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The Chitauri's Revenge	By : SaChanPwns Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 7806 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, nor do I make money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of the characters within the story, nor do I make any money from posting/sharing.

Warning: Non-consensual, blood play, humiliation

....

The Chitauri’s Revenge

Chapter Eleven

“I’m sorry, my little prince,” The Chitauri stepped forward, toward the bed, and almost flinched at the terror that crossed Loki’s face. “I cannot deny him. I—I cannot.” When its hands closed around Loki’s forearms, the cry made it wince.

“No, you cannot! Please, please, do not give me to—“ Loki choked on the fear that began to consume him. He would become nothing, know nothing. His mind would be torn apart and put back together, a massive, horrifying puzzle that would never fit correctly again. He fought against the Chitauri as it lifted him from the bed and ignored the murmurs against his ear. It would not be alright. Unfortunately, Loki was unable to free himself. Despite having solid food, something he had pleaded for, his magic had not been returned to him.

“Loki, shush,” The Chitauri hissed and brought the back of his hand across Loki’s cheek. The blow made him still, the shock that crossed his features not helping the sickness the Chitauri felt within its gut. “You cannot show fear, my little prince. He will only feed on it.” It was right. Loki was freaking out, acting as if he had never experienced torture before. He knew what was going to happen. He knew the pain he would be put through. He knew exactly what state he would be in after The Other was done with him.

Loki sobered despite his trembling body. He nodded his understanding, though, and allowed the Chitauri to pull him through the large doorway. The Other was grinning, its lips pulled tight over its malicious teeth. Loki swallowed down whatever bile may have pushed into his throat and clenched his jaw. It was a pathetic attempt to hush his silver tongue. His words would not help him in this situation.

“Here, have him,” The Chitauri tossed Loki forward, surprising him, and he fell unceremoniously against The Other’s chest. It smelled of death and Loki did everything to prevent himself from retching. Those malformed fingers dug into his hair and yanked his head back and eyes, illuminated by hunger, bore into him.

“I had not had the pleasure to see your true form, Odinson,” The Other mused, running its tongue over its lips in a revolting display of lust, “it truly is a treat. I cannot wait to see you begging.”

Loki had been so concentrated on his fear of The Other that he had forgotten his blue skin. How had he overlooked it? How could he have let The Other see him like this? He shook, fear gnawing painfully at his bones. Each breath rattled in his lungs, dread forcing him to be docile in its arms. What would happen to him now? Would The Other give him another chance at a compromise?

The Other laughed, simply ecstatic with the job the Chitauri had done on the Jotunn. Without another word, it fisted its hand within Loki’s hair and dragged him forward. It was pleased as he tried desperately to muffle his cry and follow on weak legs. The stench of fear rolling from him was similar to a drug. It was sweet and tangy, a thick layer on The Other’s tongue as it forced him into its own quarters. Once the doors slid closed, it tossed Loki to the floor.

“You are truly worthless,” The Other hissed, “do not even try to rise or I will break your legs.” The threat kept Loki down, and it laughed. “I believe I have a use for you yet.” Slowly, to antagonize him, The Other slid down to one knee and looked over his body. It had just occurred to it how naked Loki was and felt itself harden at the sight of the blue skin, marked beautifully with his heritage. It licked its lips and leaned down to Loki’s ear. “You will do one thing for me, and you will do it right.”

Loki, fear immobilizing him to the floor, nodded jerkily. He held his breath as The Other slid its mouth from his ear to his lips. The rotten stench of his breath filled his mouth, and he struggled not to pull away as it took him into a demanding kiss. It bruised his lips and its teeth drew blood as it bit him. He whimpered, not because it hurt, but because he knew The Other would like it.

“That is good,” The Other’s praise felt like oil on his skin. “Now, beg me.”

The vision of Thor clouded Loki’s mind, but he quickly pushed it away. He swallowed the thickness in his throat and parted his lips. When nothing came out, at least, not fast enough for The Other, he was back handed. It was sharp and laced with magic; what felt like barbwire dug into his skin and wrapped around his bones. He screamed as it squeezed, agony coloring his vision black and white.

“Beg me.”

