30 Days of Feels - Sombraline - The Avengers (Marvel) (2024)

Chapter 1: Day 4 - Holding Hands

Chapter Text

On Monday, Tony was signing a business deal in Finland concerning the implemantation of ten Ark reactors as a trial. On Tuesday, he and Loki bickered in the workshop until the argument turned into very hot sex against the wall. On Wednesday, he went to the dentist and promised himself to invent a better way to fix cavities, then sat on a UN and Avengers meeting with Thor, Loki and Heimdall to plead the case of New Asgard's independence. On Thursday, he actually got some work done in the shop, which he attributed to Loki not being there to distract him.

“Are you implying that time spent with me is wasted, then?” The prince questioned when Tony pointed this out over supper, withdrawing his slice of pineapple pizza toward himself in outrage.

“I would never,” Tony assured him. He knew Loki well enough by now that he could tell he wasn't actually offended. If he had been, his lover would have been cold and quiet and doing anything but actually addressing the issue at hand. “I guess I'm just being incredibly productive as a way to cope with the pain of your absence.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Loki mused. “Nevertheless, you will need not busy yourself so tomorrow.”

“You're staying over? I thought you still had a ton of stuff to do in New Asgard.”

He tried not to smile too much as he said it, but the gleam in Loki's eyes told him he wasn't being subtle. It wasn't his fault; Loki rarely ever stayed the night in New York, and it was usually only when Tony himself travelled to Europe for any reason that his lover shared his bed for more than just sex. Tony couldn't complain: he knew Loki was actually missing sleep to be with him at all in the evenings and return to New Asgard as dawn drew closer to attend his duties.

Still. He couldn't help but feel stupidly overjoyed. He loved when Loki slept by his side. His fresh skin slowly warming up against Tony's. His fingers playing with Tony's hair without ever seeming to tire of it. The precious sight of him, when Tony exceptionaly woke up first and looked at his relaxed face.

If he was being honest with himself, it was really that he was a sucker for cuddles, and they rarely took time for that kind of things. He didn't mind -he certainly loved the sex, understood the absence, and he didn't want to have the world scrutinize their every move when they were out in public. But that didn't mean that he didn't long for it.

“I made good progress with the stuff.” Loki smirked and bit into his pizza. “I suppose you're not the only one who need to keep himself busy when entertainment is otherwise lacking.”

“Aw, you're saying that you missed me?”

“I'm saying that we're going out tomorrow,” Loki said, “and I wouldn't want to come here tomorrow and find you asleep past noon. The only logical solution is to monitor your rest myself.”

“That's a really good excuse. Also, where are we going?” He was pretty sure they were all out of hearings to plead Loki's freedom and Asgard's sovereignty.

“On a date, of course.”

Tony almost choked on his mouthful of soda and Loki raised an eyebrow in self-satisfied innocence. Of course he would, that idiot. Refuse to simply say that he missed him, and then, after literal years of f*cking and having presented him to Thor as his elskaður like it was nothing, suggesting a -date.

“Are we teenagers? Hey, quick question, what do you call a date? I can't tell, are you being romantic, or are we off to pillaging England?”

“Of course not. I worked so hard to convince those gentlemen of the United Nations that I wouldn't be doing that sort of things.”

“So what then?”

“There's a place I've been curious to visit,” Loki smiled. “And I suppose your presence would improve it, if it turns out to be unsatisfactory.”

“What place? You're not going to tell me, are you? Alright, just -what kind of place are we talking? Is it a Mark XLIII kind of date, a leather pants kind of date, or a black tie kind of date?”

“No armor needed. I suppose you could wear that court outfit I gave you,” Loki mused, wiping his fingers on his napkin, and then smiling at Tony's frown. “Don't you trust me?”

“I do, even though that's historically not the good choice. That's what worries me,” Tony replied.

The last part was just for show, of course. Loki was a little sh*t, a prankster and prone to dizzying mood swings, but Tony was his lover. And it didn't take a genius to realise that Loki was fiercely loyal and protective of the ones he called his. The gleeful spark in his eyes at Tony's reply was proof enough of that.

“Then that's settled. I'm taking you on a date tomorrow.”

“Fine, but I'm taking you to bed now.”

“Oh?”

“I've been thinking about what you said in the workshop the other day, about getting handcuffs that could actually hold you. You'll never guess what side-project I looked into today.”

“By all means,” Loki said, smile turning to smirk, “let's see about this.”

The night was great and Tony didn't have much time to ponder what a Norse God might consider a romantic outing. Handcuffs discarded and kisses tired, he had fallen asleep faster than he had wanted to, without properly enjoying the fact that Loki was spooning with him and planting little kisses in the nape of his neck.

Morning came. Tony yawned and made insinuations, but Loki didn't magic breakfast in bed for him, eventually forcing him to leave the warm happiness of the blankets and to get ready. Tony asked if he was serious about wearing the Asgardian leather pants, and, when Loki just grinned, decided for jeans.

Their first stop was, surprisingly, a coffee shop. Tony stepped in it a little uneasily, expecting the entire hipster clientele to turn their way and wondering why Loki had chosen such a thing, but his lover's fingers, cold from the spring air outside, closed on his shoulder reassuringly.

“Relax, Anthony.”

“We do have coffee at home,” Tony remarked.

“I understand that this is an important Midgardian rite for courting couples.”

“You call what we're doing courting?” He glanced around as they got in line. A young woman with colorful dreadlocks eyed him pensively, but turned back to her laptop without seeming surprised to see them. “Loki?”

“Nobody will pay us any attention,” the god assured him.

“Magic?” Tony guessed, relief making his shoulders fall. He smiled. “Seriously? Bringing me croissants in bed is an unworthy use of your magic, but going to the coffee shop is fine?”

“I believe it's our turn, Anthony,” Loki ignored him helpfully.

They sat at the window; Tony wasn't sure if he was amused, or weirdly flattered, that Loki had paid his coffee for him. The god had also purchased shortbread cookies and a large hot chocolate with whipped cream, and seemed quite pleased with himself.

“This isn't unpleasant, actually,” Tony admitted, glancing outside. The passers-by didn't look twice at him. He couldn't remember ever being this anonymous. “Where did you get the courting couple idea?”

“Do you mind it?” Loki asked.

“No. This is unusually cute from you,” Tony replied sincerely, and enjoyed the way Loki instantly frowned in offense. “I just thought we were past that stage.”

“New couples use such meetings to know one another better.” Loki evenly separated the cookies in two shares. “It seems a waste that, once compatibility is confirmed, they do not make time to be together all the same.”

“You're doing that thing again,” Tony found himself grinning, then, when Loki stared blankly at him, he imitated: “Once compatibility is confirmed. You're as shameless as me when it comes to flirting, but it takes literal life-or-death situations for you to use the word love. The rest of the time, unless we're having sex, you're acting like we're business associates.”

“I am taking you on a date,” Loki remarked, raising an eyebrow. “I certainly hope you don't go on those with associates.”

“You know fully well I don't. This is my first date in, what, twenty-five years? But you're actually way more romantic than any dates I ever had. So I'm glad. That our compatibility is confirmed,” he added with a smile. “And this is fun, too. I could do this more often.”

“This is the start of our day,” Loki pointed out. “I just know you are insufferable without a sufficient amount of cafeine.”

“Oh? So what's the actual date?”

“You'll see. Eat your cookies.”

“See? You're a real Prince Charming. So why is this our first date ever?”

“We lacked time, and I finally made some.”

They drank their drinks and ate the cookies and talked. Nobody interrupted for a picture or an autograph. Tony wondered if Loki used this trick when he was alone, to escape the scrutiny of his own people, or if his stubborn honor forbade it. The latter seemed the most likely. He found that he enjoyed the idea that Loki broke his own resolves for him.

“So what you're telling me,” Tony smiled when the mugs were empty and they were standing from their seat, “is that you put your carreer on hold so that we could take our relationship the next level.”

“I named you for all Asgard to hear as my loved one,” Loki said, sounding amused. “What next level do you speak of?”

“You tell me. Oh, are we getting married? Do I get to be prince consort? I'll be tyrannical yet lovable.”

“You already are. Shouldn't you be making some efforts? I did take you out.”

“Oh, if that's how it is. Let me.”

It took an instant for Loki to get his meaning, and then he flexed his knees just a little bit, stretching his arms back to allow Tony to put his jacket on his shoulders. It was only the logical next thing that brought Tony's fingers to take his, and he felt the way they both startled, a second late, at the odd contact.

Because it was -odd. And Tony blinked in disbelief as he realized that they had never held hands before, not outside of lovemaking. But then, when would they have? When they were alone, they typically didn't stop at such small contacts. When they were in public, they stood apart, both of their existence having trained them to hide their affections from others.

Loki looked back at him, a little startled. Tony found himself smiling, and shifted his grip to squeeze Loki's hand in his own more comfortably.

“How's that for next level?” He offered innocently.

“You dislike being handed things. I thought you wouldn't...” Loki paused.

It was a good thing that they were magicked out of attention, standing there like two idiots. Because he, too, was lost for words for a few seconds.

“You never held my hand because you thought I wouldn't like it? You just -assumed, and didn't?” He clarified, incredulous.

“You've respected my boundaries since we've known each other,” Loki argued, even as his gentle, cold fingers closed around his own in return. “I had no wish to push yours.”

“You really are Prince Charming,” Tony said, blinking up at his lover's face. “That's -damn, I guess we do still need the dates to know each other better. Well, just so you know, I love hand holding. And hugs. Did you never hug me outside the bedroom for the same reason?”

“I am not going to embrace you in public,” Loki protested. “It would be incredibly undignified for both of us.”

“But I can hold your hand outside the spell thing?”

“Do you want to?”

“Well, yeah.”

Loki was silent for a beat as they exited the café, their hands linked together.

“I suppose you were right,” he said at last, after they had paused on the sidewalk, Tony waiting to know where they were headed to. “We are taking this to the... Next level.”

Chapter 2: Day 21 - "I did it for you"

Chapter Text

Considering how much work had gone into this, Loki was resolutely bored.

It was the Day of Bardagi in Asgard, and the entire kingdom had gathered in Odin's halls, or so it seemed. Gods and Goddesses and Lords and Ladies had travelled from all the vassal realms. The best warriors and the richest families of Yggdrasil had spent days polishing armor and had purchased the most expensive fabrics to appear at their best in front of the Allfather and his court.

The celebration only happened once every century; a grand occasion, originally meant to honor the kingdom's history and its warriors, which had been reimagined by King Bor in his time to instead celebrate -well, himself. It had stuck, too. The military victories were still celebrated and remembered, but there was no denying that the party was mostly a royal celebration during which the most important merchants and the greatest heroes gathered to praise the royal family and bask in the magnificence of the honored guests.

And, presumably, try to gain favors.

There was an incessant whisper of rumors about beautiful girls from all the civilised lands who had tried to learn of Thor's favorite color to make their dress from it; equally ambitious warriors had ordered embroidered flags of their house's names to make a presentation, hoping to catch the eye of Freyja of Vanaheim. Anyone who was important enough to be welcomed in the castle in these days knew well that this might be their only chance to meet the eye of Gods and Kings, and wanted to make it count.

It helped, probably, that this was the first Bardagi both Thor and Loki were allowed to attend as men. While it had always been an eager contest to gain the princes' approval, even as children, their value had certainly gone up now that, having both turned a thousand years old, they were considered adults and, as such, didn't need their father's approval for any favor granted. They had actually endured endless talks about this in the last few weeks, being warned that any pregnant noblelady or undeserved honor given would be their own problem to solve.

It really wasn't worth the hassle, Loki thought. At least, he amended, perhaps a little bitterly, not on his part.

The party itself was adequate. The feast had been shared with only the most grands of visitors, the meat of exotic games paired with the best meads, the gold dishes complementing the elaborate arrangements of fruits and desserts at each table. The hall, when they made it there to greet the rest of the visitors, was quite sublime even to his eyes, and no doubt stunning to the unaccustomed guests. Odin had made a speech that elicited warrior cries and enthusiastic cheers, and, with no further ado, had allowed the dancing and the mingling to begin.

And Loki was bored.

Young ladies and blushing daughters of merchants curtsied as he moved through the crowd. Older women took a respectful step back, while their husbands bowed their head and brought a fist to their heart. A young warrior with red hair, whose boots betrayed a commoner's ascendancy, actually lowered his eyes and greated him with a stiff:

“You have my sword, Lord Loki.”

Loki paused and studied him, fully aware of the attention of other courtiers, even as conversations went on around them. His sworn soldier wore a decent, but tired armor. The young man shifted, glancing up at him in betrayed nervosity, perhaps wondering if he had misstepped.

“Your loyalty honors you,” Loki said to ease his agitation. “Please, enjoy the celebrations.”

The young man bowed again, and slipped away. Loki refrained from sighing. He could almost complete the story himself: a peasant, gifted enough with a blade to be recognised, but not to the point of being accustomed to noble blood. Most likely, Loki had been the lesser of his goals, and now the boy would offer his blade to Thor or Tyr, confident that his voice wouldn't shake.

His instinct proved to be right, too. He saw the boy again, no later than a quarter of an hour later, bowing to Freyjr respectfully. The Vanir god laughed and pressed a hand to the warrior's shoulder in warm approval.

Well. Good for him, Loki thought drily, and went for a glass of elvish wine.

He didn't know when he had realized that he wasn't the same as Thor, despite their shared blood and the fact that only a dozen years separated them. Childhood games and rivalries had faded into the start of princely duties and adulthood, drawing ever deeper chasms between their skills and their inclinaisons. Frigga generously marvelled at her two sons' powers and Odin went on to say that they had both been born to rule, but it didn't take a superior intellect to notice that their differences were not equal.

He didn't mind, he told himself. He would rather be the object of whispers and rumors than to endure the constant, mindless noise of the warriors and courtesans who so loved his brother. He was a he-witch, his powers unknown from enemies hitting stronger than swords. He learned and remembered well, always a step ahead from Thor. He read through lies as well as flattery, and wouldn't be dizzied by the tales of bad advisors.

Sometimes, he even managed to persuade himself that Odin's words were true, and that their father had yet to choose his heir to the throne, as if the whole World-Tree didn't already see Thor as the future Allfather.

No -he didn't mind. Let Thor win the popularity contest; let Loki be free to learn and grow ever more powerful. Let the useless chatter of court and peasants distract his brother and not him. They were becoming men, true, and free to use their power; let Thor's adoring friends demand their share, and let Loki keep his own.

It was simply that such evenings were useless to him, then. Nobody was foolish enough to drink too much or slip secrets during Bardagi, and what loyalties were sworn and offers made to him were near of worthless. Second daughters bowed to him and wordlessly asked for a dance, their eyes turning at the sound of Thor's laughter as he invited their elders. Distant Lords asked about his studies and travels, seeking to solidify their weak hold by offering him their castles or libraries. He was their second choice, their chance taken at a neglected odd, and he didn't care for their hopes.

He wasn't bitter. He was bored. And that was all.

He moved around the hall, accepting salutations, speaking to those few Gods or courtiers he could appreciate to see, then filling his cup again to endure the stiff questioning of a Lord's daughter about his magic. The girl herself had no seiðr, and had clearly planned her conversation ahead in the hope of entertaining his 'special interest'. Loki wondered at what life would be like for her, if he gave in to her efforts and took to courting her, forcing her to keep up the pretense for their joined life.

He excused himself. He considered leaving, if only for an hour, but met Frigga's eyes before he could head for the door. His mother's knowing smile told him he would not make it far, and he groaned internally, missing the tome he was currently reading about sea monsters and the possibility of taming them. He would much rather have spent the evening with an irritated kraken then with another glassy-eyed maiden fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Loki, can I interrupt you from... I don't know, plotting to ruin this evening for everyone?”

He turned to raise an eyebrow at Sif. She had a sizeable mug of mead in hand and slightly rosy cheeks. Evidently, she was having a good evening -and why not? People would be eager to impress Thor's friend, and Sif didn't mind attention, nor did she probably mind the jealous stares of young heiresses. Before the distance between them had grown so much, Loki had enjoyed her fiery competitiveness. But time had passed, and like Sif's golden locks, their friendship was a thing of the past.

“Not everyone, my dear Lady Sif,” he answered evenly. “What can your favorite prince do for you?”

Sif's lips curled back in distaste, but she had been raised in a family of noble enough blood that she would never make a scene at such an occasion. She took a mouthful of her drink, as if to swallow her retort back with it, or to subtly insult him by delaying her answer. Only as she did so did Loki's eyes stop on the man who stood beside her.

“This is Anthony Hawardson,” Sif said finally. “It's his first time at Bardagi. I thought I'd do the introductions.”

“How generous of you,” Loki remarked, but he only glanced at Sif before turning his attention back to -Hawardson. “Welcome to Odin's Halls, Anthony.”

“Thank you, Highness,” the man replied with a pleasant, smooth voice. “Thanks, Sif.”

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Sif replied, with just enough edge to her voice that Loki could tell it hadn't been. She glanced at him. “I'll see you later, Highness.”

She turned her back to them. Hawardson watched her leaving, and Loki took advantage of it to steal a longer glance at him. He was a bit short for an Aesir, but he didn't look Vanir or Elvish. His clothes were of a good fabric, but it looked worn and soft; the black and gold tunic he was wearing wasn't something he had purchased only for tonight. His posture was tense, not with anxiety nor rigidity, but perhaps with a need for movement.

Anthony Hawardson turned back his way. His big, warm eyes were so noticeable -Loki was sure he would have recognised him if he had met him or his kin before.

“What did the Lady Sif owe you?” Loki asked, before he could convince himself better. “She was evidently eager to be rid of her debt.”

“Ah,” Hawardson said, and his toothy smile surprised him. “A gentleman doesn't tell, Highness.”

The audacity of eluding the question as almost as surprising as the fact that the man didn't look embarrassed at all. His smugness kept Loki's attention, unsure whether to be insulted or amused.

“What brings you to the celebration tonight, Lord Hawardson?”

“Checking my invite, my prince?” Hawardson grinned, but shook his head and continued before Loki could reply. “I guess I don't look the part as much as I thought I would. I haven't been to this kind of soirée in a while. Or ever, to be honest. But -right. I'm a smith. A pretty good one, if you'll allow me to say it.”

“You don't seem to wait for permission,” Loki observed. It was decidedly difficult to decide whether the man was making fun of him or being this odd as his regular self. Was this Sif's idea for a prank of some kind?

“I'm not known for that, true,” Hawardson said, and paused. “Yeah, sorry. I guess this isn't how people normally talk to you.”

And I guess you do not normally speak to royalty, Loki thought, but didn't say out loud. Despite his suspicions, he didn't sense any real malice coming from this strange man. He shook his head imperceptibly. An unusual sort of nervosity, perhaps, making a commoner sound too relaxed.

“That's alright,” he said instead, taking a half-step back. “Enjoy the celebrations, Lord Hawardson.”

“Wha-? Wait! Oh, I mean, sorry, I mean, I didn't want to order you, uh... Wait? Please?”

Loki, frozen by the audacity of the order, blinked back at the man. From the corner of the eye, he could see several courtiers following the conversation. He ostensibly looked back at them, and they found they would be more comfortable whispering about the encounter somewhere else. He turned back to Hawardson and quirked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. Hawardson made a little grimace.

“Um, do I get thrown in jail for this? Just so I know, before I keep talking.”

“Not yet,” Loki replied, his curiosity piqued. “Is there anything else?”

This was nothing short of odd. Maybe Sif had brought this man to embarrass him by the presence of a dimwitted commoner, or maybe -maybe Hawardson had, in fact, used a favor the warrioress owed him to get to the party. In which case... Well, Loki had given him occasion enough to walk away and enjoy the party if Sif's introduction had been a petty vengeance.

“Actually, yes. Um -let me start over. Also not an order. I'm -Anthony Hawardson. I'm a smith.”

“A pretty good one,” Loki repeated. No, this man didn't sound slow. But he had been right: his hands were fidgeting where he had linked them together. “So you said.”

“Right. I'm -not to brag, but I really am. I actually specialize in daggers, throwing knives, short swords...”

Ah. So there it was -the man wanted his patronage. Loki was surprised to be disappointed about it. Something of it must have shown on his face, for Hawardson actually raised his hands up and carried on quickly:

“I'm not asking you to buy anything from me. That would be awkward. I'm doing pretty good for myself. I actually have enough orders to keep me busy 'til Yule next year.”

“I suppose then that you have brought me a gift?”

It wasn't an unenthusiastic marriage proposal, but an attempt to gain him as a customer and to be able to brag of royal patronage wasn't much better. No doubt, this time, Loki had been chosen not because Thor was unreachable -but because Thor would have no interest for throwing knives or distance weapons.

“I did. And I realize now that you don't want it. This conversation isn't going the way I hoped.”

“Your honesty is truly making things more embarrassing for you than they have to be, smith,” Loki found himself remarking, still disbelieving at the lack of filter in Hawardson's words.

“People call you the Prince of Lies. I figured I shouldn't lie to your face when they say you could read minds.”

Loki didn't have the time to stop himself -he laughed, vainquished by the uneasy, yet so strangely confident honesty of the smith. He actually caught a glance of Thor, near the refreshments table, glancing at him in surprise; his brother was not the only one, and he felt himself flustered by it. Had it been so long since he had last laughed in public?

“You came a long way from Nornheim to show me your work,” he sobered, lips slightly pulled up. “I'm all ears.”

“Alright. I just want to say -this isn't just my best work. I mean that -I made this for you, Highness.” Hawardsson fumbled in the small bag he carried at his belt; enchanted, Loki realized when he saw the man's hand disappearing further into it than it should have, and wasn't that interesting. Few men would be bothered to pay for such a complicated spell. Unless Hawardson had magic of his own? “I mean, I did it with you in mind.”

“Is that so?”

“I never actually saw you fight, but I've heard about it. They say you fight like a wraith, that you're in several places at once.”

“It seems 'they' say a lot about me,” Loki remarked, and Hawardson grinned back at him, back with that large, too proud smile.

Another certainty came to him, clear as day. It wasn't true that he read mind -but he did read people, strangers best of all, with something his father called irrational and his mother called instinctive, and that he called magic.

Hawardson wasn't lying about any of this. And when he spoke of Loki's fighting, he did so with admiration.

Something inside of him shifted. Maybe he wasn't the default choice for this one, after all.

“I just pay attention, Highness.”

“So what did you craft for me?”

Hawardson produced a leather roll and handed it over decidedly. Loki carefully unwrapped it, intrigued. Neatly aligned were a dozen daggers, shorter than most, crafted in a black metal that was cold to the touch. He took one out, and was pleased to find it was perfectly balanced, fitting perfectly in his grip. He fought the urge to throw the blade to the nearest wall to test its rotation.

“They're enchanted,” Hawardson said, and something about his voice told Loki that he had waited as long as he had been able to before saying it. “I'm no dwarven smith-master, but I think I did a good job.”

“You think better of your own work than good,” Loki remarked, observing the thickness of the blade. They were all perfectly even. “Enchanted how?”

“As soon as they're discarded or they killed their target, they'll come back to you. Not like Mjölnir,” the smith said, evidently eager to speak of his work. “I guessed that, between the clones and the throwing, you probably lost a lot of knives. These will just come back to your scabbards so you can use them again.”

“You did that?” Loki asked, although his disbelief came from the fact that he knew it wasn't a lie. “The enchantment and the smithing? All by yourself?”

“You sound impressed, Highness.”

“This is uncommon work.” Loki paused. “And, if it works as intended, impressive indeed.”

“Oh, it will.”

Again with that shameless confidence. Loki smiled, placing the knife carefully back into place. He flicked his wrist, and the gift disappeared in a brief flash of golden green. It was Hawardson's turn to stare in evident admiration.

“Didn't 'they' tell you I did magic?” He found himself poking.

“It's -I never actually saw someone do that,” Hawardson defended himself, but there was something like reverence in his voice. “You're certainly impressive too, Highness.”

“But you knew as much,” Loki remarked. “You came all the way here because of it. Tell me, Hawardson, I do hope you are planning to stay for the full length of the festival?”

“Um,” the man paused, and smiled a slightly crooked smile. “I would be happy to, but you'd have to invite me. I only managed to sneak in for today.”

“That,” Loki said, “can certainly be arranged... Anthony.”

Oh, yes. A clever smith who wielded magic of his own, irreverent and audacious? He would need more than tonight to find out what else there was to know about this one man who had come to seehim.

Chapter 3: Day 9 - Clothes as bandage

Chapter Text

“Stark, on your nine!”

“sh*t! A bit of help, please!”

“I'm kind of busy myself! Anyone copy?!”

There was only static over the comm link, and Tony spat a string of curses. He glanced around himself, winced at the damage he was about to do and deployed a circle of laser from the shoulders of his armor before taking off vertically as fast as possible, hoping to clear his situation.

It would have been too easy. The laser burned through the storefronts of the street, but when Tony looked down, he found that Evil Squidward was still very much standing, a shield of blue magic fading around him. What more, Clint had been right: another dark figure had appeared on his left in the devastated street. A lamppost, cleanly cut in half by the laser, fell to the newcomer's feet. Something metallic flashed, and the post was crushed by a heavy boot. A thin face twisted with hatred lifted to look at Tony.

“f*ck,” he hissed.

“Come now, Man of Iron,” Flat-Nose said pleasantly. “Are you out of tricks yet?”

“Guys, I need back up. An angry elf just showed up and I'm not making a dent in Davy Jones here.”

“An elf here?” Thor was out of breath, which was not a good sign. What where they dealing with back there? “Thanos has never approached elves before!”

“What do I know, the guy has pointy ears!”

“Try to hold on, Tony,” Steve's voice came in hurried. “This thing is wrecking the Hulk- Natasha, watch out!”

There was the sound of metal being crunched, so loud Tony didn't know if it came from his comm or if he heard it from halfway through Manhattan, and the comm went off. Well, sh*t.

“You're making me wait,” the wizard called from the ground.

“Well, you're wrecking my city, so I think you deserve it,” Tony snapped back. Warning lights were flashing at the corner of his eye. The suit wasn't going to last much longer, and he had already hit that asshole with everything he had. sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.

The murderous four had showed up in ring-shaped spaceships, appearing in New York's sky on an ordinary Tuesday morning. They had only had a few minutes to call for civilian evacuation before the aliens had landed.

They were not entirely unexpected, which was a small, but welcome relief. Thor and Loki had warned the Avengers about Thanos inevitably coming to Earth months ago, when they had showed up to Earth with a ship full of Asgardian refugees. It had not been a pleasant conversation to have, and Clint had most certainly been close to shooting an arrow through Loki's eyes several times through it, but the brothers had shared every intel they had about the Titan with the Avengers. Nobody had called it out openly, but they had all figured out that Thor's part was really to serve as a human (well) shield for his brother to spit out everything he knew about his once-ally.

Although, ally was clearly too generous a word for the creature of war and death that Loki had off-handedly described. And although Tony's relationship with the god was still a strange, unnamed thing, he thought he was starting to know him well enough to trust his judgement about this: Thanos destroyed everything he touched, and it was a bitter mercy that Loki had already been broken into a sharp-edged thing when he had fallen into his hands. Even the Titan had cut himself trying to give shape to his anger, and while Loki was turning himself into something newer and stronger, he had learned enough to make Thanos bleed.

Well, in theory, at least. They had prepared for this -somehow. The Infinity Stones were protected. The Tesseract was kept at the heart of Wakanda, and Strange had assured them that the Eye would not be found by anyone -which Loki had had to assent to, reluctantly, when he had failed to locate it. Only the Mind Stone was still in New York, because Vision had refused to go into hiding if it meant stopping his heroic activities.

Which meant the Four Assholes were after him. Not that their intention had been unclear. Although they had had no qualms killing innocents left and right on their way, the soldiers of the Black Order had landed in three different places and had moved in directly toward the Tower, cutting off their escape routes.

But this was looking bad.

“Come now,” the flat-faced wizard -Ebony Maw, Loki had called him- sing-sang, unimpressed by his stalling. “Don't be shy.”

As he spoke, he made a shape with his fingers. Immediately, and without Tony's command, the armor dove for the ground and crashed at the man's feet. The air was forced out of Tony's chest by the impact, but his suit moved of its own volition, turning him into a puppet and forcing him to kneel on the ground and look up at the pale creature.

“Now, that's better,” Maw said, addressing him with what was probably his take on a smile. “Your friends are so loud. Perhaps you and I can speak in peace.”

