He doesn't mind, really, how easily they take him down, how little they have to work to defeat him.

His limbs are searing with pain and he thinks it cruel that his tongue is quite literally held down inside of his own mouth, the only part of his weak body that has ever managed to do any damage. Thor will give him a meaningful glance, or one that is at least meant to be meaningful, but Loki looks away, hatred simmering behind his glassy stare. His emerald eyes shimmer and the team mocks him, like so many bullies would do, as he sits in the middle of his concrete prison, the glass walls that encase him reflecting green and black leather as he closes his eyes.

He wills his body to stay still, allows his heartbeat to slow, and he could almost convince himself that he was relaxed if it weren't for the way they beat the glass on occasion, attempting to startle him. It doesn't work, for Loki has had centuries to master the art of silence, of simple and blessed meditation, and it helps him greatly as their hands fall. Thor worries his bottom lip and Loki only knows because he's lived with the man for thousands of years, has been raised with him almost side by side, and can recognize the distinct sound of it.

The thought alone sends his mind reeling, his heart aching, and he chides himself on how easily it is for him, how simple it is to go back in the recesses of his mind and grab a memory of the blonde man before him. There are no memories, should be no memories, and it hurts him so much to ignore the fondness he has for Thor, his one and only brother, that he makes a little sound in the back of his throat, a noise caught in between a growl and a cry, and he quickly swallows it down, pushes it away like the heartache trying to claim him, and breathes through his nostrils. He tunes out their laughter, their celebration at this great victory, and he almost doesn't catch their plans for him; Asgard.

If he were the same man he once was, he would recoil and beg for mercy, but he wouldn't dare do such a thing now. He's seen so much worse, has been through so much worse, than any punishment of Asgard could give him. Yet his heartbeat still quickens, his blood still churns with an intense and deep rooted anger. Odin, Loki thinks bitterly, whose own heart was so conflicted that he chose the one thing he knew was real, whose love couldn't run deeper than blood, whose loss was not that big of a loss at all.

The words invade him, take over his senses, and he becomes so caught up in his fury that he scares himself, his guilt and anger and loss and pain twisting him into the monster he is, and he thinks of the real monster, the blue-skinned, red-eyed creature that stares back at him in the mirror with a wicked grin that is so inhuman it takes his breath away. It is gone in an instant and he wonders, not for the first time, if he's lost his mind, if he has good and truly snapped, but then that same old feeling tugs at him.

Regret.

Maybe if he had left it alone, maybe if he had ignored the truth, he would still be in Asgard surrounded by friends and family. He frowns. Friends who never really cared and family who never really were. No, this life is much easier, he thinks, much more simpler of a course to take. Destruction, chaos, death; that is his lullaby, not the love he was never truly given, not the confusion and agony of his suffering.

He's better now, he makes himself believe, better for letting go of his old life and dropping into oblivion, better for making it easier on everyone, even Thor. He wouldn't have to see Loki struggle with himself, wouldn't have to witness the sanity slip right out of his brother's mind. Yes, it was better.

He did that by himself and in that regard he has no regrets, no thoughts at all, really, except for how much it hurt, how much it hurt to turn his back on everything he'd ever loved. He opens his eyes and scans the room.

They've all left, all gone back to their loved ones to celebrate, except for Thor, who's staring at Loki intently, as if he's trying to figure out a puzzle. Loki wants to speak, but his mouth is bound, and maybe that's the best thing anyone could do, bind his silver-tongued lips, bind him so that he won't tell Thor that he is a puzzle, a puzzle with a few of the pieces missing, one that can never be solved, one that can never be complete because it is too damaged for anything good to come of it.

Yes, bind him for all eternity, if that's what it takes to save him, to keep him from whispering those desperate words, to keep the lie smith from betraying his own mind.

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