the information you refuse to share cause him harm?” 

“I have no reason to assume that would be the case.”

“Then I accept your limitation, on the good faith assumption you are acting in my son's best interests.”

“Good.”

Lady Eir finished cutting the bandaging open and peeled it back. 

Odin had not seen the wounds, since they were cleaned. The last time he had seen the damage inflicted, blood was still pouring from the injuries, and discerning torn skin from viscera from the parasite had been impossible without the aid of the soul forge or Lady Eir’s extensive medical knowledge. 

Now, the blood was cleaned and all that remained was the slight swell that came to the surface as the bandage was pulled away. 

Even cleaned and after having a some time to heal under the veil, Odin could not discern one jagged stab from another. Loki's entire stomach was pierced endlessly. Odin had been stabbed many times in his life, even impaled within a tree, once. He'd had an eye cut out by King Laufey and fought the battle half-blinded. 

Still, the tolerance for pain or complete dissociation it must have required for Loki to be capable of continuing to bring his makeshift weapon into his own body was hard to stomach. 

Knowing why the secondary wound, one he had yet to see until this moment, had been inflicted, did not make it easier to see. It was a deceptively tame looking injury, Lady Eir had taken every caution to only inflict the minimum of damage required, only a deep incision between two of his ribs. Still, it was the knowing that the wound went deep enough for the expert healer to reach within his chest and touch his heart that made it difficult to see. 

“We can begin with what is obvious. Although an exact count is unlikely, I believe to have isolated more than twenty separate punctures in his lower abdomen. The angle and presence of the weapon in his hand when Thor found him seems to confirm they are self-inflicted,” Lady Eir said, leaning down to inspect the same wounds she was speaking of. “I said I would not speculate, and I meant it, however, I will attest that the evidence also appears to confirm that his goal was likely not self-harm or suicide. I find it extraordinarily unlikely that he wouldn't have been aware that the creature in his abdomen was attempting to exit his body. Although it was rather thoroughly torn up, I believe I have found a borehole, based on the presence of teeth marks on the inside of the wound. That evidence allows me to say with reasonable certainty that at the time of the infliction of these injuries, the parasite was attempting to chew its way through the prince's abdomen. What it would have done next is unknown.  Within his bloodstream, I detected the presence of hormones that would increase his corporal temperature, as well as what I believe to be a paralytic, however, it appears to have been denatured by his metabolism. That tells me the creature, as of yet unidentified, is a sophisticated parasite. It has a metabolic process that would likely isolate its host at the time of escape. When I spoke to the guards present at the discovery, they confirmed my suspicions by informing me that Prince Loki was found in the middle of his cell, flat on his back without his shirt.”

“Your tone tells me there is more to what you have discovered about the parasite.”

“There is. However, the only part I will tell you is that I do not believe it was inflicted upon the prince through typical means of sexual reproduction, nor was it acquired by ingestion of contaminated food or drink. I will not go any further than that.”

Thousands of unbidden images, each possibility more horrific than the last, occurred to the king within a millisecond. He forced himself to put them all aside. The only way he would have answers would be to ask Loki when he was conscious again. And right then and there, he decided that if that was something Loki did not wish to discuss, he would not force the issue. 

“I have already informed you of the presence of hastily healed injuries within his abdomen, consistent with a higher number of parasites than were found when he became my patient. What I have not yet told you is that I have found evidence of traditional means of torture as well.”

The sound of a pin drop would have seemed like an explosion. It was confirmation for Odin's biggest fear, the near-concrete proof that he had misjudged what had happened on Midgard. 

“Elaborate,” he said, voice tight. 

“Scarring left by repeated vivisection and simple physical torture,” Lady Eir said, “healed without the assistance of magic. At the moment those wounds were dealt, I suspect there was a form of blockage to his seidhr. Nothing was left severe enough to be life-threatening, but that does not mean it never would have been, if left untreated. The injuries caused by that torture appear to have been dealt prior to the invasion of the parasites. I will leave it up to you to decide if the succession is relevant or simple coincidence.” 

Odin was struggling to think anything about this would be a coincidence. It was possible that if the motivation of the ceasing of torture wasn't enough of a motivation, the parasite may have been a deliberate attempt to force Loki to give his captors whatever they had wanted from him. 