Tony glared, his heart racing so furiously in his chest it might as well have crawled out of his mouth. The paralysis was stronger than him; he couldn't even twitch a finger, imprisoned in the confine of his own armor. The thought of ordering Jarvis to take it off of him crossed his mind, dangerous and unsure, but before he could consider giving the order, something heavy hit the back of his skull. There was the shriek of metal being torn as easily as a sheet of paper, and his helmet fell from the ground, useless as a cheap mask.

“He does not have the Stone,” the maybe-elf said behind him, with a rough, unpleasant voice. “Kill him.”

“They hide the Stones,” Maw replied, lightly, like this was really just another day at the office for him, and he was in a better mood than his coworker. “I would ask him how. You are free to tear this city apart, but I prefer efficiency.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Tony interrupted, and although none of his organs fell from his lips, he felt it could still happen anytime soon. “Earth's closed today, Forehead.”

“Is it? We found it quite welcoming. Rejoice, Man of Iron: it is now your turn to play your part in Thanos' great plans.”

Loki had been clear that Thanos' favored team comprised only the four original bastards. If two of them were here with Tony, it was all the more chance for the rest of the team to get through the remaining two and reinforce their guard around Vision.

But it meant Tony was on his own, and he didn't like his odds.

Even so, the overly sweet, condescending arrogance of Maw was unbearable.

“And what part is yours, exactly? Other than a travelling freak show?”

“I regret to say we have no time for games,” Maw said, unphased. “Corvus.”

Tony had no time to anticipate the hit. One instant, he was about to retort to Maw about what kind of game he was going to play with him, and the next, he was shoved forward, ice spreading to his veins from his left shoulder. He saw the blade, sticking out of his armor's breastplate, before he recognised the fact that he had just been stabbed through the suit, as though it wasn't even there. He gaped at the blood-stained triangle that came out of him, just where shoulder met chest, and his brain struggled to understand.

“Where is the Mind Stone?” Maw questioned.

Tony was held up by the suit's own strenght. He wondered how crazy Maw had to be to think that he would answer him, seeing as he couldn't even force air back in his lungs, but then, a hand landed on his right shoulder and, using it for leverage, Corvus Glaive twisted his blade in the wound.

Tony howled, the shock of ice-cold bite turning to white, blinding pain. He pushed against his unwielding armor, instinctively trying to get away from the weapon, but the ground stayed cruelly away, and he remained in the grotesque kneeling position Maw had forced him into.

“Your will is inconsequential,” Maw argued, sounding pleased. “You will speak. Why not make this easier for us all?”

There was a noise like exploding stones; Tony couldn't tell if it was in his mind, or if the fight was raging on closer. It didn't matter. The Avengers were far, and busy with their own adversaries. They couldn't -wouldn't- come.

Which meant he was stuck with the torture-happy duo.

“You may think this is suffering,” the pale bastard continued. “But no. It is salvation. Rejoice, for you have the privilege of being of use to the Children of Thanos.”

“Wow,” he managed to gasp.

He meant to ask how Thanos had trained that sado-masoch*st mindset in his crazy Cenobite brain or if he just came like that out of the package, but his lungs strained to even make that noise come out as more than a gasp of agony.

“You can help us. Or we can take what we will from the ruins of this city.”

The blade twisted, back the way it came. He screamed, and maybe the last instant of it turned into something more of a sob. How long could he do this? A panicked whisper ran through his mind. Torture has broken you before. But he wouldn't, couldn't. Vision needed to be safe. The world needed to be safe. So long as the other Avengers were there to defend it, the Earth was not lost.

Another twist, and a twitch, like Glaive was tapping the handle of his sword. Tony gasped, watching his own blood drip from the edge of the blade to the torn street.

“Well? Do you have nothing to offer? No? Corvus?”

The blade twitched. And again. And again. Tearing and burning and grinding against something inside of him that wasn't supposed to be touched. Pieces of the chestplate chipped away, as frail as porcelain.

There was a pause; probably, Maw was asking his question again, and Tony was almost grateful for it, for the short reprieve, but he couldn't even hear it, not over his own choked, wet breath, not over the agony in his body. He closed his watery eyes, wishing his brain would shut down like one of his AIs and take him away from this.

The blade was ripped from his body; he didn't have the strength left to scream, but he choked out a pained gasp. He almost longed for Glaive to stab him somewhere else, to distract him from the pain with another one; instead, the sharp edge of the blade came to his throat. There was yelling. He forced himself to open his eyes, wondering if this was how he died. At least, he hadn't given them answers.

He stared, uncomprehending, at the corpse laid out on the ground. Maw's grey hands, bloodied and clenched as they were, were an oddity on the painted asphalt, and one he didn't understand immediately.

The armor fell, suddenly too heavy for him; the blade against his neck shifted, but before it could slit his throat, there was a flash of golden green at the corner of his eyes. Tony crashed on the ground, not five feet away from the fallen Child of Thanos. The stench of blood was overwhelming; was it his own?

Strong hands were suddenly on him, turning him on his back, and he cried out in pain, trying against his best instincts to fend his attacker; but his arms were too heavy, the left one wouldn't even move, and Tony felt burning tears blinding his eyes. The front of his armor was ripped from him with sudden urgency and he gasped as the pressure was relieved.

“Please”, he heard himself gasping, and then bit his tongue. He wouldn't die begging, no.

But the voice that answered him was not the barking anger he expected, not even the sickening sweetness of Ebony Maw's words. It was a familiar, warm voice, overcome by discreet tremors:

“It is well, Stark. Hold on. Hold on.”

He blinked the tears away, desperate to make sense of time and place and figure out what was happening. The bright blue sky above seemed magnificient, and so fragile now that he had seen those spaceships in it. There was a tearing sound. His vision focused on a pair of long golden horns. And then pale hands, and a shining armor, all stained with red and gore.

Loki, he thought. Loki had suffered at Thanos' hands too; any doubt he might have had about it was gone. He had known about Maw. Had called him a zealot, a sad*st who loved toying with his preys. Had Maw tortured Loki, when he had fallen in Thanos' grasp?

“I didn't say anything,” Tony managed to gasp, and then he hissed when an attempt to breath in tore everything inside of him.

“Maybe you should have, you stupid mortal,” Loki's voice said.

It probably came from Loki's mouth, but Tony's eyes didn't want to open anymore, even though he was startled and offended by the insult. Hadn't he done right?

“Hold on. Just hold on.”

Hold on to what? He wanted to ask. Something pushed into his torn shoulder, refusing to let go, and he cried out with all that was left of his voice. Somewhere in it, everything, mercifully, faded.

He regained consciousness several hours later. Strange had helpfully given him enough drugs to numb an elephant, and what he remembered from those few hours was vague. For a time, he wasn't even sure if Squidward and the Space Baddies had been real, even though his left arm disappearing under half a mile of gauze should have been proof enough.

The Avengers came to see him; they seemed worried, which was kind of sweet, admirative, which he didn't want to think too much about, or just empathetic, which he mostly preferred. They briefed him, when he came to himself enough to ask what had happened, about the battle that had raged around the city: Proxima Midnight had managed to escape from her fight with the Maximoff twins and Barnes, but the other three had been killed in the fight, although Thor, Hulk and two super-soldiers had barely been enough to overpower the one named Cull Obsidian. Steve and Natasha were leading the hunt to find the lost Daughter of Thanos, and Shuri and Bruce were in the lab, analysing the ships as best as they could in the hopes of learning more about Thanos' next steps.

All in all, they had won the first battle. And although it had been a brutal one, and Clint had fallen and broken three ribs, and Thor sported mean new scars to the face that made him look more than ever like a viking war lord, and Tony was out of it for over a week -well, that had to be encouraging, right?

It took three days, even after Tony was out of the infirmary, for him to stumble upon Loki. Something told him it had been deliberate, though, as the prince was reading in the kitchen, instead of being burrowed in his room like he usually was. Something in Tony's mind rose in alarm, like he should have been remembering something he had meant to say.

“I see your arm is not yet fully mended,” were the god's first words, his piercing eyes analysing the sling Tony's arm was resting in.

“Well, according to Strange, it's a miracle it's still attached to me, so I'm not asking too much,” Tony replied, a little distracted by what he had he might have wanted to discuss with Loki. Maybe he had just missed him. “Also, it's not my favorite arm, so that was pretty generous of our evil invaders to start with it.”

Loki didn't laugh. His gaze shifted to Tony's face and made him regret his joke.

“You were brave,” he declared, after scrutinizing him for an uncomfortable amount of time, which made the compliment all the more unexpected. “But foolish.”

“I guess that's me,” Tony tried to smirk, but he felt uneasy. “Still, kinda ironic coming from you, isn't it? You're usually even more of a loudmouth than I am. Those Skrulls last month really wanted to kill you.”

“Skrulls are of no danger to me,” Loki said. He still was eyeing him carefully. “The Children of Thanos were greater foes than any you have battled in the past.”

“Even you?” Tony didn't know why the question passed his lips. Loki had been reluctant to speak of the attack of 2012 ever since he had come back to Earth. But only the smallest twitch showed on Loki's face. Tony's mind pressed him, feeling close to remembering something important.

“You could have died, Stark. This battle was not worth it.”

“Not...” He shook his head, unsure he had heard right. “I'm pretty sure we established months ago that this battle was worth pretty much anything we could give it. Keeping the Stones out of Thanos' hands was... I would have died for it. Any of us would have.”

You would, he didn't say, but he expected Loki knew he meant it. Clint was still too ready to call Loki a conniving coward, and the rest of the Avengers were still reluctant to trust him, but Tony had had too many late night conversations with the prince to share their doubts.

Loki met his gaze, unblinking, and was silent for a moment. When he stood, closing his book with a soft clap, Tony half expected him to leave without a word. Instead, the prince walked closer to him, glanced at his bandaged arm, and pressed his lips together in displeasure.

“Do not hold your life to be worth so little, Stark. You are not a soldier to be sacrificied into this battle.”

Tony didn't have time to figure out what to reply to such... Praise? Loki bowed his head ever so slightly to him, as if in salutation, and walked away, back toward his room, leaving him alone, as though the conversation was over and understood.

Tony used his right arm to pour himself a hot mug of coffee, and leaned over the counter, lost in thoughts. It was a few minutes before the questions and the memories connected at last, his thoughts finding their lost connections in his brain in a small flash of epiphany, and his heart leaped in his chest.

“Jarvis,” he asked, straightening up despite the pain it woke in his shoulder. “Do you have pictures of when I arrived to the infirmary?”

“I do, Sir,” the AI offered, sounding a little confused and a little worried -but Jarvis had been uneasy since the attack, absolutely infuriated to have been rendered powerless to help Tony under the effect of Maw's spell. “But viewing their content might disturb you, Sir. May I suggest you wait until your next meeting with your therapist?”

“Bring them up, please,” Tony asked. A beat passed. “Come on, J. I'm okay.”

It wasn't a lie that it was unpleasant to see it -himself, lying on a stretcher, being carried from the jet by Steve and Rhodey. So much blood, he thought, on his undersuit, on the stretcher itself, on the hands of his friends. And still. He squinted.

“Zoom in on my arm, please.”

Jarvis did. His shirt had been torn open, the armor discarded by hands that were stronger than any human's. And at his shoulder, the wound -tightly wrapped, by green fabric that had turned brown with his blood.

But there was no doubt, not anymore. Not as Tony returned the image to its full size, and watched as Loki barked instructions to Strange until he was half-encouraged, half-forced out of the infirmary by Thor. As he paced, in front of the door, without pausing, without even seeming to notice the blood that covered his hands.

Or, its missing piece more evident everytime he turned on his heels, impatient to find if Tony would make it, his emerald cape, furiously torn to create makeshift bandages.

Chapter 4: Day 3 - Height Difference

Chapter Text

The thing was, Tony had received the best possible education, in all the best schools. His parents -his father, really- had wanted him to be ready to take on the world and turn it into his playground, and as such, had made sure to prepare him for any possible path his life would take.

Even then, not even Howard Stark could have planned for the fact that Tony wouldn't have to deal with one, but several worlds.

And nothing had prepared him to becoming the key element of an interplanetary peace treaty, either. Quite the opposite. Anybody in their right mind should have burst out laughing at the idea of using Tony Stark as a diplomat in a mission of that kind of proportions.

Yet here he was, prepping his Tower for the arrival of an alien prince, hoping he wouldn't somehow f*ck up years of careful diplomacy.

Howard had been a consultant on the Moon Landing in 1969. Fifty years later, his son was on a mission to make friends with the prince of an alien civilization. Life was funny like that.

The ship -a modified diplomatic pod that would have given its passenger a scenic tour of the city before coming to its destination- landed on what had once been something as simple and mundane as an helicopter landing pad, and Tony tried to stop himself from fidgeting. Next to him, Captain Carol Danvers and Prince T'Challa of Wakanda stood at attention, managing to seem both relaxed and solemn.

The ship's door opened, and first came out a human being dressed in a leather trenchcoat; Nick Fury didn't change outfits just because he was in charge of escorting and protecting an alien monarch. A tall blue creature, almost naked but for a loincloth, followed him out carefully, the frame of the door just tall enough to allow him through without having to lower his head, which had probably been the aim of the ship's modifications. The alien looked around, turned to say something inaudible, and out came two other Frost Giants.

Jötnar, Tony corrected himself. They would prefer the word they themselves used, even though pretty much all of humanity had decided on the practical term: these guys were huge and cold.

Fury led the trio in through the glass doors. They, too, had been modified to accommodate the guests. In fact, this entire floor of the tower had been remodeled by actually combining two existing levels and creating uncomfortably high ceilings everywhere. It was a bit too much, even, but it was better than forcing otherworldy royalty to crouching. And if Tony ever wanted to have an indoor trampoline or climbing ropes, he now had the room for it.

“Your Highness, my lords,” Fury was saying, with a voice that didn't betray the man's dislike of the situation, “may I introduce you to some of Earth's most honored citizens.” His one eye definitely paused for Tony for one long, disapproving second too long.

Eh. Just that would almost make this entire ridiculous mission worth it.

Fury did the presentations: Carol, whom the Jötnar remembered as the astronaut who had established first contact between their species, T'Challa of Wakanda, who had travelled to Jötunheim as a diplomatic guest and had developed a strong friendship with King Laufey...

“And Anthony Stark,” Fury said. He marked an unnecessary pause where praise should have been. “As your father requested, he will be the one to ensure your comfort and safety during your stay on Midgard.”

That was the mystery of it, and probably no wonder that Fury would subtly remind it out loud: it had been the Jötnar's decision to send their beloved heir to the throne to Tony, instead of choosing a logical place. They didn't know why, and they didn't know if the cultural misunderstanding was on their side or the royal family's, so they hadn't wanted to offend.

Even though it really was an odd, possibly terrible decision. Tony had been briefed by more secret world government agency than he would have thought possible about how incredibly dead he would be if he screwed this up. Even then, he didn't know if anyone, himself included, expected this to be anything else than a disaster.

“My father and myself appreciate your efforts to meet our demands. I have no doubt that my stay on this Earth will be a pleasant one.”

Tony had met the prince before -briefly. He had been sent to Jötunheim with a party of some of Earth's greatest: scientists, athletes, artists and diplomats had been welcomed for a celebration of weird but tasty food, too loud but catchy tunes and amazing but too strong booze. The truth was that Tony didn't actually remember much of the party past the second drink he had reached for. He couldn't tell anyone what he had done that had seemingly so impressed King Laufey that he had decided to entrust him with the care of his oldest son.

Well -you had to know that Loki was an adult. Not that he wasn't tall. The guy stood at least eight feet tall, and was helping his case with a pair of fifteen inches long horns sprouting from the golden crown he was wearing. His loinclothe was green with gold accents, complimenting his cobalt-colored skin with each spark of light catching the metal at his wrists and neck. The guy was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with a focus on the tall. It was just a matter of proportions, because Loki's bodyguards were towering two whole feet above their prince. It made him look like a teenager desperately waiting for a growth spurt.

Either way, it was probably for the best. Tony's face was pretty level with the bodyguards' crotches. His mind was going to places diplomacy probably didn't allow, and he was just proud that his eyes did not follow; doing that all the time was going to do a number on his neck.

“It's an honor to welcome you to our Realm, Prince Loki,” T'Challa said smoothly. It took Tony that much to realize that it had been his line, but that he had been too busy thinking about proportions to remember it. “We truly hope that you will enjoy our stay among us.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, earning a not so subtle glare from Fury. “Welcome to Earth, Highness.”

“Thank you, mister Stark,” Loki replied pleasantly. Tony wondered if he was imagining the fact that the giant seemed a little amused. “Your hospitality is much appreciated, and I am honored to meet you again, Prince T'Challa, Lady Danvers.

“The honor is ours,” Carol assured warmly.

“The trip must have tired you,” Fury said. It sounded like small talk, which, coming from him, was weird and stiff. “We will let Mr. Stark show you where you will be staying, and you may take all the time you like to rest. Your first visit will be tomorrow at nine with the Security Council. If that is alright with you, of course,” he added after a pause. Whoever had written his speech for him had probably expected it to come out more naturally.

“Yes, of course,” the prince said. “I thank you for your time, Director Fury. We will see one another tomorrow, then.”

Fury wasn't long to take his leave after that; he clearly wasn't enjoying his role as a diplomat anymore than Tony understood why he had been chosen for his. It was another small mystery: why Fury, of all the military figures who would have been honored to do so, starting with Captain America or Colonel Rhodes, had been specifically chosen by the Jötnar royals. Maybe, Tony told himself, the Frost Giants were testing them by purposefully choosing the least qualified persons as references.

T'Challa was the first to breach the stiff distance, offering a gloved hand to Loki. The Prince shook it with a genuine looking smile, expressing his pleasure to seeing the prince again, and similarly shook Danver's hand with careful gentleness before turning toward Tony. It came then to Tony's mind that he should have worn gloves, too: it was a known fact that Jötun skin was cold as ice, and could cause frostbite to any who touched it. Doing an effort to prevent any incident was probably diplomatic common sense. He considered his options quickly. Refusing the handshake would objectively be way worse than getting a little burnt.

“Welcome to my home, Your Highness,” he offered, extending his hand up toward the giant.

Loki smiled as he took it. It was cold -but nowhere near as much as he had feared, like Loki had just came in from a walk on a winter day. The prince gave a gentle shake and his red eyes met Tony's.

“I am glad that you accepted my request,” he said. “I have no doubt that this trip will be a great opportunity for our people to grow closer.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I mean, I'm sure,” Tony caught up. Wow, he was going to have to work on thinking before talking. “Um, may I show you where you will be staying?”

And so, the mission began.

Loki was polite and quiet, on that first day, attentively observing as Tony showed him around. The bodyguards followed, and Tony was pleasantly surprised to find that, now that the niceties were done with, they seemed perfectly comfortable getting involved in the conversation. Their names were Fyrnir and Galarr, and their deep voices bounced off the walls as they expressed their satisfaction with the rooms Tony had prepared for them.

Tony found himself relaxing a little at the time as he grew used to the company of the three giants: even though there was something awkward about showing people around and explaining indoor plumbing, roombas and air conditioning to them, the fact that they listened politely, asked questions and compared what they saw to the way things were on Jötunheim was helping in making things less stiff.

At some point, Tony grew distracted for an instant, listening to Fyrnir speaking about the magic that ensured water transportation in Jötunheim; when he glanced back at Loki, he found the prince crouching low, poking at the vacuum cleaner in obvious fascination.

He decided he could probably handle this.

There were meetings of interplanetary importance happening in his living room, and lots of very important human beings from all around the globe showing up on his helipad, but other than that, this wasn't actually as bad as Tony had feared.

Mostly because, no pun intended, it turned out that Loki was a very chill prince.

Despite the bodyguards' presence, Loki didn't seem to expect any danger. In fact, he was happy to lounge around in the living room all day, and turn into a model of proper Jötun distinction when it was time to leave for a conference or to welcome diplomats. Most intriguing, though, was the fact that he would keep up the apparences even in front of T'Challa, Nick Fury or Peter Parker, but become very relaxed as soon as it was only him, his bodyguards, and Tony.

It took him a moment to notice, too. When you walked around dressed only in a glorified skirt and horned crown, anything you did had to be done with enough confidence to own the aesthetic. But after a few days, Tony couldn't deny the fact that confidence had turned to relaxation.

Which was -interesting. It was true that he was known for not sticking to protocols himself. Was that why he had been chosen as the perfect host?

Either way, it was somewhat flattering to see Loki bowing his head respectfully to dignitaries from all around the world, and then, an hour later, ask from across the room if there were chocolate cereals left for him to enjoy with a magic book/scroll thing he had brought from Jötunheim.

Eventually, the threat of interplanetary diplomatic incidents and Fury tearing him limbs from limbs faded into the background, and it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that he was housing an alien and that Loki was... intriguing.

That had been part of the briefings too. The World Security Council had actually suggested Tony took drugs to turn his libido down for the duration of the prince's stay on Earth, which had been both horrifying and, if he thought about it long enough, hilarious. Picturing the most serious men and women in the world sitting around in a dark room, worrying that his dick would threaten world peace was probably not, either, what his parents had expected for him.

It was easier to laugh about it, he supposed, considering they had decided to take the risk to trust him with his playboy instincts.

While that was really dramatic, it was... Not untrue that Loki was exerting a true fascination on him. His inappropriate musings edged on scientific as he wondered if, for instance, Jötun skin would freeze a human's tongue like cold metal would if it were to touch it, or what kind of proportions those loinclothes hid; but aside from that, he had been forced to notice from the start that cobalt skin and red eyes were not an obstacle to his appreciation of a pretty face or finely muscled body.

Tony was not stupid enough to make a move on an alien prince; he was not wise enough, though, to absolutely chase those thoughts from his head, late at night, when he was lying in his bed and thinking about Loki, in his 55°F bedroom.

It was both unhelpful and refreshing that Loki was not just a pretty thing. His conversation was clever and witty, he learned and deduced with a rapidity that bordered on genius, and he possessed both a charmingly innocent curiosity and a no-nonsense attitude that kept Tony pleasantly on his toes, while being relaxed enough that Tony allowed himself to ask his questions.

“Why,” he questioned, for instance, when he walked into the living room one evening and found his guest watching, of all things, what looked like an episode of Jerry Springer, “is that on my TV?”

“I'm watching,” Loki answered unhelpfully.

“You have access to all the documentaries, movies, kids cartoons and p*rn Earth has to offer and you're watching reality TV?”

On screen, a man was being booed by the crowd as the camera zoomed in on the tearful faces of the two women sitting next to him, his infidelity worth half an hour of prime time television.

“Consider this,” Loki said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “To me, this is a documentary about human society. A people's stories and debates are certain to learn an attentive listener more than any speech they could produce.”

“As the human in the room, I'm really not proud of what you might learn from watching this,” Tony grimaced. “And as the guy responsible for making you want to be friend with humanity in general and the US in particular, I'm worried about the results.”

“Sensationalism and poor taste exist in Jötunheim, too,” Loki said. “What I am learning is that your people are evidently very serious about monogamy.”

“Uh. Kind of, yes. Most of us. In this country, certainly.” Tony sat on the couch next to him, though he remained at the edge of the seat, not wanting anyone to get the impression he was watching. “Sounds like something you could have learned from anyone, no? Does that mean that you guys in Jötheim... Jötunheim, sorry. You guys have open relationships?”

“Kind of, yes. Most of us,” Loki replied, turning his head and giving Tony a smile that was decidedly more playful that outright mocking. “I find that people are most eloquent when they do not try to be.”

“Is that one about me or about Chad and his Chadettes?” Tony gestured to the screen.

Loki laughed, but did not actually clarify, which Tony decided was at least moderately insulting. Still, the prince reached for the remote and, with the smooth expertise of someone who had been watching TV every evening after school for years, muted the show. It was most impressive, considering how tiny the remote looked in his hand. It wasn't the first time Tony's mind drifted to how Loki's hands were almost twice as big as his. If the handshakes were odd, what would it be like to touch him?

“Do you know why my father sent me here, Tony?” Loki asked, and Tony realized the prince had been looking at him.

“To decide whether we puny humans deserve your giant friendship, I think?” He answered suspiciously.

“Roughly, yes. But any Jötun with half a brain could have reported to King Laufey. Why send his heir?”

“I... Don't know?” Tony raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden quiz. “Show of trust? We did send you the Prince of Wakanda, didn't we?”

“There are billions of humans,” Loki remarked lightly, “and no more than three hundred thousands Jötnar. Your puny friendship is, in fact, most relevant.”

Yeah. Tony figured as much. War, or even just bad intentions on Earth's part, would be disastrous -not just for humanity's karma, but also for the ice people. Humans had proved their ability to warm up a planet as well as to murder and enslave people gratuitously over the years, and it have been very naive to think that the Jötnar would have considered this a distant, unlikely to happen again past.

“So why you?” He asked, his enthusiasm toned down by the implications of the conversation.

“Well,” Loki said, “my father, Farbauti, trained me to be adequately lethal if anyone were to consider harming me, or taking me hostage. I'm not supposed to tell, but Fyrnir and Galarr are, in fact, mostly for show.”

“So you're a secret weapon.” Tony frowned, wondering why Loki was, in fact, telling him this. To impress him? Or threaten? He had seemed pretty aware that Tony wasn't part of Fury's little circle.

“Not in the way you think. I know how to defend myself. But the reason I am here, Tony Stark, is that amongst my people I am called the Prince of Lies. Not for my own ability to forge stories, although I am as capable as anyone in that regard. I earned this title because nobody in all my years has managed to hide from me a truth I wanted to uncover.”

Tony looked back at him. The prince was smiling, resting his giant self against the too short backrest of the couch. He wasn't wearing his horns -he didn't, when they were alone-, and his black hair was framing his face, casting a shade that made his red eyes look like they were glowing. There was no aggression in his posture.

“So... You're the number one spy?”

“I learn,” Loki corrected him gently. “I get nuances and hints that would escape others.”

“What does that have to do with Jerry Springer?”

“I told you. Most people are at their most eloquent when they are not expected to be. This show is a tap of knowledge into the taboos of your society. And the commercial break is even more educative. Do your people truly think that moon-blood should be kept secret as it happens?”

“Moon... You mean menstruations? Uh -I mean, I guess it is a bit taboo? I never really thought about it. I guess you would get a more instructive talk out of Carol or princess Shuri, although I don't want to be there when you ask.”

“I wouldn't,” Loki said, and there was a spark of pride in his eyes. “You're confirming to me that, as a man, you've been kept ignorant on the matter, never discussed it, and fear they would be offended to speak of it with you. That's the information I needed.”

“Alright, Sherlock,” Tony said, and although he felt slightly weirded out at being analysed, he couldn't help a small smile at how self-satisfied Loki was. He supposed his guess was pretty clever. “I can play too, though. You're telling me ladies in Jötunheim don't hide when they're on their periods.”

“Wrong,” Loki smiled. “See, hints are only as good as the knowledge you add them to. And you somehow managed to forget that there are no ladies in Jötunheim. Also,” he flipped his hair over his shoulder, “our biological evolution was fortunate enough as to not involve such an unconvenient consideration.”

Tony stared. Loki looked decidedly almost sassy as he smiled at him and turned the sound back on. The crowd was gasping out loud at a late revelation when Tony connected the dots. He managed not to sound as dumb as the people on the TV, but he couldn't completely help the little 'ah' that choked out of him.

So many more possibilities to think of before sleep.

“Hey,” he said, after a few seconds to catch his voice, “what was that you were saying earlier about you people not being monogamous?”

Loki smiled brightly at the TV screen, and then back at him. The sound was muted again.

“See,” he said, “I knew you were clever enough to get hints, too. Now that you know why I am here, Tony Stark, would you like to know why I am here?”

Chapter 5: Day 23 - Be careful what you wish for

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Tony Stark didn't do well with, it was losing control.

And it was true that there were many other things he wasn't good with, like kids, or admitting to needing help, or eating healthily -all kind of things. Despite popular opinions, Tony wasn't so self-absorbed as to be ignorant of his own weaknesses. He actually typically worked pretty hard at overcoming them, which was why his Achilles heel remained: he couldn't stand having no power over a given situation.

When the situation at hand was himself, waking up screaming at night and dissociating in front of the mirror, it grew very rapidly unbearable.

The remedy was almost as bad as the poison itself. He didn't like doctors, hated magic, didn't trust Asgard. But he was given the advice, and nothing else worked. He fought it for months, for over a year. He lost Pepper, gave up what was left of his company, buried himself in his work so he didn't sleep. The dreams kept coming.

