Hidden Troubles

1 | Sons of Odin

"You think yourself above us, do you my lord?"

"Let us have a feast for you my king!"

They dragged him across the sharp land, caring little for the new cuts and abrasions he would receive from the rough treatment. They bought him to a crater, brewing with rotting animal meat, corpses old and new, and Chitauri faeces. The smell alone was enough to make him feel sick. 

An unwilling whimper escaped his lips. He silently cursed at himself.

"We may end this, if you simply submit. Admit you are no king, little Jotun, and you will know peace."

"Never." The smoothness of his voice had long since faded, replaced by a rough and raspy tone.

"Very well then. Enjoy your feast, my lord."

They shoved it down his throat mercilessly. They drowned him in it, its scent, the voluminous concoction defiling his insides. He fought, he tried to raise his head, but they forced his face down until he couldn't breathe.

There was nothing left for him.

"Loki!" A desperate cry brought him back to the land of the living. "Brother are you alright?"

Oh gods why Thor?

"I'm fine, you great oaf. Get off—you're crushing me."

Thor had the courtesy to look bad, although the slightly amused smirk from Loki's outburst still lingered. The nightmare was still fresh in Loki's mind. He felt disgustingly sweaty all over, his breathing fast and panicked, something that replaced Thor's amusement with worry.

"Brother—"

"I am not your brother, you fool."

"Loki enough! Release yourself of this idiotic notion! You may not be my brother by blood, but by everything else you are! We were raised together, we learnt and played together—why must you act as though that was nothing?" Thor's expression was one of anger, but Loki could hear the slight wobbles in his voice.

Oh damn him.

"I simply mean to ask you if you are alright." A resigned sigh ended the rant. Thor couldn't comprehend what had happened to his trickster brother. Once so strong and mischievous, but somewhat kind to, with an evident love for Thor. What had happened to the young Loki that sought Thor out after a nightmare?

"I am fine, Thor. Please leave me be."

"Very well." The bed creaked as Thor got up to leave. "But I have something I wish to say first. I..."

"Out with it, Thor." The trickster's voice still held its morning raspiness.

"I will be leaving for Asgard today."

"You will what?" Time seemed to slow at Thor's words. Leaving? Leaving Loki to the Avenger's mercy?

"I will be leaving, Loki," a softer tone replied, "The AllFather wishes for me to return to continue my duties—I have been away for too long. A month for a prince to have been abandoning his duties is no good for a kingdom. You too, perhaps you will be able to join us once your punishment has been served."

Loki couldn't hold back a snort at that last statement. He was never welcome on Asgard. And now that the news of his heritage was out, he couldn't imagine any sort of warm welcome being offered to him. He would be left to the frigid lands of Jotunheim, and even they would refuse him; he had killed their king, after all.

"I am sorry, brother. But there is nothing more I can do."

With that Thor left, missing the single tear that fell unwillingly from Loki's cheek. Loki lay back down in his bed with a heavier heart. He hadn't appreciated how the presence of Thor had made his stay at the Avengers Tower more bearable. But now with even Thor abandoning him, he couldn't help but look to the future in dread. He knew the Avengers hated him; their piercing stares and waves of hatred that rolled off them when he was in their presence were warning enough of the things they would gladly do to him if only Thor wasn't there.

Until his punishment had been fulfilled, until Loki had learnt his lesson, he was to stay here. On Midgard. With the group of mortals that wanted nothing more to have his head on a stick.

Loki put up with the animosity and focused solely on doing his job. Which was a lot more difficult than he had first imagined. SHIELD had demanded his magic be bound before he was allowed to set foot on Midgard, although he couldn't imagine how they expected him to rebuild their city if he didn't have assess to his seidr. But that was their problem, not his. So far he had mainly been helping the cleanup crew with giving out supplies to those made homeless by the attack. And always with an Avenger close by.

Loki simply lay on his bed, lost in his confused mess of thoughts. He heard Thor leave and the Avengers see him off (he however refused to say goodbye). Hours passed with the same white washed wall above him for company. Memories of the Chitauri, of younger and brighter days cane to him. Memories of how once upon a time, he and Thor had raced each other on their horses, a simpler time where they'd destroyed a family portrait and made their own (a portrait that still hung in the halls of Asgard to this day). And darker memories of running in terror and the cold and the dark chasing him. Memories of sly voices taunting him, torturing him, breaking him until he was nothing more than the remains of a once powerful god, reduced to a whimpering ball of blood and tears.

A knock at the door bought Loki from his daze. A few moment later and the Man of Iron opened the door and stood there. It seemed he was trying to create as much distance as he could between himself and the trickster. Loki would've laughed, if he could've gathered up the will to do so. Laughter was very much a stranger to him now.

"You're off in T minus 20 minutes, Reindeer Games,  so you'd better get ready."

And with that the Man of Iron walked off, disrespectfully leaving the door open. Honestly, does no one here understand the word privacy?

Slipping on his usual outfit of jeans and a Midgardian band top (courtesy of Stark) Loki headed straight down, avoiding the communal room where he could hear Barton and the Black Widow talking. He knew he looked dreadful—dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin paler than usual—but what could he do? To sleep was to dream of the horrors of his past, and that was something he couldn't allow himself to do.

Within a few moments he was joined by Stark, who looked disgruntled as always to have to babysit him.

"Alright Rudolph, let's go."

And so began his daily chore.