On Sanctuary, weakness was not allowed. Any signs of breaking, and doubts or fears shown could, and would be used against you. No part of you left untouched.
Weakness was frowned upon.
Loki understood that. He had to, to survive. He knew to take his pain and bury it layers and layers beneath his subconscious. He knew that every cry of agony, every scream of pain, every tear shed, was something that would be used against him.
But it was difficult to hold back. As intestines were pulled from his body, skin burnt off, poison coursing through his veins, bones shattered and skin cut, he found it hard to stay silent. Almost impossible, really.
And he hated himself all the more for his lack of control. He knew it was his fault. He was being weak, he was making it worse for himself, he wasn’t good enough. Not for Sanctuary, not for The Master, not for his family, not for anyone.
And that hurt more than any torture they put him through.
Thanos would watch, as he was taken apart time and time again. Whether it be the Chitauri or the Black Order, he was there, standing a few feet away, watching his every move, every noise he made every word he spoke, Thanos saw. And he didn’t forget.
Loki was hanging by his ankles, blood covering his skin, chest torn open, finger nails scattered on the floor beneath him, and he couldn’t help but sob. Tears streamed down his face, cleaning some of the blood from his cheeks, disappearing into his hair.
The throbbing from his broken hands only made him cry harder.
He could hear Thanos behind him, he could feel his stare on his back, but none of that mattered right now. All he could feel was the searing pain in his stomach, and all he could think was why am I not dead yet?
He heard Thanos step closer, slowly walking around him, stopping before him. He blinked the blood out of his eyes, his sight clearing to a view of Thanos crouched before him, face pulled into a frown.
“Loki, I thought we were past this,” Thanos said, fingers brushing gently against his cheeks, wiping tears from his skin.
He tried to respond, but all he managed was weakly coughing blood up, letting it dribble out of his mouth.
Thanos’s hand moved down to his head, gently carding through his hair, “I had hoped that you would be able to get over this, this weakness. Any sign of failure can be used against you, so I expect you to be stronger than this. If this is all it takes to break you, than you will be of no use to me. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you Loki?”
Loki watched him with wide eyes, his breathing quickening, wincing as the hand in his hair tightened. He shook his head as much as he could, blood dripping from his mouth as thanos watched him with indifference.
“Oh, but I disagree, Loki,” Thanos said, anger slowly creeping into his voice, “I’ve been so kind to you, I took you in when even your family didn’t want you, and this is how you repay me? You take everything I’ve taught you, and spit it right back in my face.”
He stood up, Loki’s head swinging back as Thanos let go of his hair. Thanos motioned for someone to step forward, and it was then that Loki realised someone else was in the room with them.
A black robe swayed into his vision, stopping just before his face, and 2 cool fingers pressed against his temples, digging into his skin ever so slightly.
“Now remember Loki,” Thanos said from somewhere behind him, “This is all for your own good.”
The last thing Loki heard before his vision went black, was Thanos’ voice behind him, speaking softly.
“This is all for your own good.”
Loki knew he was different. He could tell from a young age, and he accepted it. That was the way things were. He would never quite fit in with the society around him, and he was okay with that.
He just wished that no one else had realised it as well.
Everyone who saw him could tell, there was something ever so slightly off about him, which caused all the other kids his age to shy away from him. Ignoring him when he spoke to them, offering him polite conversation as he was a prince, but leaving as soon as they could.
He was used to it.
But when he reached the midgardian equivalent of 10, he realised that the kids had moved past ignoring him. All of the kids around him weren’t quite sure what made loki different, but they used it as an excuse anyways.
Loki was used to kids shoving him, tripping him as he passed, but the first time he was truly hurt by other kids surprised him. He knew they didn’t like him, but he didn’t know the lengths they would go to to tell him that.
He had been walking down the street in a secluded part of Asgard’s capital, when voices shouted to him a few feet behind him.
“Hey, freak, slow down won’t you?”
Loki stopped walking, shoulders tensing as the kids caught up with him, the leader of the group, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He looked at the kids around him, and spoke up quietly, “Can I help you?”
The kids laughed, before the one with his hand placed on Loki’s shoulder shoved him slightly, “Yeah, actually, you can.”