So he agreed to Thor's offer. Asgard's concept of mental health wasn't primitive or advanced; it was just completely alien. The very few people on Earth he spoke of his project to tried to talk him out of it, concern written all over their face, but his choice was made. He met the head healer, a woman going by the name of Eir, on a beautiful summer day, in his own living room, thirteen months after the Battle of New York. She was accompanied by a younger, stout woman wearing the same pale dress as her.

“You must understand something important, Mr. Stark,” Eir said. She was a strong looking woman with dry hands and tired eyes. “If you are to keep living on Midgard, your memories of what happened cannot be removed entirely. Any conversation, any physical proof of what happened could threaten the spell and, with it, your entire sanity. All Vör and I can do is to numb your feelings toward it, to put your concerns at rest. Once the spell is performed, you will not be able to muster the sentiments you once felt about what happened. Not the fear, not the anger, not hatred nor panic. I feel obligated to remind you that this is a powerful spell, and one I only perform in extreme cases.”

“I know,” Tony replied. “Thor was pretty clear. I know what I'm signing up for. Anything would be better than this sh*t. I want it gone, Doc.”

“Then we will obey the will of my prince and your own,” Eir said.

Tony supposed centuries of professionalism had made her able to seem disapproving and perfectly neutral at the same time. The healer nodded to her assistant, and she stood from her seat to join Tony's side.

“This will feel like a part of you is falling asleep,” she warned him. “You will be more comfortable with your eyes closed.”

Tony did. The spell washed over him, like a smell of herbal tea or the feel of a blanket. His mind, for the first time in months, fell quiet, and he released his breath with a quiver of relief.

Almost nobody knew about the procedure. Thor had assured him it had come as a gift from Asgard, to thank him for his services, and none but himself, his father and the doctor knew. As for mortals, Tony had only ever spoken of his terrors, and subsequent solution, to a handle of his closest friends; Rhodey, Pepper, Banner. The other Avengers had no idea, and Tony wanted it kept that way.

Eir had been right. It was like the part of him that had once kept him awake with its restless fears had gone to sleep. Tony remembered everything: the aliens, the wormhole, Loki, the fall from his tower. But thinking about it did not elicit the clenching of his stomach he had grown used to anymore. The thoughts brushed his mind before sleep, no longer keeping him from rest. He sat at his desk and worked on better armors to stop future attacks, but did not go for days without eating in manic urgency.

When the one named Thanos came, Tony was prepared. He had had years to think, unhindered by his own emotions, and even Pepper had grown to admit that he had made the right choice as she had seen him laugh at parties again, relaxing in the lab over pet projects again. Being alive again.

With his help, the Avengers and their allies had been ready. Thanos and his Black Order met an immovable force. The fight was lengthy, but they never faltered. In the end, it was Thor, with the glove Tony had built for him, who snapped his fingers and defeated the greatest menace the universe had ever seen. The Asgardian Prince, turned into a King, had been brought back to New Asgard to be treated by Eir herself for the toll the Stones had taken on his body. And Tony slept at peace, everything quiet and sane in his mind.

He visited Thor, of course. The big guy was one of his dearest friends, and although Thor slept twenty-three and a half hour a day for now, Tony liked to be there when he did wake, every now and then. Thor had his own demons, ones he refused to shut up like him, and Tony felt it was somehow his duty to be there when Thor worried he was failing to his duties as King.

“Heimdall is doing great, Thor,” he reminded him one day when his friend seemed particularly agitated. “New Asgard's doing great, and you'll be back before you know it.”

“It's not Asgard,” Thor said, voice raw and rough. “It's my brother.”

Loki, of course. Tony had been quiet amongst the screams and protests of his teammates when Thor had brought his people back to Earth as refugees and his brother along with them. The bastard had been supposed to be dead and gone, and he was especially supposed not to be here on Earth, free to cause trouble again. Tony had felt logical concern at this; yet he had been surprised, marvelling at how powerful Eir's work was, that he had not felt even a twinge of the terror or hatred he would have expected. Loki was a danger, an enemy, simply enough. He needed to be contained, and that was that.

Thor had been smart enough to recognise that the Avengers' demands were only right. He had agreed that Loki would be confined to the borders of New Asgard, never to see another human without his brother and SHIELD's approvals. And although the younger prince had taken part in the great battle against Thanos, his path had never crossed the Avengers. They had all made sure of that.

The rest of the Avengers had had questions. Why was Loki alive? Why was he free? What had happened in the years since New York, and why had he turned his back to his former allies to fight side by side with his brother? All logical concerns, Tony had thought. But he had been convinced that Loki was no longer a danger, whatever his and Thor's reasons. And with neither resentment nor fear in his heart, he had not bothered to ask and push a difficult conversation with Thor.

But in the few weeks since Thor had started waking up again, he had mentioned Loki more than once. And Tony wondered why Loki would not bother to visit his brother, who had given him so many second chances.

“Maybe he's busy plotting to take over the world,” he suggested.

Thor winced, visibly not in the mood for Tony's jokes -or maybe the pain in his arm was growing. Even now, over a month after the battle and with the constant care of the healers, his flesh was grey and his muscles unresponsive from the shoulder down.

“I worry,” he murmured, but his eyes closed, and when he opened them again, it was with a pained grunt. “I'm sorry, my friend. I'm... So tired.”

“I get it,” Tony said with a little wince of sympathy. He gestured over for a healer to come, and offered Thor an encouraging grin. “I'm sure you'll be out of this bed in no time. I hear Norway is beautiful in the spring, you need to be up to enjoy it. Without, you know, the threat of intergalactic war hanging over your head.”

“Spring is coming,” Thor mused, and frowned. “Has it been so long?”

“You are doing great progress, my King,” the healer said as she joined them. “You will be out of bed soon.”

“Hey -I know you,” Tony realized, startled. “You're -Vör. You're the Mind-Healer.”

Her face was thinner than it had been a few years ago; the whole of her was, in fact, and she looked a little tired and sad, like so many these days. They had won, yes; but there had been so many losses. Still, Vör looked up at him with some surprise, and then drew a small smile.

“And you are Mr. Stark, the friend of King Thor,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in good shape and health.”

“Lady Vör,” Thor interrupted, his voice hoarse and slurring a little, indicating that exhaustion was taking him once more. “Seek... my brother. Will you do that?”

“I told you, my King. Nobody has seen the Prince in weeks.”

“Could he have escaped?” Tony wondered with a frown, after Vör had encouraged an increasingly incoherent Thor to drink his potion. He made himself look away from his wounded friend. “Loki, I mean.”

“Not without us knowing,” she said, glancing at him sideways. Perhaps remembering the hatred and fear she had taken from Tony regarding the one they were casually speaking about now. “He is tied to New Asgard, physically and magically. He couldn't leave, and certainly not without raising alarms.”

“That's good to know,” Tony said, but co*cked his head to the side curiously. “But where is he, then? Shouldn't we be worried that he's brewing some kind of trouble?”

“It is not uncommon for the King's brother to isolate himself for days at a time. He does not appreciate being bothered,” she added with a small grimace.

“I see. What do you think the odds are that he will attack me if I seek him out for Thor?”

“Half and half,” she said, answering his smile, although not by much. “But I doubt it would be truly dangerous. I believe he knows his place here depends of his brother's good will, and you are the King's friend.”

“Mmh. I think...” He glanced at Thor, who was back to being deeply asleep, a vertical line between his eyebrows. “I'll take my chance. Thank you, Vör.”

It turned out to be true that Loki wasn't an easy man to find. Tony asked around, and was pointed toward a wooden house toward the edge of the town, overlooking the beautiful landscape, but no amount of knocking brought any answers. He glanced through the darkened windows, seeing a deserted little kitchen with an empty fireplace and a table with two seats.

It had been years since New York. Tony had barely seen Loki since then. He wondered, if he found him, if the prince would be as venomous and mad as he had been the first time they had met, or if Thor had his reasons to think his brother worth keeping around. And yet, it was simply curiosity. The memory of Loki's icy threats and murderous fighting was distant, like an interaction with a stranger that had been without consequences.

He put his hands in his pockets and turned his back to the house. Thor would be disappointed; even so, it wasn't like Tony was the right choice to hunt Loki around the village. His friend could ask Heimdall or another of the healers to track down his brother.

He was about to walk away when he felt it; the smallest vibration through the wooden floor of the porch. It could have been a kid running through the street, even, except he didn't catch the smallest movement around with his eyes. He paused, intrigued. And he felt it again. A tiny tremor, too sudden and quickly stopped to be wind or sea.

Ah. So perhaps prince Loki was hiding in the basem*nt. Tony raised an eyebrow. He could go back by the hospital, and tell Vör so she could warn Thor. Mission accomplished. Yet something kept him hesitating, tugging at the back of his mind. He waited, searching his own body for the nausea or clenched hands that would have betrayed some old memory of fear. Nothing came.

He hesitated, then knocked at the door again. He was attentive for it, this time, when the ground shivered beneath his feet. What was Loki doing down there?

He tested the handle. It didn't move.

He should have walked away, he knew. He told himself as much, looking at the door. And still, he turned the ring at his index, and a nanotech glove deployed on his whole hand. He paused, listening for any noise. When nothing came, he wrapped his hand around the handle again, and his tech had the latch unlocked by the time he twisted it.

The air inside the small house was cold; a window toward the back was open. Tony glanced around at the few furnitures, the bed in the corner, the workdesk. It all looked maniacally neat and undisturbed. And yet, there was a smell bothering him, like something stale.

So Loki didn't know how to cook. Big deal. Tony should probably leave before he got turned into a frog for coming in uninvited. What was keeping him from leaving?

“Loki?” He called. The name sounded weird on his tongue; he had never imagined he would address the bastard directly again. “You in here?”

Nothing. He walked a few steps in. There weren't any visible stairs going down. Maybe the entrance to the cellar was outside? Maybe Loki used magic to switch floors? He paused in front of the fireplace, his feet catching on a green wool carpet. The splash of color was a contrast with the sober, impersonal place. He folded the fabric in half with a kick and a grin of triumph spread over his face as he uncovered a trapdoor. Secret passages. Neat, Loki.

The trapdoor gave no resistance when he opened it. It was dark inside, but the smell was worse, and something immediately told him that he was no longer alone. His heart picked up the pace. The silence was unnerving.

“Loki?” He called once more. Nothing. “Tony Stark here. What are you plotting down there? I'm going to come down if you don't answer. Last chance. No?”

No word came. Well. Tony lit a small flashlight at the tip of his finger and pointed it down to a dirty stone floor, six or seven feet below. Not exactly a luxury basem*nt. He should have gone back to tell someone about this, his guts told him. But tell them what? That Loki's basem*nt was gross and the prince might or might not have been hiding in it to avoid him and his brother?

He took the ladder down, three, four, five steps. It was cold here, and the combined smell of something rotten and freezing rocks with the darkness woke unpleasant things inside of him, memories that he didn't like to go back to.

Time to get this over with. He put his back to the ladder, in case this was a practical joke and Loki was going to jump him, and looked around the room, pointing his torch to the darkness. The floor was dark with puddles of water. He found another fireplace, unlit, a bucket. Maybe this place was unused after all. Maybe the tremors had been water movements of some kind in the ground, and he had just been wrong.

A whisper of air; he sealed his lips shut to quiet his own breath. Seconds passed before the noise happened again. And at the same time, the flashlight's beam paused on the last corner of the small room, and Tony's heart stopped for a moment.

“What the f*ck.”

“Heimdall has found the culprits, he says. He sent out General Tyr to arrest them.”

“By Nidhogg. Do you know who they are?”

“He didn't tell me. Norns, the King will have all their heads for this-”

“And well he should- remember, not a word of this goes out.”

Tony heard the whispers of the healers without quite registering them. They were moving around the room quickly like ghosts, their feet making no noise as they hit the ground, probably so not to bother their colleague as she worked. Eir certainly looked like she didn't need the distractions. She was rushing from one side of the bed to the other, levitating strings of light that she looked at for unknown answers and giving instructions to Vör and another healer in quick, short sentences that Tony didn't understand either.

He just stared. He hadn't moved since he had crashed on the chair at the foot of the bed. He felt it was likely that the healers had completely forgotten he was there by now, and really, he felt like a ghost in the room himself.

On the bed, Loki was constantly trying to sit up, to push Eir's hands off of him. More than once, his gaze fell on Tony, and escaped him just as fast. His green eyes were wide, searching the room's every corner when he wasn't wordlessly glaring at the goddess like she should have understood what he was trying to tell her.

That was the thing, though. The reason why he hadn't answered Tony's calls, maybe.

In the bright lights of the infirmary, the sight of it was even more surreal and gross than it had been in the cellar. Thick black thread ran through Loki's lips in an irregular pattern of gore and scars, forcing his mouth so tightly shut that Eir had not been able to make him swallow a drop of painkiller yet. The prince's eyes were just starting to get used to the change in scenery, but his face and body were a nightmare for all to see in the light of day.

It was true that Thor would want to kill someone over this, but Tony expected his anger would be only a prelude to an even greater horror.

This was the sort of thing that people weren't supposed to do to other people. Even the healers, who made their job out of all the gross ways a body could misfunction, were pale and uneasy around him.

And Tony stared. He stared at Loki's arms, broken so violently they looked like they tree branches hanging by the torn bark. At Loki's chest and back, covered in so many burn marks that clear patches of skin looked like a connect-the-dots drawing. At his pale face, with traces of furious tears cleaned out in the dirt on his face and the blood on his chin.

He stared at the man he had carried bodily from a gross cellar to the infirmary, barely handling his weight, struggling even more with his wrecked noises of pain and what might have been attempts to push him away.

And he felt like a ghost, because no matter how long he looked at Loki, he felt nothing for the tortured man. No resentment, no fear, true. No empathy, no urge to help, either. As though this was all some twisted exercice for a hero in training. Find the victim, bring them to the healer. Mission complete. Like this was a dummy, covered in grime and wearing almost nothing and reeking of sour blood and piss.

This was a nightmare and something nobody on Earth or anywhere else in the f*cking universe should have gone through.

And Tony, who knew torture and knew pain and knew this man, felt nothing.

He was part of the secret of state that was Loki, now, and he stayed. Eir wanted him to swear to say nothing outside of the tent, for fear whoever had done this might want to try to finish the job. Heimdall wanted him not to speak of this to Thor yet, for fear of what the news might do to the King's mind.

What did Loki want? Who knew. The prince had furiously refused and fought off all attempt to inject him with any drugs, and there had been no way to make him swallow any potions. Still, hours after his rescue, the prince had finally dozed off to a fragile sleep. Eir had decided to let him rest as much as possible before she tried to cut the apparently enchanted thread from his mouth.

Tony sat in the infirmary, although he probably could, should have left. He tried to remember hating this man. He dug deep into what he had so fiercely avoided once; the memories of Coulson, and the pain that had come with his death; the wormhole, the nightmares and the portal closing behind him; his city, wrecked and desolate. Nothing came from it.

He tried to imagine how long Loki had been there, underground, nobody actually seeking him out while he was tortured half to death by citizens of his own realm. How brutal they must have been to subdue a man like him and sew his f*cking mouth shut. Had Loki screamed, or had he been silent? Had he begged them to stop until his voice had been taken from him?

Tony thought of the cave, and Afghanistan. He remembered his own pain. Loki's felt as distant and unreal as a movie character's in a film he would have seen as a kid.

Vör assisted Eir to exhaustion and went out for fresh air when the chief healer proclaimed they would wait for Loki to wake up to keep going. Tony followed her, not bothering to be discreet; and indeed, she glanced at him over her shoulder as she made it outside.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice exhausted and shaken still. The sudden, decided words surprised Tony.

“What for?”

“Bringing him in.”

“Breaking and entering, that's half of the heroic business,” he said, but it felt flat. She didn't pretend to laugh, either.

“I erased everything about Prince Loki from your mind, Mr. Stark. It was not a small thing to make yourself go to his aid.”

“It was the only thing to do,” Tony said. In Steve Rogers's mouth, it would have sounded brave and worthy, but it sounded sullen when he said it, and he winced. “You made me forget how much he freaked me out. What kind of sick f*ck would I be if I had left him there?”

“You must be a good man,” Vör said, and she did smile this time, albeit weakly. “That your instincts were stronger than my spell. I am glad. I am truly glad.”

“This isn't being a good man. This is being human. Or whatever. If I had just walked away, I would be as insane as the guys who did that to him.”

And as he said it, he could almost feel the anger rising: disgust for those unknown bastards, the need to know that they were arrested and kept from ever hurting someone like that again. But when he tried to reach for it, for the pity and compassion and need to help that should have been there as its twin, he found the same void as before. Nothing. Nothing for Loki.

That was wrong. That was so wrong. How could he feel nothing? Nothing for those green eyes, furious with pain and tears and fear, even for him? Nothing for a man who clearly needed help, a man who had been betrayed and tortured and whom nobody had seeked out? Nothing for an enemy turned ally who looked at him like that?

“Can you reverse the spell?” He heard his voice coming out of his mouth before he had chosen to speak. He looked at Vör. She frowned at him with concern, and hesitated. Too long. “Can you? Please?”

“I've never done it,” she said quietly. “I don't know that it should be done. You have buried this pain for a long time, Mr. Stark. You have forgotten how to bear it.”

“This is wrong,” he said, throat constricted. “I want it gone.”

“You wanted the memories gone, all those years ago,” Vör reminded him gently. “You have most likely saved Prince Loki's life, despite the spell, Mr. Stark. This is more than I would have expected.”

“I don't care! I'm not supposed -I don't want those feelings back, but I can't carry on with no feelings at all. I can't- I can't look at him and not know what I'm feeling.”

“Maybe you should think about it. Speak to the Lady Eir. You have done more than your duty. The King will be eternally grateful to you-”

“This isn't about Thor!” Tony interrupted, blood running hot. “It's not about duty or even about me doing the right thing because it's common sense enough that I didn't stop to think if I thought he deserved it -it's about looking at him and knowing there's something inside of me that's feeling for him, and not knowing if it's some sick joy that he got hurt, or compassion for what he went through or maybe, maybe questions because I realize I have no idea who he is.”

Vör looked at him, her tired eyes hesitant. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face, cursing quietly at the weight of his revealed fears.

“Please,” he said. “Will you reverse this spell?”

It was an endless pause, during which he feared both a yes and a no, before, at last, the healer gave a small, quiet nod.

The spell left more painfully than it had been cast. It felt like unnatural emptiness and something too heavy at the same time, like something dizzying that anchored him in place. The smell of herbal tea remained. He thanked Vör, bowed to her like the Aesirs did to show his gratitude. She didn't stay long. Eir, she said, was calling her. The prince was awake.

Tony didn't follow immediately. He remained outside, walking around the village as the sun moved through the sky. Slowly, a little at the time, he reached for memories, looked for anger. Rusty pain was pain still, a spicy, bitter sort of ache that felt poisonous as he touched it carefully again. Coulson. The wormhole. The fall. It was all there, like a dusty box pulled out from out of the attic.

He looked at the setting sun. He didn't dare to search further. Didn't want to risk corrupting something new with the old. There was only one way to know.

He headed toward the infirmary and knocked at the door. When he came in, the first thing he saw were those green, wary eyes.

He took a deep breath

“Hi, Loki. Remember me? It's Tony Stark.”

Chapter 6: Day 26 - Telepathy

Chapter Text

“Hi, Loki. Remember me? It's Tony Stark.”

Days- weeks- a while ago, Loki would have rolled his eyes at the sheer stupidity of asking a question to a man who couldn't speak. For a so-called genius, he would have thought, Stark was just as stupid as any other praised warrior.

Despite himself, he didn't roll his eyes now. He kept them trained on the mortal, looking at his empty hands, at his careful steps into the infirmary, and he forced himself to breath steadily through his nose.

Eir had stepped away, for a few minutes, she had said; curse her, for her cruelty or foolishness, to have left him alone after swearing she meant no harm.

He straightened up as much as he could, preferring the pain of movement to the vulnerability of lying down, waiting for what was coming. His arms had been reset, muscles and bones howling at the smallest amount of weight he put on them; his ribs and back protested like something stretching about to snap. He propped himself against the pillows and tried not to shake.

It wouldn't do to show weakness. Even so, the tiniest friction of fabric against his burned flesh made him want to hurl.

Stark came closer, steps controlled. Loki's memories of earlier were blurry in every way, the light of the sun and the terror of movement having mixed into something poisonous that took every thing away, but he remembered that the human had been frowning the whole time. His face was blank now, betraying nothing.

“They still didn't remove this from you, uh?” The mortal gestured to his lower face, making a grimace that twisted his own lower lips.

Maybe he thought he was being funny. Either way, it made Loki's mouth ache, like Stark's facial expression was likely to result in his own lips tearing up further than they already had.

“Do you... Understand what I'm saying? Or are you...” Stark moved his hand to the side of his head and shook it. “Do you recognise me?”

The possibility of pretending that he wasn't there mentally was actually appealing. Maybe if he did, the human would walk away and Eir, how he disliked her, would come back to his side and finally get those stitches out. If he just kept silent, maybe Stark would leave him alone and he would be himself again if another confrontration couldn't be avoided.

What cowardly thoughts.

Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. He tried hard for his face to convey disinterest and annoyance, even as Stark paused right next to his bed.

“Right, I guess I can't expect you to make one of your signature speeches now,” the mortal said. “Wait, so is the thread really that hard to cut, or have you been fighting Eir the whole time? I mean, I know it's got to hurt, but you'll definitely do better if she does her thing. Right, I guess you can't speak. Uh, nod for yes, shake for no, is it the thread then?”

He sounded so annoyingly stupid that Loki could almost think of him as being harmless. Yet he remembered a tower, all those years ago, and what a man who babbled like an imbecile had been capable of doing to stop a war.

And it took everything he had to look back at him, his eyes unable to focus on one thing his chest tight, and to give a small nod yes.

But he did it, and for that he sat a little bit straighter in his sickbed.

It was unnerving to look at Loki, probably even more so as the god stayed silent. Not that Tony could blame him for that. Really, it would have been hard to blame anything on him right now, looking the way he did.

Someone must have given him a sponge bath, because the grime and blood was gone. He had been given loose fitting pants and his face had been washed from gore and tears, but even so, Tony thought it actually made things sort of worse. Now there was no hoping that those bruises around Loki's eyes or the wounds around his lips were just dirt.

And his eyes, blown wide like he was still expecting aggression from any side of the room, at any moment. His gaze shifted around, barely stopping on Tony's face for a few seconds at a time. Yet when Loki nodded, it was with his darkened eyes on him. Tony made himself hold it, not sure if he did so only not to stare at his sewn lips.

It wasn't that it felt impolite, although it very probably was. It was also that Tony was trying to deal with one feeling at a time, and there were a lot.

“Right. Eir said the thread looked like it was magicked. It's funny, I always thought you were the biggest, baddest wizard in Asgard.”

Loki glanced at the door, then at Tony's hands, then at the ARK reactor in his chest, and, of course, said nothing. His lean body was tense and still, like that of a frightened rabbit, but his eyebrows had furrowed at his words.

So much for the evil alien. This Loki barely shared a resemblance with the one Tony had chased from his mind. There was a shadow of his proud stance in his tense shoulders, but it was the cold detachment in Loki's eyes, the feverish violence in his smile that had haunted Tony's nightmares all those years ago.

Had the men who had done this beaten it out of Loki? Smaller traumas turned men into shells of themselves, Tony knew that much, but something told him it wasn't it. Despite the evident tension in Loki's body, it felt like there were still edges to his pain. Tony didn't know how he even made sense of it, but there was something, something the removal of the spell had brought up, that made him weary still. This wasn't a man broken away from himself. Broken, sure, physically if nothing else, and that alone should have changed everything, but...

But Tony's heart hadn't stopped racing in his chest since he had entered the room.

It was like returning to a forgotten childhood home. Or catching a perfume long forgotten, that suddenly made the past come back to life. He had almost believed that he would feel nothing -that the many years since New York would have been enough to turn the page. But Vör had been right. He had gotten rid of the place inside of him where those feelings had once resided, and now that they were back, they took up all the room. It was like he was back in Mark VII, with the smell of fire and metal and danger.

Loki was frightened now. And despite everything, Tony found he still was, too, even as he looked at the tortured man. It wasn't that he didn't feel for him, didn't want to fix this somehow. It was that, at the very same time, he wanted to chain Loki up and beat him up himself for good measure, to make sure he really wasn't posing a threat anymore.

Once, in college, he had mixed anti-anxiety medication with an inhuman amount of RedBull, and the result had been hours of apathetic panic so powerful he had ended up at the nurse's office, persuaded he was going to die of a heart attack at age sixteen. It fell now as though his own body was producing a similarly violent mix of empathy and terror toward the same man.

Maybe Vör had been right about this being a bad idea, too.

“I wouldn't worry,” he said. “Eir clearly knows her sh*t. I'm sure she'll get this thing off of you in no time.”

No answer -obviously. Tony was probably being all kind of insensible, talking to Loki while he was like this, but it was the best he could do, while he felt the urge to remind Loki that he was going to kick his ass if he tried anything funny.

“Well,” he said, and clapped his hands together, and felt simultaneous guilt and sick satisfaction when Loki flinched. It was time to get out of here, before he said or did something he would regret. “I'll see you later.”

Heimdall, Eir, the General Tyr and the Valkyrie that served as Thor's advisor held an emergency council later that day, in which Tony was exceptionally authorised to give his opinion. The Asgardians wanted to keep Loki's situation a secret from Thor until the king was at least capable of getting out of bed, for fear of what the shock of what had happened to his brother would do to his recovery.

“No objection here,” Tony agreed. “And what about Loki?”

“I will tend to him,” Eir said. “When he is better, he will be able to confirm the identity of the perpetrators.”

“Until then,” Valkyrie said, somberly, “the men Heimdall suspects will remain in prison. We don't need word of this to get out.”

“Loki's status is already uncertain,” Tyr said with a nod. He was a tall man with dark hair and an impressive beard who looked like he could have thrown Tony across a football field if he had felt like it. Right now, he mostly looked like he wanted to have some ibuprofen and a night of sleep. “If this comes up while King Thor is out of it, there will be some to publicly voice their approval for these actions.”

“So until Thor is better,” Tony summarised, “you're hiding him in the infirmary, but away from Thor's room. What if he wants to kill those guys himself when he's better?”

“We will face Loki's anger when it comes,” Heimdall said, looking just as calm as always. “For now, Thor's recovery, and his, take precedence. Mr. Stark, your help has been invaluable, especially toward an old enemy. Asgard owes you her thanks.”

“No big deal,” Tony said uncomfortably. “Anyway, how are we doing with the magic thread? I was thinking about a little something I got back at home that could maybe cut it, if all else fails. I could bring it back, if you want,” he offered to Eir. It was almost easy to act normal, with Loki out of sight, even though his stomach was still knotted in anger and anxiety. It didn't look like anyone here suspected a thing.

“I am hopeful that my spells will free our prince from his predicament,” the goddess said, “but I am not so proud as to refuse another chance at his speedy recovery. I would appreciate it, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure thing. I'll bunk over and have one of the Avengers send it to me. We'll be done with this in no time,” he smiled.

Maybe once Loki was fine and healthy, he would be able to go back to pretending he didn't exist, magic or not.

The miniaturized diamond saw blade Tony brought didn't even weaken the thread that held Loki's mouth shut. Even though it had been Eir who had handled it, carefully, to her patients' lips, Tony had the impression that Loki glared at him reproachfully when it failed.

“Norns,” the goddess said, and her face betrayed growing despair until she shook herself up, and forced a tight smile up as she put her hand on Loki's face. “It is all good, my Prince. We will find the way to fix this.”

But Tony didn't need to be trained in the art of Asgardian magical healing to know that things were not so simple. Eir had been trying for a little less than five days now, and each new attempt made things feel more desperate.

The rest of Loki's injuries had been treated as best as the healers could. The torturers had been thorough and exceptionnally cruel: they had been attentive to creating a pattern of burns over Loki's back and abdomen, and even on his sides and broken ribs, as if to make sure that not a single resting position could allow the prince any reprieve. Loki rarely ever winced and, since his first day in the infirmary, Tony had not even heard a whimper out of him, but his healing was slow and painful to watch.

His limbs were still held with rough bandages, limitating any movements as the bones slowly mended themselves. Healers had to help him move to change his bandages and tried to persuade him not to sit up by himself, though fruitlessly. Loki stubbornly and stupidly hauled himseslf up every time Tony visited, and Tony, being no doubt stubborn and stupid too, visited everyday.

Loki gave a huff and looked away from Eir, evidently not believing her promise any more than Tony did. The goddess pressed her lips together, but, perhaps feeling she would only worsen the situation, stepped away.