“P-please, don’t hurt me. Please.” The begging was pathetic at most, and more magic seeped into his core. It twisted and yanked, tearing at every fiber of his being, and he screamed again. The agony drenched him in a hot blanket, squeezing until his lungs fought to expand and tears leaked from his eyes.

“Please what, Odinson?” The Other demanded. It needed Loki broken. It needed him bleeding. The more convincing his torture was to Asgard, the more of a distraction he would make. It needed enough to take back what rightfully belonged to it.

Loki could barely think through the haze that clouded his mind. He tried desperately to find words, but The Other’s magic was keeping him mute. How could he possibly respond if he was not being allowed to use his voice? He was going to be punished and it wasn’t his fault. Tears burned into his eyes as he watched The Other take his hand and pull it from his body.

“If you do not respond, I will make your hands useless to you,” The Other warned. Loki gasped and struggled to speak, but again, nothing came forth. The first snapping of his index finger was sickeningly loud, and Loki screamed. He continued to scream as each finger of his right hand was snapped, bones protruding from skin, glistening in the low-lit room. After each finger was broken, The Other dropped his hand. Loki pulled his arm to his chest as his hand bled profusely onto the floor. His voice was only good for screaming, and he shook his head violently as his other hand was taken.

“You are defying me,” The Other scolded, as if Loki could help his lack of words. It stroked the palm of his uninjured hand and smirked. “You know what happens when you defy me.” It took Loki’s index finger and put enough pressure on it to cause a hair-line fracture.

“Master!” Loki finally cried, his voice ringing off the walls, shrill and tormented. He was sobbing as the unbearable pain radiated throughout his arms. He had been silenced to disobey, only to be punished. “Please, please don’t hurt me, master.” The name left his mouth bitter and his mind fully aware. He did not want any more pain.

“You are in pain?” The Other asked, his voice deceptively sweet. He moved his hand to Loki’s forearm. “Let me relieve that for you.” Its magic dug into his skin, wrapped around his bone, and pulled viciously in opposite directions. The scream was delicious, and the sound of his arm breaking was sweet pleasure to The Other. “Did you truly believe that poor excuse for a creature would save you? After I am finished with you, he is next.” It dropped Loki’s arm and chuckled at the cry of dismay. “Now you will stay still. Move, and I will break all of your other fingers.”

Loki mind began to numb itself against the pain. He was taking in gulps of air as his legs were spread wide. He was exposed, and the Chitauri’s semen still glistened on his entrance. His entire body flushed, but Loki did not know if it showed up on his blue skin. He was hiked up onto his knees, the jostled movement causing excruciating pain to radiate from his broken bones. The Other groaned at the sight, its eyes drinking in the prone and bleeding Jotunn.

“You will do as I say, when I say, and I will once again have the Tesseract in my hands.”

The Other’s voice rolled over Loki like a hum. He could not think straight, much less make out what it was saying. Once again, he sent his mind far away as his body was taken by force. His knees ground onto the floor, his broken bones twisting, pushing further outside of his body. It seemed that The Other had not experienced pleasure like his body in a long time, and fortunately, it was over with within a few minutes.

It was not long after The Other had finished that Loki succumbed to darkness.

…

How long had Loki suffered in The Other’s quarters? Days? Weeks? By the time The Other was satisfied, Loki could not count the number of broken bones, contusions, and gouges that littered his body. He was starving. The Chitauri had helped him grow accustomed to food again, and then it was viciously taken away. He was beyond helping himself, and in some sense, he felt that he deserved it. Perhaps it was because that was what The Other told him; he was useless, worthless, scum on the bottom of a boot, lucky to be alive.

As a result, Loki barely registered the Chitauri as it settled on one knee next to him. “My little prince…” Its voice sounded pained, but he could not respond. His lips, in a malicious intent to see how loud he could be, were sutured shut. Some of the wire had broken, tearing the skin that it stabbed. Yet, that was not what turned the Chitauri’s stomach. It could not look into Loki’s glittering emerald eyes. They were forced shut by the same wire. Blood decorated his face, and the skin was swollen. It wanted to kill The Other. It wanted to tear it apart and torture it into oblivion.

