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The Power of the Vortex

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Loki desperately searched the shelves for a very specific book, he vaguely remembered from long ago, it was a serious looking book, almost resembling a text on physics in thickness. It was a book speaking of an ancient, almost forgotten Asgaardian legend about a man who called himself, 'Doctor', who came from a realm so foreign, most Asgaardians who heard the tales, decreed them stories made up to convince children to behave, much like the Grimm Fairy tales of Midgard.

Loki finally found it, in almost pristine condition, in spite of its age and the many layers of dust coated on the brittle leather binding. He gently pulled it off the shelf and wiped the dust from the cover with his sleeve. Cautiously Loki looked around not wanting anyone to know about the treasure he had found.

He hid the book under his multiple layers of robes, and walked out of the library wanting to find someplace private, where he could read it, and maybe, he could figure out the secrets of the TARDIS. If he could figure those out, maybe he could travel through space and time and find a friend, someone who would mock him, but rather listen to him and theorize with him.

Without interruption Loki made it to the relative peace and quiet of the royal stables, he slipped into a stall holding a chocolate coloured stallion, with eight legs. Sleipnir snorted slightly as Loki gently patted his flank before sinking into a pile of hay. He opened the book and began to read.

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 As Loki paced his cell. A cell! What did Odin think he was? A common whoremonger? He was oh, so angry. But has had been proven by Thor on countless occasions emotion does not help, in fact it usually hinders. So Loki took a calming breath and began to mentally list his assets, or lack thereof. He knew that the cuffs on his wrists, denied him the ability to use his magic, and he knew he was not near strong enough to take any of the guards in a fair fight, his mind wheeled trying to find a loophole.

***

 Loki stood before Odin, silent and unbound, waiting, almost with boredom for his punishment.

 "Do you have anything to say, Loki Laufeyson?" Odin asked, his one eye looking down on Loki.

 Loki's jaw involuntarily clenched as he held back his words of hate and anger, of pain and betrayal, of lost and loneliness, he raised his head and met Odins gaze and spoke in a quiet, yet frightfully cutting voice, "No."

 And then, Loki realized he had been given a chance to redeem himself, and he had thrown it away as if it were nothing more than a mealy apple. His eyes widen slightly, before being replaced with a mask of haughtiness.

 Odin sighed, his age suddenly showing, "Very well, Loki," he turned to the guards, "Take him to Jutonheim."

 Every single facade slipped from Loki's face, his expression filled with terror, knowing that the Chitauri would easily find him on Jotunheim, "No! Please, just kill me!" Loki cried out as the guards reached him.

 Odin silently shook his head, at this response Loki lost it. He felt pure unadulterated anger, and began to scream curses and gibberish at the All Father as the guards dragged the one time prince of Asgaard off. With slight hesitation, Thor stepped towards his father in the hopes to intercede for his brother, as he opened his mouth to speak, Odin spoke instead, "No Thor."

***

The guards had left Loki in the middle of a frozen waste land, the perpetual darkness of the land seeming to mock him. Laughing at him, saying, Look at what you've become. You've become frozen, wasted, with out love. As you should be. You're nothing but traitorous. As is the land you came from. Loki forced himself to hold back the scream of emotional pain that threatened to rip out past his vocal chords. With an obviously forced calm air about him, he turned 360 degrees, searching for a place to shelter, for even having Juton blood, the many years in Asgaard had made him susceptible to the cold. With slight trepidation Loki began walking to the east. Desperately trying to think of a way to escape his fate, which would hopefully be delayed if he could find someplace to hide.

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Loki desperately pushed himself further back into the cave, wishing for once in his life that he was smaller, small enough to be viewed as nothing. But still they came, grabbing at his clothing, at his hair, at his flesh, trying to draw him out, but still he resisted. Because he knew, as long as he was on Jotunheim, he would not suffer as much agony. And then, he was hauled out of the cave, screaming and crying, desperate to not face his fate. If he could of, to get out of the situation, he would sell his soul to anyone, friend, foe...

***

It was by Thanos hand he lost his silver tongue. He had said something spiteful, he no longer remembered what it was, but it had enraged Thanos to such extremes that he had taken his hand and shoved it down Loki's mouth, and with seemingly barely any effort, plucked the well flexed muscle from where it connected to the bottom of the mouth. It was then Loki discovered how to hide in the deepest recesses of his mind.

