His blood was on fire.
Pain coursing through his veins. He was melting from the inside out.
At least that’s what it felt like.
His muscles spasmed, blood pooling beneath him, the sand stained red, dust covering his skin, his clothes torn, and drenched in blood.
It just hurt so fucking much.
He shifted uncomfortably, a hand pressing against his chest, trying to stem the bleeding. His hands were shaking, a blood overflowed through his fingers, soaking his tunic, his skin dyed a deep red colour with his own blood.
He let out a gasp, summoning any magic he could in an attempt to close the wound, or stem the bleeding, or anything to make it hurt less.
Slowly pushing himself to his feet, he let out a cry of pain as the world spun, the ground shifting beneath him, his body trembling, falling to his knees.
He knew he had to get up, leave, find somewhere he could heal in peace, but it was so hard to think when it felt like his brain was being cooked.
Pushing himself to his feet, swaying as he blinked the dark spots from his vision, doing his best not to throw up, he called on any magic he had left, his hands dimly glowing green.
In front of him, a tear formed in the air, a black void swirling inside, his one chance at escape.
Taking a deep breath, Loki staggered forward, stumbling through the portal, and collapsing on the other side, in a snowy forest in Midgard.
It was a normal day, a normal patrol, the normal route around the base, weaving through the trees, scanning the woods for anyone suspicious. It was what they did every day.
In other words, normal.
A bright green flash caught the two guards’ attention, the glow flashing brightly about 40 feet to their left, before disappearing.
The guards shared a confused look, shrugging their shoulders, raising their guns and heading towards the light source, prepared to attack if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary, once they saw the (presumable) source of light. They came to a stop in front of a man, pale as the snow beneath him, bleeding freely from a wound in his chest, the skin around it black and sickly.
“You uh, you have any idea as to what this is?” One guard asked, nudging the man with their boot. The unconscious man had no response to that, his hand gently sliding off of his chest, the snow around him growing more and more stained.
The other guard shrugged, staring at his partner, “No fuckin clue. But, if he was the source of the glowing, you think we should bring him back to base?”
The first guard crouched down, staring at the man’s chest, “I mean, I guess. If he isn’t dead yet, then he could probably be useful. I’m pretty surprised the poor bastard lived this long, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Suddenly, before he could reply to that, the man shot up, gasping for air, his hand clawing at his chest, the torn clothes only ripping further.
“Wha-,” the man tried to say, but before he could get the words out, blood spilled from his lips, standing out against his pale skin. He coughed, blood splattering in the snow around him.
He tried to speak again, pushing his tangled hair from his face, but all he could muster was a pained wheeze before doubling over in pain yet again. The two guards moved quickly, crouching down on either side of him, before each grabbing one of his arms.
The man looked up in alarm, a short cry of protest escaping his blood stained lips, trying to fight out of their grips, but the guards easily overpowered him, dragging him to his feet.
“It’s ok,” one guard said, grabbing the man’s wrists and handcuffing them behind his back.
“It’s alright,” they said, staring at him behind their helmets, reflecting the man’s beaten, bloody face back at him, “we just want to help you.”
They started dragging him, a trail of blood following behind them, leaving a cruel map of the path they took.
After about 10 minutes of them pulling the man through the woods, they arrive at a boulder. Waiting in front of it.
The man opened his mouth, as if to try and speak up, but before he could attempt anything, a piece of the rock slid down, revealing a doorway into a long, dark hallway.
The man went slack, just dead weight in their arms, but they didn’t look at him, just kept walking, dragging his limp body behind them, tracking blood and water everywhere they went.
They brought him down an elevator, pulling him into a room containing a metal operating table, surrounded by screens, and they didn’t pause before they dragged the man’s body onto the table, tying each limb down securely, leaving him spread eagle on the table.
The man had just started to wake up, eyes blinking at different times, trying to take in his new surroundings, when a man in a lab coat walked in, stopping right next to him, leaning down to inspect the wound in his chest.
Looking up at the doctor, his eyes widened in fear, and he tried to cry out, to say anything at all, to defend himself, but before he could, a metal gag was forced violently into his mouth, forcing his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, keeping him silent.
The doctor leaned forward, staring at Loki with a gleam in his eyes, his eyes cold and calculating, before he whispered, “Everything is ok,” he ran a hand through the man’s hair, tugging on it before continuing, “we can help you.”
