Stranded in space
In the absolute middle of nowhere at all, Loki woke up. This was impossible, he knew, and yet it was exactly what was happening. He had been dead, his very body had lain for an unspecified amount of time, and now he was awake, again. His neck had been crushed, his windpipe had been shattered and he had felt the life go out of him. He'd known that he was dying and then he'd died. It had been simple, it should had remained that way.
So why was it that now, who knows how long later his eyes were opening again? As if he'd just been sleeping, as if his heart had never stopped beating. He could feel himself again, his limbs, his blood, the heartbeat, his whole body, back in the game. Maybe Thor had done something to bring him back, wherever he was. Maybe he simply was cursed with non-permanent death, which was so much more worse than immortality, because you died and always hoped it would stay that way this time... it never did.
He could only see open space all around him: stars, debris, satellites – the deeper space, haunting him again, eating him whole. He could glimpse what he thought were the bodies of other Asgardians in the distance, but that was it. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to anchor himself in that vast infinity. He was stranded, stuck in in an undefined point of space. He wanted to scream, but had no voice. The void had taken it.
Loki couldn't move. He could blink, more or less, maybe flex the tips of his fingers, but that was it. His body was there, but not responding. He couldn't move in one direction, he couldn't even make a ball of himself. The gravitational forces of the galaxy weighed on him, and somehow got him paralysed. He was stuck there, forever. Again.
His time after he threw himself that first back kept coming to him, his lowest point, the days when he had suffered the most in his very eventful life. And now he was bound to repeat what was the worst time of his life, maybe forever. He felt like he did back then: small, hurt, insignificant, and utterly desperate. Loki hurt so much, so bad.
Outer space was pinning him there and he could do nothing but watch, being painfully aware of how slowly time passed, if there was such a thing as time in a place like that. He couldn't do anything to fix the situation, though, whatever leftover magic too weak against the forces of the vast space. He was but a dot in an infinite streams of stars, planets, but most of all, nothingness, the very backbone of space. Dark matter didn't find him pleasing – the feeling was mutual.
He wished he hadn't woken up, wished he had stayed dead for once. It would be preferable to this never ending hell. He been in the right place when he'd been needed, he had redeemed himself and then got himself killed before Thanos could use and abuse him again. It hadn't been a great end, not at all the glorious demise he'd pictured, but it had been an end, one that prevented him from having to withstand further horrors. But not even that little luxury he was allowed.
Now he was supposed to weather an eternity of waking solitude in space, alone, abandoned, forgotten, unable to move, unable to help himself, unable to die. He couldn't do anything to end this torture, and no one else would rescue him. There was no reason for anyone to come for him – he was dead, long gone. Even if someone did eventually pass through where he was, they may mistake him for another dead body. His fate was sealed, and it was worse than any of his many nightmares.
Hadn't he suffered enough? Hadn't one time stuck in an endless void to be followed by the most gruesome tortures been enough? Were his sins really that terrible that he had to hurt, constantly, until his demise, and then some more? Space hurt him, and yet, space was the only company he had, now and forever.
Loki tried to concentrate on something to distract himself. Focus on the pain in his neck, on his back, on his lungs. He thought maybe... pain was temporary, at least it would give him some relief, remind him that some things started and ended...It didn't. The pain never wavered, it was like a constant, a scream in his head that never lower.
He wasn't just frozen in space, he was frozen physically too, frozen in that waking moment where he realised that he couldn't speak, that his head was hanging limply, devoid of even a proper neck to anchor his head.
In his mind, he called his parents, he called his sister, he called on Heimdall and all the gods he knew to help him, to please don't let him stay there forever. But his luck had run out, it would seem. No mercy for Loki. Time and time passed and he was still there, getting further and further away from the wreckage of the ship that once had contained the few Asgardians spared from Hela's massacre, getting further from anything that could give him any sort of comfort.
Loki closed his eyes, forcefully, trying to imagine that this was not happening, trying to imagine that this was simply an obscenely vivid nightmare. But every time he opened them again, space slapped him in the face, laughed at his predicament. He closed his eyes more forcefully this time, with all of the force he could muster.
Silver crystal tears shone through that corner of the galaxy.
At least he could still cry.
+
“I think he's waking up!” Valkyrie said, calling on her shipmates. She'd found Sif in a small pod that was about to run out of fuel, and invited her into the one she'd stolen from the Grandmaster. Valkyrie had been there when Thanos had... raided them and escaped with as many women as she could, and then set out find Thor, maybe find a home for all this refugees. They had also rescued a couple of people form the wreckage, miraculously alive, and that was when they found what they thought it was Loki's body.
Val had watched him die, and had to admit, despite them not having been the best friends, it made her sad. Loki had been interesting, fun and someone who knew how to survive in dire circumstances, much like herself. He was also a Revenger, however short lived their little band of....could they call themselves heroes? She was a drunk, Loki a trickster, Hulk a brutal fighter... Well, he'd been part of the gang. She would miss him.
“Are you sure he's dead?” Sif wondered. Loki had been dead before, and it never lasted too long. He always had a trick up his sleeve, and in this case, it may not be a bad thing. If this Thanos was as formidable as the Valkyrie made him out to be, they could use Loki and his magic to fight him. They had been training the survivors as warriors, but all help was appreciated. Also Thor would be beside himself with joy if Loki came back again.
Sif heard for a breathing, a heartbeat. Something was making a small sound in Loki's chest, fluttery, weak, but there. The breathing was a more complicated business, but one of the girls there had been an apprentice of Eir's, and managed to construct a neck brace using spare parts she found lying around in the ship. They were repairing him- he hadn't been completely lost.
Some days later, his eyes opened. The apprentice, Sif and Valkyrie had been there to meet him, hoping that poor Loki hadn't completely lost his mind out there in space.
Loki's pale eyes opened again, and they were not met by the horrible space, no, but by familiar faces. Somebody had found him, somebody had given him shelter, somebody had taken him away from his boundless prison. The joy of having being found, of not being alone anymore, or being been healed and cared for, looked after when he'd given up on seeing anyone again, on feeling warmth... His happiness shone in his eyes, and was mirrored by that of the women that rescued him.
“Glad to see you again too, Loki.” Sif said. “Glad to have you back.”