Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loki woke up and immediately grabbed his throbbing head. Why does his head hurt so much? He sits up from the tattered magenta couch, rubbing his aching head. As he opens his eyes, panic floods his body. Where is he? What is happening? Questions fire rapidly as he looks around the room. His eyes are still adjusting to the dimly lit area when one question stands out in his mind. Who is he? For some reason, he can’t remember a thing about himself. This sends him into a panic, and all his nerves are set ablaze. He abruptly stands up, which is a bad idea, because all the blood rushes to his head and makes him dizzy. He stumbled over to the wooden table, which he didn’t realize was there, and smacked his shin into the leg.

“Shit!” He curses and crumbles to the ground, holding his shin. The pain radiating from his shin almost made him forget about his throbbing head and the fact he had no idea where he was, who he was, and what the absolute fuck was happening.

A man rushed into the dining room and grabbed Loki’s shoulder. Loki immediately flinched and backed away. “What the hell?” He stuttered out, holding his shin as he stared at the man with wide, fearful eyes.

The man crouches down to Loki’s level. “Loki? Calm down, sweetie. It’s just me.”

Loki stares at him with confusion. “What? What? Why are you calling me sweetie? Who are you?”

He looks at Loki with hurt in his eyes. “I’m your husband. Do you not remember me?”

Loki breathes heavily, confused, dazed, and in pain. “I-..No?...What?” He glances around the room. A painting of a seaside house in what looks to be Greece hangs on the wall. A protection rune by the door. A green and yellow patterned rug under the cherry wood dining set. He can peer into the kitchen through the doorway from where he’s sitting in the dining room and see seashells on the windowsill. All the curtains are drawn, and it’s very dim in the house. The only lighting in the room is from a red candle on the coffee table.

The man reaches for him, but Loki dodges his advances. “Loki, baby. Calm down. You were in an accident. You have amnesia. I’m your husband.”

 

Loki was skeptical of this. “How do I know you’re not lying right now?”

The man holds up Loki’s hand, which is wearing a matching wedding ring to the one the man has.

Loki nods, feeling wary, but more convinced now. “Right…” A sharp pain sent shockwaves through his skull, causing him to keel over and curl up on himself.

The man leans down and holds Loki, and Loki wants to protest, but he is in too much pain. “It’s from the accident.”

“Then why am I not in the damn hospital?” He snapped, cradling his head as he tried to breathe through the pain.

“The doctors said you were good to go home. They told me that you didn’t have any major issues.” The man rubs Loki’s back.

The pain fades after a little bit, and Loki opens his eyes again. Tears had slipped past them. “So the seizing pain isn’t a major issue?”

The man shook his head and continued rubbing Loki’s back. “There’s no permanent damage. I’ll go get you a Tylenol.” The man stands up and leaves the room.

”What is Tylenol?” Loki thinks to himself as he’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the leg of the cherry wood table. He looks around the room more and can see a stack of books by the couch and a stale cup of tea on the end table. There’s a bookshelf on the other side of the living room, and a weird metal box on the table right on the wall.

The man returns with a glass of water and “Tylenol” which is a glossy, red, oval-shaped thing. “Here. Take this, it’ll help with the pain.” He says and hands the Tylenol and glass of water to Loki.

Loki takes the glass of water to drink, but he’s not entirely sure of what to do with the oval thing. He stares at it blankly for a moment before asking. “So..um…what do I do with this?”

The man chuckles. “So the amnesia’s that bad huh? You swallow it.”

“Do I chew it or not?” Loki asks, confused.

The man smiles. “Not. Just swallow it.”

Loki puts it in his mouth and tries to swallow it, but it comes back up with his gag reflex and he spits it up into his hands. “Sorry.” He apologizes awkwardly.

“Swallow it with water, it’ll go down easier.” The man rubs his back, and Loki doesn’t have it in him to pull away again.

Loki tries again, and this time it goes down with little issue.

“You’ll feel it start working in just a few minutes. Then the pain will lessen.”

Loki was still so confused and in pain. He looked down at what he was wearing– athletic shorts and a Def Leppard T-shirt. There was a greenish-purple spot developing on his shin. He looked up at the man. “So..who are you exactly?”

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

Loki shakes his head, feeling a bit guilty. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“I’m Stephen Strange.”

Loki nods. The name seemed…kind of familiar? But not really. Like a name he had heard once or twice in passing conversation. “And me?”

“You’re Loki Strange.” He sits next to Loki and pulls him closer.

That seemed right. So this man…Stephen… was his husband. He was married to a man named Stephen and they lived in this house, his name was Loki and their last name was Strange. “And this is our house.”

“Correct. See, you’re already getting better.” Stephen smiles.

Loki nods and takes another sip of his water. “Okay…another question. What’s that?” He points to the metal box sitting on the table.

“That?” He laughs. “That’s the TV, sweetie.”

Loki feels like an idiot. He has no idea what a TV is. Should he know? How bad was this accident? “What?”

“You turn it on and it plays movies, which…do you know what movies are?”

Loki shakes his head.

Stephen smiles and stands up. “Okay, come here. I’m gonna show you.” He offers a hand to Loki, and Loki takes it.

Stephen guides him to the living room, where they sit down on the tattered magenta couch and Stephen turns the TV on. Loki is immediately drawn to it. He’s so confused about how this works, and Stephen is laughing under his breath, obviously entertained by Loki being lost about something simple to him.

“How does this work? What is this magic?” He asks, confused.

Stephen shakes his head. “Nope. Science.”

Loki nods, he’s too tired and in too much pain to ask what science is. He looks at the wedding ring on his left hand. It looks a little loose.

—

Stephen looks at Loki like he’s made of glass through dinner. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t need more Tylenol?”

Loki shakes his head. “No. I just need to keep drinking water.”

Stephen sighs. “Well, I’m going to keep giving you Tylenol in the morning and the afternoon. I worry.”

Loki feels guilty because he has no idea who Stephen is. He knows that Stephen is his husband, that his name is Stephen Strange, and he knows he likes art, but he doesn’t know Stephen Strange. Yet this man cares for him so deeply. Stephen looks at him with a worried expression. “You need to eat more, baby. You’re so thin.”

Loki tries to eat a little more off of his plate, but can’t find it in himself to eat a lot. His appetite feels dulled and suppressed.

After dinner, Stephen takes their plates and starts doing the dishes. Loki watches him as he does this, not sure of what else to do. “How old am I?”

Stephen pauses for a moment before responding. “You’re twenty-three.”

“And you?”

“Thirty-two.”

Loki doesn’t comment on the age gap. “How long have we been together?”

 

“Three years. You were twenty, I was twenty-nine.”

 

Loki nods and leans back on the counter. “And why are there no pictures on the walls? Or on the tables?”

“You hate pictures. I’m not a big fan either.”

Loki stares at his feet. He loathes that he can’t remember anything.

“How’s your shin?” Stephen asks, after a moment of silence.

“Oh, it’s fine. Just a bruise.” Loki replies.

Stephen finishes up doing the dishes. “I’ll run you a nice, warm bath.”

 

Loki lets out a sigh of relief, a warm bath sounds magnificent. “Thanks, that would be perfect.”

Stephen leaves the kitchen and goes to the bathroom to run Loki a bath. While he is doing this, Loki relaxes. For some reason, he is so tense around Stephen. He doesn’t know why, Stephen is his husband. He should be calmed by his presence.

It’s just the amnesia. He tells himself.

Something deep inside Loki aches. It’s not his head. It’s not his heart. It’s not his stomach. It doesn’t even feel like a hurt that comes from his body. But Loki can’t identify where the spikes of pain are coming from. Whatever it is, it is battered and mutilated.

Loki can hear the water running in the bathroom, which is just a couple feet away, down the hall. Stephen calls for him, “Loki! Your bath is almost done, you wanna get in here?” Loki walks down the hall for a moment before opening the door to the bathroom. The tile is a light shade of blue and it covers the bathroom. Stephen is sitting on the floor next to the tub and invites Loki in.

Loki stands in the doorway awkwardly for a moment. Is Stephen going to leave? Is he staying?

Stephen looks at him expectantly. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

“I’m confused.”

“Did you forget how to take a bath?”

Loki feels his cheeks warm. “No. But…are you..uh…going to be here?”

“Of course. I don’t want you to slip and fall and hurt yourself. You’re still fragile after the accident.” Stephen grabs Loki’s hand and tugs on it. Loki doesn’t budge.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable with you being in here while I’m taking a bath…naked…” He whispered that last word like it was a big scandal. The word naked burnt on his tongue and he didn’t know why.

Stephen scoffs. “I’ve seen you naked a million times, sweetie. Just get in the bath.”

