Trust My Rage
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, One-Shot
Timeframe: After the fall from the Bifrost, before Avengers.
Summary: After Loki fell, he was captured by The Other and Thanos. They tortured him, broke him down, until he became their willing pawn, or so they thought. How did Loki managed to survive the torture, able to manipulate himself into a position to be given the scepter and an army?
Trust My Rage
Falling had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was his only option to get himself away from the disappointment… the pain. He could fall through the stars, between the realms, and be anywhere but in the disapproving gaze of his father, sorry, his kidnapper.
But nothing falls freely.
Captured by The Other, brought before Thanos, there had been nothing but pain.
Loki always knew he preferred the cold. He had thought nothing of it, it was hardly an uncommon trait. Now, acutely aware of his Jotun blood, Loki despised the cold, yet he could not stand the heat. The Other baked and broiled him like slaughtered boar. His body broke out in sweat and blisters.
And that was only the first day.
Waking up on a metal slab, liquid dripped upon his closed eyes. It was cool and soothing, making him almost forget where he was, if not for the constant hum of pain still throbbing through his body.
“You’re awake,” a soft but neutral voice of a woman spoke. “You can open your eyes.”
Slowly, he did as instructed, but not because he was told to, no, he needed to get the lay of the land if he as going to formulate an escape. His arms and legs were shackled to the table, his magic dampened. There were needles stuck into his skin, their purpose he could not be sure. It was unfortunate position he found himself in, but he wasn’t completely out of options.
A light red hand held a small bowl above his face. The other hand wiped a rag gently across his brow, the strangely sweet-smelling liquid cooling him down, easing the dehydration headache that pounded against his skull.
The healer sat the bowl to the side and he could see her fully. She wore a gray smock dress with a black waist apron. Her skin was pink, lightly tinted towards rose, but her hair was a fiery mix of red and gold. In an Asgardian court, and with proper attire, he might have thought her exquisite. But here, in Thanos’ stronghold, she was merely an obstacle.
“You’re one of Thanos’ famed daughters?” Loki asked, gauging the woman’s response, wondering if perhaps she could be turned into a tool.
“I am.”
“You’re a healer?”
“I am much more adept at mending wounds than causing them,” she still spoke softly, that neutral undercurrent a seemingly fixed point.
“So, you are mending me.” Loki thought he might appeal to her better nature. He was extremely skilled at manipulating empathy, especially towards himself.
“Father cannot torture you further if you die,” she explained with no change to her voice.
Loki did not let it show how much that rattled him. The ideas and plans he had already started forming were now struck dead. This woman was just like her sisters, it seemed, ruthless and heartless.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try something. “You patch people up to send back to him, to prolong their pain?”
“You can end the pain at any time.” She continued to wipe fresh, cooling liquid across his forehead. “The fact that you still live tells me that you do not wish to die. I am obliging you.”
“You… you’re obliging me?”
She paused and gazed at him curiously. “Do you wish to die? If that is so, tell me and I will cut your main artery, here.” She pressed two fingers against his inner thigh. “You will bleed out within seconds.”
There was so much pain, death might just be a blessing, but no, for all that had happened, Loki did not wish to die. He was far too important to die here, like this.
The woman could read his answer in his eyes, and so she continued about her work. “I am of a mind, that when death comes, it should be on our own terms. This is my gift to you.”
Death would not take Loki easily, he would never allow it. He would see this Other and Thanos burn on a pile of cinders made from their own empires. All he had to do was make it through the torture, gain his way out of the chains. Survive the pain.
She slowly removed the needles from his skin. “Would you like to know a secret to surviving the pain?”
Loki’s eyes flicked towards her, debating if she had telepathic abilities, or had simply seen too many strapped to her table, being patched up to be send back to him.
“Reach inside,” her voice took on the smallest hint of darkness and rebellion. “Find that one emotion, that one memory, that one piece of you that can never be broken. Trust it to keep you alive, for as long as you can feel it, you still breathe.”
Feel it, so it could be used against him? There was nothing, not anymore. Loki’s life was a lie, from his very birth. A runt among giants. A stolen son drowned in a light he was never supposed to reach. Passed over for a witless oaf of a brother whose immaturity lead to his own banishment. Promised a kingdom that was never meant to be his, either by rule or by blood.
“Yes.” She smoothed back his hair gently as if comforting a child. “What is inside you, what defines you?”
Jaw tight and his body tugging against his bindings. “Rage.”
The woman recoiled slightly, judging him as he let that rage boil inside him and push away the pain. The Other and Thanos could do whatever they wanted to him, but nothing would stop Loki from putting the world back to the way it should be.
She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “Trust your rage. It will get you through the pain.”
Doors opened, guards came in. The woman backed away, speaking not a word as he was rolled off, back to the torture, back to the heat, back to the pain. He whispered softly to himself. “Trust my rage.”
----
They took away the latest victim of her father’s machinations. It was the same each time, she’d patch them up and send them back for more. She could always tell who would make it, and who would not.
