Author: Dominae de Machinae PM
My imagining of Loki's punishment on Asgard. M for graphic detail of beatings and torture and language. R&RRated: Fiction M - English - Angst - Loki & Thor - Words: 2,229 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 31 - Follows: 22 - Published: 07-18-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8333271
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This is a little something I wrote up the other day. One of my more descriptive pieces~… Please enojoy 8D
Everything was agony.
Covered head to toe in bruises, his normally pale skin stained with dried and dripping blood, stripped of everything but his name.
His wrists were tied together above his head and he was hanging, his toes barely brushing against the unforgivingly cold, metal floor. He found that on some days, the bindings would loosen up just enough so that, by standing on the balls of his feet, he could give his arms relief. All too soon, though, the guards would return and continue their regularly scheduled torture.
He was cut off from his magic and abilities, as helpless as an infant. The only thing he was permitted to keep was his healing that came naturally to his body. He healed faster than a human, but slower than an Aesir.
For the moment he was allowed to rest and he did so gratefully, his head hung and eyes closed as he tried to regulate his breathing. There was blood in his lungs and he was sure the only thing that kept one of them from deflating was the fact that a rib had plugged the hole it had created.
But he had long ago lost the ability to scream, his throat raw and bleeding. It was for this reason that he hated eating. They force fed him, not allowing him to starve or succumb to death. He was being punished. He wasn't allowed to escape it by dying. So they shoved the food down his inflamed throat, causing it to bleed again and he would end up retching everything back up again, which was even more painful.
The first couple of weeks were hard, but after he became used to the agony, he found himself happily welcoming each of his torturers like a friend. As long as he was here… safe from them… he didn't care what they did to him.
But it didn't make it hurt any less…
Apparently his resting was done. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head back causing him to hiss out his pain at the sudden movement. Lash marks covered every piece of flesh he knew existed and as they healed, instead of becoming thicker, tougher skin, his body grew the skin back as virgin flesh, unbearably sensitive and painful to the touch.
A flood of pain raced down his arms.
The rope above him had been cut loose and he fell into a hard body that shoved him back into a rough, jagged stone wall.
He choked on the painful cry, slowly opening his eyes in confusion to the guards. They had never let him down before.
Almost immediately, he wished he hadn't opened his eyes at all. They were advancing on him, knives drawn to implement some new form of torture; more pain.
He couldn't stop his cringe as he pushed back into the wall, desperately calling upon his magic that gave no answer in return.
Weakly, he tried to push them away as they reached for him, tried to tell them to leave him alone, to get away… but then he remembered that words were taken from him and the only sounds he could make were his cries and screams of pain.
Total hopelessness washed over him and he looked away, eyes clenched shut tight as one of the guards held him steady and the other grabbed one of his wrists.
He felt the sharp tip of the blade linger over his skin before it was plunged in deep, effectively cutting and severing the tendons and veins and causing him to bite through his bottom lip, blood pouring down his chin as that hand was rendered useless. A choked scream managed to escape him as the other wrist underwent the same treatment.
A hand was still in his hair and it yanked him forward by it, causing a sharp yelp in response.
Forced to his knees and bent over in a sort of child's pose, he limply cradled his hands to his chest as he caught his bearings. The guards were leaving.
Surely that wasn't the end?…
Indeed it wasn't. The guards returned not a moment later with an older servant who carried a bowl of a sharp smelling liquid that burned his nose; disinfectant.
Eyes wide, he jumped away from them, shaking his head.
No, please. Anything but that. Anything!
The guards didn't falter. They grabbed his forearms and, weak from the blood loss, he had no choice but to watch as they dipped his hands up past the wrists into the liquid.
He screamed. What else could he do? It felt like his hands were melting, burning from the inside out. He thrashed but he was so weak that he barely even jostled the guards who watched as the smoke rose from the bowl. He could hear the sickening sizzle of the chemical reaction as it slowly began to reconnect skin tissue. It would not, however, give him back the use of his hands. Tendons would take longer to heal than a flesh wound.
Now he was truly useless…
Humiliated by his trembling, he bowed his head until a rough grip on his hair yanked him up again.
"You have a visitor." A fabric was thrown at him and his hands flopped uselessly as he tried to catch it, "Get dressed and try to look presentable."
And he was alone.
Surrounded by the damp walls and little flickers of the torches, he reached for the fallen fabric only to feel despair wash over him when his fingers refused to respond.
He had never really appreciated how important his hands were; how vital. Now to realize that he couldn't even dress himself anymore…
A frustrated tear rolled down his cheek, followed by a whimper until, with a flare of angry determination, he managed to maneuver himself under the fabric. Not quite on, but close enough.
The fabric was rough and scratchy, irritating the open wounds on his back as the blood made it cling to him.
Sitting cross-legged, his hands cradled in his lap, he realized why they cut his tendons. He couldn't hurt his visitor if he couldn't use his hands. Well… not without them seeing it coming. But he was so weak yet, barely able to stand on his own much less attack someone.