Loki feels warm. Something burns deep inside him. Something is clawing. Something is burning and clawing.

Loki peels the clothes off of his body.
He slips into the tub.
He stands completely still as Stephen washes him.
Stephen talks.
Loki doesn’t.

Something is wrong.
Something is off.
Something is burning deep inside him.
—

After the bath, Loki rushes to dry off and slip his clothes back on. Stephen laughs at this, amused by his hastiness. Loki slips the sleep pants on backward in his rapidity. “First off, I’ve seen you naked so many times. I don’t get why you’re behaving this way.” Stephen eyes Loki down as he says this.

A shiver goes down Loki’s back. “I-..it’s just the amnesia. The amnesia is making everything a bit awkward. I don’t feel comfortable getting naked in front of you just yet.”

 

Stephen sighs. “That’s fine sweetie. But this can’t go on forever. I’ll help you get over this phobia.”

Loki nods, feeling guilty. “Thanks.” He says awkwardly. He didn’t know what else to do. His head was feeling better now, just a dull ache rather than a throbbing pain.

“Your pants are on backwards.” Stephen points out.

Loki feels his cheeks warm up. “I know that.” He says before turning them around.

Stephen nods, smiling at him.

Loki had no idea what he was so smiley about.

“So, you ready for bed now, my love?” He says after a moment of silence. He stands up and runs a brush through Loki’s tangled black curls.

Loki tensed up even further when Stephen put his hands on him again. “I need a new shirt. That one got wet.” He points to the shirt he was wearing, lying on the floor by the tub.

“Are you cold?”

“Not especially.”

 

“Then there’s no need for a shirt. Let’s go get in bed.”

“What if I get cold in the night?”

“Then I’ll keep you warm.” Stephen grabs him by the waist and guides him to the bedroom.

Loki goes along with it. Everything is so..dulled. Everything is fuzzy and uncomfortable and aching. Loki allows himself to be led into the bedroom. He allows his…husband…to guide him into bed and wrap him in a blanket and to hold him. It isn’t comfortable. Loki doesn’t sleep until very late that night. Everything is aching.

—

Loki dreams of golden light shining through big, ornate stained glass windows. They resemble a church’s windows. The light is warm and beautiful, and it is so gorgeous. It draws Loki into a trance. The light fills him with memories of warm cinnamon rolls and candles. Then the candles are snuffed out. Then the blinds are shut. Loki is plunged into darkness and his head aches and his shin is bruised.

Chapter Text

Loki woke up from that weird dream feeling empty. Like someone had cut him open and dug up everything in his soul, leaving nothing inside. He was hollowed out. His headache dulled further. The pain from deep inside himself and outside of himself, that strange pain he couldn’t identify, was dulling as well. The pain wasn’t necessarily going away, but his senses were getting more and more numb. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall of the cabin. There was a portrait of a woman on the wall. Stephen loved art. The woman’s eyes stared at Loki. She was somber. Maybe in mourning, she was in a full black gown with a veil on.

Loki couldn’t go back to sleep. Not with Stephen’s hands on him in such a way. Stephen was holding him by his waist. It wasn’t tight, but it still felt like he couldn’t escape. Loki felt the weight of all that had happened yesterday on his shoulders. What was that dream? Why was it so significant? Stephen adjusted himself, moving closer to Loki. Loki tensed, feeling the man’s crotch right up against him. Loki stared at the painting of the girl and she stared back. He focused on every little detail of the painting to distract himself from Stephen's proximity.

Loki closed his eyes briefly, closing them so tight it almost hurt. He didn’t want to be awake. But why? This was his husband, they were in love. Why was this so awful? Why was his touch like a thousand razor blades to his tender mind?

Stephen is your husband. You’re supposed to love him. He loves you. Why don’t you just calm down? He’s not going to hurt you. He would never do that, okay? Loki told himself. He was getting inside his head and stressing out for no reason. There was no reason to worry so much. Stephen was kind, compassionate, and caring. Stephen would never hurt him.

Loki was such a worrier. Something felt wrong deep inside, but that was just the amnesia. The accident was messing with his head. He just needed to calm down. He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. He pulled the covers over himself. He wasn’t cold, he just wanted to cover his bare chest.

Sleep eventually came for Loki again. It overtook him, not like he wanted it to. He tried to fight it, but sleep was stronger than him. He wasn’t very strong anyway. All his bones seemed to be weighed down by something. This fatigue is probably because of the accident. What kind of accident was it? Why didn’t he ask? He should find these kinds of things out.

When he woke up again, Stephen was gone. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, and he felt slightly guilty. Why was he so relieved that his husband was gone?

The amnesia was messing with his mind.

—

Loki blinked his eyes open as the sun filtered through the blinds of the master bedroom. He sat up, immediately feeling sore in his head and back. The bruise on his shin looked even worse than it did yesterday, and it hurt like it too. He licked his chapped lips, feeling the coarse, flaky skin under his dry tongue. He needed water. He sucked in a breath before getting up. He groans and shifts under his own weight, feeling all the blood and pain rush into his legs. Why was his body so sore? He slouched over and gripped the mahogany end table for support. Where was Stephen? He wasn’t there. Where had he gone? Had he left? Did he leave Loki all alone? Was Loki alone in a house with no memories and everything hurt? Why would he leave without even saying goodbye?

Loki panics and rushes out of the room. This was a bad idea in hindsight, but Loki wasn’t thinking clearly. His brain was filled with a grimy, viscous fog. He stumbles into a wall and cracks his forehead on the corner of another painting. How many goddamn paintings were in this place?

“Loki, baby?” He heard Stephen call out.

Loki holds his forehead with one hand and the other holds onto the wall for support. Oh boy, did he feel stupid now. Stephen was just in the kitchen. Now that he had woken up more, he could hear the bacon crackling on the stove. He could smell the pancakes being burnt. He could hear faint music playing from the radio on the countertop. How stupid had he been to rush to conclusions like this? He had caused a ruckus and hit his head all for nothing. And he worried the hell out of his husband as well. Stephen rushed over to take Loki into his arms.

“What happened, sweetie? Are you okay? How’s your head?” He rapid-fired questions that Loki didn’t have the clarity to answer.

Loki feels his entire stomach lurch forward and he leans into Stephen’s arms. Not like he wanted to be so close, but everything was spinning. “Hos…” He uttered while trying to catch his breath. “Hospital..” He uttered.

Stephen’s eyes widened with an emotion Loki couldn’t quite put his finger on, but only for a moment. “No, no hospital. You’re fine. You’re just a little dizzy. Lie down. Lie down. Lie down, you’re fine.” He repeated for Loki to lie down, but Loki still stood on his wobbly legs. “Loki. Lie down, you’re not going to get any better if you keep standing up.”

But Loki didn’t want to lie down. But why? Why was it instinctual for him to disobey his husband like this so blatantly for no good reason? “N-No…” He mumbled and stumbled away. He didn’t make it far before he began tumbling to the ground, but Stephen caught him before his already beaten and bruised body hit the ground.

Stephen is holding him, and Loki listens to his breathing for a while. He doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t have it in him. He’s so tired and defeated. That’s the perfect word to describe his current state. Defeated. Whatever accident happened, it has won.

Stephen rubs his back, comforting him however he can. “Sweetie, do you mind telling me why you did that?” His voice had an underlying tone of panic, which was understandable considering Loki did just act like a complete maniac and bust open his skull.

“I-...I thought you left me.” Loki feels like an idiot for even saying this. Of course, Stephen hadn’t left. That was stupid. They were married. They were husbands, in sickness and in health. “I woke up and my mind was just…so foggy. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I ran out of the room, I don’t even remember why. I don’t think there was a reason. Just fight or flight instincts kicked in and I-”

Stephen places his finger on Loki’s lips. He wears a soft smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry my love. It’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s go eat breakfast, alright? Let’s hope the pancakes haven’t burned.”

 

I know they have. Loki thought.

—

“I called off work for a week so I can take care of you. You’re so fragile right now, sweetie. Every time I look away from you you’re off hurting yourself more.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I swear I can be better. Just give me a few days. The amnesia will wear off and I’ll be back to normal.” Whatever normal is for me.

Stephen shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. I was gonna take off a week whether you were perfectly fine or a complete mess. I just need to be sure you’re going to be fine, okay? I’m your husband, I love you.” Stephen picks at the burnt pancakes. “I was hoping I didn’t burn them this time, but I did.”

Loki glances around the kitchen. He doesn’t recognize a lot of the machines in the room, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to be perceived as stupid anymore. “Hey, I have a question.”

