Warnings: drugs, hallucinations

He wakes up in...

He wakes up.

He's waking up.

Did he fall asleep? He doesn't remember falling asleep. He must have, though, if he's now waking up.

Where is he? He can't tell. Everything's so blurry. All he can see is dull grayness. Everywhere, it's just... gray. Why is it gray?

He tries to sit up, but he can hardly move his arms. He turns his head to look, squinting his eyes until the world starts to come into focus. It's... ribbons.

No, it's not ribbons.

It's...

Restraints.

Of some sort.

He squints his eyes further, and, when that doesn't make the world any less clear, he squints his eyes less. He can't make out what he's seeing. He can't make out what's happening.

He tugs on the restraint, and though the fabric digs into his wrist, it doesn't budge. He looks to his other arm, tied down much the same way the first was. He tries to tug on this one. It hurts a bit more — is his hand bruised? He can't see clearly enough to figure it out — but he can't get free.

"Hello?" He can feel his voice shaking, and chastises himself for it. A king doesn't show fear. Odin has never shown fear. He should take after him. He shouldn't show fear. He shouldn't feel fear. Thor would—

Thor.

He can feel his heart stop in his chest.

Where's Thor?

He lifts his head, gaze flickering around the room. "Thor?" he calls out. Where is he? He has to be nearby. He's always nearby. He's always around when Loki needs him.

The room is eerily silent. There's no movement; no sound. If Thor's here, he's not showing it.

"Thor!" Loki yells. "Thor, where are you?" He tugs against his restraints. He needs to get these off. He needs to get up. "Thor?"

He pulls on the restraints once, twice, three times.

One of them snaps.

He uses both hands to pull the other side free. He sits up, propping himself up with his hands behind him. Are they on a mattress? Is he on a mattress? Where is he? Why is the room spinning? Why does his head feel like it's floating?

There's a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and he snaps his head to look. "Who's there?"

Silence.

"I know you're here," Loki says, his voice shaking. "Who is it?"

"It's just me, brother."

Loki feels himself melt in relief. It's Thor. He can see him as clearly as day; perfect in focus even as the rest of the world blurs around him. Thor's here. Thor is here and he's going to tell him what's happening and he's going to help him get out of here and they're going to go home and everything is going to be okay because Thor is here.

"You scare so easily," Thor says teasingly.

Loki scowls. "You're an awful brother."

"But I'm your favorite brother," Thor reminds him with a grin, walking up to Loki's... bed?... with far too much confidence and cockiness.

Loki rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. "Where are we?" he asks. "What is this place?"

"It's a prison," Thor tells him. "They locked you in here."

Loki cocks his head to the side. "Who did?"

"The ones who killed me."

Loki furrows his brows. "What are you—"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

In the blink of an eye, Thor's transformed before him. An arrow protrudes from his chest, with blood dripping from the wound, from his mouth, from his eyes. His skin is pale, dull, his eyes clouded and lifeless.

Loki claps a hand over his mouth. "No!" he cries. "Thor! No, no, no—" He pushes himself to the end of the bed, arms outstretched. "You're alright. You're..."

His arms go right through him.

He can feel his breath hitch in his throat. "Thor?" he squeaks.

"They killed me," Thor says. His voice is hard to understand; gurgled, almost, as though the blood fills his throat. "Don't let them get away with that."

"I–" Loki reaches out a hand, tears filling his eyes as he watches it swipe right through his brother. "I won't," he whispers. "I won't let them. You have my word."

Thor smiles sadly. "You always were the best brother."

Loki pushes himself to his feet, an arm held out in front of him, desperate to touch him, to hold him, to truly be with him one last time. But his legs give out beneath him, and he falls to the floor. He looks up...

And he's alone.

"Thor?" Loki looks around the room frantically. "Thor! Thor, come back! I wasn't–"

I wasn't ready to lose you.

He never wanted to lose him.

He was never supposed to lose him.

Even when he let the Frost Giants into Asgard, even when he goaded Thor into attacking Jotunheim, he never wanted to lose him.

But he did.

He lost Thor.

And he doesn't know what to do with himself now that he has.

Loki chokes out a sob, burying his face in his hands to hide his shame. What is he supposed to do? Thor is supposed to help him; to guide him; to show him what to do. That's what brothers do. They help each other. They don't send each other to their deaths on Midgard.