A large hand rested on his back and he hissed both in pain and annoyance. Of course his visitor would be him.
"Loki…" The deep voice was so full of sadness for him that he shook his head and covered his ears as best he could.
Stop it… Just stop… Don't sound so concerned… Sound disgusted… Tell me you hate me… Beat me… Do something, anything but this…
Thor knelt down beside him, carefully pulling the fabric from his back, frowning at the winces he received as the fibers detached from his skin, "I have been arguing with father endlessly it seems… Trying to get you out or shorten your sentence. He still refuses to listen… but still I try…"
Loki refused to look at his adopted brother, refused to meet those blue eyes that expressed that brotherly love all too clearly.
But the hands were suddenly moving him, lifting his arms and placing the shirt on his form properly. It was long and covered all the vital areas; perfect for a criminal… a monster… like him…
"I managed to give you two days of relief. You won't see your tormentors for exactly 48 hours. You'll be able to heal and rest."
Stop that! Please! I can't take it! I betrayed you! I betrayed Asgard; our… your parents! I threatened the world you love and turned your friends against you! How can you possibly stand to be near me? How?
His thoughts were so loud in his head that he didn't notice the tremble that had started in his shoulders; the tears that had begun to fall freely.
How can you still love me after everything I've done? Everything I've become? Everything I am?
A thick arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close as pathetic whimpers escaped him.
Thor sighed, "I understand that you are confused… but regardless of your parentage, you are my brother. Nothing you could ever do could make me love you less. Such bonds are not easily broken…"
Loki shook his head, trying to drown out the words, but a shimmering in the corner of his cave caught his attention and his eyes widened, his jaw nearly falling to the floor.
It was a four poster bed with silky green satin sheets and golden fur pillows. The very bed he used to call his own.
Out of all the things he could have wished for, this was at the top of his list. His bed.
He struggled to stand and allowed Thor to help him, grateful that the man didn't damage his dignity further by carrying him.
They made their way slowly to the bed, Thor catching him when his knees gave out and setting him on the edge.
At this point Loki didn't know what to think. The foundation of his rage and betrayal was unstable to begin with, but in the light of all this, it was crumbling beneath his feet.
He opened his mouth to speak but, once again, no words escaped him. Perhaps that was for the best. What could he possibly say to this man? He knew he had hurt Thor many times very deeply and yet the idiot still believed that he could be saved; that he could be reformed. He was the only one who consistently thought these things. Everyone else in his life had given up on him long ago and they had never really trusted him. Thor, though… he had always been there. They had always been there for each other. They complimented each other in a way no one else could, even when their views and attitudes flopped a total 180.
What could he possibly say to take back everything he had done to this man? This man who considered him a brother even though he wasn't even of the same race.
Thor smiled softly at him as if he could read the thoughts clearly; they were plastered all over his face, "You should rest, brother. As much as you can. I will continue my case with father. Hopefully you will not have to endure this much longer." His large, paw-like hand brushed through his matted, bloody hair.
Loki felt small then, like a child as Thor gently pushed him down and pulled the sheets over him. Strangely he didn't feel upset by it. As soon as his head hit the pillow, his eyes slipped closed, heavy after so long without proper sleep and nourishment, not to mention the torture and beatings.
He was asleep before he knew it, not even able to hold his eyes open long enough to watch Thor leave.
A strange sound jolted him awake.
A tingling pain shot down his back and he winced with it. He was so sore as he tried to push himself up despite his useless hands.
A scuttling and clicking sound echoed throughout the room and he felt his pulse jump. It hadn't been 48 hours already had it?
No. Please. Just a little longer…
But the sound happened again and his suspicions grew. The guards wouldn't have stayed hidden so it couldn't have been them…
The sound repeated behind him followed by a familiar sinister voice in his head, We warned you Asgardian…
He gasped and turned around quickly to face the terror he knew was behind him. His body protested loudly at the motion but not as loudly at the Chitaurian dagger that suddenly pinned him to the bed, his sanctuary, through his stomach.
This isn't Thor. This isn't Thor at all.
He screamed all his pain and terror, the sound traveling throughout Asgard easily until it cut off and disappeared completely, the source not even in the realm any longer.
Thor kicked down the door to Loki's cell and marched inside prepared to pummel whoever dared touch his brother during his hours of rest, but as he looked inside and found no one there, not even Loki, his heart leaped in to his throat. Had he escaped?
He walked over to the bed and spotted the blood first, freshly spilled and a hole in the sheets.
No. He didn't escape. He was taken! Someone took my brother to inflict more pain upon him!
Thor stared at the sheets for a moment longer, his blood boiling until he released a long battle cry full of rage and anguish.
The next instant he was storming out of the room to Heimdall to get the man to trace where those bastards had taken his kin.
And that is the end of that. I cringed a few times I think… Why does my best writing always come out angsty and painful?... smh…
Anyway! Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review! Much Love~