Every step Loki takes is against his will.

He wants to stop. He wants to turn back. He wants to run as far away as he can – back to SHIELD, back to Asgard, he'd even go to Jotunheim if he thought he could – but he can't.

His Master told him to listen.

Pierce told him to walk.

So he walks.

He was silent as they left SHIELD HQ. He didn't speak a word during the hours-long drive. And now, as they're walking these unfamiliar halls, he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes straight ahead. If he doesn't make himself a problem, maybe they won't cause any problems of their own.

"Are you sure we can use this place?" one of the guards – is that what they are? Guards? – asks quietly.

"Stark never used this place when he was alive," Pierce says monotonously. "He sure as hell isn't gonna use it now that he's dead."

"The company might, though," the guard says. "If they start clearing out his stuff–"

"Nobody's touched this warehouse in over a decade," Pierce tells him. "We're fine. I've looked into it."

Stark.

The name sounds familiar.

It was one of the soldiers that died, if he remembers correctly, murdered by the same man that killed Thor. Loki took care of Hank Pym; made a point to make him suffer before he let death claim him.

He avenged Stark's death when he avenged Thor's. If he'd had any sense, he would have stopped there. If he'd had any sense, he wouldn't be here.

Silence falls upon them again, and this time, it stretches on until Pierce opens one final door and gestures for Loki to step inside. Loki swallows hard and does as he's told.

His eyes scan the room. It's big; much bigger than he'd expected; much bigger than the room Fury had thrown him in. There are dozens of bright lights; there's a window that stretches from wall to wall, revealing what seems to be miles and miles of trees; it's truly a sight to behold. This is a good start. It's certainly better than the room that Fury threw him in.

"Enjoying the view?" Pierce asks, a smug undertone in his voice.

Loki takes a deep breath, doing his best to regain his composure before he turns around to face him. "What are you going to do to me?"

Pierce waves that question off. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he says. "How do you like your room? It's nice, isn't it?"

"It is," Loki says cautiously. It's a very nice room. It's a room fit for a palace, even – and he'd know, having grown up in one. He's oddly comfortable here, and he doesn't like it.

"Don't worry," Pierce says, "your sleeping arrangements are on the way. They should be here any minute."

That's the least of Loki's worries. He'd be happy enough to sleep on the floor, even. But he can't deny that the idea of a nice, comfortable bed sounds wonderful to him.

"So?" Pierce asks. "How do you feel? What are you thinking?"

Loki wants to lie. More than that, he doesn't want to answer at all. But Natasha told him to listen, and Pierce asked him a question. So he tells him the truth.

"I'm awaiting the moment the facade falls and I see what you truly have prepared for me."

Pierce chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. "Smart guy," he says. That doesn't bode well. "I'll give you today off. I'll get you something to eat and I'll let you rest. Tomorrow's when the fun starts."

Loki has a feeling that "the fun" won't be all that fun for him. A part of him wants to ask. A part of him doesn't want to know.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, somebody else enters the room, holding some large, thin metal contraption in his hands. Loki squints, his head cocked slightly to the side, as he tries to figure out what he's looking at. What is this?

The man puts it on the floor and pries it open, and it's only once he's set it up that Loki understands just what he's looking at.

It's a cage.

It's a fucking dog cage.

Loki clenches his jaw. This is not happening. This is absolutely not –

Pierce smiles, a sinister look in his eye. "This is where you're going to be sleeping," he tells the god. "Say 'thank you' to Rumlow for bringing it for you."

He doesn't want to. Of course he doesn't want to. This is humiliating. But Natasha told him to listen, and Pierce gave him an order. So he has to do it.

"Thank you," he says through gritted teeth.

"There we go," Pierce says, an obnoxious air of condescension in his voice. He ruffles Loki's hair mockingly. "You're doing so good already."

Loki balls his hands into fists by his side and forces himself not to react any further.

There are two doors on this cage: a small door on the front that could hardly fit a cat, and a much larger door on the side for a more reasonably sized animal. Rumlow opens the larger door and gestures to it. "Get in."

He doesn't want to do it.

He really, really doesn't want to.

He is not a dog. He does not belong in a cage.

But Natasha told him to listen, and Rumlow told him to get in the cage. So he has to do it.

Loki walks up to the cage, making a point to avoid the others' gazes, and drops to all fours, crawling his way inside. He hardly fits in here. He's sitting on his calves, his upper body pitched forward until his chest is against his knees, and he still hardly fits. He certainly can't move. He could maybe shift his weight to one side or the other, but even then, the walls of this cage would press into his skin, barring him from any sort of comfort or relief.