“I have contacted an old student of mine from Nidavellir, and she has been sending me an enchanted blade,” she said instead, putting the miniature saw down and washing her hands. “This is likely to help, wouldn't you think?”

Loki didn't bother to nod or shake his head, only just doing the effort of looking at Eir until the disheartened goddess excused herself. She was not doing a bad job pretending, but Tony thought that she was taking it as a personal insult to be unable to heal her prince.

Their only progress had been in the form of a straw, so very thin it could be slipped between his lips to allow him to drink. Eir had given him potions and broth this way, but even then, the stitches were so tight that Loki couldn't handle the presence of the straw for more than a minute. The prince was visibly wasting away as time passed, his face seeming more tired and gaunt with each new day, making it all the more urgent to find a solution. How could Loki hope to recover if he could hardly even drink enough water not to kill himself with dehydratation?

Not helping was of course the fact that Loki still couldn't communicate with them. His mangled fingers had been set back in place, but remained too fragile to hold a pen, let alone use it to write something.

Tony had been there for all those attempts -the potions and the straw and the pen. He had been there every day, in fact, sometimes for hours at a time. He could tell through Loki's eyes that it was driving him insane. He thought it would be a small comfort for the god to know that he was feeling the same.

Every day, when he came in the infirmary, the sight of Loki made him want to call for his armor. Every day, he felt himself more desperate to find a way to fix the prince up and stop the pain that was obviously keeping him awake.

“You will warn me if anything comes up?” Eir asked, and Tony nodded. The goddess had grown used to his presence, and she didn't seem to question it. Maybe she thought Tony was just being a good hero, seeing the recovery of his rescued enemy through. She hadn't said a word to him about the spell, which made him think Vör had kept their exchange a secret.

Eir left, and it was just the two of them again. Loki looked at Tony. He no longer looked as fidgety and overstimulated as he had on the first day, but he still looked suspicious, and unhappy about his presence. Maybe he would have liked to be alone to drop the act and carry on with his escape plan.

“I've been running some maths,” Tony said. “Thor started complaining about missing you a little over three weeks ago. Have you been locked in your own basem*nt that whole time, or was it just you ignoring him?”

He didn't expect an answer, obviously. It wasn't like he came to Loki's room, day after day, hoping the ex-villain would suddenly start nodding yes or no to finally provide some answers. Mostly, talking made Tony feel like he wasn't freaking out so much. It interrupted the spiraling of his thoughts into paranoid theories.

Of course, he could have just gone home, and tried to forget about Loki altogether. It was like Vör had said: he had done more than his duty toward the guy.

And yet, he was still here.

“I've been asking Tyr about those guys. He seems to think that they might not be the only one in Asgard who might have wanted to beat you up, but they must have been pretty confident about themselves to try. He says you're not the type to lose a dirty fight, even if you're outnumbered. But I guess they had that thread to sew your lips with, so they were prepared.”

Will you spend the whole day stating the obvious, today too?

“That kind of concerns him, too. He thinks...” Tony paused. What had that thought in his head been, just now? He hadn't been thinking that. He shook his head slightly. “He thinks maybe they had an ally who knows your magic. But he hasn't gotten a name out of them.”

Nor will they.

This time, Tony froze. The thought hadn't been his. He looked up at Loki, and the god's chin was tilted up slightly. He looked both tense and... Provocative? No. Not quite. But it was clear he knew what had just happened.

“Did you just do that?” Tony asked. He had had an upset stomach to start the day, but now his guts twisted with horror. Was Loki in his head? Was Loki reading his thoughts? Had he been reading his thoughts all along? “Did you just f*cking speak in my mind?”

I did. Will it make you go away?

He fell back against the back of his seat, feeling his throat constrict. Loki was talking. He was alone with Loki and it turned out Loki had been able to talk all along, and now Loki was sneaking into his head, probably trying to brainwash him again, more viciously than at the time of the invasion. Suddenly, he pushed himself out of the chair, urging himself to get out while he still could. Another foreign thought in his mind froze him in place.

What is it? Are you finally done speaking to say nothing?

“What the f*ck is this,” Tony breathed out. “Have -have you orchestrated the whole thing? Are you even hurt at all?”

Why in the Nine Worlds would I have done this to myself?

It was so weird -it wasn't Loki's voice in his mind, it was -a thought, going through his head as though it was his own. Tony could almost have persuaded himself that he was talking to himself, if not for the way Loki was looking at him, eyes slightly narrowed. For the first time, Tony was convinced he was the most scared person in the room.

“I brought you here,” he pointed out, without fully knowing why he did. It wasn't like him to ask for mercy. It wasn't like him to face once-villains, broken beyond recognition by torture, talking inside his own mind, either. “I found you, even though nobody was looking for you.”

Loki's face tensed. Tony had seen it before, several times, when he thought out loud and said something that clearly struck a chord.

Is that why you are here? To demand my gratitude?

“I didn't know you could talk, so, no. I wasn't expecting a thank you.” He needed to get out of here. “Why haven't you told Eir you can speak like this? She's been driving herself mad trying to get you a way to share your thoughts. Are you messing with her for fun?”

I don't know how to cut this thread. I have nothing to say that can help her.

“And you just decided to shut up for that?”

Loki didn't reply. His eyes were almost free of their bruises, but they were dark with lack of sleep. Loki looked half-mad, even as he just sat there, motionless and -to anyone looking- perfectly silent.

Tony couldn't do it. He stepped out of the building, and shut the door roughly behind himself, half expecting Loki to suddenly immobilize him with his magic or to yell at him to stop in his mind. Nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he fell to his knees, unable to breath, feeling like his heart was going to burst.

He should have just gone home after that and tell anyone who asked that he didn't want to hear about Loki ever again. He told himself as much and almost left New Asgard several times. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because once his panic had settled, the fear inside of him hadn't been able to deny the obvious: Loki, despite his obvious power, had not actually tried to hurt him. And his words, his questions, when he paused to remember them, had not even been aggressive. He had wanted Tony gone, sure. But everything else he had said...

Why would I have done this to myself?

Loki was finally speaking. Why had Tony stayed, so stubbornly, if not for this moment?

Stark came back. Of course he did.

Loki half expected him to do so with his armor, or maybe some of his colorful teammates. In the hours after the human had departed, alone in the infirmary, he had had all the time to tell himself that his little demonstration was going to get him in another jail, chained by other men who thought he didn't deserve freedom or mercy.

Hadn't Stark, after all, spent days at his side, talking about Loki's past crimes? Discussing his latest tortures as a mildly interesting topic, like Loki's skin wasn't burning every instant of the day, like he wasn't unable to sleep because he kept expecting to be attacked in his sleep again? Why then wouldn't he take this small sign of power and aggression as the proof that the villain hadn't been tortured out of him yet?

When Stark came back, he made himself sit up, as he had every day. His broken ribs screamed in pain, his weakened arms shook under his weight. Maybe playing broken would have sent the man away, all these days ago.

But he hadn't played the part then, and it was too late now.

“'Morning, Deanna Troi,” the human said. “Slept well?”

You didn't have to come back, Loki projected his way, like he was mildly annoyed, and not, against all his efforts, scared.

“And yet here I am,” Stark pointed out, sitting in his usual spot and leaning over, joining his hands between his knees. “So, I figured we might finally have an actual talk today. You up for it?”

I am not. Not that he expected Stark would actually leave him alone that easily. He didn't, either.

“I realize that we... Started things off the wrong foot. Yeah? I mean, arguably, you started things off the wrong foot. You know. Attacking my planet, all those years ago? But, I guess you've done some redeeming stuff since then.”

Redeeming stuff. Loki might have laughed, just to hide how much this felt like a cruel slap, if not for the fact that he couldn't do it. He had actually considered trying to force his mouth open and tearing the flesh around the stitches to finally be free of this, but he had found out that he would only cause himself more damage, without managing to pull the damn things out.

Betraying Thanos. He supposed it was some redeeming stuff. For some, it was not even that. Probably for Stark, it wasn't.

What is your goal, Stark? For me to kneel to your feet in gratitude for saving my life, or in apologies for my past deeds?

“I don't think you're in shape to be doing any kneeling,” Stark pointed out. “Let me finish. I mean that -I haven't exactly been at my best super-hero self this week either. I know that you've had no proof to think otherwise, but I'm not usually -I don't usually just work with dick jokes and poking at people's wounds. I guess you haven't been seeing the best of me.”

Well, probably not. Loki had been told more than once that he brought out the worst of those around him. Surely it would be the general conclusion about those who had tortured him in the dark for hours and days. They just couldn't have helped themselves. It was what you did, under the sick influence of Jötnar and traitors and cowards who deserved no less, you deserve no less, you deserve this, you deserve this to last, you monster, you can play your fancy tricks all you like, when have they ever been more powerful than a real man's sword, there's no need for sword, I'm sure I can make you dance with just this-

“...ki, what the f*ck? Loki, woah, stop that!”

He snapped back to the present with a movement so sudden it made one of his ribs pop, back into or out of place, he didn't know. His breath came out wrecked and shocked, and he forced himself to control it before he could choke himself and make things worse-

“Loki? Hey, hey, talk to me! You can still talk to me, right?”

It wasn't that this was the first time Stark's words, and his own bitter thoughts with them, had brought back the memories, and with them, those paralysing moments of fear and pain. Only, he had never been projecting his thoughts before, and now this -this...

What, he forced himself to think, one word at a time, do you want, Stark?

The human was staring at him, again. Those same large brown eyes that had kept looking at him, endlessly, during those long last few days.

“I'm saying,” Stark said, and it felt like he, too, was being careful. Almost like he needed an effort to remain calm, too. “That I've been kind of an asshole. So have you, I guess, but that's... That's not the point. You've been hurt really bad, and I want to help. We saved the world together. I think that deserves to start over.”

You owe me no help, Loki pointed out, unsure what the human was getting at. Nor do I have to listen to you.

“I disagree.” Stark paused, and spread his hands awkwardly to the sides. “I mean, you're kinda stuck here. I can talk all I want. We established that already. What I'm saying is, maybe I should be talking of some other things. I'm starting to realize that I'm not the only one who never bothered to ask you questions. Maybe it's time someone does.”

I will not be interrogated, Loki stated.

“No. But maybe I can listen to you, for a change,” Stark offered, and there was no hint of mockery or bite to his words. Not this time. “If you're game. Like I said -I haven't been the best of myself lately. You don't have a lot to do in here, until you're doing better. How about... Making a friend?”

He said the last few words more quietly. Almost reluctantly. With another man, it might not have been enough to persuade him that it was sincere, except while Stark had been talking, Loki had been listening. And he had come to notice that, like himself, Stark spoke the loudest when he doubted what he was saying.

You are mad, he pushed the words in Stark's open mind. I do not sell my trust for so cheap a performance.

“Then I guess I'll need to be really good to convince you. Hey, let's start with an easy topic. Tell me what you're most looking forward to doing when you can get out of this bed again.”

Escape your presence.

“I walked right into that one,” Stark snorted. “Fine, after that, then. Bath? Food? Mine would be a cheeseburger.”

I do not even know what that is.

“Then it's good I'm here to do your education.”

Chapter 7: Alt. 2 - Removing a Curse

Chapter Text

Tony had been staying in New Asgard for a little over two weeks when, finally, there was some progress.

It wasn't the victory he had been looking forward to: days and days passed, and he was starting to believe that Loki's mouth would remain sewn shut for the rest of his life. No, the good news was elsewhere, and even though it didn't fix everything, far from it, it was a deep relief.

Thor was out of bed for the first time since Thanos' death.

The healers had given up their hopes of saving Thor's arm from the magical infection that had crawled into it from the stones' power. It had been a difficult choice, all the more with Thor barely able to understand what was about to be done, but Eir had finally made the call to amputate the prince of his left arm completely. Tony had assured her that he would replace the missing limb with the best prosthesis the world had ever seen, but nobody had been fully at peace with the decision.

Not until now, with Thor finally standing, looking healthier and more alert than he had in weeks.

“You're looking good, big guy,” was the first thing Tony told him when he rushed into the room, alerted by an apprentice healer who had been practically bouncing with excitation. “How are you feeling?”

Thor turned to face him. His face, which had been tired and ashen for week, had finally regained some color. His blue eyes were finally awake, no longer struggling to stay awake. According to the healer who had found Tony, he had been up for a little over an hour, too, which was a new record. But even more than that, what did it for Tony was his grin. The King of Asgard looked like he was rediscovering the world.

“Awake,” he replied, and smiled at Tony. “And lighter.”

He turned, revealing the empty sleeve that hung from his shoulder, and met Tony's eyes, as if to evaluate his reaction.

“I'm sorry it had to be done, Thor,” he told him sincerely. “Is it... Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” his friend answered him, sounding more at peace than Tony would have expected, especially so soon. “It is strange, I will not lie to you. But I can feel that it was the right thing to do. The magic of the stones would have fought me until I had died, if it had remained.”

That was a chilling thought. Tony silently praised Eir for making the tough call.

“Hey, anyway, I can make you a new one,” he said. “I got up to date with the best prosthesis concepts when Rhodey's legs got injured by Thanos, remember? And the guys in Wakanda have literally 3D-printed an arm for Barnes, so together, we can make you feel like a brand new God.”

“I appreciate your help, my friend,” Thor smiled, and reached out with his right, still-there arm to squeeze Tony's shoulder. “And perhaps in time I will ask for it. But at the moment, I find that I would like to face the world as the battle has left me.”

“That's your call,” Tony said and gave him a smile. “I'm just glad to have you back, Thor.”

The King wasn't allowed to leave the infirmary yet, Eir wanting to monitor him to be absolutely sure that he was out of danger, both from the Stones' aftereffects and from the amputation. Tony understood it was also, at least partially, to give him some more time before letting him know of his brother's situation. For now, Thor was authorized to walk outside and around the village with the company of either Tony or a healer, but Eir made it clear he couldn't visit the rest of the infirmary, supposedly to avoid any interaction between the medicines he took and the ones around the rest of the building.

Thor might not have suspected a thing, but he was quick enough to ask about where his brother was. He did so that same evening, sitting at a small table which had been installed next to his bed with extra chairs to allow Heimdall and Tony to dine with him. The Guardian had been putting Thor up to date on what had been done in his absence, and he paused at the question.

“You know how your brother is, Thor,” he said, his deep, warm voice so confident and soothing at the same time that Tony almost fell for the lie that followed. “He has been keeping to himself, staying in his house and shielding himself from my eyes, since you got here.”

“Have you told him I wished to see him?” Thor asked. He tried to sound casual about it, but he had always been a bad liar: it was obvious how disappointed he was.

“I think he wanted to wait until you were better,” Tony offered. “I don't pretend to understand him, but he's your brother. I guess he would be upset to see you in bad shape, right?”

It was a logical enough argument, even though it was clearly unsatisfying. Thor accepted it with an unconvinced smile and moved on to asking about the progress in the construction of a new temple.

And Tony kept his lie own lie for himself, because he thought he was, in fact, starting to know Loki.

The wounded prince's defenses had chipped away day after day. Tony might have felt bad about coercing Loki into talking to him, if not for the fact that, everyday, he got the impression that Loki looked a little better, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, after they were done talking. Or -exchanging, he supposed.

It didn't help, though, that even now, two weeks after Tony had found him beaten and burnt half to death in his own basem*nt, they still couldn't get him rid of the cursed thread that kept his mouth brutally shut.

It had taken two days for Loki to finally talk about it. The first thing he had admitted was how long the damned thing had been on. Eir, whom Tony had kept in the dark about Loki's telepathic skills as a show of good will, had expressed her growing concern at Loki's state of denutrition and dehydration. Although Loki had barely given her a small, shoulders popped from their socket kind of shrug, he had allowed Tony to hear his thought:

She worries uselessly. Long as I can get a few sips of water a day, it is not as though death would take me.

“You seem pretty sure about that,” Tony had remarked when they had been left alone.

Æsirs can endure hunger for months, even years before starvation takes them. I expect Jötnar are even harder to kill. A month without food is not exactly going to end my existence.

It sounded like a pretty self-depreciating way to celebrate one's continued survival, but Tony had quickly come to find that Loki's brain was filled with dark places that only needed the smallest prompting to start taking over the course of his thoughts.

That first time hadn't been for dramatic effect, or an attempt to get Tony away. It had happened again and again, flashes of the prince's aggression; his body tensing, his eyes cast down, cruel and evil words bleeding from his brain directly into Tony's. No artifice, no convenient lies -just his inner monologue, plugged in for him to hear. He could imagine why it had taken this long for Loki to decide on using telepathy.

A month without being able to talk or eat or drink sounded dreadful enough to turn someone crazy. And yet Tony had caught enough glimpses of Loki's inner thoughts to be pretty sure now that it hadn't been the prince's first turn with torture; only the most recent one, made all the worse because it had happened at the hands of what should have been his own people.

Loki had said it clearly enough -deliberately, this time- that he was not of Asgard. He had pushed the statement toward Tony carelessly, almost disdainfully reminding him that he was a Jötun, some kind of ice creatures that were both Asgard's old neighbors and, apparently, their boogeymen. Talk about education giving someone a healthy perspective of themselves.

Tony was steadily gaining the impression that Loki's life, and the last dozen years of it, had been crappy enough to turn a relatively sane man into a psycho. It was hard not to feel for a man who had obviously gone from bad influences to bad choices to bad luck in a vicious circle.

And yet.

Everytime he walked into Loki's room, Loki stiffened, and barely answered him, like he regretted having spoken to him at all on the previous day. It took time -sometimes hours- before he relaxed, little by little, and started interrupting Tony's monologue with answers of his own.

Everytime he walked into Loki's room, Tony felt like turning back, alerting SHIELD, getting Loki in a cage where he wouldn't be a danger to anyone. He felt like his heart was going to fail him, drumming a furious beat in anticipation of whatever nasty trick the villain would do next.

Late at night, when Loki was out of sight, Tony was starting to wonder if the removal of the spell had somehow split him in two different men, forced to coexist in a single body. As sleep eluded him, his stomach churned at the thoughts of whatever Loki was plotting now, having tricked the healers into thinking him harmless; as sleep eluded him, his heart sank for the god as he squeezed his lips together and tried to imagine how Loki could endure the frustration of silence. And when, every morning, he joined Loki in his room, he found his anger and his empathy flaring up, dizzying with the strength of their differences.

It was exhausting. He wanted Loki healed and protected. He wanted him hurt and under control. And neither feeling could take over the other one.

So he kept coming everyday, and everyday he navigated the urge to provoke Loki and the urge to tell him how sorry he was by -being an idiot, he supposed.

“Your big bro is awake,” he said on that day, when he left Thor's side and sneaked into Loki's room. He sat in his usual chair, taking a swig from his coffee. “Eir will probably tell him about you any day now.”

Loki didn't need to ask what he was talking about. He knew they had kept the secret, just like he knew Thor had asked after him. What he felt about those things, Tony didn't quite know, other than that Loki had called Thor an oaf several times.

I'm certain that his reaction will be worth all of our times, he replied flatly, not bothering to look at Tony. A little less stiff than usual, the engineer noticed.

“Sure. You're hoping he'll murder our sad*sts friends on the spot?”

Wrong approach. The prince ignored him, turning his attention to a fascinating piece of the ceiling. Tony drank his coffee, quiet for a moment. It was amazing, how Loki's immobility and his guarded, neutral expression could make him so nervous and so sad simultaneously.

“I really wanted to have this thread cut before Thor got to see you,” he started again, after a few minutes of silence. “Still no idea what's holding us back?”

After admitting to how long the mutilation had been going on, Loki had eventually admitted that the thread was, as Eir suspected, cursed. He expected that no blade, no matter how enchanted or how sharp, would make a difference, although he allowed the head healer to try every new tool she brought to the infirmary. Tony wondered if he did so to indulge her, or because he secretly hoped he was wrong.

Loki didn't reply. Tony wasn't fazed. It had been unusual to get anything out of him so quickly, anyway. Sometimes, when Loki looked in control, he would go hours without saying a word, like the telepathy had never happened. Other times, when he proded too much, he found that Loki's reactions filtered through the prince's obvious efforts to keep them to himself.

“Anyway, Thor. He's up. The surgery went well, there's no sign of infection or any nerve damage. He seems to be taking it like a champ, too. Considering the whole warrior culture thing, I was worried he wouldn't take well to losing an arm. You were the one who said that having your hair or your beard cut was a great disgrace to your people, right? Do you think he's more chill about it because it happened in battle?”

It wasn't unusual for him to have a one-sided conversation with Loki. When the prince refused to answer him, he talked about anything: some of his projects, life in New Asgard, Thanos. Sometimes Loki didn't so much as look at him once. Sometimes, he reacted -like he did just now.

It was subtle enough that Tony didn't notice it immediately. Loki usually stiffened visibly, and his eyes went from the door to Tony like he was expecting physical violence and hoped for someone to interrupt. Tony had never lifted a hand on him, of course. It didn't make it feel any better when he felt some sick relief at the reluctant, obvious signs of fear. This time was different, though. Loki's fingers closed into fists, then unfolded with a deliberate efforts. When Tony paused and studied him, he found the prince's forehead slightly shiny with perspiration.

What was upsetting Loki now?

“I can replace his arm with my tech, actually. He doesn't want me to, not right now, but...” No reaction. “Anyway, delivering the final blow in a fight to save the whole universe is probably the best ever reason for an ugly scar.” He thought he saw Loki's jaws clenching slightly. He wanted to probe about it. Was it about Thanos? Or was Loki thinking of his own new set of scars, and the reasons he had them? “I guess a whole life of super-heroing hasn't left me a lot of impressive scars of my own. That's almost disappointing.”

Your life is short, Loki replied, without looking at him.

Uh. So he wasn't as stubborn today.

“Compared to yours, I guess.” He co*cked his head to the side. “Anyway, I thought you should know that Thor would be coming soon, and all. Wouldn't want you to make a hurtful comment because the sudden lack of arm surprises you. I guess you would want to make a hurtful comment on purpose.”

I want Thor to try to cut the thread.

Tony paused. It was even more unusual for Loki to actually engage and make a statement of his own rather than to just answer his own remarks flatly. Intriguing.

“You think he can do better than Eir? Why? I don't think this is about brute strength.”

It's not.

“So why? Is it the curse? Do you think there's a... An off-switch if the blade is held by, what, someone of your family?” Loki was quiet. “Anyway, why are you telling me this? You want me to tell Thor? He'll have to know that you've been talking to me in my mind for over a week.”

Do you fear his reaction? It was Loki's turn to co*ck his head to the side.

Maybe. Tony held back a grimace. Though Loki himself had apparently decided not to let anyone else know of his telepathic abilities, it was true that Tony had chosen to keep it to himself, and he couldn't really explain it without admitting to the spell, and his double feelings. Part of him wanted everyone to know, so that the blame would be rightly served if Loki tried to take over his mind; part of him wanted to keep the secret, in case others imagined that Loki's weakened communication was of some vicious intent.

He didn't know what it said about him that the latter had been winning so far.

“Maybe you should. I don't know if you've managed to forget it, but you don't have a great record with creating mental connections with the Avengers. Can't testify at your bullies' trial if you're in jail yourself, can you?”

I will not need you to ask my brother this favor, Loki said. I do not need you at all, in case you managed to forget it.

“It's true that you didn't,” Tony agreed.

The prince eyed him warily, waiting for the rest of the statement. Tony didn't have anything to add. He detailed Loki's stance, his sunken eyes, his gaunt face. Maybe he wasn't close to death yet, but he was looking worse every day.

Tony hoped he was right. He hoped brotherly love would be the magical key to unlock the spell.

“You know, I noticed even during the attack,” he found himself saying abruptly. “You look the most dangerous when you're in bad shape.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. He thought it looked more intrigued than angry, for once.

“In New York. You looked gross. Sweaty and greasy and like you hadn't slept in a month. It really made the maniac murderer look come together. When you fought Thanos with us, you looked more sane. It was almost a surprise to see you could still kill Outriders by the dozen when you didn't look insane.”

I sometimes cannot tell if you are trying to insult or cajole me.

“Yeah, it's hard to know the difference, I'll give you that. But I'm just... Making a statement right now. You're not someone easy to beat down, do you? You'll bring a knife to a fistfight, take a solid beating, and then destroy the other guy.”

Is that the best analysis you've made of my battle strategies?

“It's my best analysis of you,” Tony recognised with a sharp smile. “No offense, Reindeer Games, but you've thrown a nice share of private memories at me.”

Loki turned his eyes away from him, seemingly uncomfortable. Tony could understand. He hadn't exactly been feeling good, either, when the prince had accidentally shared echoes of the past with him.

Maybe if the Avengers had been able to know back then -able to ask and get an answer -maybe New York wouldn't have been attacked. Maybe they could have taken Loki in and gotten him a shower and a therapist and a chance to lick his wounds instead of being thrown from torture to battle to imprisonment.

Maybe Tony wouldn't hate him so now, remembering Loki's vicious, heartless smile as he had tried to make him fight his own team. Remembering Clint's nightmares and Coulson's cards and the too heavy death toll.

Tony might be torn between empathy and revenge, but Loki? Loki was both a monster and a victim.

And it was true that he looked most terrifying when he was torn to pieces. But maybe that was just Tony's double-edged feelings talking.

Heimdall tried to prepare Thor for the sight of Loki. Eir had been there too, to make the briefing as accurate as possible while still keeping her descriptions of Loki's injuries to a minimum.

It didn't help. The King, so glad at first to be told Loki was in the next room, went into a white, blind, hot fury, and citizens of New Asgard had to seek shelter hurriedly as a thunderstorm to rival hurricanes rolled down the valley.

“Who told you to keep the truth from me?!” Thor roared, his one hand clenching into a furious fist.

“It was our common decision, my King,” Heimdall said steadily, appearing unthreatened by Thor's rage, which was quite the feat. “Your recovery took precedence over all other-”

“My brother could have died!” Thor slammed his fist against the table. “It was not your place to keep me from him! And now you tell me he has been here, all this time, and you haven't even managed to free him from this?!”

“We have not stopped trying, my King,” Eir murmured, her eyes cast down. “He had been steadily getting better. It is only his lips...”

“Let me see him. Now.”

If Tony had expected a tearful reunion between both brothers, after they had both cheated death, he had been close enough to the truth; only, Thor's eye filled with tears of rage and pain as Loki stiffened and straightened up at the sight of them passing through the door.

“Oh, Loki,” Thor spoke, his voice hoarse and pained, before he gritted his teeth. “Somebody give me a blade, now!”

“My King, we have tried many blades yet,” Eir argued, seemingly worried about a layperson poking at wounds she was struggling everyday to keep from infection. “I understand your rage, but you must believe that-”

“You will do your brother no good by trying to help him with your anger, Thor,” Heimdall finished, voice authoritative -and the use of the king's name was certainly meant to enforce that effect.

Loki's eyes, widened and dark, went from one of them to the next. Tony noticed his hands were clenched in his lap, and despite his obvious anxiety, his gaze stopped more than once on the stump of Thor's arm.

Just do it, Thor. Free me. Only you can do it. Please.

Tony swallowed his saliva. He glanced at Thor, but it didn't look like he had heard anything. He didn't stop arguing, and neither did Eir, reasonable and gentle, nor Heimdall, stern and patient. Loki's gaze met his, and Tony wondered if the prince had messed up, or if the others had failed to hear him. Either way, the desperation he had heard in his words...

“I think Thor should try,” he called, voice rising over the others'. “Worse comes to worse, we make no progress. We've been running out of ideas anyway.”

“We have not!” Eir seemed offended for the first time since Tony knew her. “This is not so simple! This could worsen the situation-”

“What do you think, Loki?” Tony asked out loud. “This is about you. Should Thor do it?”

There was a sudden silence, perhaps as the three others realized they had forgotten to ask Loki at all. The prince's shoulders were hunched, his body tensed. Tony heard shadows of his thoughts; fear, he realized, at being in a small room with so many people; rage, also, at being so weak, weak, weak, get this over with, give me my voice back, it's all I have, please, Thor-

Loki nodded decidedly. Heimdall's face was unreadable, and Eir's arms fell in irritated defeat.

“A blade,” Thor demanded, eyebrows furrowed.

Eir provided one with obvious reluctance, a small pair of golden-bladed scissors that seemed too delicate for Thor's one hand. Tony bit his lips in realizing that his friend was only just getting used to doing things with only one hand and wouldn't be able to put his other hand to Loki's shoulder for leverage. He glanced at the prince. Loki's face was unreadable, and his thoughts a storm of anger and despair.