The man’s smile was the last thing Loki saw before his world erupted into pain.
He lost his sense of time, minutes blurring into hours blurring into days blurring into weeks, driving him slowly insane (more insane than he was before) unsure what time it was, his entire world existed in that one room.
They had broken him thoroughly, turned him inside out, trying to see how he worked, what gave him his power.
There is nothing in my body ‘giving’ me my power, he wanted to scream at them, tears of pain and frustration mixing together as they fell down his face, my power is simply me, and I am my power. There is nothing to find inside of me.
No anesthetic would work on him (they found that very interesting) so he was left awake, laying there, unable to move as his body was taken apart piece by piece, every cut, every slice, every touch he felt. He felt wrong.
Each time they put him together it felt like the pieces didn’t belong.
Like he wasn’t himself.
They stood around him, doctors in white coats, slowly turning red with blood (his blood). It confused him at times, when his head was so muddled with pain he couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake, he would see the coats covered and blood, and think he was still laying in that forest, the snow seeping into his clothes, laying there paralyzed, unable to move or call for help.
Left there to rot like the monster he was.
But he always feels the pain of a scalpel, tearing into him anew, or a drill splitting apart his bones, to see how fast they would heal, and that would pull him harshly into the reality of his situation, the pain that his world had become.
Once, and only once, after laying there for who knows how long, enduring the torments, waiting for his magic to replenish, did he attempt to escape.
He gathered as much magic as he could and broke the cuffs, staggering off the table and knocking out the closest scientist. He could feel hands (hands slick with blood, reaching in to him to tear another piece of him apart) grabbing for him, trying to restrain him, but he struggled out of their grips, taking a few steps towards the door, he could make it, this could all be put behind him now-
There was pain, shaking his bones, boiling his blood, infecting every inch of him available, and he fell, blood dripping from his nose.
I’m back on Svartalfheim, there’s poison in my blood, the Kursed’s blade stuck between my ribs, I can’t breathe-
He felt metal bracelets placed onto his wrists, he could’ve sworn the bracelets burnt his skin as soon as they touched it. He felt as though a weight had been placed on him, slowing his movements.
He tried to call on his magic out of instinct, and immediately pain flared up his arms, his vision going black before slowly clearing.
The sound of pain was muffled behind the gag, and two pairs of hands picked him up, dragging him back towards the table.
He tried to fight, but his limbs wouldn’t respond, his head swimming, his movements un coordinated. The cuffs had been placed over his wrists and ankles, securing him to the table, and a doctor pulled out a scalpel and started tearing away his flesh, and any hope of escape he had with it.
The doctors seemed to dig into him with more intensity than they had before, trying to find where his magic came from. Loki felt tears forming in his eyes, knowing they would never find it, knowing they wouldn’t stop until they did.
And he would be stuck in the middle, enduring pain every second of every day while they searched for something within him that didn’t exist.
They had cut his pinkie finger off at once, trying to see if he could regenerate his limbs.
He couldn’t.
He screamed behind the gag, willing himself not to throw up as they broke every bone in his hand, recording which ones healed first and which ones healed the fastest. It took him a week to heal them all, and the doctors wrote that down excitedly.
Loki was certain that no bone left in his body was left unbroken. They had cracked his skull at one point, to watch it repair itself. Every second of that reparation was agony, his head felt like it would burst open at any moment.
His skin stull stung from where one of the unnamed doctors had taken a blowtorch to it, watching the skin burn, how the skin around it turned blue. He wrote it all down, not once looking at Loki writhing in agony, his wrists raw and bleeding from where they rubbed against the restraints.
He could see the burn scars still fading, the skin peeling off in small increments, the doctors taking note of the progress each day.
He would never get the sight of a doctor pulling his stomach out of his body, and holding it in his hands, watching with amusement as he cut into it, watching the cells knit themselves back together.
He wanted to vomit right then and there. At least if he choked on his own bile he would be free of this torture.
But he held it back, fists clenching in their restraints, his nails breaking the skin of his palms, blood coating his fingers.
There was no way out of this hell, and no end in sight.
It had felt like years had passed by the time anything new happened (anything besides their hands clawing at him, his bones breaking, mouth filling with blood which he has to swallow or else risk choking on it-), when the restraints were opened, releasing his limbs.
