The Outcast

EDIT: Alternate (and in my opinion, better) ending of this fic can be found here: http://pie-liner.deviantart.com/art/The-Outcast-315970410 let me know which you prefer!!


He was taller than I remembered.

He paced back and forth, paced the length of his confinement. From the speed of his stride I could tell he wasn't worried. His arms swayed calmly with every swing, his head casually tilted back. As he turned around I stepped into his view. A split second of memory, of love, perhaps even nostalgia gleamed in his eyes as he recognised my face. But only a split second.

"Well, my my. Fancy seeing you here."

I smiled faintly as my eyes scanned his persona. Clad in black robes, the standard armour reflected every glint of light. His dark green cape was stained with an amalgamation of blood and dirt.
I was startled when I saw the extremity of the situation, particularly in his physique. It was as if the lean stature had been torn away in an attempt to redefine his character. Now he just looked tired and thin. His skin, pale as ever, only magnified the darkness of the fresh bruises that started at his left temple, and ended at his left collarbone. He'd been punished all right.

As if sensing my thoughts, Loki grinned and pushed back his greasy lank hair. "oh, you haven't seen anything yet. Odin ensures all punishments are swift, he PRIDES himself on it... but in my case he's adamant on the severity."

I opened my mouth to speak, only to take in an unnatural breath of air instead. Twisting my fingers uncomfortably, I stared up at the beautiful Asgardian sky; a view that always guaranteed to help me regain my eloquence. Loki stared quietly, a faint smile trying desperately to emerge on his ghostly lips. I glanced back at him, and tried my best to see the Asgardian I had known all my life. I tried to pretend he had left the monster back on earth. One look at his eyes and I knew I couldn't.

He tilted his head to the left, and rubbed at the side of his neck, always holding my gaze. This was a trademark Loki gesture; I knew every idiosyncrasy, having spent the majority of my Asgardian "holiday" playing pranks with the God of Mischief, learning to fight with a spear, and hearing about the Jotuns.

I smiled, a smile which he reflected. We were back again.

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We sat in a corner of his confinement, side by side, knees pulled up to our chins. I told him about my time in Asgard. He told me about his time on earth. I gushed about an Asgardian I met, who was so intellectually advanced he claimed he could create an improved version of the Destroyer, from scratch, in less than 3 days. Loki scoffed at this, and bitched about 'the metal mortal' - a man who thought himself superior because of his ability to create a metal suit. "Unless burdened with indestructible force and power, everyone is truly inferior", he concluded vehemently.

Our conversation lasted hours, but finally ebbed into silence. It was at this moment I cautiously ventured into the unspoken.

"so why did you do it?"

Loki smiled a smile I hadn't seen before. There were obvious glimmers of sadness and regret... But with a coldness I wasn't entirely used to. Safe without sincerity. Megalomania without malevolence. He gently put an arm around me and laughed; a short, bitter, unconvincing laugh.

"because... Because it was fun."