It was, even for a king who had led wars, conquered realms and been forced to imprison his own daughter due to her bloodthirst, too terrible to consider any further. Not for the time being. 

“It may interest you to know that I have found no signs of outright starvation,” Lady Eir said, smearing a salve onto the healing wounds. Odin knew the ointment well, and it was good that Loki was unconscious for the application. It burned like the fires of Muspelheim. 

“I find that difficult to believe. He must have lost more than a quarter of his body weight.”

“He has,” Lady Eir agreed, “but there is no evidence of acute nutritional deficiencies, which we would see in the case of starvation. He was fed, and during the time that his digestive system was intact, he absorbed nutrients. He simply had no energy to spare for weight retention when his seidhr required so much to rebuild his vital organs and keep him alive.”

“So will he be pardoned?” Lady Eir asked sharply. “If I may speak frankly, you have a habit of locking your children away.”

Lady Eir was, of course, old enough to remember Hela. 

“She would have decimated the Nine Realms, finding new land to drown in the blood of their inhabitants.”

Lady Eir inclined her head. “And Prince Loki?” 

“Admittedly, conquest was not something I considered him likely to partake in until Midgard. I always took him as too sly to outright invade another realm. I cannot tell you what my verdict will be, Lady Eir. It is not fair to make a judgement when I have not heard all the facts. But rest assured, I intend to reconsider when I have all the information I need.” 

“I'm glad to hear it,” Lady Eir said, “he's healing well. You may stay with him, if you would like.”

“Thank you, Lady Eir.”

I've walked the earth and there are so few here that know

How dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow

I've no more hunger now to see where the road will go

I've no more kept my warmth

Than blood upon the snow

Blood upon the snow

Blood upon the snow

Blood upon the snow

• Blood Upon the Snow, Hozier, GOD OF WAR RAGNARÖK (ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK) (2022)

Chapter Text

When there's nowhere else to run

Is there room for one more son?

One more son

If you can hold on

If you can hold on, hold on

Loki was almost absolutely certain that Hel was not meant to be so warm. 

He couldn't force his eyes to open yet, he had not found the strength. But he was aware of his surroundings. He could hear footsteps around him, people talking in hushed voices. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear the whispered tones. 

There was some sort of membrane across his face. He could feel it against his nose and on his cheeks and chin. It didn't get any closer when he breathed in, or perhaps he wasn't really breathing at all. If he was dead, would he need to breathe? 

Everything that he could hear and feel was strange, but the strangest was that it was warm. It was as though there was a fire burning in the room, he even swore he could hear the steady crackle of sparks, but that didn't make any sense. 

Hel was the land without flame. There was no warmth to be had in Hel. He should have been cold. 

But still, most things did line up. He was in pain, which made sense. It was debated whether Hel was truly a bad place, or simply a place without reward nor punishment, but Loki knew that if there was a place for punishment, he would go there. After betraying everyone, his family, his people, his home, after invading Midgard, he would go to Hel. 

He decided that even though he could not feel the membrane over his face move with each breath he took, he must have been breathing. Each time his ribs moved, his entire chest and stomach felt as though it was being ripped apart. 

He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to confirm his suspicions, to look around and try to perceive where he was going to spend eternity. He couldn't have lived. He knew that. He had always known that. He had told Thanos from the very beginning that he didn't believe he would survive. 

The memory of why he had actually done it was foggy. He knew that he had done it, he had the memory of doing it, but he couldn't remember what had compelled him to listen when he had known he would die all along.

It was as though his mind was filled with a creeping blue fog that he couldn't see through. He didn't get to know why he had done what he did. It was shrouded in something he couldn't dispel. 

He tried to force his eyes open. His eyelids wouldn’t obey him. He couldn’t seem to open his eyes and take in what was all around him. He thought that maybe, his mind was trying to protect him. Maybe Hel was so horrible that the longer he could go without taking it in, the better off he would be. 

He felt a stab of pain in his abdomen. He couldn't stop himself from wincing. 

Someone above him sucked in a breath. “Prince Loki?”