 And he floated on the neurons of memory, the remembrance of a lost love, of a summer day when he was but a child and Thor was his, and his alone. But even there, in the bliss, in the sorrow, in the freedom, he had no relief. For shortly after he had found that mental abode of safety, Thanos came after him. He felt his memories leave, he grasped at them as he knew he saw them for the very last time. He cried as his memories departed. Leaving him with but the vague recollection of sometime, somewhere there was warmth and love. The hazy memory of a fallen sparrow, left to die in the forest, held in young pale hands, hands that wished the bird to fly, to fly and be free. But the bird never stirred. Then the bird was in a small elegant box, one of mother's jewelery boxes, Loki thought abstractly. He felt the sunlight, he smelt the freshly upturned earth, he felt the singular tear trickle down the young boys face as he pushed the soft dirt over the small coffin. But then Thanos took that as well, as Loki retreated further and further into what remained of his mind. He remembered parties and balls, festivals and executions, love and hate, sun and storms. But those were taken. Everything was taken. Except for the memory of being shunned, of being forsaken, of being alone, the memory of destruction, of the fear he had caused. Every good memory was siphoned from him, until he was nothing but a shell. A broken, battered shell, physically and mentally.

***

And one day, after the Chitauri brutes had abused him physically in whatever way they had seen fit, Loki didn't know what they had been, he had been so withdrawn he had no idea what heinous things were done to him. Had he known, he would be beyond revulsion. If he had any recollection, he would sooner die than remember. Thanos came in, and played with his mind as what normal. Trying to find whatever else he could to break the fallen, shaking, defiled god even further. But to his frustration he found nothing. Nothing, nothing but the far distant idea of, there must be more than this. And so Thanos left that small ember of hope, leaving it to grow stronger, to become a beacon to the rest of Loki's mind, and then he would crush it.

 As Loki's mind wandered, he remembered a library, filled with books, amazing books that were to him, as the Bifrost was to the warriors, he recalled a specific book, a book that told the story of an ancient physician, who healed all who needed healing, who saved those who needed saving. And who cursed those who needed to be cursed. And Loki remembered the object that gave this physician his power, the Vortex.

 And so Loki opened his mind, not to his body, but to everything around him, and he could feel the Vortex, he could feel it whispering against him, telling him things he should not know of. Telling him the far far future, and the distant past. And he opened his mind all the way, welcoming in the Vortex, letting it assault his mind with laughter and tears, death and life, the rise and fall of empires, the history of physics, the time war, the discovering of an unwanted child, the falling asleep of a dying sun, the ocean shore, the patter of rain against a window, the harsh metallic beat of death metal music, the sound of an alarm, the feeling of flying, the joy of a mother, the anger of a father, the love of a sibling, the hate of a rival, the panic of not being able to swim, the compulsive need to remove dust and grime. And through his mind, he saw, he felt, he smelled, he heard, every single moment of time. And then, he managed to narrow his mind on one time and place, he saw the Avengers in a vehicle, completing a very important mission for the US Intelligence agency, and he forced himself on them, he knew that his freedom, once discovered would be taken away from him, and so in desperation, he forced himself, to not just be mentally present, but physically as well.

***

Natasha was driving the limo through the winding streets of New York, the remains of an evening gown showing her normal black outfit underneath. Clint was in the back, his bow notched, an arrow ready to fly. The Hulk bounded next to the limo, as did Captain America. Iron man flew above the limo, all of them ready to defend the precious cargo. When suddenly, the form of a man appeared in-front of the speeding limo (which speed exceeded 110mph).

 Natasha,  slammed on the brakes, causing the limo to spin out of control, the side hitting the man and sending him flying, and it did the same to Captain America and the Hulk. Which probably wasn't the best thing. Iron man safe as he was in the air, quickly checked on his team mates, and discovering no great injury, at worst a mild concussion or two, began to approach the prone figure of the man. Captain America joined him as he gestured the Hulk to stay back, Natasha and Clint stayed in the limo. When Stark and Rogers where about five feet away from the man, he began to move. Slowly and painfully, he began to pull himself up, pain evident in his body language as he glanced around with glazed eyes.

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Loki looked around his surroundings, taking note of the men in front of him, but paying them little heed as he attempted to get on his feet. He noticed one of them stepping forward, lips forming soundless words, a hand reaching out to- No! Mustn't allow him near! Pain will come with him. Pain isn't good. Must find safety. Got to get away from the pain. Loki's brain created disconnected thoughts as he did his best to hurl himself away from Captain America.