“I imagine you have a lot,” Stephen replied. “Ask away.”

Loki continues. “Where am I from? My accent is different from yours.”

“England. We met there actually. I was studying abroad when I met you in a bar.”

Loki nods. It sounds right to him…sort of. He chews on his dry lips.

Stephen holds his hand. It seems he constantly needs to be touching Loki in some way. “I know you have more questions than that dear. Just ask them all.”

“Where are we?” Loki felt his heart ache. He couldn’t even remember where they lived.

He paused, but only for a second. “Oregon.”

The name doesn’t sound familiar to Loki. Is he supposed to know what ‘Oregon’ is? Loki holds back the wave of pain in his heart, urging him to cry. He can’t cry so early in the morning.

Stephen squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry so much about all these details and remembering. It’ll all be okay. I love you so much. I love you more than you could ever know.”

Loki wished he could return the feeling, but he felt nothing towards this man. Well, nothing wasn’t the right word. He felt something. Guilt. But the guilt was only there because he couldn’t return his love. Loki was a stranger to his husband, and that tore him up. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks.

Stephen shakes his head. “Don’t apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong. It isn’t your fault the accident happened. And the amnesia definitely isn’t your fault. I promise you, nothing is your fault in this situation. Let’s just finish up breakfast and then we can relax on the couch. I’ll make you some tea and we can watch some more TV. Don’t worry one bit about remembering. It’ll all come in due time.”

Loki nods, still trying to hold back his tears. Stephen was a wonderful husband.

After breakfast, Stephen started doing the dishes while Loki cleaned up at the table. Stephen played some music from a device Loki didn’t recognize. Loki let out a breath and reminded himself that it was no good for anyone to worry about remembering. Even if he didn’t remember so many things.

Stephen stopped halfway through the dishes when a real romantic song came on and pulled Loki by his forearm into the kitchen. “Let’s dance.”

 

Loki’s eyes widen. “But I don’t know how!”

Stephen shakes his head. “You think I won’t teach you?”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t want to dance right now. The dishes are a mess– you did not finish them. I didn’t finish cleaning the table either so-”

Stephen shushes him. “Dance time now. No more worrying about trivialities like messes.”

Loki gave up arguing and let Stephen lead him through the dance. He had no idea what he was doing. He danced like he had two left feet. Stephen didn’t care though. Loki thought it was fun after a few seconds.

—

Later that night they did the bathing process again. Loki awkwardly disrobed and got into the tub then Stephen washed him. That wasn’t nearly as fun as dancing. Loki stared at the ceiling. When that got too boring he stared at the shampoo bottles. When that got too boring he stared at the small mosaic hung up by the mirror. That he didn’t get bored of. He stared at the mosaic, trying to ignore the hands on his body. That wasn’t fun. Dancing was fun.

 

Loki yelps as Stephen touches his private area. “Oh!” That is all he can manage to say. He’s shocked. Stephen hadn’t touched him down there yesterday. He had let Loki wash that area by himself. He sits up in the tub and pushes his hands away. “Okay, I’m just gonna wash that myself.” Loki’s voice is shaking. He laughs awkwardly.

Stephen laughs. “What’s wrong?”

 

Loki doesn’t look at him. “I just don’t feel comfortable with you touching me down there yet.”

 

Stephen sighs. “I guess that’s okay. I-..” He pauses. “Just so you know I’ve touched you down there a million times before, but if you aren’t comfortable with it then that’s fine.”

 

Bugs were crawling underneath his skin. “Oh. Um-...it’s just…I-” Loki stutters. “It’s the amnesia. It’s like a stranger is groping me.” Loki’s eyes go wide after he realizes what he just said. “Oh god no that wasn’t what I meant-”

Stephen looks heartbroken. “I can’t believe you would say something so horrible.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that was awful. That was so bad. I’m sorry.” Loki apologizes profusely. “I swear I didn’t mean it. I-”

“Prove it.” All the warmth in his voice has vanished.

His brows drew together. “What?”

“I said prove it. Prove that you didn’t mean it. That you’re sorry.”

Loki’s eyes widened as he watched Stephen take his shirt off. He couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything. What was happening? Was Stephen really about to do this? Loki’s heart rate rose and his face flushed. His breathing got heavier. Stephen took his pants down. Then his underwear came off. Then Loki was being pulled out of the water. Then he was being kissed. Loki didn’t fight back. He was frozen in fear. What the fuck was happening? This couldn’t be happening. Not now. He wasn’t ready.

Fight back, dumbass. Tell him no! His mind yelled at him.

Loki finally snapped out of it as Stephen wrapped his hands around the base of his cock. He jerks away. “No! Please, I’m sorry. I honestly am, but I don’t want this. I don’t want to do this. Please. Just– please let go of me. I can make this all up to you another time. I can do something else. Just not this. Not now.” He pleaded. Loki slips a little on the wet bathroom floor and holds onto the towel rack for support.

Stephen sighs. “Fine. Do whatever you want. I’m going to bed.” He storms out of the bathroom.

 

Loki lets out a breath of relief as Stephen leaves, but then shame and guilt wash over him. He crumples up on the floor and lets out a pitiful whine. What has become of him? What was he before? Was he someone pure before? Was he dirty now? Was he dirty before? Is this just dirt on dirt? What is happening? He still has no idea what’s happening. He curls up in a ball on the wet floor of the bathroom. His hair clumps up and clings to the light blue, cold tile. The fluorescent lights shine on his body, illuminating his nudity. He was still soaking wet.

It took a long time of lying on the floor, crying for Loki to gain the courage to stand up and get dressed. He was still damp and the cloth clung to his flesh uncomfortably.
He turns the door handle.
He opens the door.
He leaves the bathroom.
He enters the hallway.
He walks towards the bedroom.
He turns the door handle.
He opens the door.
He enters the room.

Stephen is asleep on the right side of the bed (his side). Loki is glad he doesn’t have to face him or endure a conversation. Stephen really was mad, though he had every reason to. He just wanted an intimate moment with his husband, and Loki couldn’t provide. Why couldn’t he have just shut his fucking mouth? Why couldn’t he have just let Stephen have his fun? Loki could have avoided all this conflict entirely if he had just stopped being so sensitive for no reason.

Loki crawls under the covers on the left side (his side). He doesn’t sleep that well. He awakes to the painting of the girl with the veil on and the smell of pancakes. This time they don’t smell burnt, but maybe he just woke up too early.

Chapter Text

Loki rubs at the dark purple bags under his eyes. They’ve been getting worse recently. It’s been about a week since the bathroom incident and Stephen’s returning to work today. Loki stares at himself in the mirror, and the man staring back is unrecognizable. Everything to him is foreign, but his own face should be less foreign than other things. Sadly, that’s not the case.

To make things worse, Stephen is in a bad mood today. Loki could hear him cooking in the kitchen, and he had spilled hot oil on himself while making the bacon. It was going to be a rough morning, but Loki was just lucky he chose today to be in a bad mood. Hopefully he would calm down during the day and by the time he got home, he would be lightened up. Loki wished for the best before taking a deep breath. He was about to go out and deal with Stephen, agitated and all. At least he wasn’t horny. He was the worst when he was like that. Unable to control himself. Or unwilling. Either way it always fell on Loki's shoulders to deal with his husband's urges.

The word husband still felt like acid on his tongue. Like it would burn right through the bottom of his mouth if he said it too much or too loud. Loki was being irrational. Stephen was his husband, and he loves him. He has to. They've been together for so long. Loki just needs to remember all those years, then everything will be okay.

He exhales and exits the bathroom. The hallway is dark because there's no lights in it and the only window is on the door at the other end, leading out into the backyard. And much to Loki's dismay, Stephen has closed the blinds. All the blinds in the cabin are closed. Stephen said that the light would interfere with Loki's injuries. Loki was too tired to fight back for very long. Stephen didn't like to put up a fight against Loki.

He loved it when Loki was calm and submissive. He liked it when Loki shut his mouth and lied down and took it. He loved it when he was still. He loved it when he was complacent in his own, seemingly endless, pain. But Stephen loved him, nevertheless. And where would Loki go? They live together in the middle of the woods, he has no assets (that he knows of), and he doesn't even know who he is. He's completely alone, in the woods with his husband.

Loki has nowhere to go, so his only choice is to lay still and take it. Stephen won't kill him. Would he? Loki pushes that thought out of his mind and walks down the dark hallway towards the kitchen. The sizzling of bacon on a pan has ceased, and the scent of pancakes and bacon fills his nostrils as he enters the kitchen. An apple magnet on the fridge holds a cute reminder Loki wrote in cursive to Stephen yesterday: “Work tomorrow!” The O's look like hearts. Loki was in a good mood the previous night when he wrote that note because Stephen had cuddled with him and rubbed his back when he complained about his various pains and aches.