But this man, this Jotun in Asgardian skin, he had been different. All the others, they would reach for love, family, and honor. Impossible pieces of dreams, destined to fail them when the world became its bleakest.
Rage, he spoke of rage as if he was a man with nothing to lose, but an unwillingness to die.
This was going to be interesting… and perhaps a solution to her problem.
“Sister.” Nebula barged through the medical area. “I need a second hand.”
Not knowing if she meant literally or figuratively, she waited until Nebula was standing before her. The patch-work woman had broken a piece on her bionic hand. It was a two-hand job to get it fixed. She mostly held a piece still as Nebula replaced another.
Her mind drifted to the man who raged…
“All done,” Nebula said, snapping her hand back into place. “Thanks for the hand, Sigyn.”
Every inch of his body was either aching or bleeding as he sat huddled in his cell; naked and alone. Picking up a small stone he etched another tally into the wall, tears drying over his cheeks.
There were nearly 237 marks, 237 days since he fell here, 237 days since he let go.. Since he--
No. He wouldn’t think about her, how he left her. Sigyn must hate him anyways; for hurting her, for dooming their child to death. He was a monster and he didn’t deserve her. Not anymore, perhaps he never did.
His magic was weak but he raised his hand any way to the burns on his torso and arms, healing the burns as best he could. The deep cuts had slowed their bleeding so he wasn’t too worried, they were already fixing themselves. Sigyn could heal him, she had that natural gift. She could even erase the scar tissue and leave the skin completely new. But he didn’t want her here, to see him like this.
I deserve this, I deserve the pain.. He thought to himself. Certainly, he couldn’t have picked a better Hell for himself.
In some ways it felt like he was sitting in the silent for days but it had only been merely hours before the Other returned, a wicked grin on his face as he opened the barred door. Trying to make himself as small as possible but they still grabbed him, dragging him away. Too weak to even walk as they lead him to the throne, throwing him at the feet of the titan. This was how every day began.
“Who are you..” Thanos finally spoke, looking down upon the miserable creature trying to prop himself on his hands and knees.
“My name is Loki, of Asgard!” His voice weak but not submitting.
“To whom do you serve?”
“No one! Definitely not you..” The Other came, kicking him hard in the ribs knocking him flat onto his stomach. The cuts breaking open again and beginning to bleed.
Too weak.. You’re too weak.. But he wouldn’t give in, he would take Death over doing what they were wanting to subjugate him to do. “I will wait for the freedom of Death before I ever do your bidding!” He growled, straining to pull himself back up; dirty, raven black hair covering his bruised face but his eyes were still full of fire.
Standing the titan came to him, kneeling close and wrapping a hand around the gods neck, nearly suffocating him. “Freedom is life’s great lie.. Once you accept that you pathetic runt.. You will know peace!” With a grin he dropped him. “No food or water, not until he learns to beg for it..”
Seven more marks.. His stomach was cramping in agony. Wanting anything.
Ten more marks.. His throat was so dry he could barely open his mouth in fear the last ounce of moisture he had retained would instantly dry.
Twenty-four more marks... Hallucinations began.. Loki was back on Asgard, Sigyn was dying in his arms.. Her swollen pregnant belly being ripped apart by the monster he had cursed her with. Screaming though no one cared to listen to him, he curled into himself shaking.
After nearly a month, he could barely move. Muscle mass and weight had been lost, eyes sunken and hollow he truly looked like Death. But it never came for him, even still, he mustn’t have suffered enough.
Humiliating himself with his less then audible voice as he begged for food and water. The raw meat making him wanting to puke but the water was heavenly. The desert in his throat being washed away and sating him so.
But with them returning his strength that meant there was a price to be paid for it.
Once again he was dumped at the titan’s feet. “you know.. I thought you were just average.. A pitiful Asgardian and and even more pitiful Jotnar runt. But how you have resisted. The torture, the silence, the isolation..” Thanos hummed, “but you have held on, you still resist me even after I have repeatedly broken your flesh, bones and even your sanity. So what is it? What force within you keeps you going?”
Loki looked away, he couldn’t have him know. Thanos could not take HER from him! “There is nothing you can do--”
“To you..” The titan smiled, coming to Loki and gripping his head with both of his giant hands, pressing painfully into his mind. Screaming he tried scratching and clawing but he was too weak to do much of anything then be a nuisance. “Ah.. I see, I see her.. She’s beautiful Loki.. Surprised at how she fell for you. The sun to your moon.. Your soul mate.” Releasing the god he crumpled, shaking and his vision was blurred from the assault. “Here is my offer.. You do as I say. You will serve me, lead my armies and retrieve the Tesseract for me! Or I will find her.. And she will be my new pet to play with..”
