Whumptober 2023 ~ Marvel Edition

'They Don't Care About You.' - Loki

Day 2:

"I'll call out your name, but you won't call back."
Thermometer | Delirium | "They don't care about you."

~~~

Though he could feel the beads of sweat dripping down his face, chest, and back, Loki was unbearably cold. His sense of reality was starting to dwindle, but through what little coherent and logical thoughts remained, he was able to deduce that he most likely had a fever. And though he knew that trying to remedy his ailment was undoubtedly a bad idea that would likely end with him raising his body temperature even further, the god wanted nothing more in that moment than to force himself under layers and layers of blankets in a desperate attempt to warm himself.

If he had access to even one blanket, he might even attempt to do such a thing, but of course his captor would never allow him such luxuries. Technically he had a singular thin sheet, but that oversized sheet of paper barely even qualified as a blanket. It was as light as a feather, and if he were to pull it snug around his shoulders, his feet and the bottom half of his calves stuck out the other side. That, plus the poor excuse for a mattress, made it nearly impossible to try and warm up, even on a good night. Or, what Loki would consider a "good night". His standards for such a thing had lowered immensely since his arrival on Sanctuary.

"His temperature is reaching dangerous levels, Father," Loki barely registered Nebula's voice as it reached his ears. Loki blinked his eyes a couple of times in an attempt to clear his vision, and lolled his head in the direction of the Luphomoid. His vision had cleared enough to recognize her, but it definitely hadn't enough to read what the machine in front of her said.

It was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, but after a deep sigh was heard, Thanos's gruff voice rang through the com system, sending shivers down Loki's spine.

"We should stop for today, then," the mad titan said. "His wounds have most likely festered. We will give him time to recover before resuming his treatment."

At the verbal reminder of what had been done to him, a dull ache spread across the raw and flayed skin on his abdomen. Normally, his seiðr would be able to repair such an injury faster than the average person - or even Asgardian - but the poison lacing the blade they had used was inhibiting the use of his magic. It wasn't the first time they'd used the substance on him - how else were they supposed to keep him from teleporting away? - but it was the first time it had caused him to become this ill.

"But Father, I-" Proxima began to speak.

"We need him alive, my children. If we continue his treatments whilst his body is in this state, he could die, and he is of no use to us that way. No one touches him until I say so, is that understood?"

"Yes, Father," Nebula, Proxima, and Maw all said simultaneously.

With a soft beeping of the console, Loki could tell that the call had ended. Well, at least he knew that there would be no more torture for the time being. Though, with as bad of a fever as he had, he wasn't sure how much of a break it was actually going to end up being. His body and mind felt like they'd been trampled over by Sleipnir, and that wasn't including what pain he was feeling from his injuries.

"It's too bad we have to stop; I was getting into some of my best work," Maw commented.

Proxima smirked and stepped up to the table Loki was strapped to. She slowly paced around its perimeters, and Loki closed his eyes. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the pain and desperation in his eyes.

"Pitty..." she trailed off.

It became eerily silent after that, but before Loki had the chance to ponder whether or not he wanted to risk checking to see why, he felt something enter the wound on his abdomen, and a searing pain encompassed his entire midsection. His vision blurred and against his will, he let out a loud, guttural scream that tore at the vocal cords in his throat. After the initial shock wore off, Loki was able to control his voice, and bit the inside of his cheek. He could barely tell from his poor vision that Proxima had stuck his finger inside the gaping hole in his side.