Loki thought that he loved Stephen. He didn't really have a choice, but even if he did–...well that's not really fair. Loki doesn't know what he's choosing between. As of right now, Stephen and this cabin are his entire world. Loki didn't reciprocate the same sexual feelings, but that would change. It had to. Stephen was his husband. His husband. The word still feels like acid. As well as the sexual thoughts that intrude on his mind.

Loki didn't want to feel like a prude, as Stephen said he never was before the crash. In fact, he recounted many times over the course of the week how much Loki used to enjoy those endeavors. So what changed? What about that accident made Loki not enjoy…this…anymore? He didn't enjoy it when Stephen would make him do all those acts in bed. He didn't enjoy it in the tub. He didn't enjoy it anywhere. Yet the thoughts plagued his mind.

Loki's imagination could be cruel. For some reason, all his stupid, stupid brain could think up was Stephen naked, and touching him. While he was naked! The thought made his stomach rock with disgust, making him feel intense shame and humiliation, but that was just the amnesia talking. Loki was supposed to enjoy this. Why wasn't he?

“Good morning my love.” Stephen greeted with a half smile. Maybe he wasn't in such a bad mood as Loki had predicted.

“Good morning.” Loki responded, sitting down at the table and waiting for Stephen to sit down across from him.

Stephen poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting down. “You sleep well?” He asked.

Loki shrugged. “Fine. My head hurt a lot so it took a bit of struggling to get to sleep. But once I got to sleep, I was out like a light.”

Stephen smiled. “That's lovely. I'm surprised I didn't have to wake you up, the way you were out.”

Loki smiles back at him. Thank God he's not in a bad mood as Loki once thought.

Stephen continues. “So, what are you planning on doing today?”

“Probably just cozy up in bed and read. With a little cup of tea.”

“That's good. You need to rest up plenty. Your eye bags are getting worse.” He reaches over the table and holds Loki's hand. “I'm worried about you, sweetie.”

Loki nods. “I know, but I'll get better. I promise. I'll be better in no time.”

“Let's just hope so.” Stephen smiled at him.

They continue making awkward small talk as they eat their breakfast until Stephen's alarm goes off. “Leave for work!” The screen reads.

—

Loki is alone for the first time in his entire (known) life today. The silence is deafening. The silence fills every room. Loki doesn’t know how to react. The smaller noises become louder. His footsteps ring throughout the cabin. The creaking of the floorboards under his feet are blaring. Like when a wall painted industrial white is chipped, and they can’t get the same color, so they get a shade slightly different. It’s so noticeable to the person living in the house. It would drive them insane.

They would constantly come home to it. They would sit at the dining room table to try and enjoy their meal and their appetite would vanish at the sight of it. That slight discoloration of the strip of paint on the perfect, beautifully pure wall would drive anybody mad. And that’s what the sounds of himself and the house were. A strip of discolored paint on a pure, perfect wall.

He planned on reading, he really did. But he couldn’t focus. There was all this noise. The bed was uncomfortable and his teeth felt like they didn’t sit right. His tongue was too big for his mouth and that damn painting of the girl in mourning wouldn’t stop looking at him. What has a girl that young to mourn? She was dressed like a grown woman, too. Loki glances back at the painting for just a moment. He doesn’t turn his head, only side eyes her.

The girl in the painting seems younger every time he looks back at her. Strangely enough, she looks disappointed. It’s unusual. If she truly was in mourning, why was she not sad? She wasn’t crying. Maybe her parents had died. And that led Loki to wonder what became of his parents. Were they dead? Did he even have any? If he never remembered them did they exist to him? What exists if Loki cannot recall any of it? There was nothing outside of this cabin at that moment.

Would this moment be forever? Will Loki spend his entire life waiting to remember? Would he spend it writhing in pain at the hands of his lover?

Enough worrying about the future. Worry about the past. He told himself.

But he couldn’t worry about the past, because there was nothing to worry about. Except for the fact it may not exist, the past was irrelevant at this moment. Or maybe it was relevant. He doesn’t know if the past is relevant or not because he doesn’t know it. Was he still…Loki?

Maybe he was a new man now. Same body, new mind. Where does he go from here? He is stuck in a home with a man that he does not love in a body that is not his and a mind that is shattered and dulled. He wasn’t sure who Loki was, but at this moment, he wasn’t Loki. Loki was Stephen’s sweet husband from before the accident.

Was he sweet? He must've been, if he had put up with Stephen's abuse for so long. Abuse was a strong word. Abuse implied Loki was a victim, which he was not. He was only a victim of the accident. Not of having a loving husband with a bad temper sometimes. He needs to stop feeling so sorry for himself, that's the problem. He's so caught up in his own little pity party he can't even comprehend what Stephen must be going through. Plus, it doesn't help that Loki doesn't willingly put out.

He talks frequently about sex, no matter how uncomfortable Loki is. Loki has brought this up a number of times, and is met with the same resistance.

“You know, you never behaved so prudishly before the accident. I'm your husband, I'm allowed to feel these emotions with you. You're mine. You're mine, the love of my life. I'm allowed to look at you and touch you however I damn well please.” He said it so fervently, with such determination. It was like he was ordering Loki to shut his mouth and be a good boy.

He was demanding Loki's submission. For some reason it felt wrong. Stephen went into detail about how their relationship was always him on top and Loki on bottom, but it felt wrong. It wasn't, obviously, because Stephen had told Loki directly to his face that he was always below him, and that Loki never had a problem with it before.

But Loki couldn't do anything. Not with this dulled and aching mind. And his soul, his essence felt dulled as well. He couldn't focus on anything. He felt exhausted all the time yet when he tried to sleep, it never came for him. He couldn't be afforded this luxury of sleep.

In other news, and a much newer development, he has started hearing a low buzzing coming from outside the house. About 30 minutes after Stephen left, he first noticed it. He shrugged it off as meaningless house noises, but now…now it was unavoidable. Meaningless house noises weren't persistent like this. It was continuously buzzing for about three hours. It didn't even flicker. No wavering, not even once.

Loki considered it to be another symptom of the accident, but then why hadn't he experienced this buzzing before? And it also wasn't in his head. It was distinctly outside of the cabin. He tried to ignore it, but it was overwhelming in the silence. This new silence illuminated all the other noises in the cabin.

Before, the old silence wasn't really that bad. Stephen was usually listening to quiet music and he snored when he slept. He talked a lot as well. The silence became corrosive, tearing away at his already poor mental well-being. He got up from the bed and paced around the small bedroom. He could not sit and stare at the girl in mourning any longer while being forced to endure that buzzing. The floorboards groaned under his weight.

“Damn it!” He exclaimed, unable to stomach this any longer. His head hurts, the buzzing wouldn't stop, and he feels like he's going FUCKING INSANE! Then again that might just be the amnesia talking. It's just the amnesia. It's always just the amnesia. The accident stole away his normal life. The accident stole away everything. It must be so difficult for Stephen. Imagine the hardship he is braving, his sweet husband is replaced with an unloving, isolated man. It seems a demon is living in the flesh of who Loki used to be.

He slams his head against the wall, in an attempt to get everything to stop. It's really a hail Mary at this point. He doesn't know what else to do. It works surprisingly well. All those pesky thoughts are replaced with one, “Ah, fuck!” However, while the thoughts plaguing him may be gone, the buzzing remains. But that was a given, considering it wasn't in his head.

It was outside the cabin. And Loki knew this. But whenever he paid attention to the buzzing he began to tell himself that it was all in his head. If he were to ask Stephen, Stephen would probably say it was all in his head. Most things were in his head. It was all the amnesia’s fault. What was the accident? What happened? Why didn’t he remember anything even after all this time spent in the cabin?

Loki knelt down and rested his forehead against the wall of the cabin. It was cold. Loki didn’t realize until it overwhelmed him, but he began to cry. Tears came slow, Loki didn’t realize. He didn’t realize it until he was dragged under the flowing waters of his emotions he had been suppressing. He shook in his sadness and anger. He sobbed into the wall, loudly. He couldn’t do anything more except release his emotions. There was nothing more to do. The dishes were done. All the books on the shelves are boring. Nothing is good. There’s not anything to do except sob and scream until there is nothing left inside.

And that’s exactly what he does. He sobs and screams and hits his head against the wall, never facing away from it. Like a child in time out. He does not turn around to face the room. He just pushes his face into the wall, breathing onto the cold wood. His nose leaks onto it as well as the saliva rubbing onto it. His tongue drips saliva off the end, and Loki sticks it out onto the wood, not to taste it, but to feel the chill in his hot mouth. His lips become chapped.

