Hidden Troubles

8 | Home Comforts

Natasha Romanoff looked out from the balcony at New York City, the buildings shining in the sunset, the comforting hustle and bustle from the city still audible from such a height.

"You alright?" She turned as Clint walked towards her and stood by her side.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I don't know." She waited for him to talk. That was the thing with Clint. If he wanted to talk, he would. If he didn't, he wouldn't. You couldn't force him to do something he really didn't want to do—unless of course, he was possessed by the "blue glow stick of destiny", as Tony had dubbed it.

"Seeing him, like that... I don't know, Nat. When he came in to stay with us, I hated him. I was so determined to as well. After all the shit he's caused, I wanted to make his stay here hell. But seeing him like that, with that stupid ass panic attack, I felt sorry for him. Can you believe that?" Clint gave a dry laugh. "I felt sorry for the psycho that possessed me. I've had him mess around in my head, and I felt bad for him. He looks like a goddamn wreck, Nat, all skin and bones. And I've spent the whole time thinking he hasn't suffered enough, wishing he'd suffered more. I just... I don't know."

"It doesn't make you a bad person for feeling sorry for him, Clint. Actually, you'd probably be an even worse person for not feeling bad for him. But none of us know what he's gone through—"

"But it's not just that! I—" the words caught in the archer's throat. "I saw myself in him. I saw the fear and terror in him, how he hasn't been sleeping, judging from those dark circles. I used to be like that, and I had you and Tony and Steve and Bruce. This guy has no one. I feel sorry for him because he has no one left with him. But he's left so many families and friends with no one, with all the people he's killed. I feel sorry for him because he's suffering, but doesn't he deserve to suffer?"

Natasha couldn't find an answer, mainly because she too felt conflicted over the matter. That mischievous god had caused her far too much trouble; resurrected old memories she'd purposefully buried deep, reminded her of her old life, how she once found joy in killing—how she lived for the kill and how she'd never be able to wipe her ledger clean. But she saw herself in him; the bottled up emotions of guilt and confusion and helplessness. She saw how he too was so used to putting on a mask—it made her wonder how the real Loki felt invading New York, whether he felt guilty for all the lives he'd taken and the devastation he'd caused.

"I don't know Clint." She finally answered. "I don't know."

She watched the orange sky fade into what would be a sleepless night.

***

"What fun shall we have with you today Asgardian?"

Don't speak don't speak do not speak-

"We've heard tales of your brother, little Jotun?"

Thor?

Loki almost jerked his head up, but the movement would've been far too painful. His body was tense however, tenser than it had been before.

"He goes around trying to spread peace. Trying to right your wrongs—to calm the beloved Nine Realms. Isn't it funny?"

"The golden prince turned from violence to peace. It was not so long ago that he tried to slaughter the people of Jotunheim."

How did they—

The Chitauri seemed to have heard his thoughts, for they answered his unspoken question. "We know much, little prince. We may reside outside those realms, but we aren't ignorant as to what occurs in them. We watch them, ready to strike. Perhaps when we do, we shall bring your brother here. We shall let you watch us kill him, slowly, intimately, in every way you fear."

At this Loki looked up, and emitted strangled cry of pain. He could hear the Chitauri grinning at his turmoil.

"Oh dear. The prince still lives. And he looks far too healthy."

No no please no I am not well—

He tried to unbind himself, but whatever they'd tied him with was far too strong, too hard to break, or maybe he was just weak—

"The little weakling can't even break our petty bindings. The Chitauri do not approve of such weakness."

"Perhaps this will teach him."

A wave of intense heat was his only warning before hot, fresh lava was poured on his back, and he could feel himself getting lost in the pain. The pain took over his mind, he screamed so loud yet he could not hear himself, or the laughter of the Chitauri—there was just pain, drowning and drowning and he couldn't think or see or breathe—

Think of something you fool think think you can not lose yourself now—

A persistent voice in his head demanded so as he writhed and arched his back, the lava still burning his blood as though a liquid sun had been injected into his veins—

Thor, remember Thor—remember magic and mischief and bedtimes and playing in the sunshine—

Sunshine—

Sunshine in the palace gardens, sunshine reflecting on the gold, sunshine when they played and rode through the woodlands in the summer-

Tears streamed down his face now as the lava cooled on his back, the pain painting his vision a blinding white—

Sunshine, brother—

Thor, Thor his brother, his protector—Thor all big and broad and brave, his brother who bullied him but saved him too—

Black spots had started to speckle his vision like stardust now, and the cruel laughter sounded warped and faint—

Sunshine, brothers, magic—

Magic and mischief and tricks and mother—mother dear mother, sitting with him and teaching him tricks with his hands and his words—magic flowing through his veins, a welcoming warmth— "let us do mischief together, brother!"—

The world had started to fade now, the pain was too much but still Loki remembered, still he cling to whatever remaining sanity he had left—

Sunshine, brother, magic, covers—

Hiding under the covers, hiding in his brother's embrace when storms shook the palace walls—Thor his protector, slipping under the covers during sleepless nights for the comforting rise and fall of his brother's chest—

Sunshine, brother, magic, covers .

Sunshine, brother, magic, covers.

The darkness rushed up to meet the fading god, but it was one of the few times where he still remembered. Where he had the smallest moment of peace.

Sunshine, brother, magic, covers.

Loki shot up, dry heaving over the bed, heart thumping and sweat drenching his clothes, as though he had run a marathon. He found himself crying himself to sleep again for the fifth night that week, clutching a scrap of torn red cloth he kept hidden under his pillow.