He knew the voice. He tried again to open his eyes, but couldn't. He did manage to stir a noise out of his throat, to twitch his fingers. 

“You would wake up when I finally convince everyone to leave and get some rest,” the voice said, “welcome back.”

“Where -” 

He hoped to ask where he was, but he couldn't even be sure his first word was decipherable. “Who -”

“It's Lady Eir,” the voice said, “you're in my ward. Your brother found you bleeding out in your cell, you've been here since.”

“Dead.” 

That was all Loki managed to say, but Lady Eir understood. “No. Not for lack of effort in your part, but you are very much alive. I assure you, to my understanding, Hel is not so pleasant as this.”

He knew it was true, but it still felt wrong. Him bring alive didn't make any sense. Survival had never been an option. His goal had only been to kill the creature before it finished him off. 

“Your entire family has been to visit you. They haven't left your side, until now, of course. I should have known you would awaken as soon as I managed to shoo them all out for a time. As such, I am sorry that you have awoken without their company, but I needed some space and privacy. You might try opening your eyes, Prince. If you are struggling to believe you are alive, seeing a familiar place may help convince your mind of what you know to be true.”

“Can't be alive,” Loki said quietly. 

“You are. You made a valiant effort not to be, but you remain alive. I strongly advise not attempting such a feat again. I do not believe it will work out in your favour this time.”

Loki finally managed to force his eyes to open. Lady Eir was staring down at him intently. 

“What has happened since I last saw you?” She asked, “you could tell me that it has been one thousand years and I would believe you, but it has barely been one!” 

Loki didn't reply. 

What could he say? If there was nothing that would adequately summarise what he had been through, and even if there was, he did not wish to share. What could possibly explain all that he had been through? What could possibly convince him to relive it just to explain strange wounds? 

Lady Eir appeared frustrated with his silence for just a moment, and then she shook her head. “How could I expect you to tell me? It's too soon, isn't it? In that case, you should know that I am not the only one who ponders that answer. I do not think your father will accept your silence as easily as I am.”

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't going to tell Lady Eir, and there was certainly no way he was going to tell the man she would be referring to as his father. Odin had no right to know. No one was supposed to know. 

“I don't need to be a witch or a mind-reader to know what that expression means. I'm sorry, but you must understand that your family wants answers. They can't imagine something that could have done this,” Lady Eir said gently. “What is fortunate is that you can be afforded time. No one will expect you to be able to speak of this just yet.”

Loki still said nothing. There was nothing to say. Of course he could understand why people would want answers, but what they wanted didn't matter. He would not be giving those answers. He would not be explaining himself. 

Especially not to Odin. 

He felt a hand touch his cheek. “I need to change the bandages I have on you,” Lady Eir said, “which also means applying more ointment. Now that you're awake, I'll give you a draft for the pain, first. I do believe you should try to get more sleep, though. You have much recovery ahead of you, and your body will need its rest. If I make you a sleeping draft, will you take it?” 

Sleep sounded so blessedly far away. Like an escape from the pain that was beginning to creep into his awareness, like a reprieve from the idea of discussing his suffering with anyone. “Yes,” he said. 

“Good,” Lady Eir said, “I'm glad you're being sensible. There is no point in suffering right now.”

She walked off, returning a few minutes later with two vials that she carefully poured into the pocket of his cheek, since he could not sit up to swallow them and she feared he might choke if she let him try to drink normally. 

Within a few moments, a sense of numbness spread over his body, and he succumbed to sleep again. 

The creature was dead. Loki was laying on his back, panting, gasping for air. The stake he had made was splintered in his hand, his arms sprawled out on either side of himself. 

It was over. He was finally free. He was going to be okay now. For the first time in months, he could breathe. 

He heard slow clapping from the corner of the cell. “So, you've survived,” a familiar voice hissed, rasping over his ears like a knife against stone. “And deemed my offspring unworthy of survival. Then I suppose we must try again.”

“What?” Loki rasped, and he saw the Other step out of the corner, his robe already falling off his shoulders, egg sac swollen and bulging, ovipositor weaving like a snake about to strike. “What - no - you can't -”

He tried to scramble backwards, to struggle and escape, but he was trapped in his cell, weak and exhausted. He knew he had to get away, scurrying on hands and feet to try and escape, but he bumped into something solid behind him. He stared up in shock and saw an enormous face glaring down at him, flesh purple, malice glinting in his eyes. 