He tried to push himself off the table, but two guards had grabbed him before he could taking the gag off, pulling him up and out of the room, his feet dragging uselessly behind him.
They led him down a maze of hallways, each one darker than the one before, before stopping in front of a large iron door.
One of the men let go of him to pull open the door, and the other threw him into the room, his head slamming against the hard rock of the floor, and when he finally had the strength to look up from his position on the ground, he saw the door had been shut.
He pushed himself up onto his knees, looking around the room he was trapped in. Three of the walls were made of stone, the wall in front of him holding the door, but the wall to his left composed of metal bars extending from the floor to the ceiling.
Looking through the bars, Loki could see another figure in the cell next to his. It was hard to tell what they looked like, but he could see red hair falling down their shoulders, whoever they were pushed into the furthest corner of the cell, staring at him from behind their knees.
“Hello?” the person called out, slowly moving forward towards the bars, giving him a full view of her face.
Her hair fell down to the floor, and Loki could tell she was a woman, her hands bandaged, a few bruises littering the skin visible to Loki, but other than tha, she seemed unharmed. She was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and black pants, her feet bare.
“Who… Who are you?” she asked, her voice accented, but Loki couldn’t tell from where. She looked at him with such hope in her eyes, his face crumbling.
“My name is Loki,” he said, his voice cracking, throat dry. He cough a few times, before trying to speak again, each word scratching his throat, “What’s,” he cleared his throat, “What is your name?”
She moved closer, hands gripping the iron bars, a small smile on her face, “My name is Wanda.”
He nodded his head, dragging himself closer to the bars, his hands scraping against the stone, “It’s,” another cough, “It’s very nice to meet you Wanda. How, if I may ask, how long have you been here for?”
Slightly slumping, she pressed her forehead into the bars, squeezing her eyes shut, “I do not know the exact date at this point, but I know it has been a very long time.”
She looked up at him quickly, intense eyes staring into his own, “Please, Loki, tell me, have you seen my brother? I just, I just want to know if he’s still alive.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what brother you’re speaking of. I-I haven’t seen anyone in here, except the doctors and the guards,” he said quickly, eyebrows furrowed. He watched her expression fall into one of grief, and added, “If I had seen him, I would have told you. I really am sorry.”
She offered him a sad smile, her arms wrapping around her stomach in some form of comfort, “It is alright, I had just hopped…” she trailed off, staring at the floor.
Loki reached a hand through the bars, placing it gently on her leg in an attempt at comforting her. He held still, waiting for her to shove his hand off, for her to snap at him, to hit him, to do anything, but all she did was place one of her hands on top of his.
“They took him from me months ago. Dragged him right out of this cell. I can still hear him screaming, begging me to help him, to not let them take him, but I did. I let him go, and I don’t know if I’ll get to see him again, or if that’s the last memory I’ll have of him. He was so desperate, so broken, so-”
She cut herself off, sobbing into her hand, the hand gripping his tightening, but not enough to hurt him. He sat there, offering as much comfort as he could, trying to calm her with kind words.
He really wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort her or himself.
Eventually, her sobs quieted, and she rubbed her eyes, looking up at him, “I’m sorry, you probably don’t need to bear my pain on top of yours.”
He smiled at her, “I think I can handle it. I offer you my condolences, but I’m sure your brother is alive. These people don’t seem like the type to kill, unless they have a reason.”
She smiled at him, and that’s how their growing bond began. The only other people they could talk with, they clung to that. The interaction, the kind touches, the shared hurts and comforts, and words spoken in kind. They both clung to that as if they were drowning at sea, and it was the only thing keeping them afloat.
Days, weeks, months passed, and still they sat in those prison cells, with only each other and the meals given to them once each day.
The first time Loki tried to eat anything, he threw it back up in the corner of his cell, his stomach heaving, the bile leaving a sour taste. Wanda looked at him, concern obvious in her features, and he tried to offer her a comforting look, but it fell flat.
He tried to ease his stomach back into accepting food without throwing it back up. It took days of eating only crumbs of bread, before taking small bites, before he could finally start eating the meals left for them, hoping to gain back some of the weight lost.