Rumlow closes the cage, locking it firmly in place, and Loki has half a mind to lean over and bite his finger off. He'd sure as hell deserve it. But he doesn't. Natasha wants him to play along, so he's going to play along. He doesn't have a choice.

"There you go," Pierce says, almost as though he's speaking to an animal, a pet, and it's infuriating. "Alright, you stay there. I'm going to go get you some dinner, and then you should get some rest. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Loki just narrows his eyes, silent. He won't give him the satisfaction of hearing a response.

If Pierce is upset by that, he doesn't show it. He walks away, and his men follow him out of the room, leaving Loki alone in his cage.

Loki drops his head, but the cage isn't long enough for his forehead to reach the ground. Instead, it's propped up against the bars on the front, and the hinge of the pet door digs into his scalp. There's nothing he can do about it, so he does his best to ignore it, to force himself to get used to it. The pain will doubtlessly dull by the end of the night. He just has to give it time.

He squeezes his eyes shut, though not before a single tear escapes. How did this happen? How did it come to this? He thought his life couldn't get worse when he'd learned that Thor had died. That night was the most difficult one he's ever had to face. He hardly slept. He sobbed more often than not. He cursed the Norns for allowing it to happen. He cursed his father for banishing Thor to Midgard. He cursed himself for ruining Thor's coronation and bringing this about.

He never thought it could get worse. He thought that was as bad as it could get; that every subsequent day would get better and better until one day, he woke up and realized that he was okay; that he wasn't just faking the confidence he needed to show as king. He thought he would be okay.

He was wrong.

He was so very wrong.

And to know that he's been abandoned by Asgard, too? That every minute he's stuck on this planet, the likelihood of his rescue grows smaller and smaller? That if anybody cared, they would have come for him already? He is completely, utterly alone. And that's terrifying.

He made a terrible mistake, trying to conquer Midgard. He's made a lot of terrible mistakes, but that was one of the worst, preceded only by the choices that brought Thor to his death. He was stupid and selfish and he couldn't accept the life he had, so instead, he's brought upon himself a life infinitely worse than the one he lived before.

He's so stupid.

He's so fucking stupid.

Why would he do this? Why couldn't he just let Thor be happy? The jealousy he felt and the uncertainty surrounding Thor's ascent to the throne was a million times better than the fear he faces now.

He's so stupid.

He is such a stupid fucking asshole.

And now he has to pay the price.

It takes Pierce a while to come back, and when he does, he holds a bowl in one hand and a blanket in the other. That's nice of him, at least. He may have stuck Loki in a cage, but at least he's feeding him; at least he was thoughtful enough to bring him a blanket.

"You hungry?" Pierce asks him as he approaches.

"Starving," Loki replies without thinking – but then, what good would it do to pretend he's not? He's hungry. Of course he's hungry. Pierce knew that even before he asked.

"Well, don't worry," Pierce says. "I got you something to eat."

Pierce crouches down in front of him, puts both the bowl and the blanket on the ground, and grabs the latch of the small door on the front of the cage – the feeding door, it seems; a rather ridiculous way to repurpose it, but Loki won't complain as long as he gets something to eat.

But it won't budge.

At first, Loki thinks this is a part of his game. He's mocking him; he's toying with him. But then he sees the confusion on the man's face, and it feels too real for this to be a game. He really can't open the door.

Pierce smacks the door with his hand, his palm nearly colliding with Loki's face, and Loki flinches. He tries opening it again, but nothing happens.

"Hmm," Pierce hums. "It's broken."

Loki glances to the side. He can't really see it, but he knows there's a side door. It's the door he had to crawl through. He knows it works. He knows it can open and close and certainly fit a small bowl and a blanket.

But Pierce just shrugs and leaves the bowl in front of Loki's cage instead. "Well, if you can reach it, you can eat it," he says. "Hope you like it. I made it just for you."

Loki peers down at the bowl, and he grimaces at the sight. It's just... porridge. Boring, bland porridge – and only a small amount; certainly not enough to keep a god content. But then, Pierce probably knows that. He probably takes pride in that, the little asshole that he is.

Pierce pushes himself to his feed. "Alright, well, you enjoy that," he says. "Now, before I go, let me just..." He picks the blanket back up. "Cover you up."

Loki expects him to slip the blanket into the cage, but he doesn't. Of fucking course he doesn't. Instead, he lays it on top of the cage, letting it hang down and blocking any and every source of light until he can't see a single thing – himself, the cage, his food; everything is overtaken by this sudden darkness.

Pierce pats the top of the cage. "Goodnight, buddy," he says, and Loki can practically hear his smirk. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a hell of a day."

Loki shudders at his words.

Maybe he'll get lucky and die in his sleep.