Catatonia
Loki didn't know who had put him here, it could be nearly anybody. Nobody had much love for him anymore. The very few people he had count on in the past were either gone or had shown him that they wanted nothing to do with him. He knew he had brought it on himself, but still hurt.
The fact the hadn't been able to make a single true friend in all his years, and in all the realms he had visited. Something that come so easy for most of the being in the universe, and yet, he was alone, always alone, and had to force people, put them under mind control if he wanted to be kept company. The people he'd shared years of his life with on Asgard bore no love for him, and were quick to find ways to get rid of him quick as lightning.
And his family... Funnily enough, he imagined that, like most adopted children, he had two families, the biological one and the adoptive one. And yet... Both his fathers were a lost cause: he had killed Laufey trying to please Odin and Odin had shown once and again how little he tolerated him. How glad he would be, he too, to never have to lay eyes on him ever again.
Frigga had still cared a bit when she died. And he couldn't say goodbye properly and she was taken from all of them. He couldn't make up for all the wrong things he'd done and said to her, and she no longer could look at him feeling something other than repulse. They'd lost each other, in a bitter way and Loki regretted and missed. (But she too had lied to him all of his life... whatever her motives, she must have known... she was a wise woman, why would she...) He couldn't even think about her without being overwhelmed by sorrow, and grief.
Losing Thor too (while it was a less permanent loss) had hurt even more. At least, when he told him he was going to kill him, that he was ready for his betrayal, he seemed to care, even if only slightly. Now there wasn't even that. Thor had shown him that he felt nothing for him anymore, that he was less than a stranger. Thor had forsaken him, his eternal companion, the one that had called himself his brother for all those years....And now, nothing.
So he couldn't on him to get him out, and if he couldn't count on Thor he couldn't count on anyone. He realised soon after he was thrown in that dark dungeon, that only his jailers would be able to change his fate. If they decided that he was to rot in that windowless cell for all eternity, then rot he would. Those who knew him would probably assume he was dead (finally) and celebrate his death in a way in which they never celebrated his life.
Again, it hurt.
Knowing how irreparably alone in the universe he was hurt more than all the tortures his nondescript captors threw at him: more than the drowning and reviving, more than the scorching flames and the acid, more than the thread of metal on his lips to keep him quiet.
Also those did hurt, too. Loki thought he wouldn't be able to feel pain by now. In many aspects, the body got used to the treatment it received, the more one was in cold places, the less they felt it, because they'd grown accustomed to it. And there were a fair number of things Loki hardly registered anymore, but pain... He knew that he could withstand much more than any mortals and probably more than most Asgardians, but still there was a point in which he could nothing but scream and thrash and hope for the quick release of death.
He had lost track of time somewhere after seven or eight months had passed, but he knew those guards had been torturing him for a fairly long time. It started with fairly common things, the choking, the ripping off his nails, the bucket in which they intermittently drowned him. Then they saw that they were burning him like they wanted to and they started getting creative.
The fire was painful, but the acid was much more horrible. It crawled under his skin, and travelled through his body, like liquid agony. He could feel and see his limbs being eating away by it, he could smell it and he there was nothing he could do to escape it. They poured it everywhere, and then again, over his half healed wounds.
They broke many bones, too, and put him in a sort of target to be punched, kicked and thrown things. This was not as painful but it was horrendously humiliating. Having him paraded there, with his mouth shut so he couldn't even complain about it... That broke him as badly as the acid of the fire did. And it never end.
Days stretched over nights, until he almost longed for the sight of his captors. At least, that way, he would know that he was alive and wouldn't have to endure his own excruciating thoughts. He knew that he was alone, and he knew that it was his own doing, but the thing was that he didn't think he would have done anything differently given the chance. He was destined for that, for doom, for solitude, to end up and as one his enemy's plaything, living through indescribably pain of all types for the rest of his days.
There was no hope, not anymore.
At some point he stopped thinking altogether and just lay there, his senses becoming number and number with time, until he was only a shell of a person. Maybe now he would be able to die. Maybe now it would stop hurting.