“You failed me,” the Mad Titan said, “I told you what would happen if you failed me. I told you that you would die. Did you think I was exaggerating? You got lucky the first time, but you don't get to live. It seems we must try again.”

Huge hands pressed Loki shoulders into the ground, holding him down despite his attempts to squirm and free himself. There was nowhere to go. Even at his strongest, he couldn't escape the Titan. Thanos was simply stronger than Loki would ever be. 

“No,” he gasped, staring up in terror at the Titan holding him down. “No, please, no! I did all I could, it's not my fault! Earth's army -”

“You had my entire army of chitauri,” the Other hissed. “There is no match for them in the entire universe. There is no force more bloodthirsty, more prepared to kill, more capable of annihilation. All they require is a leader who will see the mission through. If they failed, it is because you failed to lead them. You are pathetic and weak, only fit to be food for my offspring. They will not fail this time.”

The Other clambered on top of Loki, pinning his legs down with the weight of his swollen body. Loki might have been fortunate enough to retain his trousers this time, only his upper body stripped bare to combat the previously-smothering fever, but even that layer of fabric didn't feel like sufficient protection from his touch. He desperately wished that he was imagining how much larger the egg sac appeared. But the way the Other rocked into him as he settled into position and let his six-fingered hands explore Loki's sunken abdomen made it impossible to deny. The bulging sac rubbed against him heavily, weighed down by the numerous eggs. The friction might have almost been pleasant in other circumstances if it didn't inspire such intense terror, horror, revulsion, and nausea.

"Don't do this. Not again. Please," he begged, nearly hyperventilating already. "Give me another chance.”

"This is your second chance," said the Other simply. "Perhaps a full clutch will produce better results this time."

Loki screamed in white-hot agony as the ovipositor abruptly stabbed him, burying deeply into his lower abdomen instead of using the wound already in place further up. His back arched off the floor as it penetrated deeper. But Thanos's bruising grip on his shoulders kept him from doing more than that. Loki nearly gagged as the ovipositor began undulating. Both because of the sickening sensation of movement inside his body and because he saw the first egg descending.

Even as Loki screamed and struggled uselessly, the Other panted eagerly and writhed on top of him, and Thanos observed it all with cool interest, it wasn't enough distraction for Loki not to notice how much faster the egg was moving down. Nor that the second one was already following. Maybe the Other was purposefully not dragging it out this time. Or maybe the pressure of a full clutch was pushing them down harder. Regardless, Loki didn't have much time to prepare himself for the sudden sharp stretch of his flesh tearing open further to allow the egg to move inside. The hard tip flared open seconds later for the foreign weight to settle snugly among his aching innards.

Again and again, the process repeated in quick succession, not allowing him time to catch his breath as he screamed himself hoarse. His shrivelled frame was visibly bulging as more eggs were shoved into Loki. And by the sixth, he realised that each one was slightly larger than the previous.

"That's it," panted the Other, coming down from one orgasmic groan and building up towards the next. "All of them. Take them all. That's all you're good for, little host.”

Loki was sobbing through the implantation of the seventh when he felt a new sharper pain. Away from the flaring tip of the ovipositor. But it was a pain that he immediately recognized. One that had haunted him for months and only stopped when he killed the parasite when it tried to escape.

The eggs were already hatching. They were already eating him alive even as the Other forced in more.

The realisation was enough to renew Loki's desperate struggles. Wrenching and thrashing as if he could somehow tear himself away from the Other despite Thanos's iron-grip. He needed to escape. He needed to reclaim his carved stake and slaughter the parasites inside him, burrowing their way through him.

But one desperate yank against his captors turned his head towards the glowing walls of his cell. And Loki froze. Mother and Thor were watching. They were watching what was happening to him. Not calling for the guards or trying to intervene themselves. Merely observing with looks of disgust, disappointment, and grim acceptance. Allowing the horror to unfold before them without a hint of hesitation. 

As if they considered his suffering to be a suitable punishment for his actions.