Before Loki could respond, the kid’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him spiraling towards the floor, barely catching himself with his hands.
The other kids laughed around the two as Loki rubbed his jaw, tears welling in his eyes, and the boy rearing back for another hit.
Loki tried to fight back, but he knew it was hopeless, and attempted to cover his head as best as he could. By the time the hits stopped, and he heard the kids walking away, he was curled up on the ground, blood dripping from various cuts across his face.
He sat there, processing what had just happened, his head pounding along with his heartbeat, and he cried, for the first time, he cried because he was different, and he cried because he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
He could feel the ghost of a hand behind his neck, and whispered words mixing with the wind as he sat there, and then, he blacked out.
He didn’t know how he let Thor talk him into this. He knew it was a bad idea, he knew it would end in disaster, and he knew there was no way he was going to say no to his brother.
Loki looked at the battle raging around him, Thor swinging his hammer, taking down any beast he came in contact with, Sif and the Warriors 3 scattered around the area, each dealing their own damage to the creatures.
Loki had told them all that travelling to the forests of Alfheim was dangerous this time of year, but, like always, no one had paid him any mind. He had warned them all of this exact scenario, and they brushed his warnings off with a laugh and a “You’re just afraid of a little dirt!” and went on their way.
And now here they were, fighting horde after horde of cat like beasts in the forests of Alfheim, no reinforcements, and no clear way out.
Perfect.
Loki took down as many beasts as he could, slicing their necks with his daggers or blasting them away with seidr, but his energy was quickly draining, and his reflexes were slowing.
As he was fighting one of the creatures, slicing through it’s stomach and kicking it away from him, he felt something pierce through his armour and slash down his back.
Without thinking, his seidr reacted, blasting the monster off of his back and stumbling to his knees, gasping for breath. He could feel the blood dripping down his back, staining his tunic, and he closed his eyes, tears burning behind his eyelids.
His hands gripped the dirt beneath him as he instinctively raised a shield around himself, trying to calm his breathing.
He reached up with one hand, wiping at the tears spilling from his eyes, before looking up at the scene in front of him.
A split second too late he saw a beast leap at his brothers back, latching on as soon as he shouted out a warning.
Through teary eyes, he watched his brother stumble forwards, screaming in pain as he attempted to wrestle the thing off of his back, blood flying as he did.
Loki watched, a sense of horror spreading through him as he sat there, watching a creature tear into his brother, as he sat on the ground, tears pouring down his face.
He heard a voice whisper to him, ever so slightly, telling him how he could have prevented this, he could have stopped it, if only he hadn’t been so weak.
Loki found himself agreeing.
On Sanctuary, you had to win. It was every man or woman or whatever you were for themselves, and Loki adapted quickly.
He never felt himself, he always felt like there was a part of him that died in the void, and it didn’t make it out with him. Walking around the Sanctuary was like walking through a dream. He was never truly present.
But that didn’t mean he could rest. Every moment he had to be aware. Of his surroundings, of the people around him, of his own emotions. Everything had to be perfect.
Loki knew what happened to people who made mistakes, and it was nothing good. He could hear their screams for hours, and he never truly got them out of his head. They played on repeat as he slept, or whatever he could call ‘sleeping’ on the Sanctuary.
So whatever The Master asked of him, he did. That was the only way to survive, and he wasn’t going to die there. He couldn’t.
When Thanos placed him in a ring, across from another prisoner, and was told to fight? He fought.
He felt remorse and guilt, somewhere in him, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on the feelings. He knew what he was doing was wrong, and that anyone from Asgard would’ve risen above this in his position, that Thor would’ve found some way to escape, return home (but not Loki’s home-) but Loki couldn’t.
So instead he fought, and he won.
Until he didn’t.
Thanos watched him take down opponent after opponent, never holding back, getting up time and time again, beaten bloody and broken, and still he stood, and he continued to fight until he won.
Thanos was impressed, and so he placed Loki in the ring, his favoured daughter across from him, and told them to fight.
And so they did.
And so he lost.
That was the first time he had lost a match, he had stumbled, and Gamora has used it as an advantage, and he couldn’t recover from that, she beat him down until he was unable to get back up.