Roaring, he used what strength remained to charge at the titan but he was smacked away like an insect. Hitting one of the rocks he went still, trying to catch his breath as Thanos came towards him. “I am no longer giving you a choice!” The second the titan touched his mind again he felt all emotion leaving him, a soothing wave of control tying his reason and remorse down. Everything that was good about him was Sigyn and knowing the source he was able to eliminate it and take charge.
“Give him some time to adjust.. Then ready him for war..”
Dressed in his battle armor he stood in front of Thanos, bowing before looking up; his emerald eyes now shrouded with a sickly blue. “You are ready to lead them.” Holding out a scepter for Loki to take, as he held it he felt the control strengthened within his mind and he thanked his master.
“Never forget. Should you fail, or if the Tesseract is kept from us.. You won’t know pain till we make you kill her! Slowly, intimately, in every way you knows She fears! And then we will wake you, just long enough to see your good work, and when you scream, we’ll split your skull!”
As soon as he landed, sick from the crude portal he had just fallen through he felt for a split second to fight the hold on him. To run. Perhaps he couldn’t break the hold but he could plot against himself. Loki’s cleverness still remained and he would find a way to break free, to never allow the titan to have the cube. He would let himself be defeated. It was the only way.
“Sir, please put down the spear!” A man with an eye patch called to him, and as he looked down to it he was filled with it’s power, with it’s control. Like a crack addict getting a fix.
There was no going back now. Directing the spear, he fired.
plot is: loki falls from the bifrost, ends up stuck as a cat on midgard, taken in by tony stark during iron man 1/2 (not sure which). seeing what tony's going through, he starts to rethink his and his family's actions etc etc and after defending tony from intruders using his jotunn powers, he reveals himself and goes back to asgard
i'm pretty sure the title was 'redemption' and that it was on ao3 but i cannot find it anywhere. anyone have better luck?
The broken cry rang across the splintered edge of the Bifrost; "I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!"
And then the reply, the single reply which solidified the damage wrought on the prince's heart, those few words whispered across the dark space between the king and the prince; "No, Loki."
That taste in the prince's mouth was uncomfortably close to fear, to despair, and defeat. Defeat? No, no, no! Not defeat! Never defeat! Loki was never defeated! Never!
But Loki could not face the combined judgement of his false father and false brother. Asgard held no welcome for him. There was no place for him in Asgard now. There was no option left to him now save one.
The choice was telegraphed in the single tear which dropped from his eyes. Why he wept, he could not say. But weep he did as his grip loosened around the spear.
"Loki, no," his false brother cried as Loki clenched his teeth and let go, "Loki, no!"
Loki fell. Loki fell far into the icy blackness of empty space. He could not feel the warm presence of the World Tree around him. And he fell. He fell long and far until he no longer knew up from down or his own name. But as he fell on, deeper and deeper through the blackness which twisted and warped around him, he heard voices. But were they real? Or in his head?
"The rotten tree can bear the sweetest fruit when touched with steely kiss,"
He looked around, his green eyes straining against the darkness as he fell and floated, searching for the source of the voices and the mindless, ceaseless chanting.
"The fruit of trickery, the fruit of war,"
"What sorcery is this?" he demanded, or at least thought he demanded. But he may not have said anything at all, only continued to fall, blind and deaf and mute through the dark matter between worlds.
"The fruit will rot or bloom into a blossom fair,
And spread its fragrance through the roots of the Mighty Tree,
Or spread its rot and ruin till all the branches burn black with death.
The child of war and trickery will have power undiscovered
To rule as king of all the realms
Or to be the end and fell the Mighty Tree."
Loki's eyes widened. Fell the tree? The Mighty Tree? The Yggdrasil? What possible power could destroy even the very fabric of the Nine Realms?
"Who are you to speak these words?" he cried, "Who are you to voice these verses where only I can hear?" Of that he was sure. He was not meant to hear this prophecy, but hear it he did. And he knew it would shape his ever decision for the rest of eternity.
"So speaketh the Norns.
So tells Urda of the Past.
So describes Verdandi of the Present.
So fortells Skuld of the Future.
Destiny lies in the union of war and trickery."
The Norns spoke the prophecy to him, he knew it! This prophecy, this fortelling of things to come, was meant for his ears and it was his destiny to hear it. Loki the Trickster would obey the prophecy - but how? Child of trickery - that much was clear, it meant a child from his seed! But of war? Was he to go to war? Was he to lead an army?
Child of trickery. Child of war. Child of trickery. Child of war. Child. Child. Child of trickery and war. Union. A union. A child. A child of war. A union of trickery and war. War and trickery. Trickery. Trickery. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. WAR!
When he came to all he knew was a faint warmth crawling along his spine and the biting cold beneath him -- a biting cold that seemed very much a part of him.
His fingers curled into the dust around them, finding cracked earth, and with great- strained effort, Loki lifted his head. Hair fell in his eyes, and all he could see was a vast expanse of a field around him, and when he turned his head-- a gulley that his own body had carved from the Earth as he had fallen.
A sparrow hopped along a few yards away and his eyes squeezed shut.