Another choked cry of pain at the next egg implantation smothered out his attempt to beg them for help. He'd lost track of how many the Other had already laid, but his swollen egg sac didn't look any smaller and his ovipositor bulged horribly as the next few worked their way down. Loki's own shrivelled frame now stretched over numerous lumps, several of which were visibly moving as the swiftly growing larva ate their way up. The agonising sensations of it all  was too much.

He could taste blood as sharp teeth carved their way towards his chest. Crowding his heart and lungs with their fast growth and ravenous appetite. He didn't have the breath to scream or sob anymore. And that made it easier to hear the Other's eager panting speed up further. As much as he didn't want to, Loki looked down to see the ovipositor bulging with the largest egg yet. Nearly twice as large as the first.

He shook his head violently. There was no way that it would fit inside with the others. He would split open like a spoiled gourd.

Another jolt of pain, vicious parasites slamming hard into his ribs, made Loki's back arch slightly. And even with the distraction of his entire torso in agony, he noticed it wasn't the towering Thanos pinning him down any longer. Instead, wearing the bright armor of his station and thus making it clear he was acting in the role of king, Odin held his shoulders down. His eye glaring down intensely, no mercy or forgiveness in his gaze. Nothing familial left. He stared down at Loki as coldly as he did when he sentenced Loki to imprisonment. 

Loki wanted to beg him to stop this, to at least do him the kindness of a quick execution. But the undulating ovipositor pushed the egg through the tearing wound. But his ribs were breaking from the pressure of the creatures. But he couldn't breathe as his body bulged and stretched.

Three grey larva ripped through his flesh in a violent act of escape, blood and visceral splattering as they and others shredded him open.

“I asked to be informed the moment he awoke!” 

“He was in no state to talk, King Odin, and certainly not to answer your questions! He was barely conscious five minutes before I gave him a sleeping draft. I did not want him awake and in pain.”

Loki's blood ran cold. 

Odin was there. He stayed as still as he could, listening to the heated debate and praying to the Norns that no one would notice he was awake.

Odin's hands did not yield as he held his son down, watching his suffering with apathy. 

Had it really only been a dream? 

A hand squeezed his tightly. “How can our son rest if you two insist on bickering?” Frigga asked pointedly. “Lady Eir is right, my king. Loki must rest. I very much doubt he will be in any condition to tell you what he has been through for some time. I imagine he will not want to speak with you for even longer. You are the one he blames for his imprisonment.”

“I did not make him invade Midgard!” Odin snapped, “it remains possible that nothing did! I am going out of my way to try and help him -”

“You are his father!” 

Frigga rarely raised her voice. It took all of Loki's strength not to flinch. “For once in our son's life can you be his father and not his king? You are going out of your way to try and help him because that is your responsibility as his father!” 

“I am trying to be both! I cannot show him any favouritism -”

“We were never in any danger of that,” Frigga retorted, “you reserved your favouritism for our eldest. Tell me, husband, if you did not intend to be a father to him, why would you present me, the goddess of motherhood, with an orphan boy who needed a family? I cannot and will not be distant with him, not now when he needs us, and I will not allow you to run rough-shod over his needs because you are angry that you were inattentive enough to miss this grievous of an injury!”

“He could have told me -”

“Would you? If you knew you were dying, would you tell your captors? Perhaps if you had treated him like a son he would have told you!” 

“How many Midgardians died because of his actions, Frigga? How was I meant to ignore that and treat him with a father's love? Midgard is under my protection!” 

“His brother managed to find a balance!” 

“His brother would have simply killed him in battle and had that excuse.”

“How many Jotunn did Thor and his posse kill?” Frigga asked, “did you count them? You found a balance between discipline and love then, but there is no such balance for Loki. You failed him, Odin, and the obstacles you now face in trying to fix this mess are the ones you have placed in your own path. I have always tried to be a good wife and a good queen, but right now, I am choosing to be a good mother. That is paramount to me. If I were defending Thor, you would have nothing to say to me.”

“Counting the dead Jotunn was a challenge, with their king lured to Asgard and murdered, and the Bifrost turned against them in some sick, staged revenge,” Odin retorted, “why will you not see Loki's faults?” 