At this point, the Chitauri felt that it was done doing the Other’s bidding. It would only fulfil half of its purpose—to drop Loki in the middle of Asgard and cause such a stir that the Tesseract would be forgotten, at least, for a few moments. It would retrieve the powerful cube, as ordered, but instead of taking it to The Other, it would use it to kill the monster. The Chitauri looked over the battered body, and then, as carefully as it could, gathered Loki into its arms. It was alarming that no sound came from Loki. He needed Asgard—he needed healing.

“Hold on, my little prince.”

…

Alarmed voices carried to the great halls of Asgard’s palace. Screaming, yelling, cries of disbelief. The noise brought Thor bursting through the palace’s doors, Mjolnir ready at his side. He bellowed for silence and then zeroed in on the closest person.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“The Liesmi—“ The main caught himself and choked. He knew it would have been a grave error to call Loki such a thing in front of his brother. “Prince Loki, sir, we believe we have found him—“

“Where?!” Thor had been searching endlessly. He had exhausted himself to the point that Frigga had woven a gentle spell over him to help him sleep. He had dreamed of Loki, even then, and to hear his name and that someone had found him sent him reeling. How could Loki be there? When his question was not answered quickly enough, Thor grabbed the man’s shoulder and shook him. “Where is my brother?!”

“We are not sure if it him, my prince!” The man finally cried, and when Thor realized he was causing him discomfort, he let him go and pursed his lips. “It just looks like him.”

“It?” Thor’s voice came out as if he had chewed and swallowed gravel.

“I-It is a creature, my prince. It looks like a dwarfed frost—“

“Where is he?!” Thor bellowed again. He would not allow the man to speak like that about Loki. At least, he truly hoped it was Loki. The doubt was strong, but only because he had yet to find a single trace of his brother. Before the man had time to completely explain the location, Thor was off the ground and in flight. There had to be an explanation—in no way would Loki show up and simply allow himself to be seen. The more Thor thought about the ridiculousness of the situation and how he reacted, the more sullen he became. His brother was a trickster; he would not simply waltz into Asgard after his transgressions and flaunt himself.

Yet, Loki had always surprised Thor. Even in their youth, when Thor believed he had seen everything Loki could come up with, he would befuddle him. He was good at that. It was precisely why Thor was cursing himself as he walked, heavy footed, down the strip that had the best mead halls. It may be a trick to lure Thor away from the palace, to get his hands on the Tesseract—or worse, to destroy the AllFather. After all, Loki’s madness had only morphed after he fell from the bridge.

Thor was torn from his thoughts when he bumped into another person. He apologized immediately, as manners dictated, and then froze. The crowd that had gathered was great and tightly packed. It was easy to hear their murmurs, but they soon came to a halt as everyone’s eyes shifted to Thor. He did not have to ask; the crowd moved, almost like a wave, parting to allow through to the crumpled heap on the cobbled street.

The first thing that caught Thor’s eyes was the shimmering around the body. It was dark, puddle-like, and his heart froze when he realized it was blood. Even if it was not Loki, his heart ached for his pain. He set his lips in a grim line and began to walk forward. It almost felt as if he was walking on eggshells, which did not make sense, because whoever was lying there was clearly not aware. He only knew this because there was no movement; someone in the crowd had covered the body in a blanket, perhaps for dignity sake, or perhaps because it was apparently a monster.

“You will get blood—“ Thor hushed the woman as he kneeled down. He looked over the lumps under the blanket, assessing where he should pull the blanket from first. His heart hammered painfully against his chest and anxiety made his breathing falter. What if this bloody mess was Loki? What if when he pulled the cloth back, he found his brother lifeless? He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. No, Loki was far too clever for that. He was strong, full of wit and shameless plots.

Thor took a shuddering breath and pulled the blanket away from the person’s body. As soon as he saw the familiar face, he froze. His knuckles became white as he looked over Loki’s sutured eyes and lips. His hair, normally so controlled, was messy and caked in blood. It did not even occur to Thor that Loki was blue and in his natural form. That was far from his mind as he looked over his bruised throat, where something had strangled him, to his sharp collarbone. Part of his left clavicle jutted out of his skin. It was the same with his forearm, his fingers, and one of his legs. His bones glistened red beneath the light, and Thor believed he was going to be sick. His dinner made a valiant effort in climbing his throat, but he swallowed until the pressure was gone. He could not afford to be sick, not when Loki needed him.