They would lie next to the iron bars, hands intertwined through the gap, telling stories of their homes and childhoods. Speaking of their family and friends, and what they would do if they could somehow escape.
Wanda spoke with such sadness, recalling a tale of her and her brother at a park where she grew up, their parents laying in the shade of a tree, while the siblings ran through the field, laughing in the sun.
Loki knew, then and there, that no matter what, Wanda and her brother would see the outside world again. They would feel the sun on their faces. They would be a family, like he and Thor could never be again.
He told her such as well. He leaned over, and whispered to her through the bars, “One day, we will break out of this prison, and we will be free, no more doctors, no more tests, no more experiments. Just us and the outside world.”
She gripped his hand tighter, twisting her head to look at him, “Pietro will escape with us, and we can be a family. We can get a house by the sea, and live our lives in peace and quiet, no more pain, no more suffering.”
“That sounds nice. A life without suffering.”
They planned what they would do when they finally made it out. Where they would travel, what foods they would eat, what they would say.
It was a nice distraction from their cruel reality. The only world they knew trapped inside four stone walls, in a lab beneath the earth.
But it was nice to dream.
One day (or night, they had no way of telling what time it was) Loki had mentioned the training his mother had given him to master his seidr. Everything he went through, to control the power within him.
Wanda sat up at that, and stared at him in a way he’d never seen before. He raised an eyebrow at her, asking her what was wrong.
“You have magic too?”
He realised he had never brought up his abilities, having them locked away from him for so long, he had never thought to bring it up.
And too? He was led to believe Midgardians didn’t typically practice seidr. Maybe he was wrong, hopefully he was wrong.
He nodded, sitting up, mimicking her position, kneeling on his knees, “Yes, I’ve been able to control seidr from a very young age. My mother had taught me all she could, and-”
He was cut off by her holding her hand out in front of her, a red light dancing across her fingertips, casting an ominous red glow on her face, “Can you teach me?”
At this, Loki froze. He could finally see their way out. He may not have his magic, but she did, and that was all they needed.
A new determination set deep in his bones, he nodded.
“It would be my honour.”
He taught her everything he knew. Her magic was different from his, but just as powerful. It was only a different kind of power.
It wasn’t a problem though, they adapted.
She fought as hard as she could, struggling to control it at first, but at Loki’s words and encouragement, she learned to accept it. It wasn’t something to control, it was a part of her.
And by the end of their training, when Loki deemed her ‘ready’, she had become stronger than she’d ever been.
Her eyes glowing a deep crimson, hair floating around her, the air smelling faintly of ozone (don’t think about Thor, don’t think about Thor, don’t think abou-) he knew she was ready. She was more than ready.
She was beautiful.
Her magic coursed through her veins, a faint red glow hidden beneath the surface, her power surrounding her as she moved.
He couldn’t help but smile. Hydra had no idea what they had coming.
He held his hands through the bars, offering them to her. She knelt in front of them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“What am I supposed to do?”
He offered his hands out again, motioning to them with his head, “You break the cuffs. You can’t do this on your own, I’ll need all the magic I can gather if we wish to be free.”
Looking at them, fear on her face, she gently placed a hand over a cuff, magic dancing between her fingertips.
She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes, and he encouraged her, “You can do it, just focus your energy on what you want it to do, don’t let it all rush out at once. You are the one in control, not the power within you.”
She nodded, before placing her other hand on the second cuff, before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, red wisps of magic embedding themselves into the cuffs.
He waited, watching magic flow through her veins, surrounding the cuffs, glowing brighter and brighter, when suddenly-
There was a loud snap, echoing throughout the room, and Loki nearly doubled over, his magic flowing through him all at once, as if a dam had broken inside of him.
He held himself carefully with his hands, breath hitting the stone beneath him, chest heaving with his sighs.
Wanda placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, watching him carefully from her cell.
He looked up, magic lighting up his veins, waiting to be released. He grinned at her, a true, hopeful grin, that he hadn’t had in years.
She met his eyes, returning his feelings, grabbing his hand through the bars, staring at the door of her cell, eyes set in a determined stare.
“Now, we give Hydra a taste of their own medicine. We find my brother, and we leave. As far away as we can.”
Loki felt himself nod, and finally, he could feel the tiniest sliver of hope grow deep in his chest.
A chance to have what he’d never gotten before.
A family.