Time passes around him, but he doesn’t notice. He pants like a dog onto the wood, closing his eyes. He’s stopped crying at this point, he’s stopped feeling altogether. He listens to that horrible buzzing, which bothers him an unhealthy amount, and breathes. He whines, low and depressing. Nothing is making sense. Loki eventually snapped out of this strange behavior, wiped the sticky, wet, wall off with the sleeve of his sweater and flopped back down on the bed.

He tried to distract himself from the buzzing, he really did, but it wouldn’t leave his mind. He tried counting sheep; that didn’t work. He tried covering his ears, but that didn’t work either. The buzzing was impossible to muffle. So, instead, Loki decided to drown it out. He began to hum a melody. Of course, he didn’t know any melodies, so he made them up. That worked fine for a while, until he got tired of humming and then the buzzing returned.

Then he got a new idea, he could drown out the buzzing with the metal box in the living room. He hopped up from the bed and went to the living room, and sat right in front of the box. It’s strange, so Loki didn’t like to be around it without Stephen close by. Also, he didn’t know how to make it work.

He fiddled around with the buttons on the side, pressing one, and it made a noise as it powered up.

Loki remembered what to do now. He pressed a few more buttons, then put in a flat rainbow circle into the machine. It played a loud song, then the film began. The buzzing wouldn't stop still! And how horrible was that. No matter how loud whatever he played was, the buzzing was still there. It was always there in the background like a shadow.

“Loki.” A deep voice uttered, and he covered his ears. It was instinctual, but he didn't know why. He didn't know who's voice it was. He just keeled over on the floor and covered his ears.

“NO!” He screamed. He had no idea why he had such a visceral reaction to this voice. Why it tore a hole in his chest. Why it made his stomach turn. Why it dug its fingers into his ribs and touched his tender flesh. He sobbed into the carpet. He kicked his feet like a child. Why couldn't it all just stop?

And the voice didn't say anything after that. It left him alone. Loki dried his tears and wiped his nose. He felt rather embarrassed about the emotional outburst. He behaved like a child. He wasn't a child. He was an adult. An adult. An adult. He hit himself in the head. “You're an adult. Behave like it.”

The buzzing still didn't stop.

—

“I'm horny right now.” Loki told Strange when he got home.

Strange looked at him with wide eyes. “Oh, you are?” He smiles. “Well I've been waiting all day. And I've been waiting to hear you tell me that.”

Loki really was horny too, and he figured he might as well try everything to ignore the buzzing. Sex might work. And that's what a husband is for. Sex.

Strange pushes Loki into the bedroom. “You're getting ruined tonight. Absolutely ruined.” He pushed him down onto the bed and pulled his shirt off. “Take your clothes off now.” He demanded.

Loki obliged, really only half conscious. The buzzing had this strange ability to fuck him up in the head. Make him feel all woozy and stupid. At first the buzzing was a nuisance. Now it worked like an aphrodisiac. Loki just wanted to get fucked while he was so out of it.

He stared at the wall. The girl in mourning. She kept catching his eye.

“Loki,” the deep voice called his name again, but softer this time. Gentler.

When the voice called his name, Strange tensed on top of him. Loki didn't even realize he was on top of him, he was so out of it, and that made him laugh.

“Loki, look at me.”

Loki looked at him, and Strange wiped the drool dripping down his chin. “Who is talking to you right now?”

“I dunno…keep going..fuck me..I'm horny..” He whines.

Strange smiles and kisses his neck.

Loki doesn't particularly like sex with him, but he's really fucking horny. That buzzing was fucking him up.

“Loki, please listen to me. You need to escape.”

“Ah?” Loki laughed and shrugged off the deep voice in his ear. Strange tensed again. “Don't listen to him, Loki. You're safe here. See how good I treat you?”

Strange’s fingers were in his ass, working it open. “I'm good to you. You don't ever want to leave here.”

Loki whines. “Ngh…fuck..” He grinds down on the fingers wanting more. He hated looking at Strange but he knew how to work his fingers.

The voice spoke again. “Loki, please, need my words. You must snap out of this. Tell me where you are. I will find you.”

Loki was confused, so he laughed a little and sloppily jerked himself off. He didn't care about leaving at the moment, just getting off.

“Loki. This isn't real. He's lying.”

“Don't believe that voice, I'm real. I'm your husband. I love you.”

“Oregon.” Loki mumbles.

Strange turned angry. He pulled his fingers out of Loki's ass, making him whine. He pushed him off the bed. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!” He screamed like a banshee and kicked him in the head as he stormed out of the room.

—

Loki woke up naked, face down on the floor. “Ngh…fuck…” He uttered and stood up. He couldn't remember anything last night besides getting fingered.

He stood up and pulled on some boxers and a baggy t-shirt. “Strange?” He called out, noticing his absence.

He stumbled out into the living room, where it was empty. He wandered through every room. Empty. He left the house. The buzzing stopped and Loki felt a shudder run through him. He fell to his knees and vomited on the ground, then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

"You look at me like you have no idea who I am." The blonde man who sat next to Loki spoke. His voice was deep, but not deep like the voice Loki was hearing when he passed out. "But that's what I've been told. That you don't remember anything." He looked at Loki with red rimmed eyes with deep purple circles underneath them. He wore a weary expression that read he was one move away from breaking down. He looked familiar. A memory he could almost touch. Almost feel. Warm, but painful at the same time. An aching wound that was fresh, yet brought comfort.

Loki went to rub at his aching, bleary eyes, but found his hands were bound to the hospital bed. "Huh?" He stared at the metal cuffs binding his hands to the bed. His breath quickened and his eyes went wide.

What is going on? He thought to himself as he tried to pull his hands out of the bindings. "No...no...no..." He whispered to himself.

"Loki, Loki, don't pull on that. Please. Don't strain yourself, please," The blonde man put his hand on Loki's shoulder to comfort him.

"Where am I?" Loki stared up at this stranger with wide, terrified eyes and pulls away from his touch. The man looks on the verge of crying (again) at this.

"The medical wing of Avenger's Tower," He answers, "You're safe."

"The what?" He stares at him, even more confused and scared.

"I–...don't worry about it. Just get some rest, okay Loki?" The man knew him. And from what Loki's gathered from his previous statements, he was supposed to know him as well.

"Who are you?" His voice is shaking.

The man lets out a shaky breath. "You can worry about that later. Please, Loki, just get some rest."

Loki turned his head away from him and closed his eyes. The man started crying a few minutes later. Quietly, as not to wake him.

Loki wanted to sob. He wanted to ask a million questions.

—

Loki had more time to adjust to his surroundings when he woke up. He wasn't as tired, he was alone in the room, and the restraints were off. He noticed that his head was clear for the first time in his whole life. The buzzing was gone. The fogginess was gone. The strange emptiness was gone.

And then he realized how pissed Strange was going to be at him for leaving. He's never left the cabin before. Strange was going to murder him. He sat up in the bed and looked around. The curtain was pulled around the bed and he didn't want to pull it away. For some reason he was afraid of what he might see. Maybe Strange standing right in front of it, ready to make him pay for his disobedience.

He heard faint speaking from the hall outside the room. Maybe it was Strange and the blonde man speaking to each other. How had Loki ended up in a hospital. He wanted to go home before Strange beat him to death.

"I'm taking him home!" He heard the blonde man yell from outside. His voice was loud and booming, like thunder.

The blonde man opened the door and pulled back the curtain. Oh thank God, Loki was going home. Strange would beat him, but hopefully not to death.

"Loki, are you okay?" He asks, his voice soft, so unlike how it had been before.

He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the metal cuffs around Loki's hands. "Are you okay?"

Loki nods.

The blonde man wipes his eyes. Loki hadn't noticed he'd been crying.

"I'm sorry." He speaks, very quietly.

"No, don't be sorry." The blonde man pulls him close and holds him to his chest. Loki didn't flinch. He didn't move. He didn't try to run away. Loki, for some reason, actually felt safe with this stranger.

"We're going home. Okay?" The blonde man strokes Loki's hair.

Loki nods, his eyes fearful for what's to come. Strange is going to kill him.

The blonde man leads him out of the hospital room, through the Tower. The people in the room outside glare at him angrily, and Loki can see the one with the bow angrily storms out. The blonde man pulls Loki closer, shielding him from the piercing gaze of the people who hate him.

The blonde man leads him outside then. The sun is bright, piercing his eyes. It hurts, but it feels good. He's been shut out from the light for too long.