Stark watching the calm movements of Rogers, and the panicked, movements of the man, couldn't help but feel as if he recognized the man.

"Jarvis, run facial recognition." He commanded coolly.

"Of course. Would you like the family heritage along with that?" The interface replied.

"No."

"Facial recognition complete. "

"Ok. What's his name?" Stark was getting slightly agitated at his creation.

"Loki, sir."

"What?!"

"It's a 100% match."

"Sonofabitch"

Stark stepped forward after Steve, to warn him about who they were dealing with, when, finally Loki managed to get his feet under him.

Loki felt breathless as he felt a slight sliver of strength return to him, he took advantage of the moment, pushed his feet against the pavement, and for the first time in god knows how many years, he ran.

And then a booted foot got snagged on the back of his other leg, causing him to trip, he teetered between staying upright and crashing to the ground, then with surprising elegance, he landed on the ground, gasping for air- Failed. Will be punished. So sorry. Didn't mean to fail. Only wanted, only wanted- Wanted freedom.

Steve immediately bounded after the fallen god.

"Capsicle!" Stark shouted, almost instantly regretting it as his voice echoed in his helmet.

Rogers turned and looked at Stark curiously, "What is it?"

"That man. It's Loki."

Loki's head darted up at the mention of his name- Of course, so stupid, they would be watching, they would know. Won't kill me though... Mortals might. Yes. Let the mortals kill me. Please. Have them kill me. Don't want to live.

Rogers looked between Stark and the quivering, gasping, sweaty, bloody, broken man before him, his face a slight mask of confusion, before he saw the familiar profile, the blue-green eyes, the black hair, the pale complexion. He saw the man, was not just a man, but Loki.

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The fallen gods mouth opened silently in an attempt to plead for death, before he remembered he no longer had a voice which with to bargain or even plead. As substitute for his words, a soft keening sound, sounding much like the wind in between the tall heights of the buildings of New York City, rose from his throat.

Captain Rogers carefully stepped towards Loki, his face set in a thoughtful frown, as Loki attempted to scramble away, muttering nonsensical noises from his throat. "Shh. It's ok. We're not going to hurt you." Rogers tried to sooth the god.

"What's taking so long?!" Hawkeye shouted from the vehicle, impatient to get their package back to HQ.

"Hold your quiver Legolas." Ironman shouted back.

Loki grabbed a nearby rock and with a shaking hand etched into the cement, 'Drep meg vær så snill', a drop of blood colouring the letters, before inching away from Rogers.

Steve looked at the letters, not being able to comprehend them, "Tony, can JARVIS translate this?"

"Probably" was the immediate reply, before Ironman came to stand next to Rogers, quickly scanning the sentence, having JARVIS translate it.

Rogers stepped over to Loki, holding his hands out, trying to assure Loki he meant no harm, the Asgardian drew back his upper lip in a feral growl. Please, no more pain. I'm tired of the pain. Just slaughter me the way you do your enemies. Surely you, of all people, with all your patriotic glory and tales of justices, would be more than willing to kill me. DO IT. The god attempted to tell the Midgardian what to do, and failed.

"Got it translated." Stark's voice echoed slightly.

"And?"
"And it says, 'kill me please'" The duo looked down at the god, who glanced up at them, before looking down at what he had written, and back up to the duo, wondering why they just stood there, Stark's expression hidden behind his mask, and Rogers' expression was a mixture of pity, sadness, and anger.

As no violent action was raised against him, Loki painfully lurched to his feet, why will they not face me? Why will they not kill me?! Am I a creature of such pity as to render them mute? I shall show them. THEY WILL KILL ME.

The Asgardian leapt towards Ironman, then cold metal arms were wrapped around him, senseless rage filled the lithe body as he twisted to become free. He would not become a prisoner again. I will go into the truest freedom. The only freedom that truly exists. And they will allow me to go.

Ironman stood fast as he held the struggling form, attempting to still the form, when with a final struggle, Loki went passed out, breathless, and weak.

"Uh... what do we do with him?" Ironman shifted the form awkwardly.
"We take him with us." Captain America stepped over to Ironman, willing to take the limp burden.

"... I don't think Fury will be too happy to know he's back." Ironman gave over the form of the Asgardian to Rogers.