“I will,” Frigga replied, “both of our children have done both great good and great harm in their lives. I refuse to allow one to outweigh the other. Loki has done a great deal of wrong, a great deal of harm, but he is still my son and I love him. It is you who entered this ward looking for a fight, my king, not I. I merely wish to sit quietly with my son, and for once, not have his failings listed off to me while I pray for his recovery.”

“I have no time for this,” Odin finally said, dismissively, “I want to help him, if it's possible, but we cannot ignore what has happened!” Loki heard the doors of the infirmary swing open and then slam shut. 

Almost immediately, his mother put a hand on his shoulder. “You're awake,” she said knowingly, “when you're pretending to be asleep, your face twitches when you exhale. You're doing the exact same thing you used to do when I would catch you up reading after your bedtime, and it didn't fool me then, it won't fool me now. Open your eyes.”

He couldn't do it. He could see the steely look in his mother's blue eyes as she watched Odin hold him down, and he knew it had been a nightmare but he couldn't shake it out of his head. 

So he couldn't open his eyes. He squeezed them shut even tighter. 

Frigga sighed. “It's okay,” she said gently, “you don't have to. Just get your rest and recover, Loki. Please.”

Over and in, last call for sin

While everyone's lost, the battle is won

With all these things that I've done

All these things that I've done

- All These Things That I've Done, The Killers, HOT FUSS (2004)

Chapter Text

I've been cursed

I've been crossed

I've been beaten by the ones that get me off

I've been cut

I've been opened up

I've been shattered by the ones I thought I loved

Loki couldn’t pretend not to be awake forever. 

He knew that, deep down. Lady Eir had unhelpfully informed him of that fact once his mother and father had left, the first day he had opened his eyes. His act was not fooling Frigga at all, and eventually, it would cease to fool Odin. He would know that his prisoner was conscious and could be interrogated. Once they crossed that threshold, Loki would no longer be able to hide from the fallout of all that had happened. 

He should have been grateful to need to consider this reality at all. He should have died on the floor of the prison cell, bleeding out from where he had stabbed himself over and over and over again. The fact he was alive was a miracle, but Loki wasn’t grateful. 

After all that he had been through, Loki had welcomed the promise of death. He had not wanted to awaken and have to answer for what had happened to him. He had been content to die, leaving his family to forever wonder what had happened to make him end his own life in such a vicious way. It was brutal, but better than this. 

He heard Lady Eir's footsteps approach his bedside, and then she tapped him on the shoulder. Loki didn't open his eyes. “I, like you mother, know that you are awake, prince,” she said, “if you are not going to sleep, then you may as well answer some questions. I, unlike your father, am not going to take your silence as a response. I have spent many long days and nights keeping you alive, despite your valiant efforts to die.”

While she spoke, she was poking at the bandages that Loki could feel against his skin, wrapped tightly around his midsection. 

“Is it dead?” 

His voice was a hoarse whisper. 

“Quite completely. Just once likely would have sufficed, and it would have made your situation less dire had you avoided stabbing yourself as many as you did. Do you know what it was that you killed?”

He didn't say anything.. There was no good answer. On the one hand. he knew it had been a parasitic larva, ready to begin the next stage of its terrible, brutal life. On the other hand, he didn't know that the Other was, and just thinking about the creature made bile burn the back of his throat and his skin crawl. 

“I believe I told you that your stubborn silence was not going to be an acceptable answer, prince. I am not the king, my interest has nothing to do with your crimes. I need to know because I need to know what to treat you for.” Lady Eir was now investigating the bandages up around Loki's ribs. “You are severely wounded, your magical core is so depleted I fear that it may be genuinely damaged. You have been starved of nutrients, your muscles have atrophied, I am stunned that you managed to hold up in combat with five humans, much less against your brother. I want to know what happened to put you in my medical ward, bleeding out, heart failing, with a creature the likes of which I have never seen burrowed in your abdomen.”

“I don't know. I've no intention of sharing what happened. When you deem that I am well enough, I shall return to the dungeon and Asgard may continue to forget I exist.”

Lady Eir let out a frustrated sigh. “Men,” she scoffed, “I do not care about your fate, or what rulings your father makes or does not make. I want to know how I can help. Not just your body, but your mind.”