“You can hold on to me, brother,” Thor said, voice tensed, as he sat on the edge of the bed and raised the scissors up. “Are you ready? I'm going to try now.”

Loki didn't hold to him, but Thor did try. Tony held his breath as the scissors clamped down, pinching the thread. The blades made a metallic sound as they gnawed at the first stitch. Tony had studied Loki's face enough in the last weeks to recognise the pain he kept quiet as the thread pulled and twitched with no result. Thor's breath caught, and he moved to another stitch. Then another.

“That's enough,” Eir called. “This is not working.”

“Let me try, Eir,” Thor ordered, but his anger was turning to distress. “What is this stupid thread? Bring me a sharper blade.”

Tony said nothing. Standing a few steps back, close to Heimdall, he stared, and he felt as though a snake was writhing around his stomach. Loki's eyes were closed and his hands stiffly held flat in his lap.

And only Tony seemed to hear the desperate cries in his mind.

Why? Why?! No, Norns, no. If not Thor, nobody. I cannot be like this forever! Useless, defenseless- they should have killed me. If this is it, then better death! Why won't it be cut? Why not Thor?

Heimdall and Eir talked Thor away from his brother. With hushed voices, they explained how the sharpest blades had been useless against the stitches. And as Thor's anger grew and turned toward whoever had done this, Tony remained, still, hearing Loki's growing despair.

It was after sundown when Tony found himself alone with Loki again. Heimdall had not so subtly encouraged him to leave, but he had stubbornly waited for them all to leave, one at a time. Thor wanted to break every bones in the bodies of his brother's torturers to get a solution out of them, and it had taken pretty much everyone to hold him back.

Tony should maybe have been with his friend, trying to calm him down. Thor had been so hopeful that things would go well, this very morning; he certainly could have used a friend by his side.

Tony had never been very good at comforting people.

Which probably made it all the more stupid for him to be here.

I want to be alone, Stark, Loki told him as soon as he entered the room. The prince was lying down, the room lit by candle looking deceivingly peaceful. His eyes were shut. Had he guessed Tony would come, or did he recognise him with his telepathy?

“You always want to be alone,” Tony remarked softly.

Moreso than usual today. Loki sounded calm enough. It almost felt like his earlier despair had never happened. And yet, he ruined the casual effect by adding, very softly: Please, Stark, go away.

“Why did you think Thor could do it?”

Leave me.

“I'm not trying to be an asshole. I'm probably the smartest man you'll find on Earth. I want to figure it out.”

Why? Loki did open his eyes, but he didn't look at him. His face was twisted with disgust and dismay. You seem convinced enough that I deserve to stay like this. Unless you want to make sure I cannot free myself?

“That's not it. I'm not that kind of man,” Tony argued, and then made a small grimace, his lips pinched together.

He had heard Loki thinking that he couldn't cry, earlier -not without clogging his nose and being unable to breath and making things worse. And he had thought, good. Good, if the bad guy is so weakened that his ambition is not to cry. Good, if he's not plotting to take over the world. Let him be miserable, let the world be safe.

Then he had thought, f*ck you.

He had been cowardly enough to run from himself. To hide Loki in a box in the corner of his mind and never look at him again. And now, he was being cowardly enough to refuse to give the bastard a chance to be something else than that object of fear?

Yeah. f*ck him.

“I want to help.”

So you've claimed, Loki said, and the first hint of venom slipped in his words. And so you did. That's what that was, wasn't it? Mocking me every day.

“I guess I'm not really good at helping people. But I... I want to actually give this a chance, Loki. And I'm sorry I took advantage of you being hurt to -to let you hear all I was thinking. That's not what you needed.”

What I need, Loki said, closing his eyes again, is for you to leave. If you so truly want to help, then go.

Tony considered. He didn't want to, nor did he think it was right. But he supposed, for trying to listen to Loki, he had failed considerably at giving him a chance to be heard.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I'll come by tomorrow, if you want company then. Good night, Loki.”

He didn't stop to see Loki's reaction. Night was falling outside; he breathed in the cold storm air, held it in, and breathed out. His heart was pounding in his chest. Even turning his back to Loki like this had been terrifying.

And yet, he told himself, forcing himself to steadiness. Yet, he had to give this a true chance.

The technical problem was that, except for cases of murder, Asgardian justice did not plan for trials to take place if the victim wouldn't, or couldn't testify.

The fact that, maybe, those who had sewn Loki's lips together had had this in mind when they had done it was sickening beyond reason.

There were three of them, and Tony had finally met them in the flesh on the previous day, when he had heard the commotion coming from the small prison and had found Valkyrie physically wrestling Thor to get him away from them.

“If you kill them without a trial,” she gasped, “people will say you are not worthy to be Allfather. They do not deserve you losing Asgard over them-”

“I seek not to kill them,” Thor had roared, glaring at the terrified faces of the three men. “I only want to give them a taste of what they did to my brother, to their rightful prince!”

In the end, General Tyr had been called to help, and together with him, Valkyrie had managed to calm down the King. Tony had stayed behind, watching the King being encouraged away toward his own home, and had turned toward the imprisoned men.

Somehow, he had expected them to look taller, or more evil-looking. That they looked like any other Æsirs he could have met through the city made him feel sick. They stared back, saying nothing. Probably they had noticed that Tony hadn't fought to protect them.

“I hope you know all of you are dead. If Thor doesn't kill you, Loki will. I don't know which one will make it faster, but you know what? I hope it's the other one that gets you.”

Loki didn't tell him to go away, that day. He didn't speak much. Tony spoke less, too, trying not to say anything stupid. Loki didn't seem to understand what he was trying to do. But he didn't ask him to leave.

Another week passed. Tony had received a bunch of emails and calls: he really should have been going back to New York. He didn't leave. If he did, he thought, maybe Loki wouldn't make it to his next visit, whether by hunger or by his own hand. And though there were still whispers in his mind, both his and Loki's, to think that this was for the best, he refused to listen to them.

No matter how many times he asked, Loki didn't want to tell him why he had hoped Thor could break the spell of the thread. Tony asked at least once a day, in case he changed his mind.

What he did agree to discuss was what he would do to the bastards. It sounded fake -a fantasy meant to entertain. It entertained them both, at least, so Tony allowed it as often as he liked.

“No, I really think the best thing would be community service. Like, let everyone point and stare, you know? That doesn't mean you can't publicly kick their ass first. That's very Asgardian, right? An eye for an eye...”

It sounds good, in theory, Loki admitted. There are certainly some thankless tasks that need doing around New Asgard. We aren't entirely done implementing the sewers systems. Considering all the comings and goings they did from my basem*nt to their daily activities, I'm sure they would be great at carrying buckets.

“That's what I'm talking about. Nice job, useful to society, gives you time to think. Maybe when your mouth is fixed, we can suggest that to the Thing.”

I would rather not.

“Why not?” Tony asked, wondering if the serious part was about Loki's lips maybe never being fixed or about the punishment of the three sad*sts.

Tyr himself told you, did he not? There are some -more than Thor might think- who would consider these men heroes.

“Right. Burning someone with hot irons in a damp cave -typical hero business. Actually, that's probably on the planner for the next Avengers meeting.”

Loki blew air out of his nose in what Tony had been startled to find out actually constitued amusem*nt.

Punishing a traitor. Exposing a Jötun in disguise for what he truly is. It's all about phrasing, you know.

“You're good at phrasing. Don't think even you could persuade me that doing that kind of sh*t to anyone is anything less than being sh*t yourself. Hence the buckets. They'd be in their element.”

Loki did not reply, but there was something in his eyes that indicaded amusem*nt, and his silence was a peaceful one.

You know, he said after a long pause, you were right. Someone more powerful than these men -someone near as powerful as Thor or myself- had to provide them with the thread. With the means to hold me for so long. Locked out of sight in a cage, where my place is.

“Dark,” Tony warned. He had taken to pointing out everytime Loki said something that sounded wrong and f*cked up. He didn't know if it was actually making a difference, or if Loki just thought it was annoying, but it had started making him realize when his own thoughts went to sinister places. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Maybe.

“Who?”

That's not why I'm saying this.

“What?”

I do not want you to go to Thor telling him who it is. I do not want you to protect me out of some duty to the one you... Rescued. Even now, he said it bitterly. I'm telling you because you might be in their way. You need to be careful with the enemies you are making. I hear you have enough of them as is.

Tony frowned. For someone who didn't know them both, it might almost have sounded like Loki was worrying about him.

“Seriously,” he said slowly, “if you know who it is, you should say it.”

I have only suspicions.

“I should hear them.”

No. Loki looked at him, face blank. You don't.

“Loki-”

Would you try, the prince interrupted, pushing the thought until Tony interrupted himself, would you try to cut the thread?

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that it actually shut Tony up. Maybe it had been the goal, but he stared nonetheless, disbelieving. Loki raised both eyebrows in an exagerated look of waiting.

“What? Now? With the scissors?”

You can try another blade if you prefer, Loki replied, sounding much too casual, his lower level of thoughts unspoken. I'm only curious.

“Why now?”

I wonder.

Tony frowned, but he didn't dither long. He had never expected Loki to agree, let alone offer for him to try, and he had never offered, even though some foolish part of him had been eager to try, like he would somehow be able to break a magical spell better than actual gods.

The scissors were in the endtable; Eir used them to cut the bandages she applied to Loki's burns every day. She probably would have been very mad at Tony taking them now, for this. He looked at Loki. They had never actually been this close since he had carried him here, and he wondered if Loki was remembering it, too.

Try it, the prince asked.

“Stop me if this hurts, 'kay?” He muttered, uncomfortable, and leaned forward.

He very carefully opened the scissors and brought the blades around the first stitch, at the left edge of Loki's lips. He tried to remind himself that it wouldn't work; nothing had, this far, and it was probably just despair for another attempt that had made Loki ask. There was no need to pull at the thread to tense it; it was already stretched over, threatening to rip Loki's lip, but never doing it. Tony knew he hadn't been the one to consider cutting the flesh to get rid of the accursed thread.

He brought the blades together. He expected the same resistance he had seen Eir and Thor meet.

Instead, the thread made a satisfying snip as it was suddenly cut down the middle.

They both froze. Tony felt Loki taking in a sudden breath through the nose, just as he saw his lips suddenly pulling at the thread, testing the newfound freedom. With just one stitch out, there was no place yet to open his mouth even partially. Tony stopped him with a hand to his wrist.

“Don't -don't move.”

His hand didn't shake, which was good, because he felt like the rest of him did. But he brought the blades together again, cleanly, neatly, snip, snip, snip. There were nine stitches in all. Loki's hands shook as he brought them up to his face.

“Hold on. Hold on. We're almost done.”

The last stitch broke apart and Loki's lips with it. He turned away immediately, nearly stabbing himself in the eye with the scissors Tony was still holding, and Tony heard him gasping, breathing in like a drowned man so desperately as to be shaken by a sudden fit of coughing.

“I -I should get Eir.”

He didn't get an answer immediately, so he made to stand; a cold hand suddenly grabbed at his wrist and he stopped.

One minute. Please- please one minute. Norns. Norns. Thank you. Thank you.

Tony didn't know if the words of thanks were intended for him or for the Norns themselves, and he didn't know what he was even thinking about it. Loki was gasping and coughing and breathing open-monthedly, his free hand hovering over his lips like he couldn't bring himself to touch them.

How the hell had Tony done that?

He was still scared, he realized. Still scared after days and days of talking. Still deadly scared of the hand clenching around his wrist turning to deadly strikes. Still scared of Loki, whom he had just freed from what had seemed like an undefeatable spell.

“What happened? Loki, what -what did I do?”

Maybe the spell had just been wearing out. It had been so long -maybe curses couldn't last forever. Maybe it was because Tony had no magic of his own? Because he was human?

Prince of Lies, Loki's mind screamed. His body was so quiet, hunched over, turned away from him, and yet his mind sounded as if hysterical as if the prince had started throwing things around. Prince of Lies, try to speak like that. Try to get out of this. You're not taking it out. Nobody's taking it out.

“Loki”, he called, trying to steady his voice. When it didn't work, he made himself grab Loki's hand with his own, and squeezed at his fingers. “Loki, it's out. It's gone. You're okay.”

It was, Loki barely sounded any calmer, but the thoughts were his own once more, supposed not to break. I thought if Thor didn't -it was supposed not to break, not unless- He made a choking sound. You can get the sharpest blade and you should take it to your throat, Jötun scum. Nobody's taking it out. Nobody's going to hear your lies again.

“It's gone,” Tony repeated, louder. “I removed it. It's gone, Loki. Focus on me. Listen to me.”

There was silence -whispers, pieces of words in the back of his mind, nothing that took shape enough to call it an answer. Loki finally turned back to him. His free hand was still covering his mouth, his pale fingers brushing the cut edges of the thread sticking out of his flesh, long healed into the skin.

“Sss-tark.” It came out as more of a whistling gasp than a word, and yet, Tony froze. Loki's voice. He had known it, all this time, but -hearing it... Actually hearing it was -frightening. Yes. And yet... Yet...

“It's okay,” he made himself say. “Don't, uh, don't try to talk too much. You need water, or -or cough syrup, what the f*ck do I know. I need to go get Eir, Loki-”

“Stark.” Loki's eyes closed, and his lips barely closed, barely brushed together, and how much pain had to go through them. It was supposed to stay. Stay until someone. “Sommm... Someone... did...” Did it. And wanted. Really wanted to. To hear. Me. Speak.

Ah.

Not brotherly love, then. Not a time-out.

“Stark.” Loki's voice sounded like his throat had been torn apart, too. At least, there were no m in his name, Tony thought, stupidly, as the tip of Loki's tongue poked out, licking the salt off his upper lip with a shudder. “Th... Thank you.”

Not just luck. Thor himself hadn't passed the cruel test.

It was him. It was Loki.

He supposed he knew then what part of him had won.

Chapter 8: Day 13 - Giving/Receiving Gifts

Chapter Text

The anniversary of his Anthony's day of birth was approaching, and Loki needed to do something about it.

Not about the day itself, that was. He needed to figure out a proper way to celebrate the event, and needed to think of one fast.

It had been a late realization, and one that he hadn't been particularly happy to make. Æsirs didn't make much case of the passage of a year in the span of their long lives. Instead, they usually preferred to mark certain symbolic milestones as progression of one's life. That mortals would celebrate their existence so very often as once a year was a sharp reminder that his chosen lover's life would be unfairly short, and their time together inevitably interrupted in the worst of ways.

It wasn't something he liked to think about, and it was something Tony liked to discuss even less. Any attempt to persuade his beloved mortal that he could obtain for him surely some spell or cheat the eyes of death had resulted in Tony shutting down the discussion with more or less impatience, until he had abandoned trying at all.

There were few people he loved too much to persuade; his Anthony was one of them.

Not only that, but he was also one of even fewer beings who could read through Loki's manipulations as easily as if he had never told a lie in his life.

With the depressing thoughts pushed away, Loki was left still with the problem at hand. He needed to figure out what to do for Tony's birthday.

“Which is why you are here,” he concluded, hands behind his back. “I need to understand how to properly celebrate a human birthday.”

“Mr. Loki, that is so sweet of you,” Peter Parker assured him, smiling brightly. He was wearing his red and blue suit but had removed the mask to better sip on an orange soda Loki had had waiting for him. “I'll be happy to help.”

“I won't,” Barton argued. His arms were folded in displeasure and his bow was resting on the table. “You know this line is for emergencies only, right? I wouldn't have come here if I had known it was about you and Stark.”

“Which is why I had to use the Avengers alert,” Loki pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “I knew you to be less dense. You are one of the best-travelled of my human agents, and certainly the best spy I have at hand. I want your opinion on this.”

“You know, it's f*cking amazing how you can make that sound insulting.”

“Mind your language, Barton. Peter is not yet of age.”

“What about me?” Virginia Potts looked at the two superheroes sitting next to her. “Do you want me to tell you about Tony's likes or dislikes?”

“Of course not. I know of those,” Loki diplomatically kept himself from adding the obvious better than you. “You are the head of Stark Industries, best suited to inform me of Tony's availabilities as well as any redundancy between the ideas discussed here and anything he might possess already.”

“You really do have a way with words,” Potts remarked.

“Thank you.”

“And... Why am I here?” Banner awkwardly raised his hand up.

“You'll be my informant within the Avengers, of course.”

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean?” Barton asked, clearly offended.

“And finally, of course, JARVIS will be monitoring Tony's activities to make sure he doesn't walk in on this meeting and the ones to come.”

“I am at your service, Mr. Loki,” the AI answered.

“You expect more than one?” Banner seemed moderately worried.

“It goes without saying that nothing we say today is to be reported to Anthony, or shared with any other.”

“I don't want to be rude...”

“Go on.”

“But why not just ask Tony what he would like?” Banner asked. “I mean, not that surprises aren't nice...”

“Proper gift-giving requires the use of the element of surprise. This May 29^th will be the best birthday Anthony will ever have, and I want him to have no idea until it is done.”

“You seem to take birthday parties very seriously,” Potts observed.

“I think that's a great idea,” Peter interfered, his smile genuine. “Everybody loves a surprise party. I'm sure Mr. Stark will love it.”

“Hey, quick question, if Banner's your Avenger and I'm your spy, what the heck is the kid here for?” Barton asked.

“I've come to evaluate that Peter is one of Anthony's favorite human beings,” Loki replied easily. “As such, I expect his ideas to hold some value. Besides, he is younger than all of you and, as such, more aware of what is cool.”

“Did you just say that?” The archer asked in disbelief. “Bruce, you hear him say that?”

“Thank you, Mr. Loki,” Peter grinned, and then paused. “Hey, how old does that mean you are?”

“That information is irrelevant, and not what I brought you here for today. Now. What is Anthony's perfect birthday? Get your brains going.”

Despite various protests and some sarcasm on Barton's part, the group willingly came together again on the following days.

It wasn't ideal, but it was the best they could do. There was no way to meet for a long amount of time: even though it appeared to most that Tony Stark had no schedule and followed no obligations, he was actually quite a creature of habits. While it was true that he could lose track of time and spend hours at a time in his workshop or decide on a whim to make a small trip and leave the lights on on his way out, Loki couldn't bet on that sort of things to escape his attention. And he truly wanted Tony to be surprised.

They made some progress, too, which was a relief. Loki would hide the whiteboard he wrote on during the brainstorming sessions everyday with more ideas neatly listed on it.

They had decided, quickly enough, on a private gathering involving Anthony's best friends. Parker had quickly proven his usefulness to the cabal by suggesting they took advantage of the occasion for something Tony might never have done but was bound to enjoy, like paintball or go-karting. The concept of those sounded remarkably childish, but the boy's explanations were convincing.

“We would need to rent the place out,” Potts pointed out. “And pay for the owners' discretion. Tony has had his share of parties ruined by paparazzi and mobs of fans.”

“I could just brainwash everybody into not recognising us,” Loki offered, and ignored the glare that got him from Barton. “Still, I just want to understand -you're shooting at people with guns, and not killing them?”

“Just paint,” Parker assured him. “Or there's laser tag, too.”

“Lasers?”

“Not deadly ones,” Banner clarified.

“I suppose the paint could do.”

Then, they had agreed that, after going out to play like children, they needed, of course, to have cake, gifts, and balloons. The last part was a somewhat alien concept to Loki, but Barton was on Peter's side there, and so he agreed.

“And lots of booze,” Barton required.

“Of course not. Tony is trying to cut his intake of alcoholic beverages, and I will not have him struggling to contain himself on this, the day of his birth. You can have soda, juice or milk.”

“The f*cking things I have to hear.”

“Language. Peter is not fully grown.”

The list of guest was a subject for debates that lasted one whole meeting and then some more. Including the Avengers was mostly a given, but Loki had no time for Potts' concerns of not hurting anyone's feeling by excluding them.

“Anthony doesn't like having him around. I hardly see how we could involve him when we are attempting to plan the perfect celebration.”

“And that has nothing to do with what you think of Strange, I'm sure,” Banner grimaced.

“Anyway, I think Strange should like to stay home and busy himself with his card tricks better than he would the party.”

But then, the biggest problem, of course, remained the gift. And Loki didn't have much hope that the mortals could be creative or wise enough to come up with a good idea for him.

“My favorite ever birthday gift was when my Uncle and Aunt took me on a trip,” Peter suggested, thoughtful. “It was just me and them, and I got to decide what to do and when.”

“Not a bad gift,” Loki agreed, “but Anthony has seen most of Earth as it is, and he dislikes space travel too much to consider another part of the Nine Realms without first discussing it.”

“How about some magicky sh*t for him to take apart and figure out?” Hawkeye proposed, leaning back on his chair. “He likes a challenge, as your being together proves.”

“I've explained every concept of magic he has asked me about in details,” Loki huffed. “And I had to make the lesson entertaining.”

“Please say nothing else.”

“Tony can afford anything he likes on Earth,” Potts said. “I've always found he enjoyed personal attentions more than any items I could have fought to purchase for him. Maybe you could cook for him, or, I don't know, create something yourself?”

“I don't cook.” The idea to craft something was not bad, actually, which was an interesting surprise. “Banner?”

“I got Tony a funny mug and a nice bag of coffee, Loki. I don't know why you're asking me.”

“It was indeed stupid,” Loki murmured.

“What if,” Barton offered, “you made some grand romantic gesture? You're both divas. Propose to him in front of everyone, I don't know.”

“Clint,” Potts hushed in a tone of disapproval, but Loki co*cked his head to the side.

“Perhaps I could take our courtship to the next level,” he mused, and then frowned, turning toward Peter. “It would not be in the spirit of Midgardian birthday parties to gift him the decapitated head of an frost giant, would it?”

“Very much not,” the teenager helpfully answered with a very small voice.

“Dude, aren't you a frost giant?” Barton said, wrinkling his nose.

“It's a little old fashioned, but royal courtships tend to be. I'll see about an alternative, but it might have to wait after his birthday.”

“How about a pet? Or a plant?” Pepper said. “Maybe it would be a good time for Tony to take care of something.”

“I do have the coordinates of a great merchant of goats.”

The day of the celebration came, and Tony, Loki was very pleased to note, was actually taken completely by surprise when he walked into the penthouse to find all his dearest friends waiting for hi with balloons and party hats. Loki had even managed to put one on Dumm-E's head, which he was particularly proud of.

The party went according to plan. Tony was delighted to turn against his friends in a merciless game of paintball during which he shot Loki thrice while cackling maniacally. Loki could not blame him. He knew the feeling. They followed the game with a veritable feast of the worst fast food items his lover so favored: cheeseburgers, hot-dogs, onion rings, greasy pizzas, tacos and fried chicken covered the table when they emerged from changing into clean clothes.

Loki did not go as far as to sacrifice his dignity in the round of karaoke which followed. Thankfully, he didn't have to: everyone else did a marvelous job of ruining any illusion of decency that might have lingered about them, and such without even a glass of alcohol. When everyone was all singed out came time for the dessert: a chocolate cake seven layers tall, with the most cringey plastic Iron Man accessories Loki had found, and enough ice cream to freeze Captain America back in. He congratulated himself on having served the whole thing for lunch: if this had been dinner, he could have kissed his hopes of celebratory birthday sex goodbye, considering the way Tony leaned back into his seat like a fat troll patting his belly after eating a herd of horses.

At last, everyone produced the packages they had colorfully wrapped. As expected, Tony looked appreciative, but not especially excited, expecting nothing new from the packages: no fancy watches or expensive cigars would impress him. He still thanked his friends for everything they gifted him: Thor for the enchanted pair of armored gloves, Banner for his coffee, Romanoff for a tasteful black shirt with red buttons, and so on. Peter went last, giving Tony a small vinyl figure of Iron Man saving a kitten from a tree.

“That was amazing,” his lover cheered when he was done, surrounded by a pile of torn wrapping paper and discarded bags. “This almost makes getting old worth it. You guys are the best."

“Now all of you can leave,” Loki helpfully pointed out to their cherished guests.

Tony didn't need much time after they were alone. Loki was levitating dirty plates to the sink while he said his goodbyes, and as soon as the last of the Avengers was gone, he found himself with a small human wrapped around his waist from the back.

“Now what is my gift from you?” He demanded, voice partially muffled by Loki's shirt.

“I am dating you, aren't I?”

“Come on. What did you get me?”

“What makes you think I indulged in this sentimental celebration? You know we do not celebrate birthdays in Asgard, only accomplishments.”

“Well, I'm fifty-two. That's an accomplishment.”

Loki bit his lips so he would not laugh. Tony shifted in his back, and his lips found the nape of Loki's neck, kissing a forgotten trace of red paint in a new strategy.

“Mmh? Come on, Loki. If you really didn't get me anything, it's okay. I can make a few requests.”

“Oh really?” Loki twisted his neck to look at Tony's messy brown hair. “Like what?”

“I've kinda always wanted to try BDSM with you. Or -oh, you could magic Justin Hammer to make him do something really dumb in front of the cameras. Dumber than usual, you know? Or you could turn into a hot chick. Oh, or you could turn me into a hot chick!”

“Sex and vengeance?” Loki clarified. “Not bad ideas. I'll keep them in mind. But, no. I did get you something for today. I simply did not want to have the others gawking at it.”

“Wait, is it a sex thing?” Tony's head perked up, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“I suppose it could be, if you want it to,” Loki smirked. “I understand that you've always wanted this. And nobody was ever able to give it to you. Nobody but me.”

“Loki, what is it?” Tony was practically vibrating with anticipation, his warm brown eyes filled with questions. “Come on, tell me!”

“I need you to be aware that this will be a temporary thing. You will have until midnight to enjoy it. After that, I will take it away and perhaps never give it back. Although, perhaps if you try to persuade me and do it nicely enough...”

“Loki”, Tony groaned.

He smirked. Just because this was Tony's birthday didn't mean he couldn't have his fun... And yet. He gently pushed the mortal back to better place himself in front of him, leaning a little forward to place a kiss on his lips.

“Enjoy,” he murmured, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes before performing the spell.

First on Tony. Then on himself. It was not an easy magic, nor did it feel natural. His body protested against it, uncomfortable, but he pushed through.

When he opened his eyes, he stared at the faces of the AC/DC minstrels under the title of POWER UP, on Tony's shirt. A little lower, his bellybutton was visible in the line of exposed skin between his jeans and shirt.

Tony opened his eyes in turn. It took him an instant to understand, blinking several times. When he did, though, he released a most unmanly exclamation and placed his hands on Loki's shoulders, gazing at them in amazement.

“You're so tiny!”

“Correction,” Loki sighed, “you are tiny. Usually. And I exchanged our proportions.”

“Oh my god”, Tony said, and started cackling as he had with the paintballs exchange, twirling on himself, and then putting his hands back to Loki's shoulders, and face. “Tiny Loki. You're adorable like this. And look at me!”

“Yes, yes,” Loki smiled. “I do.”

“Oh, you have to give me your cape! I want to wear it.”

“Absolutely not. I made you tall, I'm not disguising you into me.”

“Ooh, and the helmet! I need to see myself in the mirror -Loki, I want your horns,” he exclaimed before trotting over to the window, trying to see himself in it. “Look at me! I'm a giant! I'm infinite!”

“And a happy birthday, Stark,” Loki sniffed, crossing his arms in amusem*nt.

Chapter 9: Day 28 - "I wore this just for you"

Chapter Text

To call Loki a prostitute would have been inaccurate and incredibly rude. He had high-kicked quite undescerning men for less. The fact that he slept with people with no feelings involved, exclusively for the promise of shiny gifts and nice round sums of money didn't make him a sex worker. Rather, he liked to see himself as an actor first, and an opportunist second.

Even today, anyone searching for his name on the Internet would get mostly results of his filmography, in which he really mostly stayed dressed all the time. His IMDB page listed a little less than twenty actor credits in both blockbusters and small productions through the last ten years, and there were dozen of pictures putting the emphasis on his finely toned, chiseled body, sharp cheekbones and striking green eyes.

But, yes, there were also a few tasteful nude, if you searched long enough.

His career was going well, and he was confident the best was yet to come. He knew the right people, made the right choices to make the right impression. He knew he looked good, and he acted even better. That was simple enough: he had played a role his whole life. Doing it in front of the camera had never been a problem.

He was on the rise, with a major antagonist role in a serie about vikings renewed for another year and an upcoming major role in the biggest romcom of the year. He had a loving fanbase he would see at each convention and screening he attended. He did photoshoots for magazines and even interviews with a handful of kitten for web medias. He had travelled to Europe and Asia for festivals and landed several fancy prizes. Really, he was doing good for himself.

