Please Note: This is the rewrite of chapter one.

-Raggs

"I am naturally taciturn, and became a silent and attentive listener."

─William Hamilton Maxwell

Air rushed into his lungs as his green eyes shot open wide. His back arched up at the ground as a spasm hit him. A pain surged through his muscles, his skin, his bones, his very being. Blinking against the smoggy air as the pain subsided, he propped himself up on one arm, which pulsed with a sharp pain. His breath felt shaky, like a rattle made of bones, and his surroundings appeared to him as foggy and blurry.

Where… Where am I?

As his surroundings came into focus, he could see the angular grey buildings. Most had chunks missing, or jagged cracks down the side. Slowly turning his head, he winced, suddenly becoming aware of a throbbing ache on his forehead, and noticed a stream of blood trickling down the bridge of his pale nose.

What's that noise?

He heard a sharp "twang!" nearby, and within seconds, an arrow protruded from his upper arm. He stared at it, dazed, though the pain of the new injury did not register. Reaching up with his other hand, he snapped part of the arrow off, hissing as the sharp point shifted underneath his flesh. Looking up, he squinted as a tall figure appeared in the dust and rubble.

"Brother?" he choked out, coughing slightly. The figure leapt off a ledge, across the tops of the three metal-and-wheeled contraptions, a bow held in one hand. As the figure, who he could now recognize as a tall man, advanced towards him. It quickly occurred to him that this man was the shooter, and this man was dangerous.

He flinched as he heard a thud when the shooter's boots hit the concrete, and after regaining his footing, the man sprinted over to him. His green eyes widened as he tried to back away into hiding, but his aching arms slipped out from underneath him. He gasped as his head hit the hard ground, jarring his senses further. He began to tremble as the brown haired man got closer. He had blue eyes, dusty brown hair, and a sleeveless black uniform.

Nocking an arrow into his bow with incredible speed, the man raised the bow, aiming it at his skull, not hesitating for a moment.

He gazed up at the man, wincing as he fought to look past the top of the arrow. Something about this man, his eyes and his nose and his face and his stance and his scowl even, were so sickeningly familiar that his vision seemed to warp as he stared at him. The mans eyes faded into a cerulean blue, unnatural, magical, and some of the lines that creased his skin ceased to exist.

Did I know you once?

His vision then began to fade, black pulsing around the edges of his eyes. His head hit the gravel with a thud. The pulsing in his arm where the splintered arrow sat and the ache on his forehead and scalp resided, becoming dull noise, like a clock ticking in his mind. He fought to hear the far off noise, his heart jumping in his chest when he heard a familiar, bellowing cry not too far off.

"Loki!"

Perhaps it wasn't so far.

Brother?

He felt his breath silently leave him, and he was gone.

When Loki regained himself, he did not open his eyes. Taking a few breaths, he steadied himself, blinking slowly and staring at the ceiling above him. Starting when it registered that he was in a strange place, he lifted his head, letting out a cry as his injuries burst with pain.

Slowly propping himself up on one elbow against the cool metal on which he lay, Loki brought his other hand up to his head, lightly feeling the rough gauze that had been wrapped around the bloodied spot on his forehead.

What the hell happened?

Loki took in a sharp breath and blinked, adjusting his eyes against the bright lights. He felt his head, his whole body, now throb with pain. As his panic began to set in, the pain became a dull ambience that he was scarcely aware of.

Searching the room with his eyes wildly, he slid off the metal table. The moment his feet hit the floor, his knees buckled and he hit the hard tile with a sickening thud. Closing his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to dull the pain, Loki lifted his head, supporting himself on long, pale hands. Blinking rapidly, Loki froze when he heard a door slide open.

"Brother?" he asked feebly, a slight rasp to his words. "Is that you?" Loki peeked over the table, feeling the hollow pit of shame in his stomach at both his fear and current childish actions. But who he saw over the metal slab was not Thor, nor even his parents.

A dark man clad in black clothing was walking slowly towards him, as if taking his time. A black patch, much like his father's, covered one of the man's scarred eyes. Scrambling back a few feet, pushing the wheeled table away from him in the process, Loki let slip a gasp as his hands slipped out beneath him and he hit the tile again with a thud. The stranger gave a crooked smile as he stood over the youngest prince.