“I don't want your help.”

“You will. When you're ready, you will want help. Perhaps not with me, but with someone. Please, when you're ready, find that person. I wish to give you as much grace as can be afforded, but it has now been several days since you awoke, and you have refused to speak to anyone but myself, and you won't tell me anything relevant. Keeping whatever this is a secret did not benefit you in the dungeon, it will not benefit you now. Perhaps if I had known of your plight, I could have intervened before this all happened. Had you asked for help on Midgard, when your brother arrived, perhaps even more could have been done. But now the kingdom is in turmoil over your treason, your parents are barely speaking and you are confined to my infirmary.”

He didn't know how to, nor did he wish to, explain that he could not have asked for help on Midgard. That nothing he could have done would have changed Midgard. 

“My parents are dead,” he said finally.

“Don't be stupid. You're meant to be the clever one. You're quite proud of that, in fact. Queen Frigga has barely left your side. Despite the king's thick-headedness, he is already working tirelessly to find a way he can pardon you, if he can be provided with the necessary evidence. You have always had a family here, and knowing the truth of your origins has changed nothing, unless you allow it to do so.”

“Even if that were true, I've been disowned.”

“If you truly believe that, you'd better start working harder on your physical training, because you're going to need to take up the mantle of the strong one, since you're clearly leaving intellect for Thor, of late.”

Loki sighed. 

“You are not asleep.”

He knew that voice, and he was tired of people telling him that he wasn't sleeping. 

“Not anymore,” he said, almost indignantly. 

“That means you can finally talk,” Odin said. 

“I don't believe our last conversation left us on speaking terms. Something about how I'll never see my mother again, and I do believe there was an implication that I was either a disgrace to our family, or no longer a part of it. Inspiring final words from a father, if you still expect me to call you that.”

“Must you be such an arrogant child?”

“Must you be such a self-righteous fool? Or is that stuck in your lineage? I certainly see it in Thor.”

“That's not how I raised you to speak to a king.” 

“I already stood accused of treason, we’re long past proper forms of address. What do you want? I'm meant to be resting.”

He didn't believe anyone when they told him that Odin wanted to pardon him. Odin didn't care what happened to him. He didn't believe Lady Eir, and he certainly didn't leave Odin's own words. The only reason he'd overheard Odin claim that he wanted to pardon Loki, if possible, was because he had wanted to convince his wife to stop yelling at him. He wasn't actually going to do it. 

And as such there was no reason to play nice. When he was recovered, he would return to the dungeons. It made no difference what he did or said. 

“Enough. I need answers from you, I think you know that.” 

“What a shame that I have none to give.” 

“Do you not think that the events of the past few months warrant an explanation?”

“I gave you my explanation when I was on trial.” 

Odin sighed. “Loki, you and I both know you have yet to tell me the truth,” he said, “because whatever happened, months ago, according to Lady Eir, was part of the truth. What was that thing?” 

“Why would I tell you anything?” Loki demanded. 

“Because I am your king, and before that, your father! You should trust me to do what is best for you!” 

“Best for me? Is this a joke? You’ve never wanted what is best for me! You’ve given a damn about me!” 

“That isn't fair -”

“Oh really? You know something happened, so here's my question: where were you?” 

Odin looked taken aback. “What do you mean?” 

“You're the Allfather. Where were you when I was chained to that infernal rock, screaming for help? Where were you all the dozens of times that I begged for anyone to save me? If you wish to pass judgment on my actions, where were you and your all-sight when they were being incited? I don't pretend to be innocent, I've done horrible things, but you know nothing of why I did them and you never bothered to find out. You were content to have me back and throw me in a cage until I died. Why should I tell you anything more than I have already said, unless I believe that it will hurt you to know what someone you once called your son went through?”

“I've earned your hate,” Odin allowed. 

“Oh, I don't hate you,” Loki hissed, “I've hated my brother. I've hated myself. You, I don't hate. One first has to care about someone in order to hate them. Leave me be. You're the Allfather, you're going to do what you feel is justified no matter what I do or say. It doesn't matter if I tell you what happened or not, it won't change your opinion.”

“You can't know that unless you try.” 