Warily, Thor cupped Loki’s cheek and tilted his head back. He looked over the wires so cruelly wound into his flesh and grimaced. “Loki,” he breathed and leaned down to press their foreheads together. “Loki, brother, please wake up.” His soft murmuring did nothing. He did not budge and did not make a sound. Tears burned Thor’s eyes, but he fought them off while convincing himself that he had to be strong, if not for himself, than for Loki. He slid his arms beneath Loki’s knees and his back as carefully as he could. Once he stood, the blanket slipped from the battered body. Thor grimaced, but then thanked a woman who was brave enough to settle the blanket over Loki’s lap.

It was obvious that he could not take flight with his brother in his arms. He would have to walk, but that would take far too long. Loki needed a healer now. Thor glanced around frantically from one shop to the other. There had to be a place where he could settle Loki down and call for the healers. The same woman who had covered Loki noticed their lord’s plight and bit her lip. While she was not eager to take on something so dangerous, she knew that helping her lord would bode well for her in the future.

“Come, my lord. You may take lodgings in my shop.” She hurried to the door of her shop and pushed it open. Immediately after Thor entered, she began to clear one of her larger tables. She took the items and placed them haphazardly around the room until it was clean. It was then that Thor reluctantly settled the unconscious prince onto the table.

“Thank you, m’lady. I have to retrieve healers. Please, if he wakes, soothe him.” Thor may have not said please, but the desperation in his voice was enough. The woman nodded, despite the fear knotting her gut. She watched him walk out, and before he took off, he glanced back longingly at the crippled heap on her table.

Her hope that Loki would stay asleep long enough for Thor to return was fruitless. Loki stirred, but he was too injured to move, and gagged too effectively to make any noise. He could not remember the last time he had said anything, much less saw what was happening to him. Everything ached so terribly that he was uncertain what was or was not broken. His stomach clenched in starvation and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He was sure his nose was broken, which made breathing difficult, considering it was the only airway available to him.

Was he left alone again? Did The Other finally allow him a break from his torture? He shuddered in terror and then froze. He was covered by something; a cloth, perhaps a blanket. When he tried to reach for it, a gentle hand stopped his own. The fingers were delicate, smooth and warm. It could only mean that Loki was somewhere foreign, that his surroundings were not the same, and panic made him reel. His body jerked backward, and a soft, feminine cry of shock made him flinch as he fell off the table. White fireworks lit up behind his eyelids as pain clawed at him, and bile rose into his throat. He could not vomit, however, and had to swallow the vile substance down. Some managed to leak into his sinuses, dripping from his nose, clogging the only way he had to breathe.

Loki writhed on the floor, his chest heaving with the effort to get oxygen to his lungs. His panic had sent the woman to the other side of the room, but as soon as she realized that Loki was starving for breath, she hurried over to him. The twine holding his lips together could be severed, but it would be painful. She swallowed at the idea of having Thor, God of Thunder, angry at her for causing his brother pain. Yet, she knew she must do something, or Thor would no longer have a brother.

“Prince Loki,” She murmured, using the voice she would normally reserve for the children that played outside of her shop. She took the tool she had grabbed from the table and set it beside herself. Her other hand stroked along Loki’s matted her, smoothing it over his scalp. “Prince, sshh, calm yourself. You are safe. Please, I am trying to help you. If you hold still, I can help you breathe.”

The burning in Loki’s lungs forced him to relent to the floating voice. He could not see her or where he was. He could not sense the places around him. His magic was still stripped from him, and he felt naked and vulnerable. Despite that, he stopped struggling. The tremors that racked his body still came and went as the woman cupped his jaw and slid the tool between the first set of sutures. It took most of her strength, but she managed to snap the twine. Each piece was difficult, but when she finally snapped the last piece, Loki took in a rattling breath. His lips were bleeding profusely from her tugging, but it did not seem to faze the prince. His chest rose and fell in great movements, as if he had not been able to do it in months.