But Loki was nothing if not ambitious. There were Oscars and Emmys to be won, a Walf of Fame Star to obtain, nice cars and a mansion to be bought. He was only getting started, and he wasn't going to be done until the people he had left behind couldn't get a coffee without having to see his face on the cover of a magazine or hear his voice on the radio.

Which had let to his first little deals.

Some would have been ashamed of doing the things he did. Loki wasn't. He didn't beg for anything and didn't sell himself short. He had had his first, ah, private meeting with a producer for no less than ten thousand dollars. He had never used his body to get a part; he wasn't foolish enough to let himself fall into a pit of bargaining and debts. Rather, he had always managed exchanged time with him for... bonuses.

If you were to search further than the first few pages on the web, you would find a lot of fan pages about Loki Serpent (a name so obviously fake that a lot of people thought it was real). Dig a little further, and you would start to see those unashamed, horny people fantasizing about him. Here and there, Loki knew, some of these people were the ones he had met, fully aware nobody would believe them if they said they had enjoyed a night with him.

And Loki had only himself to thank for his best Emernegildo Zegna suit, his penthouse overlooking Central Park and his reserved seat at the best restaurants in the city. Because he had turned himself into something completely irresistible, and then he had used it to his advantage.

Which was why he wasn't particularly surprised when he started to meet Tony Stark, playboy and billionaire extraordinaire, more and more often.

They had seen each other before. Once, from the corner of the eye, in a restaurant in Monaco during the Grand Tour. Another time, at a charity gala where Loki's autograph had been sold in a bid for eight thousand dollars -that had been a few years ago- and Stark's Rolex, for seventy thousands. Then, there had been that less likely meeting at Wimbledon, while Loki had been waiting for a rendez-vous with blue blood.

Tonight could have been a coincidence. Stark was part of the attraction: he had donated a dozen works of art to the MoMA and financed the opening of a whole new wings, and Loki was only there because he actually cared to see the Elizabeth Winthrop Chanler portrait. It would be in poor taste to try to acquire it for himself so soon after Stark had released it to the public, which was unfortunate. It would have looked lovely in his reading room. He did plan to use the evening to say hello to another humble millionaire who had gifted him with lovely emerald cufflings and one of his favorite cars in the past, just in case.

What he had not planned was to keep somehow bumping into Stark. It wasn't that he didn't want to; he had nothing against the man, far from it. As the leader in green energy sources, Stark had always been a great source of irritation for his father and for Asgard Electrics in general, and the playboy's bad reputation amused Loki. Simply, the man had no clear connections to Hollywood and was known to be solely attracted to women; as such, there was nothing Stark could have done for him, and Loki rarely bothered with people who were of no use to him.

And still. A brief smile and greeting at the start of the soirée. A bump into each other reaching for the same glass of champagne. And when Loki finally stopped to contemplate the portrait, he felt someone stepping just to his side and pausing there.

“Not a bad portrait, uh?”

Loki glanced curiously at Stark. He was standing to his right, temporarily free from the officials who had been toasting with him all night long. He was half a head shorter than Loki, but there was something powerful about the way he stood. The same kind of easy, natural authority that Loki had learned to project in his youngest days, when Odin had still been hoping to groom both his sons into future CEOs. Stark was wearing an usual suit with elaborate embroidery on the jacket -perhaps a Robert Graham?- complemented by a red shirt and a pair of his signature squared sunglasses.

“A favorite of mine, actually,” Loki replied, intrigued by the deliberate approach. “I understand I have you to thank for looking at it in the flesh?”

“Yeah, I figured it would be better cared for here than catching dust in my basem*nt. You're into art as well as movies?”

“Movies are but another form of art, Mr. Stark. But, yes. I was raised to appreciate the fine arts.”

“Right. Frigga Fjörgasdottir's influence, I suppose? I don't expect that Odin Borsson was the kind of man to take his sons to the museum.”

Loki didn't stop himself from raising his eyebrows at Stark, taken aback. The first hint that the man knew exactly who he was had intrigued him, but this... was surprising. And odd.

“You seem to have done your research,” he answered, wondering where this was getting at. Still, he only hesitated half an instant before adding: “And I suppose it is right to say that you have done it well. Have you met Odin?”

“More often than I would like, if you don't mind my honesty, but my guess is not. First name basis with your parents, uh?”

“There are reasons why I go by the name I do, Mr. Stark,” Loki said, his smile edging on just a little cold. What was the man getting at? “But you would know about that, if my own informations are correct.”

“Ouch,” Stark said, feigning to be hit in the chest. “Point taken. That's on me. It was weird to start by talking of your parents, but it was the only thing I figured we had in common.”

It was not untrue, but it was a continued surprise that Stark knew as much. Odin had been the leader in the energy business in all of North America until Stark Industries had come along and taken the market over, little by little. While Loki was not exactly shocked that there was no wasted affection between the two men, it hadn't crossed his mind that Stark would recognise him as Odin's bastard son... Or that he would approach him, which remained a source of confusion.

“There is the painting,” he remarked, more because he wouldn't bring himself down to asking directly why Stark had wanted to start a conversation. “I take it you must be a fan of Sargent yourself, to have owned one of his best portraits for all these years.”

“Not gonna lie, my assistant was the one who managed the art collection at home. But, uh, I do think it look nice.”

“Your assistant,” Loki repeated, not dignifying that last comment with a reply. Nice? An original John Singer Sargent, nice? “Virginia Potts, right?”

“Mmh, yeah,” Stark said, wrinkling his face into a grimace. “You know what, I won't ask how your Dad's doing, and you can pretend you don't know that name. Deal?”

He could understand. The gift of the works of art was proof enough that the breakup -for that was what it had been, no matter Stark and Potts' insistance that they had never been an item- had not been easy. Loki had not followed it too closely, but his guess was the same as the usual gossip magazines: she had grown tired of Stark's constant infidelities. The fact that she had now taken up the mantle of CEO at Hammer Tech, a rival company of Stark's, suggested she wasn't happy either about the way things had ended.

“Deal.”

He waited; wondering if Stark was going to move on, uncomfortably so, or tell him exactly why he had decided to compare their resumes. He kept his gaze on the painting and the dark eyes of its young subject. He didn't feel in any particular hurry, but Stark's presence intrigued him, and he wanted to see what he would do.

“Right,” Stark said when a few seconds had passed and Loki didn't add anything, nor look at him. “You know, I probably should have started that way, there's a reason they never let me do my own speeches anymore, but I wanted to say: I thought you were amazing in Mort. Not everyone can own that kind of look.”

“I'm honored that you found the time to watch it,” Loki answered, a small smile drawing up on his lips. Stark, a shy fan? That sounded as unlikely as flattering. Oh, how Odin would have disliked to hear as much. “I suppose it's a special kind of talent to have the right kind of silhouette to play a seven-foot-tall skeleton, but I'm glad if you enjoyed the result.”

“You're reprising the role sometimes soon, right? In-”

“In Hogfather, for Christmas of next year, if all goes well,” Loki confirmed. This truly wasn't what he had expected from the richest man in this museum, but the small victory of it was making him feel lighter and happier. “Until then, I hope you will enjoy my humble attempt at the Dreadful Pirate Robert this summer.”

“Looking forward to it,” Stark said, and his smile looked sincere. He licked his lips and adjusted his glasses, and Loki almost thought he was about to ask for an autograph. “Listen, I don't know where shootings take you, but if you're in New York for a while, don't hesitate to swing by the Tower, will you? I'm gonna be honest, I'm not sure, but I think I got another Sargent. You're clearly a better connoisseur than me -I'd be happy to let it to a good home, if you want.”

Oh. Oh. Loki blinked. So perhaps he had had the wrong impression. Perhaps Stark was not as straight as rumor had it, and perhaps he had heard from a source or another what that sort of gift could get him. And why not? What a grand gift, and what a contact to have up his sleeve, if only to spite his father...

“It would be a pleasure, Mr. Stark,” he told him, a grin rising to his lips. He had no false modesty to spare, and he had been told enough that his smile could make a grown man weak to the knee to believe it by now. “Although I'm sure you're a busy man. I don't want to bother you at a wrong moment.”

“Don't worry, I don't work half as much as I pretend to,” Stark assured him, and it seemed to Loki he was clearly relieved. “How about next Tuesday? Bring the wine?”

“I will be there,” Loki assured him, and thought to himself, what a glorious prize.

He met Stark at six; he had been welcomed warmly by a smiling receptionist and directed to a private elevator, much like what he had at home. Everything about the inside of Stark Tower was stylish and tastefully understated. It was quite amusing, Loki thought, that a man like this had seen him not in his roles as Macbeth or Faustus, but as a sharp-witted fantasy character.

Stark was waiting for him in the penthouse, as promised. He looked much more casual than he had at the gallery, with jeans and a Guns'n'Roses T-shirt, but it was not a bad look on him -even though he whistled when he saw Loki.

“Damn, Serpent. You should have told me this was a fashion show.”

Loki chuckled, far from embarrassed to be overdressed. He spread his arms slightly and gave a brief spin, satisfied when he came back to his initial direction that Stark was looking him up and down. He had worn of his favorite suits, the black Cucinelli with an equally black shirt and tie and his hair down. A single black ring with a green stone adorned his left index. The taxi that had brought him here had doubled the price of the ride after taking a look at him.

“Well, is it to your taste?” He questioned innocently. "I wore it just for you."

Stark stared for a few seconds too long. It came to Loki's mind that this was probably the first time he did this. Potts' departure?

“Um, you look pretty amazing,” Stark managed, after blinking twice. “Don't you ever get tangled in your own legs? How many miles are they?”

“I brought the wine, as requested,” Loki smiled, opening a button of his jacket. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Stark.”

“Ah -I'll ring the dinner up. And please, call me Tony.”

“Of course. Tony.”

The dinner was nice, neither too heavy nor too gastronomical. Stark sat opposite Loki at a small table, and although there was no bouquet nor candlelight, it didn't take long into the meal for Stark's feet to brush with his. Their eyes met, and Loki purposefully pushed his ankle against the other man's leg, smiling at him the whole time.

They spoke, evoking neither Odin, nor Potts, of their respective careers. Loki learned a lot about the state of the energy business, which Stark managed to make interesting, in between juicy gossips and genuinely insightful explanations about recent technological updates; Stark asked about his favorite roles and the ones he hoped to one day perform, seeming genuinely interested in knowing more about his methods and preferences.

“-no way, you're kidding! I literally -I was telling my driver Happy the other day that they should cast you as Melkor if they went through with it-”

“I feel that I might be typecasting myself,” Loki admitted with a brief grin. “But what can I say? I have a thing for the dramatic villains.”

“And you're great at them, too.” Tony -for Loki was growing used to thinking of him as Tony already- smiled, and there was something so genuine about the little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes that Loki couldn't help but be genuinely flattered.

They had dessert with a lovely rosé, and then Stark made good of his promise to take him down to his personal gallery. Just like he had said, it was actually more of a basem*nt with several incredibly precious paintings casually hanging on the wall or leaning against it.

“There you go,” the man said, with a wide gesture of his hand. “Have your pick.”

“You are insane,” Loki remarked, looking around himself with impressed eyes. “You know that, right? Wait, is that John White Alexander?”

“It looks like a woman, so I'm tempted to say no, but what do I know.”

There was no saying if Tony was being serious, and Loki laughed, unafraid by now that this would insult the man away from him. The Study in Green and Black was framed in a soft, pale shade of walnut, propped against a counter like someone had half had it in mind to hang it on the wall and had then gotten distracted.

“Are you seriously letting me pick one?”

“Sure,” Tony shrugged. “I can arrange for Happy to deliver it to your place. You really want this one? She's not as pretty as you.”

“Do you know that the world is convinced that you are perfectly heterosexual, Tony?”

“That's because the world isn't observant. I'm a solid one on the Kinsey Scale.”

“I would be a four, I believe,” Loki mused, looking at the other paintings. His eyes kept travelling back to the Study, though.

“Just straight enough to let the ladies dream, uh? That's the only scale you're lower than a ten.”

Loki turned his way, and found Tony looking at him. The man paused for an instant, as if caught doing something he had thought would go unnoticed. Loki closed the distance between them with a step, wordlessly. His hand gently moved to Tony's shoulder, and in return, the man slowly closed a hand around the curve of Loki's hip. Loki could smell his cologne as he leaned in, something elegant with orange and geranium.

“This is really new to me,” Tony whispered.

“A man?”

“You. You look -amazing. I didn't think I'd ever have you with me.” He suddenly lowered his hand, and Loki saw him frowning. “This is f*cked up, isn't it? I'm -I lured you here with a gift. I'm being -the creepy old guy in the back of a van.”

Loki couldn't help it -he burst out laughing. The hurt look that crossed Tony's face interrupted him quickly, though, and he reached for the hand on his hip before it could be snatched back, sobering up.

“Tony-”

“It's true, isn't it?” Tony frowned. “You don't know me. I just tried to throw money at you because I wanted to impress you and I had no idea what to say.”

“It worked,” Loki said with a small shrug. “I did climb in the back of the van, didn't I?”

“You're not a prostitute. This is f*cked up,” Tony repeated, running a hand over his forehead, and then glancing at the other hand, the one Loki still held to. “You act like this is okay. It's not. I heard some awful sh*t about Hollywood, but I'm not that kind of guy. I just think you look amazing, and I wanted to get to talk with you and see... See if something...”

“I'm not a prostitute,” Loki agreed, when the silence continued. “I do enjoy shiny trinkets, though. Are you worried that this is not consent enough?”

“Is it?”

“It is for me. But if you do not want to feel like you're buying something out of me... I'll understand.” It was an unexpected sentiment, one that made him want to look at Tony again, and find more of the things he had missed when he had first looked at him. But the other man was visibly distressed at the thought of paying for sex, and he took a half-step back.

“No -no, wait, I'd be totally dumb to let you go,” Tony said, and then made a grimace. “I'm not making any sense, am I? I'm sorry. I've been feeling all kinds of wrong lately, and I thought that if I could just go back to one night stands... This doesn't feel right.”

“That's fine,” Loki said. He co*cked his head to the side again. The wine had tinted Tony's cheeks a light pink. All kinds of wrong. Potts, probably. It seemed sad, suddenly, to have considered this another one of his little adventures. He closed the distance between them again, and lifted Tony's chin up. “This,” he told him, “is your thank you for tonight.”

He kissed him. It was a gentle, careful thing, and he felt Tony gasping softly.

“This is for the painting,” he said, and lifted his hand to brush the man's hair back. This time, Tony answered. Carefully. His eyes were uncertain when Loki looked at him again.

“And if you still feel like it,” he said, “I wouldn't mind getting the private tour of your room, too. And maybe tomorrow we can have another drink, and see if we want to go our separate ways, or not.”

“You sound like you don't mind,” Tony murmured, looking a little sheepish. “Also, way more in control than me. That's -that's unfair.”

“Probably,” Loki agreed with a little smile. “My secret is to think of what I want, and then do that. Try it. What do you want, Tony?”

“You.”

Chapter 10: Day 10 - I liked it better when you two were fighting

Chapter Text

The truth was, it was easy enough to be open-minded and supportive of someone who kept his problematic peculiarities hidden. When they decided to show the world exactly what they were, it became much, much more difficult to tolerate what had once been a forgettable, even quirky detail.

Thor could honestly say he had found it easy enough to love his brother's mischief until he had started to bully half the palace. He could also say that he hadn't minded Loki's vicious fighting style too much until he had turned his knives and tricks toward his own friends, leaving no room to deny that his brother was a cheater and a traitor.

Since they had started to live on Earth, the two of them, in a semi-permanent arrangement to avoid having Loki in jail and, in exchange, have his magic as a mean to repair the damage done by his attack, it had only become harder to deny the things that Loki were, and that he shouldn't have been.

A big mouthed provocative fool, for one thing.

“And this is going to be your room,” Tony Stark said, and then coughed and choked the word cell through his fit.

“Oh dear, are you dying already?” Loki questioned worriedly.

“The windows don't open,” Captain America started, “and they're two inches thick glass and will sound an alarm if you try to break them. The door will be locked at night, but you will get to move around the penthouse during the day, with Jarvis keeping an eye on you. There's a bathroom attached, but you won't find any exit that way either.”

“I feel something like distrust in the air. Surely I'm mistaken.”

“Your Space Dad might have agreed to your trying to fix your mistakes, but most of us were in team letting you rot in jail.” Barton, standing at the door with his arms crossed. “You give me any reason to think you're planning something, I'll put an arrow through your eye. Is that clear?”

“My friends,” Thor said, but winced. “I gave you my word that Loki had no ill intention towards any of you, or the Earth.”

“Yes, Thor promised,” Loki pointed out pleasantly.

“You'll be getting out of here and using your magic under our close surveillance,” Rogers carried on, face tight. “Anything else you want to do, you'll need to ask us. Are we clear?”

“Basically,” Stark again, “this is the closest thing to slavery since unpaid internships. So if you want to decide that you'd rather be back home in a cell, you feel free. Feel super free, even. Maybe please do it, actually.”

“It is so very generous of you all to welcome me,” Loki replied, smiling and spreading his hands to his sides as widely as his chained hands would allow. “I truly look forward to working with you.”

Thor was already feeling tired.

The Avengers took turn -two at a time- to escort Loki around the city. They would clear the area of any civilians and fly the Quinjet in and out, avoiding contact with any other humans. Thor tried to join the party as often as he could. He didn't like the idea of Loki being alone with his enemies any more than he liked the idea of his friends being alone with Loki.

But for now, his brother followed the clauses of the Allfather's sentencing flawlessly, without attempting anything. He studied the maps and blueprints the Avengers gave him, looked at the torn concrete and windows, and got to work. Streets, buildings, lampposts, even parks; his magic worked tirelessly, fixing everything he and his army had destroyed, as if nothing had ever happened.

It was a lot of work, too. Thor suspected he was the only one who noticed how exhausted Loki was at the end of each day, when thework was done and they headed back to the Tower. Loki's magic was not primarily one of physical might. Moving, creating, transforming matter was very different from the illusions and clones he usually so favored, and Thor could observe everyday how Loki came back to his cell with tired eyes, hands limp and legs heavy with the urge to rest.

Of course, a Loki who felt weakened was an even more annoying Loki. And while he usually started each day taunting the Avengers responsible of him so lightly it could almost have been friendly, by night, his words turned into more biting, dangerous slights.

“Come on, back to your cage,” Clint would say, eternally tense and bitter around Loki.

“Of course, Clinton,” Loki would reply, overly sweet in his tone. “Would you like to join me? It would be just like old times.”

Thor usually tried to step forward and be the one to lead Loki back to his room. Not only did he hope to defuse his friends' likely desire to snap and beat Loki up in a corner when he wouldn't be looking, which wouldn't be the first time his brother would have brought such attention to himself, but he tried every night to speak to Loki, perhaps foolishly.

“I hear you have made great progress today,” he would attempt hopefully, as he led his brother toward his bedroom.

“Oh, yes. You were right to beg your father to give me such a redeeming opportunity. I am learning so much, just being along these righteous heroes, I can feel the change in me already,” Loki assured him, batting his eyelashes in over-dramatic innocence. “This is truly the eye-opening treatment I so needed to cure the evilness within. I can't thank you enough, brother.”

“Loki,” Thor groaned. The name of brother, once used with only pride and love and now absolutely dripping of sarcasm hurt the most. “Would you have rather I let you rot in jail, alone with your bitterness?”

“You tell me,” Loki hissed, mocking smile dropping just as fast as he had plastered it on. “Is this any better for you, Thor? For anyone?”

“It doesn't have to be this way,” Thor protested. “This can truly be an opportunity, brother. A chance for you to come back to what you were.”

“Too bad I don't want to go back,” Loki said. “Too bad the Loki you so loved is one I will never be again. Too bad you're left to deal with this enraged hound of a brother because your father wouldn't face facts and execute me, wouldn't finish things off properly.”

“You cannot truly think those things,” Thor pleaded, but his voice weakened. They had had this conversation so many times, in so many different ways. “Loki, please. You do not truly want to spend the next thousands of years like this, entrenched in this hatred you will not explain...”

“You're right,” Loki replied, icily. “I don't. But it seems you've missed your chance to kill me, so I suppose I'll have no other choice.”

“Suicidal and murderous at the same time. You really are a crazy bag of cats.”

They both turned toward the man who was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall and eating a literal bowl of popcorn.

“Stark, mind your language,” Thor ordered, glaring at him. “I am speaking to my brother-”

“You were,” Loki interrupted, “and I think we're quite done. Have a good evening, Stark.”

With that, Loki walked into his room and slammed the door shot. Almost immediately, the soft clicking of the lock confirmed that his brother would not be coming out until the next day. Thor groaned, only just refraining from pulling at his own hair in irritation.

“No offense,” Stark said, sounding absolutely unimpressed by what he had just seen, “but do you think that if you keep having the same talk every day, he's going to reply something different eventually?”

“I would ask that you do not jest on such matter, my friend,” Thor demanded, feeling as hurt as he was annoyed by the light tone the mortal was using. “Loki is my brother. He might be to you nothing but an enemy, but I have no plan to give up on him so easily.”

“Sure, alright,” Stark shrugged. He knocked on Loki's door. “Good evening to you too, Reindeer Games.”

No reply came, shockingly -no insult nor threat, which, coming from Loki, was practically acceptation. Thor frowned at the door, then at Stark. The mortal just shrugged, offering him his popcorn. Thor turned his back on him with a huff. Maybe he would lock himself in his room for the rest of the night, too.

Another thing Thor would have preferred for Loki to keep to himself?

His being a literal monster.

Stark was often on “Loki duty”, as he himself had baptized it. It worried Thor, and he wasn't even sure which one he was most concerned for.

Either way, it was one of these days, with was working on repairing a large section of a bridge that it happened: an emergency, coming out of absolutely nowhere, in which a masked man led a literal army of giant, man-eating lizards out of the river and into the city. They had never seen him before, nor did he present any demands; he was content to watch, hands in the pockets of his army pants, as his creatures attacked innocent civilians left and right.

The Avengers were warned quickly -but not quickly enough. There were hundreds of lizards, maybe even thousands. Tony Stark and the Black Widow, both of whom had been guarding Loki's progress, had been amongst the first to ring the alarm. And when the Avengers had made it to the scene, what they had found had been... A shock.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thor asked, dread barely held from his voice, landing next to the tall blue figure that was his brother. The sight of Loki's burning red eyes made him stiffen uneasily.

“I'm defending New York,” Loki had replied, with icy -ah- calm. “Does that make me an Avenger?”

Thor had had no time to answer. Loki had raised a hand toward him, and Thor had been sure he would cast a spell on him. Instead, something shockingly cold passed next to him, scraping his cheek, and when he turn, he found another of the reptiles encased in a block of solid ice. Its yellow eyes stared at Loki in shock, one of many horrid statues in the ice cemetary Loki had created around himself by now.

“If you brought that hammer with the plan to use it, I suggest you get to it,” Loki said, startling him back to the instant. “They attacked from the South too. Stark is on the other side of the bridge as we speak.”

It sounded like a trap, a way to get him to go away so Loki could attempt his escape; but even so, he struggled to look at this blue creature and see his brother. His brain refused to comprehend that the Jötun standing in front of him was not the enemy -and adding to that the concern that perhaps Loki was in part responsible for it was too much. But Loki was right. There were too many of the creatures. He needed to start fighting. He didn't know what to do.

“Don't try anything,” he said before taking off.

In the end, the menace was contained in a few long, devastating hours. Though the Avengers prevailed and the villain of the day was apprehended, they hadn't been able to prevent all casualties. As for how and why this had happened, and whether they had to fear more... Only the SHIELD agents in charge of interrogating this man would be able to tell.

It disturbed Thor to find out, in the Quinjet that brought them back to the Tower, that Loki hadn't yet changed back to himself. The fact that his dark clothes and cobalt hands were stained with dark blood did nothing to soften the threatening aura of his scarred appearance. The other Avengers didn't fail to notice, either.

“The f*ck is up with that look?” Barton asked as soon as his eyes landed on Loki. “What is it? Did you have something to do with all this?”

“I did, actually. I contained the menace remarkably well,” Loki answered. He looked bored, though Thor could tell it was an act. “I expect that you will now consider it your debt to see my sentence reduced for, what would you call it? Good conduct?”

“Loki, why are you blue?” Rogers asked, and his jaws clenched as his gaze shifted down. “And where are your handcuffs?”

“Relax, Cap. I removed the cuffs,” Stark waved him off. He was sitting next to Loki and fixing a broken connection in his gauntlet, his armor covered in the scratches of sharp claws and teeth. “Loki said he could help. And he did, didn't he?”

“That wasn't your call to make,” the Captain protested, frowning. “This could have made the situation way worse. Uh -no offense, Loki.”

“Whyever would I be offended,” the Jötun murmured, his red eyes burning with distaste for the man.

“Where are the cuffs now?” Barton asked, his fingers tightening on his bow.

“Somewhere in the Hudson, I think,” Stark said, without looking up from the delicate weld he was doing. “Dropped it without meaning to. In my defense, there were angry lizards trying to eat me.”

“Right,” Rogers said, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, I -Thor, when can you get another set?”

“Uncomfortable, Captain?” Loki questioned quietly. “How you wound me.”

“I would need to ask my father,” Thor replied. The cuffs had been custom made to aid in the binding of Loki's magic -too powerful, Odin had explained, to be contained by a mere spell. He couldn't help himself from grimacing a little. “Loki, why... Why do you look like that?”

“I had to work with what tools your father hadn't ripped out of my hands, of course. What is it, Thor?” Loki leaned forward into his seat. “Do you mind? Does it make you want to kill me? It would be easier than getting new handcuffs. Maybe your father won't even want to. Maybe he'll see this as proof that I need to be contained some other way.”

“Loki, don't get started,” the Captain interfered, clearly trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Nobody here is going to kill you. We're just trying to understand what happened.”

“I helped you,” Loki retorted. “You're welcome.”

“Get a new muzzle done too, Thor,” Barton demanded. “Big Smurf's talking too much for my taste. We're putting him back in the cell until you get him back in chains.”

“We agreed that Loki wouldn't wear the muzzle,” Thor argued, but part of him was almost glad for the interruption. Almost glad for Barton and Rogers stepping between them, and hiding Loki's eyes from him, their glare too piercing, too knowing.

Almost glad, because it was true. Seeing Loki like this made him want to grab Mjölnir and hit him.

And he didn't know what to do to make it stop.

They didn't get new cuffs, in the end. Thor didn't want to go back to Asgard, didn't want to face his father and speak of what had happened. He feared what Odin might want to do to Loki if he suspected the lizards attack had been his doing. He feared to tell his father abut what he had thought when he had seen his brother like this.

The Avengers agreed, with various degrees of reluctancy, to his arguments that Loki had helped them, in the end. Besides, even without the cuffs, Loki had only regained the ability to turn back to his Jötun appearance and to use the ice-bending skills of his people. It was risky, yes -but it wasn't all of his magic. He couldn't use it to make a grand escape, at least not that Thor could imagine.

Barton was furious. Romanoff, whom had been there to see Stark taking the cuffs off, agreed carefully. Rogers was cautious, but let himself be swayed. Banner just wanted to avoid Loki like the plague.

And Stark just looked at him like, duh.

Loki still wouldn't make himself look normal again.

There were a lot of things to repair in the city. Weeks bled into months.

Loki didn't speak to Thor, or only to spit out venom at him. Thor tried to grow used to the way his brother looked, even though he felt this too was his brother purposefully pushing him away.

What surprised him, though, was when he walked into the kitchen and found Loki -blue and barefeet- drinking a smoothie with Stark. His brother normally took all his meals in his room, but he looked at ease enough here, sipping on a pink straw.

“Brother? What...What is going on?” He caught himself upon staring at Loki's red eyes.

“What is going on?” Loki echoed, too flatly to be anything but purposefully cold. Ah.

“Oh, that?” Stark. “We're having a smoothie. I had some peaches about to go bad. You want one?”

Thor stared. It probably wouldn't do to ask Stark if he was alright, not in front of Loki, but this was... Unexpected. And yet, the billionaire looked entirely relaxed, and there was no aggression in Loki's stance.

“I... would like that?” He replied experimentally.

Loki's lips curled in distaste and he looked away. His feet moved from the base of his chair to the floor and Thor almost expected him to storm away, but then Stark glanced Loki's way. Thor couldn't see his brother's face, but something must have happened. Loki sat back the way he had been a moment before.