And so they replaced his foot, because weakness was unacceptable.
As they cut through skin and bone, Loki strapped down to a stone slab, listening to the whir of the saw as they cut through it, he cried.
As he lay there, finally letting the tears fall for the first time since he got there, Thanos watched. He only stared at Loki as he writhed in agony, for hours, before his new foot had been attached, and frowned as he screamed in pain.
Once the limb was attached he turned to the guards standing in front of the door, gesturing to Loki, and spoke before walking out of the room.
“Take him.”
And so they took him.
Loki woke with a gasp, quickly turning to the side and retching, chest heaving with the force of his breath, stomach clenching painfully as he threw up the little food he had been given.
He was in a cell, blood dried on his skin, tear tracks still staining his cheeks as he frantically tried to rub any existence of them off of his face.
As he calmed down and the retching stopped, the door swung open with a creak, the noise of it hitting the stone wall echoing throughout the room. He heard Thanos’ footsteps as he walked toward Loki, stopping a few steps away.
“Have you learned your lesson Liesmith?”
Swallowing a few times, trying to get any moisture into his throat, Loki spoke, voice cracking, “Yes Sir.”
Thanos nodded, placing a loaf of bread in front of him, “Good, I expect it to stay that way.”
And with that, he left, the door echoing shut behind him, and Loki was left with only himself and the silence.
He learned after that, and he took anything he felt, and shoved it down so deep, he wasn’t sure if he would remember what anything felt like by the time he was free.
(he would be free someday, even if he had to wait a thousand years, he would be free-)
He followed the rules, played Thanos’ games, and did what he was told, and it was enough. Thanos wasn’t proud, per say, but he was pleased.
With Loki’s abilities or his compliance, he wasn’t sure. And he didn’t care to ask.
Weeks, months, years into Loki’s stay, he wasn’t quite sure, Thanos began preparing him for his first job. One that he wasn’t allowed to mess up.
He was put through simulation after simulation, every single thing that could happen to him happened, and he survived them all. He didn’t break, he never faltered.
Until Thor.
Of course, Loki thought, Of course it would be Thor that would ruin me. It’s all he has ever done, and even when he isn’t here, he still continues to do so.
He had been forced into another simulation, he lost track of how many he went through around the 375th, and had done everything right, up until Thor.
He saw his brother and froze, his body tensing up as he watched Thor walk towards him, every emotion he had pushed down for so long bubbling up and spilling over the edges all at once, all at the sight of his brother.
Thor approached him carefully, hands raised in front of him in surrender, his face covered in grief and hope, and that was the breaking point. Months of perfecting his persona, of burying his emotions, and the one thing that broke him was a look from his brother.
Loki broke down, stumbling to his knees in front of his brother, begging for forgiveness, tears pouring down before he had a chance to stop them, he just sat there, pleading for his brother to take him back, take him home.
That was when the illusion broke, and he was pulled back by his hair, Thanos staring down at him, disappointment clear on his face.
“I thought we were past this Liesmith,” Thanos said, his voice flat, “But it seems you haven’t learned from past mistakes. This time, I’m sure you won’t forget what I’ve given you.”
Thanos walked away as Loki cried out, apologies dying on his lips as he was brought to a room, void of anything but a stone slab in the center, straps lay at the ready beside it.
He screamed at first, begging for another chance, pleading for anything but this, please, anything-
His limbs were strapped to the slab, a strap tightened around his forehead, ensuring his head wouldn;t move. Any words of protest died as he was pushed down, the metal of their tools glinting in the light of the room.
He watched the scalpel lower towards his face, and he knew that this room, the faces of the Chitauri surrounding him, and the glint of that scalpel, would be the last thing he would see.
Thor watched his brother on Midgard, faint scars around his eyes, his gaze ever so slightly off, and he knew that something wasn’t quite right.
He watched as Loki clutched his arm, explaining everything he went through, everything that had happened after his fall, all of the pain he endured, and how sorry he was.
Thor watched as, throughout his entire speech, shaking in his brothers arms, tales of unspeakable horrors spilling from his lips, Loki never shed a single tear.