“Loki—“ Another woman’s voice entered the room and Loki froze. Although he could not see, he knew exactly who it was. The voice moved along his skin like a blanket. It numbed his pain and soothed him so much that tears were forced from his eyes. They leaked down his temple and the bridge of his nose. He could not move, but he desperately wanted to. The footsteps, light and careful, came closer, and he felt the brush of fabric as Frigga kneeled down next to him. He heard the hitch in her voice as she touched his cheek and then swept a few stray hairs from his face.

It was then that Loki remembered being jailed in Asgard. He remembered how he had been beaten and raped, and how Thor had stood idly by. Panic once again gripped him, and he did his best to shift away from Frigga’s hand. The movement made him moan, and her heart clenched in response. She looked over his injuries and then placed her palm over Loki’s forehead. After a whispered spell, Loki relaxed. His mind became pleasantly blank as sleep took him. She averted her gaze to Odin, who stood with a grim look on his face.

“We must do something.” She murmured.

“How are we to know if this is not another one of his tricks? If that is truly him?” Odin narrowed his gaze, and then frowned at the look his wife sent him. “Truly, Frigga, we must be careful. It would also infuriate our people to simply allow him back into his chambers. The most I can do for him is to give him a comfortable cell and help from our healers.”

Frigga understood that, as a king, Odin had to do what was necessary. Yet, her love for her son, no matter what he was, made her hate Odin at that moment. She pursed her lips and smoothed some of Loki’s hair away from his face. Her gaze softened as she watched him breathe. “Do what you must, but know I am not in agreement with it.” She stood and gestured to Thor. “He is able to be moved now. Please take him to—“ she held her jaw tightly closed and then glanced at Odin, “his cell, and I will call for the healers.”

“Yes, mother.” Thor nodded and stepped forward. Once again, he gathered Loki into his arms and cradled him against his chest. He walked passed her, and although he wanted to be happy that he found his younger brother, he felt only despair. Odin was forcing Loki into another cell, and while he understood that this could be another one of his brother’s tricks, his sutured face and broken bones cried something else. However, he was unable to argue with his father, so he took Loki to the holding cell that they had created just for him.

Instead of leaving, Thor settled Loki onto the small bed and sat down next to him. He stayed there until the healers bustled in and ushered him to the side. This was his fault. Loki had been taken away from him. Guilt twisted Thor’s chest as he forced himself to watch the healers mend broken bones and stitch together skin. It would be a slow process with so many injuries. Loki would be sore for a few weeks, but if he had not been immortal, he would have perished. The idea made Thor sick to his stomach, and he cursed himself as he heard Loki’s muffled cries and whimpers. Even under his mother’s spell, he suffered unimaginable pain.

How could this be a trick? How could his brother’s cries be fake? Why would he put himself through such turmoil? Surely, Loki was not that impetuous. Thor closed his eyes, unable to watch the healers work. The noises coming from Loki’s throat and the drops of blood that hit the floor was enough to make him grieve.

“Thor!” Fandral’s shout alerted Thor, his eyes opening and his head jerking to the side. “There has been a breach of security. It is the Chitauri.” The word fell from Fandral’s mouth in a snarl, and Thor looked back at Loki. Could it have been a trick? Did Loki truly plan to come back in such a state that it distracted them for an invasion? Did Loki’s madness run so deep? He stared at Loki for a long moment, but only until Fandral yelled his name again.

Reluctantly, as if afraid that Loki would simply disappear again, Thor turned and jogged out of the cell. He followed Fandral to the vault where the Chitauri had filed in. There were many of them, but Thor and the Warriors Three took them on with blazing attacks and yells of victory and frustration. One particular Chitauri had slipped beyond the chaos, moving along the darkened shadows. It knew where Loki was held and it had what it needed: the Tesseract. He made sure to bring at least twenty or thirty of his men, and while he hated having to use them as a sacrifice and a distraction, he wanted Loki.

The Chitauri, as it moved swiftly through the halls, took down any warrior who happened to catch eye of him. He did not kill them, but he certainly left them with serious injuries. After stalking the area, he finally found the stairs that took him into the cells. Why Loki’s family sent him to the cells was beyond him, but he found it extremely infuriating. The prince had not done any of those things willingly. The Other had simply taken advantage of him. He scowled as he pushed open the doors to the main cell room. There were several women in the cell, and by the amount of blood on the floor, he knew it was Loki. When he entered the cell, the women froze and began babbling to each other.