“There you go,” Stark offered, and handed him a glass full of a colorful beverage, complete with a tiny paper umbrella.

Thor took it. The drink was a little overly sweet. There was complete silence. It was the most awkward drink he had ever enjoyed, and the certainty that Loki and Stark were sharing something secret concerned him. Was his friend safe at all?

There was one last thing Loki was, that Thor wished his brother wasn't.

It was somehow even more unspeakable than his Jötun heritage, and more dangerous perhaps than his murderous resentment.

It took him a long time to gather the strength to warn his friend.

But he did.

Finding Loki outside of his rooms at the end of his days of work, and on his days off, had grown more common. The days off, in fact, had been a new concept, brought up by Romanoff herself, to the confusion of both princes.

“Can't fix up the city if he dies half-way through,” the spy had shrugged, “and he doesn't look real fresh.”

True enough, Loki had started looking a little healthier with the days of rest. It had made him less prone to angering the others, too, but he still didn't miss any opportunity to provoke Thor, pushing at his deepest discomforts. His own blue skin had turned into something of a weapon against Thor, a subject to push at every occasion until Thor had stared to see it less as a proof of his brother's belonging to a race of enemy and more of a proof of Loki being annoyingly himself... Or at least the one he had become.

What concerned him most was the fact that Loki could often be found near the other Avengers. Even Clint, with time, had started to tolerate sitting in the same room as Loki, in a carefully tolerant silence of each other. The fact that Loki had given his advice on the case of the lizard-leader and been right about the man's confessions had probably helped the growing, awkward trust between himself and the group.

Except Thor, it seemed. Why? What had Thor done to earn it?

It was one day in early winter that he started being alarmed, when he found Loki reading in the couch, sitting next to Stark. Quite closely, too. Though Loki remained blue, there was a blanket spread over his lap, and it reached all the way into Stark's, without the engineer, playing on his StarkPad, seeming to notice or mind.

Thor was on edge from there, and warning signs only seemed to wait for him. Loki putting a hand on Stark's shoulder as a gesture goodbye. Loki going with Stark more often than with any other Avengers on his repair missions. Loki actually laughing at something Stark had said.

“I need to talk to you,” Thor told his friend, one night, after a day Loki had spent at the Tower, reading a heavy tome in the couch.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Not here.”

Stark looked up from where he sat in the kitchen, working on some small metallic circle with the help of one of his robots. He frowned, but Thor wordlessly insisted, and the human eventually stood, gesturing him to the elevator. They made it to a shared living room, empty for now, on the lower floor.

“What's going on? You look concerned,” Tony pointed out, running the ring around his fingers, and co*cking his head to the side. “Is it Asgard? Your Dad?”

“It is not,” Thor said, although he supposed he was -worried. His father had started to press for he and Loki to return home, and he had been ignoring his ravens with an increasing sense of guilt. “This is about you, my friend. And I dread telling you about my concerns.”

“About me?” Stark repeated, clearly taken aback. “What'd I do?”

“You, nothing,” Thor reassured him with a thin smile. “That is what concerns me. I... I worry for your... Comfort.”

“My comfort?” The human just stared. “You'll need to be clearer than that, Point Break.”

“Right. This is... A sensitive subject for me. But you are my friend, and I would... I would have this talk before it is too late. This is about Loki.”

“Ah.” The dumb confusion was gone. In its place, Stark had stiffened slightly, brows furrowed with what might have been worry. “And what about him?”

Thor took a deep breath, looking down at the couch next to him. It seemed so easy to speak the words, and yet they struggled to leave him. He needed to warn his friend of what threatened him; and yet his loyalty bound him to his brother, and he feared what might come out of this. Stark looked at him expectantly, and Thor made himself speak.

“Anthony, my brother is argr.”

Stark blinked. He was back to staring dumbly.

“Your brother is “argh”?”

“Argr,” Thor said, bashful to have to repeat the dreaded word, and wincing internally when it became clear that Tony did not understand him. “He would lie with men as one does with women. And I -I fear he has taken a liking to you.”

Stark steadily stared again. The confusion had left his gaze, though, and something had replaced it. Something solid and tense like the mask he wore to battle. Thor shifted uncomfortably.

“Anthony, I know this must seem very shocking. You have given my brother companionship and the trust of a shield-brother when he didn't do anything to convince you of his deserving it. You have been a wonderful friend, to me, and to him, in fact. I -I understand that you would be... Displeased, but...”

“Displeased?” Stark raised his eyebrows. His hands had stopped around the metal circle, and he now sounded like this was a light subject, and yet there was an edge to his voice. Familiarly so.

“There's no need to let the others know,” Thor pleaded. “We can talk to Loki about this. Perhaps he will be amenable-”

“Talk to him to say what?”

There was definitely something sharp, even a little dangerous to Tony's tone, that brought Thor pause. He frowned, uncertain. Tony didn't look amused at all. But though he looked angry, there was none of the shock of discovery or the embarrassed disgust Thor had expected.

“Anthony?”

“You wonder why Loki doesn't talk to you? Listen to yourself. Are you telling me to guard my ass because your evil brother is gay?”

“I did not say anything of the sort,” Thor protested, shocked by the crude wording. “Anthony, please. My brother has tried for years to fight this in himself-”

“Yeah, he did. He told me as much. You know what else he told me? That he had to, because his own family -his own oh-so-loving brother- was telling him he had to, that he was going to get stoned in the town square if he didn't. And they said it like they were going to throw the first stones.”

“Anthony,” Thor protested, and stopped short. Where was this coming from? “I -I would never have...”

“'course not, 'cause he did just what you guys asked and pretended to be something else. Just like he did with the blue skin, right? Although as I understand it, your father didn't give him much of a choice about that.”

“How... How can you speak of...” He shook his head, absolutely lost. “So you are not -mad?”

“Oh, but I am. I am, Blondie. I'm mad because all the time he told me that sh*t, I thought you weren't there anymore. I thought you and him just needed to get to talk to each other to realize that things had changed, and -but, wow, the problem runs way deeper than that, uh? Dude, you've been an Avenger for what, two years now? And you think being gay is something to be hidden?”

“I do not understand your meaning,” Thor finally managed to speak through the irritated speech of his friend.

“Obviously you don't. Your Gaydar is not just broken, you don't have one.”

“Do you not mind my brother being... Interested in you?” Thor tried to clarify, taken aback by how deeply out of control this conversation had spiralled.

“Unlike you, I don't. I don't at all, actually. I thought you were coming to give me the shovel talk, not to pray the gay away.”

“I do not mean to disparage my brother. It is only that most warriors...”

“You don't want to disparage him, try not to spit on everything he is, Thor. Hell, he's been telling you since he's been here. You can't complain he doesn't talk to you and then apologise to others for everything he is. I mean -the murder part, yeah, maybe, but not the rest. Not the blue skin or being gay or being a clever little sh*t.”

“I don't understand,” Thor said, shaking his head. “You knew of this?”

“Sure I did. Loki didn't wait for you to approve to make his move, you know. You want my advice, Thor? You need to sit down and decide what it is you want. If you can't forgive Loki for not being what you wanted him to, then you need to step away and let him do the same. But if you want to say you still love him and care for him, then change your speech and give him a chance to be something else. That's the only way you'll ever get to stop having the same fights every day.”

“Stark, when did you...” He paused. There was a lot to take in -the merciless tone, the unexpected reproaches, implications that he was at fault for Loki still not speaking to him; but still, this wasn't the most shocking part of this. “When did you... think of... All this?”

“Think? Oh, buddy,” Stark said, and then grimaced to the ceiling. “Wow, this is gonna be rough on your hom*ophobic, big brother status. Like I said, Loki didn't wait for your approval, and he was right to do so. We've been... Sort of a thing for about a month now. You really need to buy a Gaydar. I'll help, don't worry.”

Thor stared back at him, absolutely defeated from all possible response. This conversation -this whole situation, Loki staying on Midgard- had gotten so completely out of hand. It was dizzying. It was terrifying, to hear those words, so very far away from everything he knew to be right. And still -wasn't Stark one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes? Weren't his words ringing true, even those he didn't want to hear?

“I will,” he made himself swallow, breathed in, and started again, “I will accept your help, my friend.”

Chapter 11: Day 17 - Shapeshifting

Chapter Text

Tony was a genius. He was also not the most observant man in the world.

He had been told as much before. Pepper had fondly mocked him for his inability to focus on details, remember important dates, or even notice a new dress or haircut. Even after their breakup, she had kept on teasing him for failing to notice the obvious: the fact that it was November, for instance, or that Barton was growing a beard. (To be fair, that last one was a slow process.)

He had been willing to accept this as one of his few flaws. So maybe he had never realized Steve and Bucky were incredibly gay for each other. To be fair, he had fixed a server issue at NASA and maybe kick-started the next great step in space exploration in the same time. You just had to excuse geniuses for being easily distracted.

At least, that was the way he saw it until he walked into his lab, patted his cat on the head, sat at his desk and worked for fifteen minutes uninterrupted before it tilted that he didn't own a cat.

He turned his attention to the fully black, ocelot-sized feline that was sleeping peacefully on his worktable, and wondered if he had missed something important.

The cat opened a lazy green eye when Tony's hand stroked his fur once more, then deliberately closed it again. Tony was absolutely certain he had never seen this animal before, but the cat was clearly trusting: he started purring within a minute, the soft vibration bringing a smile to Tony's lips. He had never considered getting an animal, but this... This certainly was nice.

“Now where the hell did you come from? Did Steve save you from a tree?” He questioned the cat.

It was a fully grown cat, no question, and a pretty big one, even, although it wasn't fat. Tony had no idea what kind of breed it might be, but it looked healthy and clean enough to him -too much to have been picked in the street today. It didn't make it impossible that someone on the team had decided to adopt a cat without a warning, but how had the feline made it into his workshop? Was it even a male or a female?

“Ouch! Bad kitty!” He yelped, bringing his hand to his chest to craddle the three red lines that had appeared on the inside of his palm, a result of the cat slashing at him fiercely when he had tried to turn it on its back.

As a response, the cat seemed to glare at him, which Tony didn't think was possible, and then, in a gentle burning of golden green, turned into a tall man, which Tony definitely knew wasn't possible. Unless-

“What the f*ck, Loki!”

His godly, unreasonably violent boyfriend had appeared curled up on the table, just like the cat had been, sending several pieces of current projects clattering to the floor as he straightened up. He was wearing a fancy suit and a t-shirt featuring a cartoonish octopus, and he was frowning at Tony as though he was the one who had tried to claw his hand off.

“In this appearance, Tony? Really? I know we draw very few lines about what we will do in bed, but this is one of them.”

“What do you...” It took a moment for the pieces to click, and then he shook his head in disbelief. “I wasn't reaching for your kitty balls, you weirdo!”

“It certainly looked like it, from where I stood,” Loki said, sitting up on the edge of the able with a dignified look. “It's alright, this isn't the craziest fantasy I heard about. Let's leave it at that that I do not care for it.”

“I didn't know it was you, asshole,” Tony huffed, incredulous. “Since when do you turn into a cat?”

“Tony, I literally asked you just last week if you minded my shape-shifting around the Tower and you said no. I even warned you this one form was one I was most likely to take.”

“No you didn't! I would remember that!”

“I remember,” Loki stated, slowly, “that you interrupted me to say that it was impossible for someone to change in mass and volume like that, and most likely got carried away and stopped listening from there.”

Now that he said so, it sounded like a pretty likely scenario. Tony winced, looking at the small cuts in his palm.

“Okay, my bad,” he agreed with a small shake of his head. “But in my defense, I really didn't think for a second it was you. I like your balls in your usual form. Or your Jötun form. Either way, I'm not sexually attracted to cats.”

“Duly noted,” Loki said, and he looked like maybe he was smiling a little bit. “You know, it's delightful. You're one of few people I always speak the truth to, and somehow, you forget what I say half the time.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Tony sneered. “Does that mean that I can expect to see you as Lokitty again? Was there a specific reason?”

“I told you,” Loki pointed out, and then shrugged when Tony looked at him pointedly. “I shapeshift according to my moods. My transformations, big or small, are a matter of feelings. I felt like curling up in a familiar place, and the cat took over. I could always fight it, of course, but...”

“No need,” Tony agreed. It was nice enough to know that Loki considered the lab a safe, nice space to snuggle into in feline form that he could almost forget his poor mangled hand. “Like I apparently said, you can shape-shift around the tower all you want.”

“I've been doing it, too,” Loki said, distractedly taking Tony's hand and examining the little cuts there. “Less obviously, of course, but some of your friends took notice.”

“You did? When? How?”

“JARVIS, would you clear things up for your father?”

“Certainly, Sir,” the AI answered pleasantly, and a video screen unfolded in front of Tony's eyes.

Tony blinked a few times. He knew Loki was schooling him -and enrolling JARVIS with him too, the brute- but he couldn't help being curious about what he had missed. He sort of expected to find a variety of black and green animals, but instead were half a dozen recordings of Loki around the tower. Making himself a cup of tea, sparring with Natasha, even enjoying a bath. Only, one of the Lokis had unusually long hair pulled up in a ponytail and wore a cute little horned headband; another one was resting in all black, emo-looking clothes, painting his nails black; the one in the bath was definitely more muscular than he remembered his lover being on an ordinary day, and the sharpness of his face looked a little... Younger?

“Wait a minute... This is all you?” He asked, increasingly confused.

“All within the last week, even,” JARVIS helpfully clarified.

“Did you... Cut your hair?” Tony questioned, looking back at his lover. Loki had procured an antiseptic cream from an unknown location and was gently spreading it over the tiny wound. It felt very sweet, considering Tony knew he had clearly been caught in the middle of a romantic faux-pas.

“Not with scissors,” Loki replied, and smiled at him, eyes twinkling. “For the smartest man on this planet, you are so easily distracted. It's adorable.”

“You shape-shifted your hair shorter?”

“I shape-shifted all of me different,” Loki answered, letting the tube of cream disappear into gods-knew-where. “That's what I was going to explain when you zoned out last time. I can shape-shift deliberately, like when I take my Jötun form, but more often than not, my changes just come to me. They follow my moods, somehow.”

“And... What kind of mood is ponytail Loki?” Tony tried to clarify, frowning in new determination to memorize all this.

“I don't fully know. I'm the God of Change, Anthony. I shift like the weather. My rages and deep sorrows write themselves on my face when I fail to contain them. My mischievious moods turn my hair red. My anger draws scars on my face. It's the same as when I turn into a woman: I simply feel like one, and at once, it is how others can see me.”

“You turn into a ginger when you want to prank people? That's -useful, actually. It means I could -wait, a woman?”

“I had a feeling you would appreciate this possibility.” Loki grinned. “Lady Loki does not appear much these days, but she is a part of me you are bound to meet eventually.”

“Oh my god, you're the most literal genderfluid person in the world.” That was, indeed, one hell of a concept to suddenly register. His lover could be a man or a woman? Jackpot. “That's amazing.”

“Of course,” Loki said, “sometimes I feel rather like stealing warmth from you, and then I might turn into a snake. Or else I want to stretch my legs, and I'll become a horse or a fox. Not all my shifting is going to be beneficial to you.”

“Nor does it have to be,” Tony quickly agreed. “But still amazing. Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“Not all are comfortable with this... Fluidity,” Loki said, with a small grimace. “Of course, your being distracted by the science of it the first time I tried to explain did make for a small delay, too.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't... Well, I guess I got carried away.”

“From one such as you, I suppose I should have expected no less,” Loki said, and he placed a little magic kiss on Tony's palm. Its magic was literal: the wound went away completely. “Is that better?”

“That's great, actually. Thanks, Lock."

“Good. Then I can go back to my nap?”

“As a cat?”

“As a cat. I trust it will not be a problem?”

“No, of course not. Of course... Damn,” Tony whispered as Loki disappeared as easily as he had appeared, his towering silhouette turning into the small, dark shape of the cat. Loki turned on his little paws, seemingly choosing the best spot of the table before lying down. “How the hell is that possible? I mean, seriously, where does your mass go? Can I pick you up? No? Got it. You need to let me ask questions later, okay? Loki? Fine, fine -get your sleep. I still got questions.”

Tony Stark was a smart man, if not the most observant. Eventually, he always found answers.

Chapter 12: Day 6 - Mythology

Chapter Text

Tony hurried through the hallways, the sick taste of bile in his mouth. He had waited as long as he had been able to stand it, and maybe a little more than that. Though he had left the great hall discreetly, and was now halfway across the castle, he felt like he could still hear the laughters and joyful chatter of the crowd of gods-monsters, all of them gathered around Thor and his new toy.

How clever, they were saying. How funny. Well played, well played on all parts. Sick bastards, laughing at a great performance.

Tony didn't run, but it was for fear his legs would buckle up under him. He made it up the stairs two steps at a time, pausing only once, in horror. A smeared handprint of awful red blood stained the ramp.

Curse them. Curse them all.

The doors were open; even if he had seen nothing of what had just transpired downstairs, he would have known to be scared of this much. Blood here too, on the handle, on the golden sculpted door left ajar in its owner's desperate hurry to find the safety of his own space.

Loki didn't usually neglect to secure the way after himself. Then again, Tony knew him well, and he had never seen his god's eyes bright with tears in front of the Aesir crowd.

“Loki, it's me,” he called, closing the door after himself. “I'm here. Can I come see you?”

He had half the time to chastisize himself for asking a question out loud before he was startled by a choked answer, coming from the bathroom.

“Please wait for me in the living room.”

Loki's voice was hoarse and pained and Tony marvelled at hearing it, so soon after -after what had happened. He wanted to rush toward it, to see for himself how Loki was doing -how do you think, fool?-, but the demand had been composed and calm and clear, and he had no excuse to refuse it.

He sat down in the couch, body slumping down in relief and horror both. He looked at the empty fireplace, everything in the room looking quiet. Undisturbed by everything that had happened today. This very morning, Tony had been looking forward to Loki's return, eager to sit with him in this very room and hear about his adventure. How much had happened, in just the course of a day.

His vision blurred. Only when he wiped them off his cheek did he notice the furious tears that had seeped from his eyes. Curse them all, he thought again, closing his eyelids furiously. Thor and Tyr and Baldr and Sif and the dwarves and Odin. Curse himself, he swore, if he ever sat at their table again. He should turn his back to Asgard forever and let them regret what came of making enemies out of them.

But no. Even with his rage and pain pulsing desperately within him, no, he knew. This wasn't the first time they treated Loki like a monster; this wasn't the first time Loki refused to show them what a monster he could be. Why else would he be here still, in this rooms in the castle where the gods were celebrating his pain?

He waited, even though the wait drove him crazy. He heard nothing from the bathroom, no water nor movement; but Loki had asked him to stay here.

Tony was usually bad at following instructions, even more so at being idle. There was only one being in the Nine Worlds who could make him stay still, just by asking.

But it wasn't getting easier.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, he heard Loki's footsteps leaving the bathroom. He was still wearing his boots, by the sound of it -another abnormal detail to this subtly, horribly wrong crisis. Tony immediately sat up, waiting for him.

“You shouldn't have come, Anthony. They will notice your absence.”

The sound of his voice was a relief, but it was awful no less; his words were odd, carefully pronounced like he didn't want to speak them. The reason for that was painfully obvious as soon as he saw him, and even though he had been sure to be ready for it, Tony shuddered at the sight of his god.

The thick leather thread was gone; only Loki had not taken it out gently, not undone the barbaric work the dwarf had down with his awl by cutting the stitches. Instead, Loki's lips were mangled, literally torn to pieces where the Jötun had ripped the thread from his mouth.

“Oh, Norns, Loki...”

He bit his own lips, wanting to say that he would have fixed it for him. But how could he blame him for wanting the damn thing gone as fast as possible?

Loki's eyes were still wide, as if he was still not quite sure of what had happened, himself. His mouth was hard to look at, the blood, evidently wiped away several times already, running continuously down his chin. His hands were drowned with blood too, shaking slightly at his side.

“You should be looking... At Thor's new weapon. That's what they would expect from you,” he articulated flatly, his words pausing painfully at each sound that required he close his mouth.

“Thor can stick that hammer where I'm thinking,” Tony replied, gritting his teeth. “Sit down. Someone needs to -I need to clean this up. Sit down.”

“I'm not feeling very well,” Loki said softly. “You should... Go back. I'll lie down until... This feels better.”

“Just sit down for now,” Tony repeated, throat constricted. “I'll be right back.”

There was blood on the way to the bathroom: on the walls, the door, even on the floor, in the shape of fingers struggling for support. Yet the small water room was worse. The confined space reeked of copper. The counter was bloody and gross, a dirty towel resting on the sink, heavy with the weight of it; worst, even, was the sight of the bloody black thread, broken to pieces, still knotted to keep it in place.

Tony had to steady himself, motionless for an instant. His reflection in the mirror looked much paler than his usual self. He wondered if Loki had been staring at himself, at the bloody wreck that was his face, while he had been waiting.

He searched the cabinets, even though Loki had done so ahead of him, perhaps searching for a sharp blade before despair had driven his hands to his mouth. He found a pile of towels, only slightly stained red where Loki had brushed it, and shakingly grabbed a few potions. As a last thought, he threw the lot into a small washing bassin and, bracing himself, brought everything back to the living room.

Loki, at least, had taken a seat on the very edge of the couch. His eyes were open, staring at his own hands. He was shaking still, and Tony put down his burden next to him before reaching for a soft knitted blanket which was usually for his own use. Loki shied away from it.

“It will get dirty,” he protested.

“I don't care,” Tony said, maybe more harshly than he had meant to.

Loki looked up at him, surprised, or maybe still too shocked to protest further. Tony draped the blanket around his shoulders.

Maybe it was completely dumb to wrap a Frost Giant in a blanket, but he needed to do something.

“Let me see it,” he demanded, dragging the coffee table closer to sit on it, facing Loki.

There was obvious reluctance, but Loki did lift his head slightly. His eyes sought out Tony's, but Tony couldn't make himself meet his gaze. He didn't know what he would do if he did. There was a coldness at the back of his throat that threatened to bring him down to his knees if he gave in to it, and he just couldn't allow it. Not when Loki needed someone.

So he got to work, the one thing he knew how to do. He took a towel and soaked it with a cleaning, numbing potion to start dabbing at the mess of torn flesh that had so recently still been his Loki's clever smile. The smallest pression drew a new river of blood, but even before the potion had had a chance to work, not a sound came out of Loki.

Tony's stomach twisted violently with the memory of the muffled shrieks he had heard in the throne room. The violent writhing and fighting of a thin body held down to the floor, legs kicking aimlessly as supposed allies forced him still. There had been whispers and gasps all around the hall, people trying to stretch to look between the strong shoulders of Thor or Baldr and see the God of Mischief overpowered, but they had been mostly silent then, as though eager to hear any pleas or scream from the so proud son of Laufey.

Once Loki had been silent, though, they had cheered and laughed and yelled for all he could no longer whisper. Their deafening jeers and their chuckles and even their applauses, sick, sick, sickening with their amusem*nt as the mutilated god struggled to his knees, almost fell down, looked at his dearest brother who wouldn't even look back at him in his suffering, busy thanking the dwarves-

Tony breathed in painfully, feeling like he was going to puke. Loki did not seem to notice. He had finally closed his eyes.

Blood kept falling, and he had to change the towel for a second one. Tony's hands were steady when the rest of him was not. He was not a god himself, but there was a reason the Aesir kept a half-human around. His weapons and armors had always been the best.

His mind flashed to the pile of treasures, wasted at Odin's feet, that Loki had brought back from Nidavellir. Fool, fool, fool. He could have fixed it. He could have made a wig for Sif. He could have avoided all this, if only Loki hadn't beeen so agitated, so eager to not only fix his prank but gain approval, persuade Thor to forget the incident completely...

He had wagered his own head, the dwarves had said. Had he been so confident in his bargain? Loki didn't make mistakes, not unless his panic or anger or pain got the better of him. Had the dwarves taken advantage of the state he had been in when making his order?

“Y-you're bleeding so much, Loki. I'm going to use some scarring balm to try to steady it, okay? It -it might hurt, though.”

“It does hurt,” Loki murmured, but with his eyes shut as they were, Tony wasn't sure he was really answering him.

He covered his fingers with the balm and started to spread it on Loki's upper lip -or what was left of it- before he could let himself hesitate. His stomach kept churning at the sight of Loki's teeth, his gums, where the flesh had been torn mercilessly by urgency. He could see a small puncture circle, practically insignificant, on one corner. The thread had broken there, coming out of the wound without ripping flesh off, confirming what he had suspected: the worst of this was Loki's doing.

And yet, just like he wasn't going to blame Loki for betting his life away, it didn't even come to mind to blame Loki for it.

He had chosen a God of Fire and Wind and Change to swear fealty to, all those years ago. He hadn't done so with the impression that Loki was a being of reason and calm. It wasn't what had drawn him to this god, far from the golden Aesir and their attributes.

Back then, Loki had been shocked by Tony's spoken desire to become his follower. He was a Jötun, he had told him. He was a seiðrmaðr, a shapeshifter, a trickster. He was only a god by name, only allowed in the great halls of Valhalla because Odin had declared it so.

Because once, before Tony himself had been born, once, Odin must have been less of a monster, and more of a king. Once, the travelling Allfather had met the young witch-prince of Jötunheim, and had marvelled at the fire in his mind, to the point of making him his own blood-brother. And Loki had been amazed, too, amazed at the spirit and power of the king of the Gods, and too happy to leave the frozen wastes of the land of the giants to become a God as well, a God of riddles and mischief and inventions.

Tony wondered sometimes when Odin had changed. What it was, that had turned the young Allfather of those forgotten times, the one who had called a young Jötun brother, into the stern, unbending, stoically cruel king Asgard knew today. Perhaps, in truth, he had never been anything else. They said Odin was good at disguises and tricks of his own.

Yet even so. Even after Sleipnir and after Skaði, after Utgarda-Loki and Hela and Andvari, even after all those wounds and betrayals and demands, Loki still sat at Odin's table. Even with Odin's sons and brothers and people scorning and mocking, he remained in Asgard with his head high, eager to please, eager to trick, eager to bend their somber stories with his pranks, eager to be the creature of freedom and laughter he was meant to be.

When Tony had made his choice, when he had bent his knee to swear loyalty to his God, Loki had been startled. He had asked him why. He had started by refusing him, telling him he couldn't follow him, until Tony had persuaded him. Loki had been quick to be charmed by his smithing and his clever words, and soon willing to give him his blessing. Even so, he had refused for Tony to make his fealty public, as was custom.

Which had told Tony, even then, that Loki knew perfectly what everyone else was saying about him. The Jötun was willing to pretend to be blind about it when his own life was at risk; wasn't it saying more, than, that he had been so eager to protect Tony, and later his own children, from being associated with him?

Tony knew Loki still visited Sleipnir and Hela; one in the stables, treated like a beast; the other in the underworld, called an enemy. Yet he did so in secret, just like he made Tony sit away from his own seat.

He chose to stay. And Tony wanted to blame him, but he couldn't. He had known. He had always known.

Because he was loyal to Loki. And Loki was loyal, and only he knew why, to Odin.

“Do you... Want something to drink?” Tony asked carefully. He could see the blood encrusted in Loki's teeth and gums.

“I would like that.”

He wiped his bloody hands and went to get a glass of water, careful not to make it too cold. When he brought it to Loki, the Jötun made a sickening grimace, and Tony had to hear his voice to recognise it as an attempted smile.

“This will probably not be very graceful.”

“When are you ever?” Tony countered gently.

Loki huffed softly, perhaps in amusem*nt or perhaps to brace himself before he reached out. Tony watched as he tilted the glass, careful not to press it to either of his lips. He spilled half the water on his own bloodied tunic, yet Tony was more disheartened by the shivers of pain that came from opening his mouth wide.

“I'll fix you something,” he decided, voice breaking slightly. “I'll make a bottle -with a narrow neck, so you can put it in your mouth and it doesn't spill.”

“My clever smith,” Loki said, and again he showed teeth in a painful smile.

“We need to get you changed into something clean, first,” Tony said. “And then... You -you should rest, you're right.”

“Did I close the door?” Loki suddenly asked, and he made a half-gesture to stand up.

Tony stopped him in his track, firmly pressing a hand to his knee, and then pulling it away as if burned as he remembered the strong violence with which Odin's sons had held Loki down. Green, glassy eyes stared at him, and he made himself answer with a nod instead of apologising.

“It's alright,” he said, voice hoarse. “I did it. Nobody's coming in.”

“You shouldn't have followed,” Loki said, abruptly moving back to his initial protest. “There's a magic spear. And that hammer... You -you need to look at them.”

