The Old Scars | Loki Hurt/Comfort

Brothers, Right?

Loki's POV:

Hey! Disclaimer: I don't mean to insult anyone with this chapter. In fact, I support LGBTQIA+ as well.d I chose the words I chose in that scene for emphasis and to give Loki some more bad childhood memories. Hereby, I don't want to state that any of the Marvel characters mentioned, is homophobic or anything else. This is just me slightly altering the single characters to write a good fanfic."

Where did I go wrong this time? Where? Why? Why again?

I've sent her away, haven't I? Would she come back? It was my fault she was gone. As it was back then, the day mother died. Your fault, solely yours. She was murdered, killed by the monster I had sent directly to the room she had been in. I was to blame, I, I, the man, no, the monster she had called her son, her little boy, back then when she used to show me little tricks like casting fireworks in my hand. Only one who ever got sort of close to me.

Suddenly the knife in my hand looks even more attractive. Its beautiful blade of Asgardian steel glistened sharp in the dim light of my humble chamber. It was gone, all gone, the time with mother, one of the few things worth remembering. She, the one that could make me smile, was dead. They say she is in Valhalla now, but that still can't bring her back to me, not even when I need her the most. Won't ever see her again, because you've already got a place in Hel's kingdom.

How pathetic of you, Loki... You call yourself a prince, a god. Yet where is your dignity, your pride? A small boy lying on the floor wanting your mother back? You are not to be taken seriously. No one is ever going to respect you, your flaws, and all the mistakes you made are never going to be forgiven.

Is it the blade talking to me? Have I gone crazy now? What is going on? I look around me.

Oh you know you turned into a lunatic long ago. Your twisted moralities, your desperate need for perfection that you can never achieve, your cries for attention, nothing about you could ever be understood by anybody, not even yourself.

I am freezing and yet I can feel the salty sweat all over my face, mixing with the tears that I just can't seem to stop. The floor is cold against my back, my whole body aching from the exhaustion, the starvation, the punishment I have imposed on myself so frequently. Red stripes, open and closed wounds, brown scars, and white ones, some are purple right now because of the cold. So fragile do I look, emaciated, every bone is visible. Looking at myself, all I can see is pain, pain caused by myself, by enemies as well as by loved ones and friends. Scars some hundreds of years old but also newer ones as a response to the latest events.

Had Y/N seen them? The marks my life left on me. Those were only the physical ones, some mirroring those imprinted in my mind. Centuries ago, I had found a spell that could be connected with the subconscious mind. It was this spell that hid everything nobody was supposed to see, even when I wasn't thinking about it. The mentioned spell was just there, doing its job, no matter what I was doing. Only when I actively focus on removing the spell, the simple disguise, I as well as others can glimpse what is usually hidden.

Every mark has its story, every single one. It doesn't take me long to find the first ones, a relic of the time when my life had begun to turn into a nightmare. I take a deep breath, then I dive into the memory of that evening:

"Loki, we need to go back, it will get dark soon!"

Thor was shouting across the small garden we had been playing in this afternoon. Well, Thor had been playing, he had tried to fight the big maple tree while I had spent the day sitting in the grass and looking at all the flora and fauna prospering around the little pond in the center of the garden.