“Quiet!” The Chitauri hissed, “Or I will kill all of you, and it will not be quick. Continue to heal him, but do not say a word.” They all hushed, their eyes skittering to the door and then to the bleeding god on the table. Now that the Chitauri had clearly shown interest in Loki, they doubted the prince’s motives. Healing him may be a negative choice, after all. The eyes of all three met, and together, decided that they would heal the most obvious wounds, but let the others fester enough that Loki would be immobile—even when he woke. They all glanced at the Chitauri periodically, but when they were finished with just the visual wounds, they stepped back.

“Go sit.” The Chitauri snapped, pointing at the corner of the cell. They did as was told, but not without keeping their eyes on him. Once they were seated, the Chitauri moved over to Loki. The prince had yet to stir, and he slowly bent down to run his fingertips over his cheek. “Oh, my little prince…” His eyelids fell as he looked over his wrecked body. The healers had done an inadequate job. Yet, he could not demand anything of them.

Finally, Loki stirred. He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurry. It took a few moments for it to settle, considering how long he had spent blind. Warmth spread throughout his body when he realized who it was that hovered over him. The warmth was quickly followed by panic; the Chitauri had handed him over to The Other. He had allowed him to break his bones, not once, not twice, but multiple times in the same place after he healed. He tried to move, to back away, but the Chitauri grabbed his cheeks and held him still. The noise that followed was raspy and weak. Loki may as well have been on the brink of death with the way he acted.

“Loki, my little prince, sshh,” The Chitauri slid its fingers over Loki’s face, over the wounds that were slowly healing. “I did not mean for this to happen. I did not want to cause you harm. It was not—“

“Loki!” The bellow was Thor, and at his voice, Loki froze. Fear, close to what he experienced with The Other, gripped him. He let out a cry of desperation when blood spattered across his face. A sword, wet with blood, protruded from the Chitauri’s belly. It would not kill him, but it certainly disabled him. He fell to his knees and sucked in a shuddering breath.

“No!” Loki’s scream was so heart felt that it froze everyone in the room. He had sat up without thinking about his wounds, and the agony was as fresh as when he first received them. His eyes dropped to the only person that had kept him sane, the only person who had attempted to protect him. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he watched the Chitauri topple forward. The sword was yanked free by Fandral, and Loki let out a sob when he heard the groan from the collapsed creature.

“Loki…” Thor’s eyes took in his brother. He looked healed, but the agony that washed over his expression surely meant that the healers had not done their job. Dread began to wring him as his thoughts scrambled to find a reason why Loki was crying. He was crying for a monster, the same creature who had stolen him. The same kind of creature that had sutured his eyes and lips closed. Thor would not stand for it. He walked forward, his strides long and calculated, to the small bed.

As Thor grew closer, Loki continued to draw within himself. He sucked in gulps of air and then, despite the pain, pushed himself off the bed. He fell to his back with a small yelp of pain and then fought to crawl away from his brother. His nails bit into the ground as he tried desperately to pull his battered body across the floor. The Chitauri would die. He would be sentenced to death and Loki would be left alone with Thor. He was terrified. What would Thor do? Would he rape him? Would he beat him first? Would he give him to multiple prisoners at once?

“Loki, stop, you are aggravating your injuries,” Thor stepped around the bed and kneeled next to his brother. He watched as Loki shrank away from his touch and frowned. He brushed his knuckles across his cheek and flinched at the whimper. “You are safe, brother. You will no longer be hurt.” He sounded reassuring, but the tortured expression his brother made him feel as though he was threatening him. At closer inspection, Thor blanched. There was so much blood, and not just from the wounds where his bones had come through. No, there was blood caked on his thighs and buttocks, and the fresh blood was not coming from a wound Thor could see.

Thor stood, outraged, his lightening sparking around his body. He clenched his jaw and turned to look at the Chitauri that he had found on top of Loki. In one step, he had him by the front of his armor. He threw the creature across the room and strode forward. “Who did this!?” He demanded, lifting him from the ground again and shoving him against the cell’s wall. The magic barrier went wild, shooting sparks and burning the Chitauri’s back. However, Thor did not let up. “Who did this to him!?”