Time passed and passed and passed, and Loki became a limp doll. Although their captors missed the thrashing and screaming, the crying out and doubling over, they didn't mind inflicting their punishments on the Loki-doll. He could be useful in different ways.
At some point, he was forgotten, abandoned. Solitary confinement is what they would call it, if anyone cared to name Loki's situation. But he was forgotten in his cell, eyes unseeing, lips stitched up. Some of his wounds refused to heal, even though it had been long since he received them. He became a forgotten useless doll of a person. Not even that. A mere lifeless figure.
Time passed, and passed.
There was a beeping sound, but Loki took a long time to hear it and then to understand what it was. First he realised that he could hear again, and that was odd. He was so comfortable in his pleasant catatonia, why would his body choose to leave it? But there it was, that rhythmic beeping sound, on his ears, making its way to its brain. And not only that. Little by little he started hearing other things too, like footsteps and the faint sound of other people's voices in the background.
Which was very strange, Loki thought, as there had been no beeping in his cell. Why would his captors movie him around? To someplace relative public, to boot, where people could be heard. This seemed too strange. Something was very off, and he didn't know what. Still, it wasn't enough for him to open his eyes, not yet. Whatever new hells awaited him, he was in no hurry to discover.
The next time he noticed something (woke up?) the situation seemed even stranger. The beeping was still there, but there was a warm feeling in hands and then arms. Water, he realised, warm water with something in it, and the hands of someone else. It took him a fairly long time to understand that someone was cleaning him. He braced himself for the reason they were doing this, the ulterior motive, but none came. The person cleaning him was careful, gentle, and went through all his body with care, replacing the water when it got cold, and carefully dried him.
And then they left, with a soft sigh, and there was no electricity, no chains, no burning or poisons. As he took more control of his body, he started realising that he was lying on something soft and that he was warm. The beeping continued, and he realised that all in all the temperature of the place was fairly good. Days must have passed since the first time he heard the beep, and yet, no one had come to punish him.
The only logical explanation seemed to be that he wasn't in his cell anymore, but how? He hadn't had the strength to get out himself and he had no one to rescue him. It was a mystery, and there was probably something dark behind it, but Loki decided that he would enjoy this peace while it lasted and went back to sleep.
When he awoke again, there were voices near him.
“So, you think he can hear us?” The first voice said.
“His brain shows more activity – he' definitely not in that catatonic state anymore anymore, hasn't for a couple weeks. But we don't know how long it will take for him to actually be conscious again.” A second voice, and the voices sounded vaguely familiar. Not someone from Asgard, but not a strangers, either. A third one continued.
“There simply no precedent for this, so we going blind here. Any other living thing would have died long ago, so extrapolations we may do...”
“He's waking up.” A female voice said behind them, and this one Loki didn't know. “Won't open his yet, though. Too tired, too... drained. He's wondering why no one is hurting him, why no one has hurt him these last days.”
“Well, that's awful.” A last voice said, a stranger, again.
And then the woman's voice was in his head, careful. You are not imprisoned anymore, Loki. We are not your jailers. No one will hurt you. Loki didn't quite believe her, but felt some tension dissolve around him. Maybe a twinge of hope, maybe a sense of calm. Not only was he out of that cell, but he was with people, someone who cared enough to address him, call him by his name.
Five days later he opened his eyes and immediately closed them at the sudden attack of whiteness.
“Stark! Dim the lights, will you?”
One of the voices from the other day said. The first one, the one wondering if he could hear them.
“You can open your eyes again, we've softened the light so it won't hurt you.”
Loki did so, slowly and carefully, and saw the bright smiling face of the Captain of America in front of him.
“Hey, Loki. Do you remember me?”
Loki faintly nodded and looked at his surroundings. It was a luxurious room, with what he recognised as medical equipment and a big window behind him. Next to his bed was a long couch where the Captain, the man of iron and a young woman were sitting. Loki looked around, confused.
“This is one of my places” Stark said. “We took you here when Wanda and Steve found you.”