"Do you know where you are, Loki?"

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but managed only to sputter frantically as he slid himself slowly away from the man. He looked around, trying to recollect where he had last been.

"I was… Asgard, we were heading to Jotun… And Thor… Thor!" He looked up. "Where is Thor? My brother?" His voice shook, but he spoke anyway.

The man gave an amused snort, turning on his heel. "Thor," he said, "is with the rest of the Avengers. But you know that. Drop the act."

Loki squinted at the back of the man's head, trying to understand. "I don't… Where am I?"

"Earth, but you know that. S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, specifically. But you probably knew that, too," the man replied, looking at Loki without turning.

Loki's breath became quick and shallow as his panic began to grow again. "How did I… When… Who are you?" he choked out, painfully aware of how childish he sounded again.

The looked of anger on the man's face grew momentarily, but then subsided as he stared at Loki, and his expression morphed into something the prince could not read. His eyes grew a mite wider as his brain seemed to register that, Loki hoped, his look of innocent befuddlement was no act. The man let out a quiet hiss of breath and turned, quickly striding out of the room.

Loki waited in a heap on the cold white tile with baited breath. He knew not how long he lay there, but time seemed to pass much faster than he was used to, and a group of white-coated humans came shuffling in.

He stayed silent as he was lifted unceremoniously back onto the metal table. A whimper escaped his lips as four of the people unnecessarily held down his limp limbs. There was a sharp stab in his upper arm, and when he looked, a needle was pressed into his flesh two inches from where the arrow had hit. Black began to line his vision as he hissed again. The noises of the white-coats around him became echoes as the seconds ticked by, and within a few moments he had blacked out.

Hushed whispers were all he heard when he awoke.

How long have I been out?

Loki's head throbbed, less than before, though the ache was still aggravatingly present. His throat cracked when he swallowed. Turning his neck in the direction of the voices, Loki winced against the ever bright lights. As everything came into focus, Loki recognized Thor in the corner, speaking quietly to the darker man from before. A worried look was spread across his older brother's face, but there were many other things different about him that Loki couldn't quite make out.

"Thor," he rasped, silently cursing how weak he sounded in front of his brother, but he did not take his eyes off him, willing the golden prince to look over.

Thor's eyes flitted over to Loki as he had hoped, and the older prince did a double take, the worry momentarily replaced with… Anger? as his eyes set on Loki.

He began to take long strides over to Loki's resting place, and as he approached, Loki could see tears beginning to well up in his blue eyes.

"How are you feeling, little brother?" Thor asked, smiling softly. Loki cocked his head to one side as his brother spoke. His voice was now calm and mature, a far cry from how had been before, what Loki had assumed to be a few mere days.

Could I have been out longer? he wondered, watching Thor's expression carefully. Have I been out so long that my brother, my loud and garish brother, has become this weathered man? He dismissed the idea, deeming it to be ridiculous. Surely I've simply fallen ill, and took a few days to heal? But then… Loki's brow furrowed. Why, then, would I be on Midgard? And why Thor? It doesn't even begin to explain the bowman, or the man in the coat. The injuries, the anger, the…

His thoughts raced, but Thor's voice jerked him back to the present situation.

"Loki?" Thor sat on a stool near Loki's hard bed, leaning slightly, putting a hand on Loki's already pained shoulder. He let out another hiss of pain, and Thor's hand immediately retreated, muttering a small apology under his breath as he stared at the floor.

"Fine," Loki finally croaked. "I am fine."

Thor smiled, his eyes set upon the ground as he played with his hands. He took a breath, speaking shakily.

"You have been asleep for two… days on Midgard," he said slowly.

Loki let out a breath of relief.

"But," Thor went on, and Loki moved his head to look up at his brother. "Director Fury has had the humans perform tests of sorts on you. To find the damage."

Loki stared at Thor pleadingly, silently willing him, begging him, to explain further. To tell him what had happened. But he didn't.

"They tell me it is possible you have lost some parts of your memory of the past six years."

Loki blinked, opening his mouth, though he was unable to speak.