“I have one thousand years of precedent, Allfather. One thousand years of seeing exactly how you handle complicated cases, and I'll tell you how it never works out: in my favour. I'm not going to tell you anything, so if you would please have a guard mop the blood from the floor before you put me back in that cage, it would be appreciated. Or is that too much to ask for a prisoner stripped of his status?” 

To Loki's frustration, Odin said nothing. More than anything else, he wanted a reaction. For some stupid, naive reason, he had thought that maybe maybe, just maybe, anger would get Odin to say something that was even a little bit of any value. 

But deep down he had known that it wouldn't. Loki could give him more chances than there were stars in the Nine Realms, and Odin would never fail to disappoint him.

He wasn't going to be a stupid child, crying for attention or affection he would never get. He was through with begging and pleading to be acknowledged. He should have given up years ago, but now he would make up for lost time. He would plead for nothing, he would make Odin sit in the ugliness of what he had done, and maybe it was true that the Allfather wouldn't feel any guilt for it, but at the very least, Loki would not give him any absolution either. 

Even still, he did expect a reaction. He expected fury. Odin had never been one to take an insult in silence, or to back down from a challenge. He wanted it badly enough to try again to provoke him. “Have you nothing to say? I refuse to give you what you want, so I am not even worth your breath anymore?”

Instead, to his surprise, he saw Odin deflate, nearly imperceptibly so. “You are as stubborn as your mother and I combined.”

The Allfather turned and walked away. 

Loki closed his eyes. 

“You are not pretending you are asleep this time,” Frigga said, seeming happy with that development. 

“It doesn't seem to do me any good,” Loki replied bitterly, “so I figured, why bother?” 

“It is good to see you with your eyes open,” Frigga said, ignoring his snide comment. “I have been so worried about you.” 

“Apparently, everyone has. I have my doubts,” Loki said, “I am far less of a problem dead than alive.” 

“Do not say that,” Frigga scolded, “you have come far too close to death of late, you do not get to joke like that.” 

“May I ask the point of all of this?” 

“What is it you mean?” 

“Odin said the only reason he did not execute me was you, pleading my case. He could have let me die and not have broken his promise to you.” 

Frigga sighed. “Your father, like you and your brother, has a fiery temper. It brought the chaos of the Nine Realms to heel, but it makes him a challenging man to deal with. He would never have put you to death. I doubt if he would have had the stomach to keep you in the dungeon.”

“You have a lot of faith in him. Faith I can't share.” 

“Of course I have faith in my husband,” Frigga replied, “I wish you could have faith in your father.” 

“He's not my father.” 

Frigga caught her breath. “Is that so?” 

“It is.” 

“Then am I not your mother?” She asked sharply, raising an eyebrow at him.

Loki felt guilty, but he didn't want to back down. Odin was not his father, and he did not have to trust him. And if Odin was not his father, then Thor was not his brother, and Frigga was not his mother. 

“You're not,” he managed to say, although it was hard. Frigga was the only family member he had that he actually loved.

He could see the steely look in his mother's blue eyes as she watched Odin hold him down -

He forced his eyes upwards, to look at Frigga, to confirm she wasn't watching him suffer and die. 

There was pain in Frigga’s eyes as she pursed her lips, brushing her hand lightly against his cheek, but no anger, and no steely indifference. 

“You are always so perceptive,” she said softly, “about everyone but yourself. There is nothing you can do to cease being my son.”

She leaned down and kissed his forehead, and Loki hated the fact that he had to fight not to shudder, not to reel backwards. 

“You should rest,” she said. “I am content to stay here, whether you will speak to me or not.”

A small, scared part of him, the part that believed his nightmares, wanted to shake his head and tell her to go. But despite what he has just said, telling her she was not his mother, he could not bring himself to hurt her again, and telling her to leave would hurt her. 

Instead, he closed his eyes and prayed his dreams would not come to haunt him again. 

You left me here like a chalk outline

On the sidewalk waiting for the rain to wash away

Wash away

You keep coming back to the scene of the crime

But the dead can't speak and there's nothing left to say anyway

All you left behind

Is a chalk outline

• Three Days Grace, Chalk Outline, TRANSIT OF VENUS (2012)