He moves closer into the blonde man's grasp and shields himself from the sun's rays. The blonde man seems surprised, but welcomes this. "Everything's gonna be okay," He whispers, "You're safe now."

Loki gets in the backseat with the blonde man. There's a woman in the front seat with braids in a ponytail. And a man driving with locs and orange, knowing eyes. He spoke up, and Loki recognized his deep voice.

"I'm glad you're safe. We're heading home now."

It was the man speaking to him in his mind earlier, but the urgency was gone.

Loki stares at him, his mouth open as if he wants to say something. But he closes it, knowing he should keep his mouth shut. Strange made it very clear he didn't want Loki speaking with this man back in the cabin. He wanted to take him away from his husband.

"Loki, we'll explain everything when you're home. Really home. Not the cabin."

It was at this moment Loki realized they weren't taking him back to Strange. Maybe the cabin wasn't home. Maybe Strange wasn't home.

"What?" Was all Loki could manage to say, so quiet the blonde man and the man who spoke to him in the cabin could barely hear him. The woman stared straight ahead though, her resolve was unnerving.

"We'll explain everything later, okay?" The blonde man smiled at him like he was a fragile little thing, and to be honest, that's exactly what Loki felt like. A butterfly wing. A piece of glass. Something to be broken in a moment's notice.

The blonde man pulled him close again and kissed his hair gently. Loki wanted to scream and cry and run away back into the comforting and (somewhat) reliable arms of Strange. But that wasn't an option anymore. He couldn't go back. He could only go forward.

Loki fell asleep into the blonde man's embrace, exhausted still. Everything was so exhausting.

---

"I killed him," Loki hears when he wakes up. The voice is faint. It's the blonde man's, and it's coming from the other room. "I killed that son of a bitch. He's never going to touch Loki ever again."

"If you believe that was the right thing to do-" The man who spoke to Loki in his mind back at the cabin replied to the blonde man.

The blonde man cut him off, "It was. I would have done it a thousand times over. I just got my brother back, and after Asgard was destroyed, and father died...he was all that I had. And that fucking monster stole him from me. My only piece of family I had left after everything that's happened and then he was stolen from me. Those months felt like millenias."

"I get that. I understand. You did the right thing, Thor."

Loki was now breathing heavily. The name felt so familiar. Like he had heard it millions of times. And he must have, because the blonde man, Thor, said he was his brother. Brothers. And that that son of a bitch had taken him.

Loki had pieced it together rather quickly then. Strange was never his husband. He was a madman who stole him from his home with his brother after their father had died and made him play pretend in the wilderness.

"I swear I won't let any more harm come to him. I promise it to the Norns. The sky. The dirt and the sun. I promise it to the trees and the ocean I will protect him until I draw my final breath," Thor spoke with great might, "This is the final time such tragedy will befall my brother."

"He's like a lost kitten now. He'll need your guidance. Never seen that boy so confused and hurt since he was just a child."

"How long until he regains his memory?" Thor's voice cracks, vulnerable, but not weak.

"Tough to say. Strange-"

Thor cut him off again, "Don't you say his name."

The man sighs, "Fine then. He damaged his psyche severely. Not to mention his seidr, which is so messed up. It is bruised and bloody and beaten. And you know how much Loki relied on his seidr. There's no telling how much damage is really there, but I could see how much pain he's in. It may take a while for him to return to normal. I could use magic to help move along the process, but it could damage his seidr and psyche even further. I feel like the way to go about this is to let in memories slowly and naturally. Like there's a massive wall of water behind a dam. Just breaking the whole dam would cause an awful flood. However, if you just let in smaller amounts of water in increments, you can move all the water to the other side without damaging anything. Do you understand?"

Thor speaks, "Yes, I understand."

"He's going to need you. A lot. You saw how he clung to you earlier. So I'm not letting you do any business in New Asgard until Loki's well again."

Thor laughs, "Heimdall."

Heimdall. That name was familiar as well, though not as warm as Thor's.

"You cannot be serious. I am needed in my kingdom."

"You are needed with your little brother. You think he's going to be okay with you leaving him daily to perform politics for the crown?" Heimdall scoffs, "You know he's not a very understanding or patient boy."

Ouch.

"Yes, I know, but maybe I could bring him with me. At least until he's on his feet then he can stay home."

"Thor, you know better than that. Your brother is set in his ways and if he wants you with him at home to protect him then you know that's what he's going to get."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want to abandon my people."

"They will understand," Heimdall comforts, "And Valkyrie, I, and Sif will gladly pick up the work you will have left."

"If you're willing-"

"After all you've done and all you've been through, of course. We're willing to do this for you, Thor. And while the others have not come around to trusting or even mildly tolerating Loki yet, I could never hate that boy. Not in a million years could I ever hate him. Disappointed? Absolutely. Angry? Sure. But I do not hate him."

"I appreciate your support. Tell the others I send my highest regards and thanks. I am truly grateful."

"Of course."

Footsteps away from the room and towards the front door. Then the opening of the door. Then it closes.

Thor sighs before moving back towards the bedroom Loki is staying in. It's too dark to see anything but the brown hardwood floor Illuminated by the light coming in through the crack under the door, but when Thor peeks in, Loki can see more. A nightstand with an empty bottle of mead and books gathering dust.

The bear skin rug on the ground and the golden jewelry hanging from a hook on the wall by the door. Emerald jewels on rings strewn about the mahogany dresser. All dusty from disuse. The trash can filled with used tissues and half eaten TV dinners.

The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness when Thor entered again and shut the door behind him. "Loki, are you awake?"

Loki didn't know what to say, it's as if his mouth wouldn't open, wouldn't move. He felt mute.

Thor crawled into bed beside him and held him close. It was warm and bright however dark the room may have been.

"I'm so sorry."

Loki buried his face in the crook of Thor's neck. This man, his brother, a stranger now, still felt so familiar and comfortable. It's as if centuries of brotherhood was still inside him, buried behind all of Strange's cursed, deranged, magic.

---

Loki was small. Small enough to fit inside the kitchen cabinet. He was giggling too. "I'm gonna find you!" He heard a woman speaking outside.

He giggled again.

But when the cabinet door was opened, it wasn't a woman standing outside, it was Strange. He grabbed Loki and pulled him out of the cabinet and suddenly he was big again.

He was big again and he screamed but no noise came out and Strange pushed him down and down and down and down into the floor and all he saw was floor and all he felt was Strange.

---

He woke up crying, sweating and kicking Thor off of him. "No, no, get away!" He screams, covering his eyes.

Thor gets out of bed, "Whoa, Loki, come on, it's okay...it's okay. Just me. Just Thor. Your brother, okay?"

Loki peeks through the gap in his fingers. Strange is gone.

Dead.

Thor, brother, was here. Here to protect him. He couldn't be taken now, could he.

Loki curled up against the headboard and places his head in between his knees, thinking back to Strange. He missed him. He missed the revolting way Strange used to touch him because it wasn't so new and different. That was the only life he knew.

But he would get his memories back and everything would change. It would have to. Because he couldn't go back to Strange now. All he could go was forward. No more walking backwards. Not an option now.

"Loki, are you okay?" Thor crawls down next to him.

"I miss him."

Thor freezes, unable to process what he just heard, "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry," He sobs into his arms, "I don't know why. It's just– everything's confusing..."

"No, no, don't be sorry. Don't be sorry, it's okay. He did a lot of damage to you. It's okay," Thor pulls Loki closer and holds him to his chest.

"I don't know what's going on."

"Do you want me to explain it to you?"

Loki nods. That's all he wants. A real explanation.

"After what happened to Asgard," Thor pauses, realizing Loki has no idea what Asgard is or what happened to it, "Our home was destroyed and our father died."

Loki felt his heart shatter. This felt real, not like the fairy tales and lies Strange had been spinning during his time in the cabin. But he didn't want to cry anymore, every time he cried Thor looked like every bone in his body was being crushed.

Thor continues, "We started rebuilding in Norway. That's when he took you," Thor's eyes went dark with anger for a moment, "I searched for you. Day and night. But that disgusting wizard's cruel magic hid you from Heimdall's gaze. It took months for him to be able to reach you, and even then he could only reach you in your mind. When you told him you were in Oregon, the fool who stole you panicked and left, tearing down the wards he had placed to keep you from your true memories and life, as well as the runes to bind your magic and keep you feeble."

"Magic?" Loki asks, even more confused now.

"We'll go over all that another time, but yes, magic. Heimdall could finally see you when the wards fell and we got you out of there. I took you to Avenger's Tower to get you medical attention, but when you woke up, they sent us away."

"Why?"