The Chitauri hissed, pain making its vision hazy. He tipped his head back and studied Thor. Loki could not live like this. He could not live in fear of Thor—not like The Other wanted. “There is…much you need to know…” It grit out between gasps of pain. “He is unwell, he is so unwell…”

“What do you mean!?”

“The Other…”

“You are useless as you are.” Thor tossed the Chitauri to the healers. “Fix him so he may speak!” He snapped and they automatically obeyed. As the Chitauri’s body knit back together, Thor paced. Loki was still huddled in the corner of the cell, bleeding from multiple wounds that he had reopened, and painfully unresponsive. Whenever he took a step toward him, he would shrink back. The closer he came to the enchanted wall, the wearier Thor became. He stopped moving toward him in an effort to prevent further damage and waited impatiently for the healers to fix the Chitauri.

Once the healers moved away from the Chitauri, Thor strode over to him and yanked him up by the armor. “Now explain.”

“Not without Loki here. Not without him hearing it.” The Chitauri glowered as it was thrown to the ground again. “He will not allow you near him!” He snapped when he realized Thor was approaching Loki again. “Do not, you will only make him panic. Let me.” He stood from the floor and scowled at Thor’s glare. “I will not hurt him, but if you go near him, he will hurt himself.”

Thor stayed put, torn between punching the Chitauri and coddling Loki like he had done when they were children. Instead, he stepped back and clenched his jaw. Despite allowing the Chitauri to get up and move toward Loki, he kept his eyes on him. The Chitauri did not doubt that Thor would kill him if he saw anything suspicious. At this point, he could not die. He could not leave Loki behind with such hatred and fear in his heart. He needed to know the truth.

The Chitauri knew it had grown to love Loki, and that had not been part of his plan. He eased toward his prince slowly and his eyes softened. When it kneeled, it hummed so that Loki knew exactly who it was. When he had experienced nightmares, the Chitauri would often hum to him in an attempt to ease him into a less fitful sleep. He moved from his knees to his bottom and paused.

“My little prince,” the Chitauri cooed, “we had a deal, did we not?”

Loki opened his eyes to look up at the Chitauri. He was trembling with fear and confusion, but he nodded, anyway. It would seem that the Chitauri could communicate with him without negative effects. It made Thor scowl. What side was Loki truly on? His gaze fell to Loki, and when their eyes met, he watched Loki react as if he had been stabbed. His entire body jerked and his breath caught in his lungs. Yet, the Chitauri was there, cupping his jaw and tilting his head so that their eyes met.

“What was our deal?”

“N-name.”

“Yes, yes, my name. You held your end of the bargain. True?”

Again, Loki nodded.

“Then I shall tell you my name,” the Chitauri smiled and pressed its lips to Loki’s forehead. It enraged Thor, nearly sent him over the edge, but he reminded himself that this was the only way Loki would communicate. “My name is Yfulen.”

“Yfulen?”

“Yes, my little prince. Yfulen.” The Chitauri tried not to shudder when Loki said his name. It was intimate. He wished he had told him sooner. He wished he had treasured his moments with Loki, because he knew they would be over soon. “Say it again,” he murmured and pressed their foreheads together.

“Yfulen, Yfulen, Yfulen…” Loki fought for breath as he repeated his name over and over.

“That is enough!” Thor bellowed, beyond infuriated. He needed information now, and he was not going to wait. Loki recoiled from Yfulen, but he was quick to gather him into his arms and cradle him.

“You are making things worse,” Yfulen muttered over his shoulder and then looked back to Loki. “There are many things I need to tell you, Loki. I… I have to, for your sake.” He ran the pad of his thumb over Loki’s lower lip and wondered, vaguely, if it would be one of the last times he was able to hold the trickster in his arms.

“Tell me what?” Loki breathed, and felt a cold settle over him when he watched the Chitauri’s expression darken. “Yfulen, tell me what?”

“The truth, my little prince. The truth.”

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A/N: Yfulen: You-Fuh-Len
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The Chitauri's Revenge