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When he and his brother were young, Odin used to tell them stories of war. He used to speak about all the crimes the Jötnar had done on the Asgardians, used to narrate all the battles he’d fought in, used to explain to the princes why the Frost Giants deserved to die, why they deserved what was brought on them, why they deserved to suffer.
Sometimes, Loki wondered if Odin had foreseen the future. Wondered if he told them the stories to prepare Loki for what was awaiting him. But when these thoughts came, Loki decided that sometimes, ignorance was better than knowledge.
Despite all the lies and secrets, despite all the hateful remarks and glances he’d trown Loki’s way through the years, the god refused to believe that even Odin would be so cruel as to describe the Jötuns’s torture in heavy details just so Loki knew what to expect when he goes through it.
And sometimes Loki thought that maybe he should thank the Allfather. Maye he should thank him for the stories, for it was thanks to them Loki knew which tools worked the best for causing pain to Jötnars. Maybe he should thank him for it was because of the knowledge he’d found in Loki’s mind that Thanos knew just how to make the god oblige to obedience. Maybe he should thank him that he never got around to telling them “the actual worst – or best would be a more suitable word – way to break a Jötnar” because they were too little for that at the time and because Frigga always stepped in at that point.
Maybe he should thank Odin for that, because Loki was not sure what would remain from him if he had ever told them so. Because he couldn’t imagine anything worse than this.
He laid on the ground, staring at the starry sky. They had tied him to a rock in an open field for everyone to see his downfall. They didn’t blind him and Loki knew that it was so he could feel the shame when the passer-by looked at him; at his naked body, at the cuts that run along his Jötun birth marks, at the blood matching his crimson eyes he was covered in.
Thanos hurt him and when that didn’t work, he attacked his pride.
But Loki’s pride had been ruined for centuries now. He was used to being dragged down because Asgard didn’t care about his status as the second prince.
Loki lost the ability to feel shame a long time ago and for once it was for the worse because when Thanos wanted something, he always got it.
And Thanos wanted to break him.
He shifted, crying out in pain when the ropes around his ankles and wrists flamed up. He trashed, trying to get as far from the fire as possible, but his struggle made the flames burn hotter. Everything in him screamed to run, to call for his ice and snow, for his seidr, but he couldn’t.
The pain was insufferable. He wanted to scream and shout but his throat was too sore and dry and the words got stuck halfway out.
Loki fought against every single instinct in his mind and ordered his body to stay still. It was an endless battle between his survival instincs and logic, and the pain got worse with every second that logic lost.
His breathing was rapid and shallow as he forced his body not to move an inch. Distantly he felt something flowing down his torso and thighs. His trashing had opened the cuts again, but the pain caused by this was nothing in comparison to the burning flames.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the flames died out. The hard rope rubbed against his sesitive, burnt skin, and he bit down to stop himself from moving. Tears spilled from his eyes as he glared at the runes carved on his shackles, as he glared at the spell to make them ignite when there was some friction against them. At the spell Loki himself designed.
He tilted his head backwards, staring at the sky. The stars were different than the ones he used to see in Asgard, but it didn’t stop him from sending a plea to Heimdall. It didn’t stop him from praying to the Allfather, to come and save him, to give him one last chance, to let him right all the wrongs he’d done in a hopeless attempt to prove he wasn’t a monster.
But the skies stayed deadly silent and his prayers went unsanwered.
Loki closed his eyes, unable and unwilling to look when he knew that rescue wasn’t coming. He was sure they knew where he was. He had sensed Heimdall’s gaze on him, had sensed his presence when Loki dropped the shields he’d been hiding behind. He had already forgotten how long ago it was but in the end, it didn’t matter.
Not when Odin decided he was beyond salvation. Not when this was the punishment Loki deserved.
He didn’t fight unconsciousness, although it meant that he’ll wake up surrounded by flames and more pain. He welcomed the nothingness with open arms.
He wished Odin had never made it to the temple.