Thor runs his fingers through Loki's hair, "You don't have the best history with them. But it's okay. You're safer in New Asgard."

Loki clung to Thor. He felt like the sun on your skin in a meadow and Kvæfjordkake. He felt like a long nap next to the fire on a cold winter's day.

As much as Thor loved Loki finally showing affection, it came with a sting. He was clinging to him because he hadn't yet remembered their rage at each other. He hadn't yet remembered their childhood. He knew in his heart and soul they were brothers, but the memories were locked away behind a cracking dam.

"I love you more than life itself," Thor whispered to Loki.

Loki lied in his arms on the floor for hours, but he couldn't sleep. At some point Thor brought him back to bed but sleep couldn't reach him.

"I was so scared," Loki murmured into the crook of Thor's neck, "I knew in my heart he was lying. That something was wrong."

"You're smart like that."

Loki dug his nails into Thor's bicep and back, "I'm still so confused."

"It'll fade. Your memories will return and this will pass and all those horrors you have faced will be a distant memory."

Loki nods.

They laid in a comfortable silence. No buzzing of wards or runes hurting Loki's seidr now. The sun came up and Loki shielded his face from it. He wanted it to remain night, he always liked the night.

"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Thor asks.

Loki nods and gets up when Thor gets up. He follows him to the kitchen. There's dishes piling up in the sink and there's a layer of grime on the appliances. There's little drawings and sketches of Loki hung up on the fridge. In some he's holding a dagger with a mischievous look painted on his face. Loki doesn't feel like the man in those drawings. He feels like the meek victim Strange had contorted him into when he confined his being to that cabin in Oregon.

"Where's Oregon from here?" Loki asks.

"Far," Thor responds quickly, then changes the subject, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm fine with anything. Maybe not pancakes and bacon though."

Thor tensed, "Is that what he made you?"

Loki nods, worried he's upset Thor now.

Thor bites his tongue to not get angry again. Not at Loki, but his oppressor. It's no point getting angry at the dead. They cannot feel fear.

"Well I'll never make that again. It's banned from this household," He grins, "How about some cinnamon oatmeal?"

Loki nods, "Thank you."

Thor smiles at him, "Of course!"

After breakfast Loki curled up in bed again, not knowing what else to do. He was so lost and confused and hurt. Everything hurt, and Thor lied next to him and rubbed his back, telling him fairy tales and stories from Old Asgard.

He told Loki everything would be alright, how that man would never hurt him again, and he told him how much life he has ahead of him. To Loki, that seemed like a fairy tale. Something so far away it isn't tangible or reasonable. Something luxurious and horrifying.

Something he couldn't afford and couldn't adjust to.

But sleep didn't come for him. Loki didn't allow it. He couldn't. The nightmares would return and with them, Strange. The man's cruelty haunted him.

"Loki, are you asleep?" Thor asks.

Loki shakes his head and sniffles. He didn't realize he was crying again.

Thor pulls him into his lap, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm sorry," He whispers like Loki is a little lamb still wobbling on it's newborn legs. And hell, that's what he feels like. An unwelcome feeling, mind you. Something unfamiliar yet the only thing he knows. Uncomfortable, yet he can't keep himself from crumbling down. His legs are just too wobbly from being born a few months ago to walk again. Now he is born again, and must learn to walk a different way. And it's painful.

Loki told himself the pain would never subside. That this hurt would always stay with him.

"Come on, let's get up. Do you want to sit outside? It's good to get some fresh air."

As they sit outside, the morning sun shining on them, Loki stares at the ground.

Thor holds him again just to know he's there. Alive. Breathing. Still there. Not stolen.

"I missed you more than you could ever imagine."

"I think I did too."

Chapter Text

Loki woke up to the light filtering in through the blinds. He hated how bright it was, and even more so ever since he started getting nauseous when he woke up in the mornings. Thor was just in the other room, watching some TV program. Loki overheard him talking on the phone with someone, but only a few words; "He's been getting sick in the mornings, I don't know what it is. I think it's anxiety. He's been so skittish recently. I'm not used to it, he seems so scared of everything all the time. He used to be so brave." Thor sighed and Loki waited to exit the bedroom so it wasn't obvious he was eavesdropping.

 

After a couple beats, Loki turned the handle and swiftly ducked into the bathroom to vomit. He barely had enough time to hold his hair back before he was throwing up violently into the toilet—bringing himself to tears quickly. Thor told whoever he was talking to that he had to leave and went to hold Loki's hair back while he threw up, just as he had been doing the past couple of days this had been occurring. Thor was upset. He was sad a lot of days. Loki noticed his eyes, more often than not, were swollen and red-rimmed. Loki wanted to run away some days, just so he wouldn't burden his brother anymore.

 

Thor was sad. Thor was so sad and sometimes he had no other way to get his sadness out of his body other than being mad and yelling. Loki was the only person he was around, so he was often at the other end of this aggression, and if it was not Loki, it was whoever was on the other end of the phone. It was also a possibility that Thor could snap at whoever might be visiting. Loki would hide away whenever visitors came, however. He was worried they'd hurt him or take him away. He felt like a child again, being taken care of like this. He hated it, but he couldn't help but need Thor.

 

Thor cried so much Loki thought he might be dehydrated. He assured Loki it wasn't his fault, even when it was. Even when Thor was yelling at Loki, he would cry afterwards and tell him it wasn't his fault. It always was. Thor was mad and Loki was scared.

 

Loki finished vomiting and washed his mouth out. Thor sat next to him on the floor and he was worried Thor would cry again by the way he was looking at him. Thor, thankfully, remained resilient. He was so tired, and he couldn't deal with Thor crying again. He had enough of his own emotions to deal with. Thor held him again, which he did often. Loki didn't mind, but sometimes he felt as if Thor wanted him to mind. Loki knew he was different now. He didn't know anything for sure, of course, but the way Thor spoke to and about him told him all he needed to know. He could tell from context that he had changed drastically from when he was taken.

 

This was the main source of Thor's misdirected rage. Loki was so different from what Thor remembered, and Loki understood the anger. He understood his frustration. Thor had finally gotten his brother back, but had he? Loki wasn't really Loki. The visitors which would occasionally pop by would speak about this in a very confused tone. They spoke like he was a pariah, and Thor would get so sad.

 

Thor was sad, and Loki feared it would never get better until he started to remember, but the problem was, he didn't.

 

Loki recalled a few days ago when a woman came over. She had light brown skin and wore dirtied sailor's clothes and an intimidating glare. Loki was in the kitchen when she came in, reading a book Thor got for him. Thor got him all sorts of books to keep Loki entertained at home all the time. Truthfully, Loki wanted to get out of the house, but he would never tell Thor that. He couldn't possibly tell him! Thor would hurt him. Thor would beat him and maybe even send him back to the man they don't speak about.

 

As she entered, she threw her bag down and shouted out to Loki, "Hey Lackey, how are you feeling?" It felt insincere and too casual. He didn't know her, did he? Possibly they were friends before he was taken. He waved at her, then grabbed his book and left to hide in the bathroom. She looked utterly baffled, and laughed as he closed the door.

 

He heard the woman and Thor's conversation behind the door.

 

"I guess you're right, he is definitely not the same."

 

"I wish you didn't sound so happy about that."

 

"Well, in my defense, it's kind of difficult not to be. You are aware he was the worst before, correct?"

 

Thor just huffed in response and sat down on the couch.

 

"Come on, Thor. You must admit it; you can't deny he was not a good person."

 

"He was difficult. I know that, but don't you dare say he wasn't a good person. He always has been, you know he's just had a rough time. He had good intentions, at least most of the time."

 

"Sure, you can tell yourself that."

 

"Can we stop talking about this please?"

 

"Fine."

 

Valkyrie knew Thor was horribly depressed, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Every time she visited she noticed the disarray the home was in. She noticed the stench from the kitchen— arising from the unwashed dishes. She had, behind his back, arranged for a cleaner to visit. Though, now thinking logically, this was probably not the best idea. While the cleaner would arrive while Thor was out of the house, taking his daily alone time down by the ocean, Loki would be there. She remembered how skittish and afraid he had been during her last visit. He had truly been broken.

 

Though she knew Loki for a short time, she had known him to be difficult, to say the least. He was abrasive, cold, and always causing trouble. He would cause these horrible pranks, however funny they may be. He was a menace to Asgardian society, but perhaps his greatest flaw and her greatest issue with him was his tendency to hurt the only person who cared about him, Thor. And now, even though he had lost his entire personality, even though he was a mere shell of the man he once was, he still managed to hurt his brother. Thor was too kind-hearted to be dealing with so much hardship. He was soft on the inside, even softer on the outside. He was a friendly, boisterous face, willing to greet and make merry with every person he met. Now, it seemed, Loki was not the only one left a shell after he was taken.