A million questions flooded his eyes. Why? How?
“Well, Wanda was looking for some way to bring her brother back, you see, and Thor mentioned something about how you died like a bunch of times but always came back, and so she wanted to find you.”
Wanda smiled and Loki recognised her, understood, she was the voice that had spoken to him before.
“But don't worry, talk of magic can wait, until you are fully recovered.” She said, and her voice was calm.
“And you can stay here until you are fully recovered. No matter how long it takes.” Steve said, something final about his words.
He remembered horrifically clearly the day he Wanda and Bucky had found him. Or it, because what they had found could hardly be called a person. He had been awake but somehow not awake, his body covered in a myriad of old wounds, half healed, his body consumed on itself. Bones were protruding everywhere, some of them where they shouldn't be, and he was bleeding still, after so long being left there.
But he could probably not feel it, not feel anything, if his eyes distant glazed eyed were anything to go by. And the mouth.... his mouth was still shut with those metal wirings, and Steve had to fight the urge to vomit right then and there. This had been a person, someone they knew, someone's brother and child, and he'd been tortured worse than any living thing could withstand. Bucky was frozen in place, trying to get a grip on himself. Trying not get taken away to a darker time.
Wanda knelt in front of the presence and looked him in the eye.
“He's alive.” She said. “But not quite here anymore. It hurt too much.”
Some days later, Stark found out that the government had a hand in what had happened to Loki, which had been mostly a Special Ops prolonged assignment. To teach our agents to interrogate, and have them try out with someone disposable. Torturing was part of the training of the people that were supposing to protect the country.
Steve felt sick. Then he pained his shield black.
While Stark, Natasha and some other set out to make things right (expose the program, point fingers, create public outrage, make sure responsible people got jail time), Wanda and Steve became Loki's caretakers, and they had Bruce's and Scott Lang's help, occasionally. (There was, in fact, a get well soon card written by Cassie Lang, who only knew her daddy was helping a very very sick man).
It was a slow process. First, they needed to undo the malnutrition, and set the bones right. (And of course, release his mouth. Bruce had nightmares for days after that particular surgery). Then, it would be up to Loki, they were feeding him with IVs, nutrients, water, medicine and his body seemed to be responding (slowly, but little by little he was) but there was no telling if his mind would come back.
For a long time they stayed there, making sure he was getting what he needed, making sure his wounds were disappearing, that he was warm and clean. If he could do something to unmake the horrors he'd been put through, he would. Bucky was there sometimes too, but less often. It hurt too much, it was too painful a reminder of all those years of his life when he too, had lost himself. But he was glad that Steve was there for Loki too.
And there he was.
“Maybe you'r wondering who took you and did those things to you.” Steve said. “They were... some of our authorities sadly, but they'd taken care of.”
Loki still didn't know the answer to the most important question.
“He wants to know why we're helping him.” Wanda said, a proxy for his voiceless dry throat. “Only to make amends for something you perceive as wrong? The wrong is undone, those people have had their comeuppance. Why endure my presence any longer and not throw me to a cell you can approve of?”
Wanda finished her tirade and looked at Loki with sorrow filled eyes. If they don't take you, I will take you. You've been in a cell long enough. She said in his mind, and Loki welcomed the presence of magic, however different from his it was.
“Cap doesn't want to.” Tony said, with his usual brand of smugness. “He's developed some sort of Nightingale syndrome but the other way round looking after you. And honestly, I'm not happy with the idea of throwing you to the wolves again, after all the shit that has been done to you. We've talked about it, and we want to give you a chance.”
Steve nodded, while Loki's eyes widened.
“While you heal, and after. Only if you don't go against or against our world, of course.” Steve said. “But Wanda also started in the other side, and giving her a chance has improved our team greatly. And maybe Stark's a bit right, and I want to get to know you.”
“Me too.” Wanda said, smiling.
A single thought ran through Loki's head, and Wanda caught on it.
“Yes, Loki, that's right. You wouldn't be alone anymore.”