He wakes up in the dark in his room.

The lights are off. The TV is off. The curtains are closed.

It's so...

Dark.

He tries to look around, but he can hardly see. The few traces of light he has don't show what's here; they only show what's not. They show that he's alone – completely, utterly alone. No Thor; no Natasha; nothing.

He's completely, utterly alone.

His arm feels weird. He cut it earlier, he recalls. Did they ever finish cleaning it? What happened next? He can't remember. He can't remember anything.

He doesn't remember when they laid him back down. He liked sitting up. Lying down makes him feel helpless. The pull of gravity is sticking him to the mattress, always sticks him to the mattress, and he hates it. He feels helpless when he's lying down. He feels trapped under these blankets–

Wait.

They were going to take the blankets.

Why does he still have blankets?

Why didn't they take the blankets from him? Did they change their minds? Did somebody stop them? Did...

Did Pierce stop them?

His heart stops.

What if it was him? What if he's back? What if he's taking Loki back? What if he already has?

He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to be with Pierce again. He wants to stay here. He wants to be with his friends, his brother, his Master (or however he should refer to her now). They're nice to him. They don't run tests on him. They don't hurt him. They help him. He needs help, and he's begun to realize that he's never going to get that from Pierce.

He can feel his breathing growing quicker, more frantic. He needs to get out of here. He doesn't care how. He just needs to get out. He needs to find Thor and he needs to warn him and he needs to get out.

But he can't move.

He never can.

He needs help. He needs Bruce or Steve or Tony or somebody. He needs somebody to get him out of here. He just needs to get their attention.

He tries slamming his hands against the bed, but it doesn't work. It didn't work when they were on the other side of the door; of course it doesn't work now. He needs to try something different; something louder. He needs...

He needs to use his magic. That's what he needs.

Can he do that? He can't remember the last time he used magic. But it's a part of him. He has to be able to. He doesn't know who he is if he can't do–

What was that?

Something moved. There was a shadow, a figure. Someone's here. Something is here. What is it? What do they want from him?

Is it Pierce? Is Pierce here? Has he been waiting for him to wake up? He must have been.

"No," Loki breathes. "No, no–" He squeezes his eyes shut. He can't do this. He can't go through this again. He can't.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to get his brother's attention – or Bruce's or Steve's or Tony's or anyone's. Anyone who will save him from Pierce. That's all he wants is to get away from Pierce. It's all he wants.

He can feel his breathing growing quicker, more frantic. He needs his brother and he needs him now. He wants to yell, to cry out until he comes for him, but he can't. He wants to jump up and pound on the door until Thor throws it open, but he can't. And he hates that.

He needs a plan. He needs light. That's what he needs. He needs to know who's in here and where they went and what they want, and to do that, he needs light.

He doesn't know where the lightswitch is. He wants to turn it on, but he doesn't know how. But he knows where the window is. He knows where the window is, and on the other side, he knows there's a moon and stars or something that will light up his room. He just needs to get the curtain out of the way.

He looks toward it, but there's nothing but darkness. Everywhere, there's nothing but darkness. But he doesn't need to see it if he knows where it is. If he can just use his magic, he can tear the curtain down and fill his room with light once more. He just... has to...

Do it.

There's a deafening clatter, and Loki squeezes his eyes shut, every muscle in his body tensing. He didn't mean to do that. He didn't mean to. He wasn't trying to make that much noise. He just wanted to see. He just wanted the light of the moon. He didn't want to break anything.

"What did I do?" Loki mouths the words silently to himself. "What did I do? What did I do?" He's going to get in so much trouble. Pierce is going to come in – no, Rumlow is going to come in – and he's going to get yelled at and he's going to get more than just yelled at and he won't even be able to scream or cry because he can't because he can't do anything and he's just helpless and stupid and now he has to pay the price and he can't–

The door slams open.

Loki trembles where he lays. He can't believe it. He thought he was free. He thought he was finally free. He thought they wouldn't find him here, they couldn't find him here, but they did. They found him.

Somebody shouts his name. He doesn't know who. Pierce, probably. Maybe Rumlow. It has to be one of the two. They came back for him. They're going to take him back. They're going to take him back to the room, that horrible room, and start testing on him, experimenting on him, torturing him. He can't do that again.

There's a hand on his arm, and Loki tries to cry out, to beg them to stop, but he can't make a sound. He doesn't have a voice. He's never had a voice; not in the years and years and years he was with Pierce, and certainly not now.

But he can fight back. He has to. He has to fight back. He's not going to let them hurt him anymore.

With a burst of magic, whoever it was that touched him is flung across the room. The crash that follows makes him flinch, but he doesn't care. He had to do it. He had to. Natasha would understand. He knows she said to listen, but he can hardly hear anything but the blood thumping in his veins, so how could he? How could he listen, when all he wants to do is sit in bed and wait for his brother to come back?

Somebody yells his name, more panicked this time. Loki feels more panicked, too. Everybody is so panicked. He doesn't know what's happening. Do they know what's happening? Does anybody? It doesn't feel like it. It just feels like a mess of confusion and uncertainty and he hates it and he just wants to be left alone.

They're still yelling. At him? At each other? He doesn't know. He doesn't care. Why won't they leave him alone? He was happy here. Is it such a crime to be happy?

He only catches brief snippets of the conversation.

"Knock him out."

"Nightmare."

"Antipsychotics."

"Pressure point."

He doesn't know what it means. He doesn't know what any of this means. He just wants it to stop. He just wants them to leave him alone! Why won't they leave him alone? Why–

Something presses against his neck.

Both sides, something is pressing against his neck.

He wants to fight back, but he can't. He can't move. He can't think. He can hardly breathe.

He just wants to be left alone.

Why will they not leave him alone? He just wants–

He just...

He...

He thinks he might go back to sleep.

That sounds nice.

Yeah.

Sleep.