 

The house was truly a mess, clothes strewn about the place, garbage, alcohol everywhere. The place smelled like body odor, trash, and alcohol. Loki walked like a baby deer, it was strange to see him so uncoordinated in his movements when he had once been so lithe and graceful. Valkyrie could of course sympathize with Thor's agony at Loki's state. Thor wanted his brother, and by the Norns, this was anything but his brother. The boy stumbled about everywhere, mumbling to himself, always on edge, crying near constantly. He was a complete and utter mess, perhaps more than Thor.

 

Val bent down to pick up the spare key hidden underneath the welcome mat which was covered in dirt. It's fine, welcome mats are supposed to be dirty. She breathed through her mouth as she opened the door to Thor's—and Loki's now—home. She ushered in the cleaner, who started breathing through his mouth as well. It was dark inside, all the blinds pulled tight and where some blinds were too broken to do the job, it seems someone put blankets over them. If someone less educated on the situation were to open the door to the home, they might assume it was a crack house.

 

She heard a small squeak come from Loki and Thor's room, but ignored it. Loki wouldn't come out of the room anyway; he was too skittish. He was like a wily abused kitten with its fur all out of place. Even his face looked different, but that could have been just been her imagination. He seemed so small, when once he appeared larger than life. His eyes seemed glossed over nearly constantly, staring past what everyone else saw and into something Valkyrie knew all too well. She understood not being the same person after a traumatic event. She still didn't consider herself the same; this was part of the reason she used the moniker Valkyrie instead of her real name, Brunnhilde. She could no longer associate with her past name, for that had been the same flesh, but a different personality—a different soul.

 

The cleaner began with the kitchen—quiet as a church mouse. He slipped a mask over his nose and mouth, not before dripping peppermint oil on the inside of it. He started with the trash which covered the floor, all reeking. It had been months since Thor picked up after himself, and he hadn't bothered cooking either. There were wrappers and pieces of half-eaten food littering the ground, she could only hope that there was no infestation of bugs in the home. They were in enough distress already, they needn't have the added stress of a bug infestation in their home, which would take forever to take care of.

 

Money, of course, was no issue. The royal family, though they had far less money than they had before Ragnarok, they were still quite wealthy. They had plenty of money from the resources they managed to salvage before the realm was burnt to nothing, as well as new money coming in from tourism, unique craftsmanship, and exports of rare Asgardian crops which their farmers and seidrmasters had learned to cultivate on the new Midgardian landscape. Why Thor remained in the small cabin and did not exchange it for even a much larger longhouse the nobles now resided in baffled her.

 

Surely when Loki became himself again, he would demand a palace. She might enjoy a nice royal palace, somewhere beautiful and extravagant to remind her of the way things used to be. Somewhere to visit when she felt melancholy about her home. New Asgard was a mere replication, and a poor one at best. This was a fact many were unwilling to admit, Thor especially. He believed this realm and this space they inhabited to be equal to Asgard. She would love for it to be, but New Asgard paled in comparison. They had not even a fraction of the political power they once held now, and nowhere near the amount of wealth. Their king lived in a rat's nest now and their prince driven into madness after being kidnapped and sexually abused.

 

The cleaner finished with the trash in the kitchen after filling three bags full of trash, mostly empty bottles of alcohol. He started with the dishes, and as he was washing a vase, he glanced over to Val and looked at her curiously, before returning to the dishes. He continued washing the dishes for a good couple of minutes before glancing back over to Val with the same curious expression on his face. He did this about two more times before Val got annoyed enough to say anything.

 

"If you have something to say, come on out and say it already."

 

He blushed and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, my lady, I'm afraid I'm just confused. Do you plan on staying to supervise me cleaning?"

 

She shook her head. "No, I can't say that was my plan. I just want to make sure you're safe. Loki is here, after all."

 

With that, he dropped the vase he was cleaning with a high-pitched yelp. From the other room came a cry. He began shaking as he started picking up the pieces of fractured glass from the floor. He muttered to himself, and Valkyrie could see the anxiety welling up inside him. He was conflicted, part of him wanting to run far away from Loki, for fear of his own safety, and another part of him could not ignore his duty to serve the crown. He had to be here, regardless of the circumstances. He had a duty to serve the throne with not a sign of resistance, for death was the penalty.

 

"I'm so sorry my lady," He spoke with reverence and woe. "I did not intend to drop the vase, or react so extremely." The man bowed to the lady of the court, who was not only held in high standing by the king himself, but she was a Valkyrie. She was a woman who held the highest spot among Asgardian nobles, the top advisor to the crown, and was regent in the king's absence. She deserved the highest respect due to anyone outside the royal family.

 

"I understand," She spoke with little emotion, as usual. She was cold and sarcastic, but good-hearted and down to earth.

 

He bowed to her once again and continued his quick work of cleaning the home.

 

Valkyrie heard a series of sobs come from the bedroom, and sought to find out the source of the noises. Loki couldn't be that upset over a broken vase, could he? PTSD worked in strange ways. The smallest thing could set it off, so she picked the lock to the door and opened it. To her surprise and confusion, not only was the room empty, but there was a small puddle of blood on the floor. She glanced around quickly and saw a smear of blood on the handle of the open window.

 

She sighed and returned to the kitchen, "I will be leaving to find the prince, wherever he's run off to. I think the vase set him off."

 

The man's face curled up in horror. "I am so sorry my lady, I promise you that was not my intention! Please, I beg forgiveness." He bowed deeply, showing deep respect and repentance. "I can help search for the missing prince if you wish."

 

"No. You will stay here, and if the king returns before I have with the prince, then you are to explain to him that his brother and I have gone to the woods. Until then, continue cleaning, am I understood."

 

He nods, still frozen in his deep bow.

 

Valkyrie follows a trail of blood until it fades to nothing. She had followed it to under a cliff side, right up to the shore. However, the trail went cold. She would have to track the boy another way, then. Fortunately for her, she did not have to look far; the boy was crying in a cave, just underneath the cliff. It was dark out now, Norns know how long the boy was running barefoot across the harsh soil and rocks of Norway in the winter. It was a good thing the boy was Jotunn, because he would probably freeze to death in his home clothes if not for his heritage.

 

She hopped across a couple of rocks, careful not to fall into the deadly cold waters below, which were as cold as 10°. She wore custom beaded mukluks, which were perfect for the cold, while also being quite stylish. She took to a lot of Midgardian clothing, actually. Mostly because it was quite practical. Mukluks were good for the snow, and she wore a scarf from the Bavarian Alps. She loved the options of clothing Midgard seemingly had no ending of. There were so many cultures, in one tiny little planet with tiny people with a tiny lifespan. It was quite beautiful.

 

As she entered the cave, she only wished she had brought a light source with her, for now she had only her bare eyes to rely on. She didn't want to hopelessly wander the darkness, but if she left Thor's brother out in the cold—though it would not affect him—she would be forced to try his rather short temper as of late. And she was unwilling to test him, for he was not a force to be reckoned with when it came to Loki. It seemed he was the only thing he truly cared about as of late, though he still snapped at him. He loved Loki dearly. The only one Thor could not protect Loki from was himself.

 

She found Loki curled up on himself in a dark portion of the cave, sobbing to himself on the wet floor of the cave. She had to rely entirely on her hearing, but it seemed Loki was completely capable of sight. He noticed her immediately and simply stared at her, unmoving. His eyes were glossed over again, and Valkyrie wondered if the boy was even staring at her. Probably not, given his tendency to zone out entirely and forget all that once was. He entered his nightmares. He re-entered the horror of his recent past.

 

He ceased his crying, only staring blankly at Valkyrie now with eyes so out-cried they were practically swollen shut. She noticed the source of his bleeding, a horrible stab wound from a sharp object. It couldn't be a dagger, it was too blunt and wide. The boy must've accidentally hurt himself while having a panic attack after the vase breaking set him off. He was like a firecracker, lit from the day of his return, and now, this was his explosion. It was violent and bloody and not elegant. It was nothing like how Loki was meant to be.

 

He was not elegant in his suffering anymore. His sobs were no longer eloquent and the way he fought—if he truly was fighting the anguish he was in—was no longer graceful. He had lost his grace, had left his beauty and elegance in that cabin in Oregon. He had left behind all who he was. He had left behind his pride, his mischievousness, his love for poetry and theater, his anger and his beautiful way of suffering. He had lost his ability to suffer in silence, now everything it seemed was so loud. It was violent, and it was without any good rhyme or reason.

 

He had lost himself, truly and wholly.