Hidden Troubles

9 | An Intervention II

For the next few days the Avengers had unanimously agreed to watch Loki, in the hopes of discovering whatever it was that had caused such a drastic drop in his well-being. Loki had become aware of the increased surveillance, and that only made him even more paranoiac.

They can see how fat you are, your rolls of fat, all disgusting and greasy.

You just need to not eat. Don't eat and you'll soon be thin and perfect.

Perhaps someone will actually like you when you look skinnier.

The voice had grown in strength, dominating his thoughts, his every action. He'd acquired some fear of breathing in calories, and so refused to breathe anytime he even passed the kitchen. His workouts became more and more intense as he felt himself get weaker, but it's just the fat weighing you down, isn't it? Get a little skinner and then you'll be stronger too.

But the change was far too significant now. Loki hadn't eaten anything for a good three days now, still living off water and a single cup of coffee a day. His face was far too pale, lifeless green eyes and painfully jutting out cheekbones were the defining features of the once much healthier god. There was no need for him to even wear oversized second-hand garments to hide his figure; he'd lost so much weight that his own clothes would do that enough. 

But still he couldn't see it.

It was an incident that Loki couldn't conjure up a lie for that forced him to face everything. He'd been walking towards the library, a place he'd only recently discovered that was rarely occupied. According to the ghost of JARVIS, it was mainly built for one called Pepper Potts, who seemed to indulge in the pleasures of reading whenever she was here. She currently seemed to be abroad at some meeting. Personally, Loki found it a bit mean that the Lady Potts should have such a name as Pepper. Who would name their child after a spice?

Still, the walk to the library was long; a good three floors down. Loki refused to take the elevator— walking was another way for him to burn more calories, and so he would do so. He hadn't eaten in far too long; he'd stopped counting after the third day. He felt jelly-like, his vision blurring all too often, the world spinning when he stood and a mere few minutes walking made him look and feel as though he'd just run a marathon, with a fine sheen of sweat covering his brow. He was only a few feet away from the elevator on his floor when the doors opened just before him, revealing the red-haired assassin who looked almost shocked to see him up so close.

"Loki? I'm sorry did you want to get in?"

"No," he rasped— Norns he sounded dreadful — "I appear to be going the wrong way. Forgive me."

He turned and made to walk back to his room, when suddenly the world tilted to the left all too much. To compensate for this, he tilted himself to the right, but the world didn't seem to right itself. Black spots he tried to blink away consumed his vision  until he could barely make out his surroundings. A rising panic caught in his throat, and he became oblivious to the assassin's worried cries—why would she be worried about something as detestable and vile as yourself?— he was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.

***

Bruce watched Loki worriedly. Gone was that once hubristic and proud aura that seemed to ooze from the god— instead waves of anxiety and fear rolled off him as he sat fidgeting with his fingers. His eyes darted around restlessly, and Bruce noticed how he lay so heavily on the chair, as though he could barely support his own weight.