A creaking noise snaps him out of his trance. He lifts his head, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes, and he sees... a form. A person? A person, he thinks. He's a... very blurry person... But he's – she's? – definitely a person.

... Probably.

Loki squints a little, trying to focus his vision, but still, the world is a blur. He swallows hard, trying to at least put on the illusion of a man with composure, though he certainly doesn't feel like one. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" comes the reply. It's a woman's voice – a familiar one, though he can't place where he knows it from.

"I can't..." Loki cocks his head to the side, and the world grows even fuzzier with the movement. "I can't see you."

"Oh." She seems somewhat amused by that, if a bit exasperated. "That's probably the drugs."

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't supposed to knock you out," she tells him. "Just to keep you quiet and cooperative." She shrugs. "Guess they overestimated how much it'd take."

Loki takes a few moments to process that. They drugged him. They drugged him. They filled his body with drugs until the world fell apart around him. He'd hardly believe it if everything didn't feel so... not real.

"Well, if you can't tell, I'm Carol," she tells him. He racks his brain for who that name belongs to. A superpowered human, he recalls vaguely. She tried to stop him. She tried to kill him.

She must have been one of the people to kill Thor, then.

Loki grits his teeth and plants one foot on the floor, the other one folding beneath him. He's going to stand up. He's going to stand up and he's going to kill her and he's going to get out of here and he's going to go home.

He can't stand up.

He can't make himself stand up. His legs aren't working. His brain isn't working. He's never felt so helpless.

"Calm down; it'll wear off soon enough," Carol tells him. Her blurry figure begins to approach. "Let's just get you back in bed until the drugs wear off."

"No," he protests weakly. "Don't."

Carol crouches down in front of him, lowering herself to his level. "God, we gotta get you a shower."

Loki runs a hand down his face, and it comes away slick with sweat. He hadn't even noticed.

Carol reaches for him, ready to grab him and hoist him back on the bed, but Loki grabs her wrists before she can.

"What did you do to my brother?" he demands.

"We didn't do anything to him," Carol says, noticeably losing her patience. "He died months ago. Hank Pym killed him, and we – SHIELD – helped you catch him."

Loki cocks his head to the side. Is that what happened? It sounds... familiar... But Thor said it was them. Thor said that they killed him. And Thor wouldn't lie to him.

He drops her wrist and raises his hand, and as he pushes it toward her, she's flung across the room, crashing into the wall opposite him. She lands on the ground with a groan, and when she raises her gaze to meet his, there's a look of rage in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I'm not supposed to hurt you," Carol growls, "but that doesn't mean I won't."

Loki narrows his eyes. "Do your worst."

Carol pushes herself to her feet, clenching her jaw, and her hands begin to glow by her side. Loki raises his own hand, and a faint green emanates from it – much more faint than usual, but he knows his power. This doesn't phase him.

The door slams open, and in marches a very familiar petite redhead who seems no less angry than the other two. "Alright, knock it off."

Immediately, Loki lowers his hands. Carol is more reluctant, but when Loki backs down, she does, too.

Natasha shoots her a look. "You need to back off," she says. "We don't need you two blowing up the building 'cause your ego got hurt."

Carol glares at her. Natasha doesn't care.

She marches up to Loki next. "And you need to calm down," she snaps. "I'm sorry about your brother. He was my friend, too. But he's dead. You got his killer. It's over."

Loki nods solemnly. "Yes, Master."

Natasha furrows her brows. "Did you just–" She looks at Carol. "Did he just...?"

Carol nods, a hint of amusement on her face. "He did," she says. "Guess we didn't have to drug him. I don't think the scepter's wearing off."

"Great," she mutters. "Because that's what I wanted."

Loki frowns. She's... upset. Upset with him? But he hasn't done anything. What is there to be upset about? How does he fix it? How does he make her happy again?

"Alright, c'mon," she says, crouching down in front of him. "Back in bed." She grabs him under the arms and hoists him to his feet, just long enough to throw his body back on the mattress. "Stay there," she says. "Don't get up. Don't go anywhere. You're staying in bed until I tell you you can move."

Loki forces himself to nod. "Yes, Master." If that will make her happy, then of course he'll stay in bed. Whatever she wants him to do, he'll do it.

Natasha rolls her eyes. "This is ridiculous," she mutters. She turns around and heads back toward the door, and Carol follows her out of the room. The door shuts behind them with a bang.

Now he just has to lie here and wait for her to come back.

... However long that takes.