Hidden Troubles

Chapter 38

AN: THANK YOU FOR 2K 💗❤️ YOU GUYS ARE A M A Z I N G

One half of this chapter is more getting deep into Loki's thoughts now that he's out and about. There won't be much speech until the bit with Steve later on :))

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Petrified emerald eyes darted around the darkness of the room, chest covered in a slick sheen of sweat, a duvet cover twisted chaotically around Loki's legs.

Thanos could not hurt him here.

It was just a dream.

Loki rubbed his eyes, sighing. Time had done nothing to alleviate the severity or frequency of the terrors that plagued him in his sleep. It was humiliating, to be so cowed that even his dreams trembled in fear or his past and future.

It was humiliating too, for his actions to be so ruled by an ailment of his mind. The trickster, the manipulator, the liesmith, manipulated, tricked, lied to by his own mind. Distorted images, warped truths. And there was no escape from this.

Groaning, he tossed aside the blankets and rose from the bed, head spinning a little. Loki stumbled over to the bathroom, turning on the lights and bathing his face with cold water in order to rouse himself fully.

He'd not stopped in the last few weeks to really evaluate himself, and after seeing his reflection right now, he wished he hadn't. His face was pale, like he hadn't been outside in months. His eyes looked abnormally large against his pale skin, and the bright emerald of his irises had faded to a dusky olive hue. He looked sick.

He stared at himself for what seemed hours, studying every line and edge of his face intently, as if he'd never seen himself before. He brought his hand up and touched his temple softly. He traced the gauntness of his cheeks, the hard ridge of his nose, the soft lines scattered across his brow. Frowning, he brought his face closer to the mirror, narrowing his eyes. He remembered doing this once; staring- staring deeper and deeper into the mirror, into those lifeless, dull green eyes, waiting for that spark of emerald mischief he once had that glittered with the hidden promise of young, innocent deception. Time had turned into some limitless, immeasurable fluid then, green eyes closer to grey in livelihood staring back at him.

Did they look the same now, or was there a hidden glint of life somewhere in the murky green depths?

"Who are you?" He whispered softly, searching for a hint of reason in his cheerless eyes. The question made perfect sense to him. Who was he really? Loki Odinson, adopted son of the AllFather? Loki Laufeyson, the abandoned Jotünn runt? Destroyed of the peace amongst the Nine Realms? The liesmith, the trickster, the master of deception and chaos? The sorcerer, his mother's faithful disciple?

You are nothing, trickster.

When had that fascinated green-eyed child, who worshipped the AllFather and Allmother and Thor so devoutly, turned into this?

His bottom lip began to quiver, and he trapped it between his teeth. His eyes glistened with tears, and one escaped, slipping slowly down his cheek. He made no effort to wipe it away.

He would've given anything just to be Loki. The playful, mischievous magician who once made all the apples ripen during winter with a wave of his hand to give to his mother.