"Six… Years? Midgardian years?"

Thor nodded.

"But that's impossible. O-only a few days ago, we were… Were… Going to Jotunheim, and…" Loki stopped, watching as a solitary tear slid down Thor's cheek. "I don't know after that, Brother. I am sorry." His brother stood, turning, and walked over to the darker man without saying anything to Loki. Facing away, Thor spoke to the man in hushed whispers again. Loki stretched his neck, trying to call Thor back, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Something else is wrong. It's worse than this, if it's possible at this point.

Loki looked over to the two men in the corner, glancing between them and his interlaced hands, twitching his nose while Director Fury stared at him with a small hint of disbelief on his stoic face.

"I know I shouldn't, but I trust him. I do," Thor whispered, waiting for a response from Fury, who continued eyeing Loki. His gaze flashed over to Thor. "He doesn't remember any of it. Not even my first coming to Midgard."

"Remember?" Loki rasped, clearly strained. "What else is there to remember?"

"Yes, 'remember'," Fury very nearly growled, glaring back over to Loki. "Remember what happened the last time you came, and the time before that. What you did to innocent people, to─"

"Fury, that's enough," a woman's voice sounded as the door clicked and slid open. "If Thor says it's true, I'd trust him. And if he doesn't remember, forcing it all on him at once will make the previous problem worse." The woman had red hair, almost unnaturally so, that fell past her shoulders in waves.

"Previous? It's still a problem!" The Director watched the woman with his one eye as she strode forward.

She simply waved her hand, dismissing Fury, and Loki felt his eyebrows raise, impressed by the woman's attitude towards whom he assumed to be her authority. She turned to Thor now, not allowing her eyes to rest on Loki for a moment too long. "The other Avengers are waiting for you, Thor."

"Thank you, Natasha," Thor replied softly. He looked back at Loki as he headed towards the door with Natasha. "Try to rest, Brother. You need it." And with that, he left, followed shortly by Director Fury.

And then he was alone. And the room was big and white and empty and cold and he felt overwhelmingly alone and it unsettled him how familiar and right that felt to him.

He whirled around, staring a Frost Giant in it's blood-red eyes. The monster lunged at him, but flew through the mirage and dove over a cliff, falling to it's death. He felt a smirk spread across his pale, chapped lips, and stalked away from the site.

Glancing to the throng of shouting Giants and Asgardians, Loki witnessed Thor swinging masterfully his hammer, calling it back before it escaped too far, swinging again and sending countless Frost Giants away, leaving injured bodies in his wake. Their friends fought loyally next to the golden prince, ruthlessly swinging and stabbing at the blue beasts.

Without looking at it, Loki swatted a Frost Giant away with a burst of magic. He jumped when a hand clamped roughly around his pale wrist. Turning sharply to face the daring opponent, his breath hitched in his throat when his green eyes fell on his wrist.

Underneath the Jotun's deep blue hand, Loki's own limb began to turn blue, the dark pigment stretching slowly up his forearm and hand, intricate carvings etching themselves into his previously smooth skin.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Loki pulled away, striking at the foe.

Air rushed into his lungs, his breath quickened, and his legged jerked outward, striking at the air. Loki scrambled about the metal slab frantically, feeling around for the cold touch of Jotunheim. But his hands only met substantially warmer air, and his long, bony fingers grabbed at it as if attempting to collect and keep it.

The memory of where he was filtered back into his mind, and he slowly ceased his thrashing. His green eyes began to adjust to the light that swarmed the room, and his breathing slowed to a healthier rate.

Sitting up, trembling as he did so, Loki held his arms in front of them, turning them over and over and over, searching them for the blue and carvings, but there were none. He flexed his hands, bending his fingers in a claw-like shape, ignoring the strain it placed on his sore limbs.

He blinked, letting out a breath he did not know he was holding. Loki looked up, glancing around the white-walled room. He pushed down the long-known fear of Thor having caught him in a nightmare, taunting him for being afraid. Telling their friends, and not being let alone for it for the rest of that day, or else until they all were distracted with their sparring.

But Thor did not come, nor did Hogun or Sif or Fandral or Volstagg. Not his mother or father. No one came.

And that felt right.