“Right now, I want to be here,” Tony replied sternly. He refused to wonder whether Loki was concerned for his safety, or if he actually thought that, at a time like this, Tony would have preferred to study magical weapons than to be at his side, assisting him through this. “I'm staying with you.”

“Odin will come to see me,” Loki argued, and he closed his eyes. “He will come here. He can't see you in my rooms.”

“I'll go away then,” Tony promised, if only to ease a little of the agitation he sensed in his God.

He kept his tongue from saying that Odin had done enough, that the only way he should visit Loki would be to apologise and beg for forgiveness on both his knees. Oh, how he wanted to. How he wanted to let his anger out, and curse the one-eyed monster, and to convince Loki to turn away.

But he was not so foolish as to try. The Gods distrusted and mocked Loki, but they needed him. They would never have let him go, not when he was their best ally with the Jötnar, not when he fixed all their mistakes. Perhaps Loki himself was aware of it, or perhaps he truly still believed in the platitudes that Odin would tell him. Enough of them were spoken outside of these walls for Tony to know just what the Allfather would be saying. Brother, how foolish of you. You could have been killed, had I not calmed those enraged dwarves. All this for one of your pranks! Was it worth it? What business did you have cutting the girl's hair? You thought it would be funny? Ah. Yet you are not laughing now, are you? I wonder sometimes where your mind is at.

“I didn't think,” Loki spoke quietly, so quietly Tony almost missed it, “that he would let it go that far. I got him all those presents.”

“They do not deserve you,” Tony replied, feeling something breaking in his chest. “I'm sorry, Loki. What they did was -nothing short of barbaric.”

“I'm supposed to be the savage one,” Loki said, and laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound, but it died down quickly. Maybe out of pain. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, a hand hovering above his mouth without quite touching it. “I'm worried, Tony. Someday, you'll be hurt.”

In the end, Odin would never let Loki go, either. He was his ally, his servant, even. He was smarter than all the Aesir combined, more resourceful and dangerous than anything. And although even he struggled to contain the fire of Loki's laughter, it felt to Tony that only he realized Loki laughed less each day. He feared what would happen of this fire, when Loki truly gave up on his pranks and started instead to truly burn those around him.

Tony would be there, he had decided as much a long time ago. Until his time came, he would be by Loki's side -come fire or vengeance or Ragnarök itself. Let Loki save or destroy the Nine Worlds. Tony would be there. Maybe he would be hurt. Maybe it would be by Odin. Maybe it would be by Loki himself.

Even so, he was not going anywhere.

“You need to rest, astin min”, he said rather than to tell Loki as much, allowing himself to use the rare, precious words as he drew the blanket closer around Loki's shoulders. “I'll be staying right here with you.”

“I'm sorry that you had... To be there for all this,” Loki said. Something about his frown made Tony wonder if he, too, meant more than what he was saying. “But selfishly... I am glad. I am so glad, djasnið mitt. They have so many followers, yet I have the most precious one.”

“You're starting to talk nonsense,” Tony teased, even as his heart stirred. “Let's get you to bed, Loki. We need... We need to let this heal,” he added, very quietly, and, once more, chased away the feeling of unfair resignation he felt.

He had made his choice. And though it had been a painful one, a path of sorrows, he would have made it again, at any given chance.

Chapter 13: Day 2 - Making Food for Someone

Chapter Text

It was Friday night at Stark Tower, and all the Avengers were assembled, although there was no menace to be thwarted. The occasion was of another nature: they were socializing.

It had taken Thor all his persuasion skills to get Loki to join the group. Even though he was technically part of the team, spending his evening drinking and speaking with heroes had never been his type. Still, his brother had been insistant, and eventually, Loki had agreed to give it a try.

Romanoff and Barton were just back from an unspecified secret mission which had clearly gone better than expected, and the return of the two spies in such a good mood had prompted an improvised party. Tony had ordered a dozen pizzas and Rogers had started a surprisingly good playlist. Everyone had gathered in the living room, and it had been only a matter of time before someone had suggested a game.

Loki had expected pretty much anything, from contests of aim or balance to drinking games; he had been only moderately surprised by the production by Tony of an unknown card game that had elicited amused winces and groans from the gathered team.

“What is this?” He asked his lover out loud, frowning.

“It's kind of a get-to-know-each-other game,” Tony said with a smile. “You'll see, it's easier shown than explained. Who wants to get started?”

The game, it appeared, consisted of somebody pulling out a card and having to answer the demand written on it at the best of their ability. The answer was always related to another person around the circle, picked by pure chance, who would in turn pick a card. All in all, it was innocent enough, and maybe even a little funny, Loki decided, to see Banner trying to decide what Thor's favorite color was.

“Red?”

“Not at all,” his brother proclaimed proudly. “It is blue.”

“Seriously? You need to tell your wardrobe as much, big guy,” Tony scoffed as the others protested in amusem*nt.

“Red is a noble color, fitting for a warrior who fears not to announce his presence on the battlefield,” Thor argued with a grin. “What do I have to guess?”

“What...” Banner picked the next card. “...is Clint's favorite fruit?”

“Blueberries,” Thor responded with such confidence that they all turned toward the archer, who blinked.

“What? No. Where did you get the idea?”

It was an amusing way to get to know one another better, Loki had to agree, as all around the living room started to laugh at Thor's reasoning that blueberries were his favorite fruits, and that as such, he had expected everyone would love them.

Barton guessed accurately that Roger did know how to dance, which prompted demands to see the super-soldier confirm the claim. Romanoff sacrified to the exercice of sharing a waltz with him, then a remarkable tango the gathered Avengers gratified with generous applause. The game went briefly off-track at that point with everyone sharing their own abilities, and, eventually, Thor arguing to make a demonstration of Asgardian traditional dances with Loki.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww, come on, Lock!” Tony pleaded. “I wanna see! What kind of music do you need, Thor?”

“Something with strong percussions and a quick pace. Come now, brother, help me demonstrate!”

Loki had absolutely no intention of shaming himself in front of the team in any such way, but Tony was insistant, and soon, the rest of the team was chanting his name, forcing him to get to his feet to the sound of their cheers.

“Please tell me this is a couple dance,” Barton grinned, rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, I was never good at those,” Thor said. “No, this is a dance performed by men, you will see. Loki, the daggers?”

“Wait wait wait, daggers?” Rogers protested to the laughter of Tony.

In the end, the demonstration seemed to impress their public more than it shamed Loki, who had to admit, begrudgingly, that it wasn't unpleasant to share the almost forgotten skill with the new team. In the loud beat of drums and the slashing of daggers, he might even have allowed himself to smile as memories of doing this with Thor dozens of time before came back. They were out of breath when they sank into the couch.

"That was both unnecessarily violent and weirdly sexy," Tony commented, squeezing a hand to Loki's thigh in a way that seemed to imply he would want to ask for a repeat of a few steps later. "Anyone else?"

In a show of good faith, Barton demonstrated something he called country dancing, and Romanoff even performed a few impressive steps of ballet to the general appreciation.

“We make for a truly grandiose company!” Thor grinned. “Who's next?”

Roger supposed that Tony only spoke English, which was inaccurate -he also spoke good French and even better Italian, not that Thor or Loki could confirm as much through the intermediary of the Allspeech. Tony decided that it was most likely that Thor had not had pets in his life -which was also false, and launched a hearty discussion about the potential of goats as companions. There were groans of protest when Thor had to answer his own question about Loki, but even so, the rules were the rules.

“What,” Barton read, “does Loki wear to bed?”

“Stark would know better,” Romanoff remarked, bringing her beer bottle to her lips.

“Linen pants,” Thor assured, “and a silk shirt.”

“Fancy,” Rogers commented, smiling.

“Once, maybe,” Loki said, deciding easily enough to go along with the game. “But these days, I usually sleep in the nude. What's my question?” He grinned while Barton pretended to be sick and Thor hid his eyes.

“What part of Natasha's body is her favorite?” Rogers read out loud.

“Her wrists, I believe.”

“How do you know that?” The spy asked, disbelieving.

“I'm just that good,” Loki smirked.

“That was totally just a lucky guess,” Banner protested.

“Natasha,” Thor smiled, picking the next card, “what is Tony terrible at?”

“Oooh, multiple choices,” Barton smiled, and just avoided a pillow thrown his way.

“Cooking,” Romanoff assured confidently. “The man can't boil an egg to save his life.”

“Hey, that's not true! I can cook!” Tony protested, and Loki eyed him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can you? I've never seen you try,” he remarked, and there were little oohs and whistles from around the room.

“I can't cook either,” Rogers admitted chivalrously. “I always used to burn every pan at home, and in the army, they made it a running gag that I couldn't even mix our rations properly.”

“I'm a decent cook,” Barton said, co*cking his head to the side, “but baking's out of the question.”

“Really? I can really only bake,” Banner smiled. “My banana bread used to be legendary at the university.”

It was such a clever way to learn about each other, Loki thought with a smile. All you had to do was be willing to share, and trust, at least a little bit. He and Romanoff were probably both struggling as much as each other; and yet they were there, with this little team that was theirs. He leaned slightly against Tony, finding his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze that elicited a curious look from his lover.

“What?”

“I'm just teasing, you know. I can't cook either.”

The others laughed, and the game went on. Tony argued that Barton's dream vacation was a Canadian shack. Barton mistakenly thought that Loki's eyes were blue. Loki inaccurately guessed that Rogers' middle name was America, and Rogers assumed that Thor was not afraid of spiders.

“Wrong,” Loki smirked. “I can remember him screaming like a maiden when confronted with Frost Spiders.”

“They have too many legs,” Thor assured with dignity.

Yes. They chose to trust, and their trust was rewarded.

It was only a few weeks after the party that it started. Sniffs and throat clearings at first, and then Tony started coughing for no reason, while he was in bed with Loki or sitting at his desk. Loki didn't understand, not immediately, when his lover, after a mean coughing fit, instead of being worried, welcomed the change with a pissed off “oh, Christ, I don't need that”.

“What's happening to you?” He worried, studying his lover from head to toe. He looked a little red from the coughing, but other than that, there were no obvious signs of injuries. “Are you in pain?”

“Not yet,” Tony huffed, “but just you wait. My colds are always devastating. Come on, I'm supposed to travel to Spain this week.”

“Your... Colds?” Loki repeated, frowning. “Is that what this is? Some kind of ailment?”

“You don't know what a cold is?” Tony asked, frowning, and then he sniffed and wiped his nose gracelessly on his sleeve. “Seriously, you guys on Asgard don't get sick?”

“We have illnesses, but this is unfamiliar. Why are you sick? What's happening to you?”

So Tony explained; being thorough as he was, he gave Loki a small lecture about microbes and viruses and antibodies and how the flu mutated every year instead of getting to the relevant part.

“How do we fix it?” Loki interrupted eventually, when it had grown clear that Tony was getting distracted by telling him about how he had once considered dabbling in the pharmaceutical industrie because he had had a great idea for a vaccine but he had never gotten around to do it.

“Oh -it's gonna go away on its own. I'm just gonna be miserable for a couple of days. I tend to have it bad, but short. Runny nose, itchy throat, sneezing, coughing. I usually get headaches and fever, but hey, maybe this will be a small one?”

But it wasn't. On the next morning, Loki was tired, and Tony was exhausted, both of them kept awake by the whistling sound of Tony's breathing. Loki's irritation quickly turned to worry, though, once they were out of bed and the coughing resumed, sounding hollow and painful.

“I deed to lock byself in the roob,” his lover groaned with a hoarse, annoyed voice. “I should habe dode that already. Can'd habe the whole teab sick.”

“I'm staying with you,” Loki decided immediately. He was in no way thrilled to keep a close eye on Tony blowing his nose noisily every five minutes, but he was not going to let his fragile mortal out of sight.

“Are you kidding? This could be all... Sick blankets and dative people agaid. You're an alien. The cold bight kill you. I should have kicked you out before,” Tony huffed, and then started coughing again. Somehow, it sounded even worse than the first time.

“I'm a Frost Giant,” Loki argued, disbelieving. “I'm not going to catch a cold.”

It was unfair, but he won the fight easily enough, if only because Tony was much too weak to have any chance to win an argument with him. His lover was displeased, but he was also miserable-looking, and he quickly stopped arguing when Loki, having asked JARVIS everything that Tony had neglected to tell him about his condition, started taking care of him.

There were, in fact, oddly few protests. In other circ*mstances, Loki might have stopped to wonder whether Tony was happy to be taken care of.

They warned the rest of the team that Tony was quarantined, and that Loki was staying with him. Then, Loki got to work. He watched that Tony drank a glass of water every hour, and took his temperature repeatedly, ignoring the amused glances that got him when he held the thermometer to Tony's lips and told him to open wide. No fever yet. Maybe they could break this quickly enough.

JARVIS helped Loki order a bunch of supplies from the closest drugstore while Tony was distracted -briefly allowed to work on a tablet. He chose an assortment of cough syrups and drops, pills meant to relieve fever and headaches, and even a hot water bottle. Tony actually laughed when he saw the order arrive through the elevator.

“Aww, are you worried about me?” He asked.

“I am, in fact,” Loki replied with dignity. “Why are you barefoot?”

The cough sounded bad, but Loki was hopeful. The day went on and Tony went through some work, then agreed to taking some syrup with their order of Indian food and let him be convinced to go to bed early. JARVIS had assured him that a romantic handjob was not counter-indicated, and he was not afraid to use all his resources to ensure his lover's speedy recovery.

He woke up, though, in the middle of the night, disturbed by a violent, wet coughing fit right next to him. He winced, shifted, and found the bedsheets soaked. Tony was out of breath and swearing quietly, drenched in sweat.

“I wanna die,” he said helpfully when Loki turned on the bedside lamp, curled up on his side.

“Roll over on my side,” Loki said, frowning. “I'll change the bedding. Lie still while I get clean sheets.”

Tony obliged, but his coughing didn't lessen while Loki procured the clean bedding. When he asked him to move out, he noticed his lover was actually shaking and looking pale. He hadn't been exaggerating about having it bad. Loki could only hope that he had also been right about the illness being short.

“Here, you can lie back down,” he said after quickly tucking in the new sheets, and the fact that Tony didn't protest, just quickly brought the duvet up to his neck, was another cause for worry.

His lover closed his eyes, and Loki thought that he would be trying to fall back asleep; but he was quickly shaken by a new fit of coughing and hacking as though something was trying to crawl out of him. It was desolating and quite frankly worrisome to watch. How could humans consider this a normal affliction? Was it, really? Or was Tony trying to comfort him? No -JARVIS or the others would have said something, right?

“I'll get you something to drink. Just keep the thermometer under your tongue while I'm gone.”

Tony did, although Loki heard him nearly spitting out his lungs while he busied himself in the kitchen. JARVIS had purchased an helpful amount of electrolytes beverages he had assured him would do better than water on Tony's levels of hydratation, and as an added bonus, Tony had always been more willing to drink colorful beverages than plain water.

The thermometer, when he came back, indicated 100.4°F. Only then did Loki realize he had no idea what was the norm of the human body.

“That's a bit high,” Tony croaked out. Only his hand emerged, to hold on to the bottle. He gave Loki a corner smile. “I'b just too hot.” Then he was punished for his bad humor by another coughing fit, and Loki physically winced in sympathy.

He got him the pills he had purchased; the packaging promised fast relief of fever and congestion, and it was even specified that the blue pills would encourage sleep while the yellow ones would fight it. He handed Tony two of the blue pills and watched him swallow them and then blow his nose again. It was all pink when he was done. It would have been cute, if it hadn't been a sign of possibly upcoming death.

“Sorry. This is sobe sad bortal sh*t,” Tony huffed. “I'll be better by borning. Dry to get sobe sleep.”

But Loki didn't do much sleeping, not through the continued noise of coughs and sneezes and his worries that this might be the end of Tony's short, precious life.

In the morning, Tony did manage to go to the bathroom all by himself, and proclaimed he was hungry. He seemed a little better, but the fever held at just 100.3°F, refusing to go down.

Tony had two croissants and a hot coffee, and he did manage to stomach them without too much coughing. Still, Loki made him drink another of the unnaturally red beverages and forbade him from leaving the bed without warm socks. He otherwise allowed him to go along with his own desires, simply glad not to hear him hacking out his lungs every other instant.

It was after lunch that things started degenerating. Tony started complaining about a headache until he said he was going to try to sleep through it; as soon as he went lying down, the coughing started again, going on for longer, deeper fits.

Loki took his temperature again. It had climbed to 103.6°F.

“You dnow, id's really interesding,” Tony croaked out. “Id's like -by body's warbing up to dry to kill the sickdess, like, id's forgetting that id bight kill be too. Cad you ibagine? Worst... Superhero eber.”

“This is a terrible defense mechanism,” Loki approved, not dignifying the last bit with a reply, because he wasn't sure who Tony was insulting -himself, or the 'little soldiers' that were his white blood cells, as he had explained it earlier. It wasn't even tempting to make any jokes when his lover's eyes were glassy and weak. “If I ever design a body, I'll figure something better.”

Afternoon turned to evening, and the coughing came and went. When the sky turned dark with night, Loki was bothered: Tony had been in and out of sleep for hours, and though he had had another electrolytes drink, he was quite confident he needed to it.

“It is most common to feed people infected with the common cold with chicken broth,” JARVIS helpfully provided when Loki voiced his concern. “It is easy to eat and to stomach, commonly thought of as comforting and nourishing, and helps to reduce congestion.”

“Alright,” Loki agreed readily. If the solution had required to persuade Tony to eat raw liver, he wouldn't have given up, but this sounded like a good solution. “Can you procure some?”

“It might be easier to make a good one at home, Sir.”

“What -here?”

“There's some powder stock in the pantry, Sir. I will guide you through it.”

He pinched his lips together, thinking back to the game, a few weeks ago. He had been absolutely honest: he was a terrible cook. He could barely place potatoes in the ashes of a fire to cook them; anything else was completely alien to him. He always forgot cooking delays, misjudged on the readiness of ingredients, and messed up the use of spice.

“Can't you order a serving, as you do with most food?”

“It would take at least an hour, Sir.”

He grimaced, but slowly started rolling up his sleeves. He could hear the subtle judgement in the AI's voice. He supposed he had no choice but to try.

Tony's healthy became worse before it started, slowly, to get better. It was after two days of headaches and drenched sheets and cough that sounded like he was dying that the mortal started, finally, to heal.

It was about time. At its peak, his fever had reached 105.4°F and Loki had been about to risk it all and try one of the few healing spells he knew on Tony, even with the possibility of it being too much for his body. But his stubborn, precious human had pulled through.

“Well, that was an incredible waste of time,” he said one afternoon. He was down to a regular and even comforting 99°F and only needed to cough every now and then, no longer sounding like he was going to spit out something vital in the process. He was still in bed, but it was Loki's insistance, not the fact that he couldn't stand. “Too bad for Spain.”

“Too bad,” Loki agreed. “You were not joking about your illnesses being short and powerful.” He paused. Then smiled. It was getting a little easier, even if he was still tired from keeping an eye on Tony all through the night. “Like you, I suppose.”

“Ha, ha,” Tony said, rolling his eyes, and reaching for a glass of water. For once, he had asked for it himself, saying he was going to start peeing blue if he didn't, and Loki was inclined to letting him decide. “Dumbass. Hey, I was wondering...”

“Yes, you do owe me. This was an awful experience.”

“As if,” Tony sneered. “No, I mean it. While I was busy dying-”

“Don't jest.”

“-you brought me chicken soup, didn't you?”

Loki stiffened a little. He could imagine Barton asking the question -what's the most ridiculous fail of Loki's life?

“I believe I did. JARVIS suggested it was a good source of comfort and nutrients.”

“Yeah, you're playing dumb, which is comforting me in the idea that I'm right.”

“I am most certainly not dumb, and right about what?”

“That soup was salty enough, it could have been made with sea water. And the carrots were chopped like someone tried to figure out how to gut them.”

“You certainly have a way to show your gratitude at being cared for,” Loki huffed, turning away slightly and hoping Tony wouldn't notice the soft heating of his cheeks.

“You cooked it for me, didn't you?”

The question was too direct to be avoided, and Loki felt himself blushing against his will. When he risked a glance Tony's way, he found his lover grinning widely.

“I knew it.”

“I had hoped it would be at least adequate,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, it was awful. But it made my day. Realizing you'd made that just for me. Come on, you even cut the toasts into triangles for me, that's adorable.”

“If your goal is to make sure that I never do something like this again, I must tell you that it is working.”

“Aw, don't be like that,” Tony grinned, before grimacing and being interrupted by a brief coughing fit. “See? Your love healed me, and now that you're mean, I'm falling ill again.”

“Oh please.”

“That's science, babe. You can't do anything about it. Or about the fact that I will forever know that you're actually a big softie who cares about meeeee.”

“Next time, I'll let you sneeze your brain out. Maybe you'll be less annoying then.”

Chapter 14: Day 16 - Competence Kink

Chapter Text

The very first time Loki met Tony Stark in the flesh, his first thought was, now that one I enjoy.

Followed very quickly by a solid ouch and a colorful curse.

He had been fighting the soldier on the deserted Platz, the crowd having escaped as soon as Rogers had landed and taken Loki's attention. He was not a bad fighter; considering his short lifespan, his technique was good, and the serum had truly given him a proportionally formidable strength. Even so, Loki had held his punches, making wider and slower moves than normal to give the mortal a chance.

Pushing him to his knees, if only just for show, was all the more enjoyable because he knew he would have to play defeated soon. It was for the good of his plan, but truly, it was a testament to how little they knew of him that they imagined the Captain would be a match for him.

And then Tony Stark appeared, and in great style at that. The deafening volume of music preceded him and got Loki's attention -Rogers' too, and Loki practically rolled his eyes at the exposed neck of the man looking up at the sky. The blast of the repulsors genuinely sent Loki flying across the square, and when he managed to straighen up, Stark stood in front of him, weapons at the ready... And threatening him, even taunting him, with confidence like he had fought many gods before.

Loki feined surprise and confusion as he raised his hands in surrender, but on the inside, he was chuckling. Yes, he liked this one much better. To the man in the armor, he could gladly surrender for his plot.

In the end, things did not go the way Loki had planned for them. They went, shockingly, better.

Well, unless he considered having his spine shattered by an angry green monster and spending a month in a cage in Asgard before somebody had had the idea of starting to ask questions. That part had not been a cause for pride.

But what came after -it did work.

It started, or perhaps he should have considered that it continued, with Stark. The mortal had been losing sleep, he heard, trying to make sense of things that didn't have one. In the end, Thor had reluctantly agreed to give his mortal friend a shot at interrogating Loki. He warned Stark that he would probably get nothing out of him. That was why, he said as he removed the muzzle and sat Loki down in front of Stark, the Aesir hadn't bothered to try.

The look on Thor's face when Loki started to answer every question the mortal had.

He was sarcastic, of course, and he was angry and tired from captivity and he allowed it to show. But he had been waiting for someone to ask, and this mortal man, who knew nothing of him, had noticed the anomalies in his story when his own family had not.

For that, he rewarded Stark.

He was out of prison, on a “probation”, soon after that. The Avengers took him in, as their best ally against the threat he himself knew better than any of them. More accurately, the Avengers took his help; Stark, him again, took him in. For Stark was a man of genius, as Barton had described him, and his brain had brought him to the top of the world; he was king of Midgard by all but title, and his power and authority were such that by his word alone, he welcomed Loki to his castle as if an ally of ever.

Loki, who had never much considered needing the humans past the failed invasion, marvelled at the man's intellect almost as much as he enjoyed his wit. Stark's mind was never at rest, a gift and a torture that he had never expected to meet in another, let alone a mortal man. What Barton hadn't told him was that the suit was Stark's own creation; when he learned as much, Loki was speechless for a long minute. A rare feat, indeed, for an ordinary man to impress a god.

Now they were brothers in arm, and Loki decided for good that he would keep an eye on Tony Stark.

It was a delight to watch Tony Stark fight. For the first time in his life, Loki understood why young soldiers paused mid-battle, startled, to look at their betters, and forgot to defend themselves.

Not, of course, that he considered the human his better. But -maybe, just maybe, he was starting to see him as something that might almost have been his equal.

Thanos sent minions after minions to Earth, with the clear intention of seizing both the stones and Loki himself. The Chitauris and Outriders were easy enough to clear out, and Loki was almost annoyed with the assistance of the Avengers in defeating them, but their pathetic attempts at capturing him were an interesting occasion to watch Stark in all his glory.

Thinking about it, it should have been obvious that Stark had built the suit. It fit him like a second skin, answering his movements more than his commands. It had been made with a skill so great it mixed in with instinct, and it showed. It was dizzyingly admirable to watch Stark spin and soar through the air, delivering killing blows as if each fight had been a choregraphed performance. The enemies never saw him coming; when per chance their number was so great that one of them managed to get its ugly claws on him before being killed, the strength of the armor thwarted their attempt, and the worst he ever got were a few scratches.

He was offended by those, too, mumbling about making an improvement as soon as the battle was over, musing endlessly over how to perfection what anybody would have called a miracle. He was bent on improvement to the point of obsession, and Loki sometimes made himself invisible at night to sneak into the man's private lab and watch him work for hours on end. There, in the quiet workshop, the man worked with his machines, more relaxed than ever during the day, his smile showing up more often and wrinkling the corner of his lovely eyes.

And it was about then that he started to wonder whether Stark looked his way, too.

The Avengers had recognised his power, if begrudgingly. Despite his powerful magic and worlds-renowned battle tactics, they associated him to his brother as if they gods were all the same. They were all more than humans, in a way, of course, but it was irritating to see them behaving as if Loki's prowesses were nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes, Loki suspected that they still didn't realize that he had allowed them to beat him the first time.

It shouldn't have gnawed at his pride. He was a god, and he knew his value even if a few foolish mortals did not.

But he found himself hoping that Stark didn't think so inaccurately of him.

And with that, the decision was only a small leap away to make sure that the human did get a chance to see just what he was capable of.

From that day on, Loki didn't satisfy himself with killing the aliens that came to Earth with bursts of magic. He wouldn't have admitted it -would have stabbed Thor, if his brother had remarked on it-, but he started, in fact, putting on a show.

He was not the strongest of Aesir, of course. He wasn't an Aesir at all, as it turned out. But he had been trained by the best battle-masters in all the realm for centuries, and his skills were laughable against that of a mortal being, be it a human or a Chitauri. Better even: he had seeked out every possible way to improve and leave the others in the dust, learning from Elvish martial lords as well as mastering the unusual weaponry of the Vanir through every occasion that had been given to him.

He could dance around his enemies, outplaying their every moves and feints without breaking a sweat. Confused Chitauris turned their back to him as he shifted directions halfway, swinging his spear over his shoulder and knocking their head off. He literally had an Outrider tangle its own four arms together in its infuriated attempts at catching him, an instant before he cleanly slit its throat with a knife without getting even a splash of blood on him.

Then, Thanos moved to the next step, and Loki had to adjust.

The one named Proxima Midnight was first, and she made a mess. She was murderous, broken to her “father”'s ideology and intent on bringing Loki to him for an “adequate punishment”. Loki did break a sweat with her, and she managed in fact a cut to his cheek as they battled furiously, pushing each other away and trying to dive for a hit. Her trident was as sharp as she was precise and murderous, and Loki was knocked to his back when she feined a hit to his left shoulder and used his retreat to kick his right foot from under him. He threw his spear at her, caught it on his feet just as she prepared to knock it away.

He had just drawn a pair of short swords from their scabbard when the alien woman fell to her knees with a scream, and he saw a flash of blood red crossing his field of vision as Stark returned to the melee, having weakened his enemy for him.

Loki beheaded Midnight with great prejudice.

Why Thanos kept sending them minions to massacre instead of showing up himself, Loki could only guess: somewhere in the universe, someone, somehow, was giving the Titan trouble of his own to obtain the other stones. Whoever they were, he appreciated their effort. It gave him more time to prepare, and to prepare the Avengers.

Although, Stark was doing a pretty good job of that, too. Peter Parker, the Maximoff twins, the king of Wakanda -allies came to Stark like flies to sugar, sensing his power and ability to face the crisis to come. At least, that's how Loki assumed it was, but he didn't spend much time with the other humans. Even the little witch failed to capture his interest.

Loki had his chance to prove himself to Stark at last, and he was no longer even willing to deny it was what he was trying to do, when the one named Obsidian Cull came for Earth, too. He was a brute to rival Banner's monster, leading the army of Chitauris into a frenzied, berserkr-like rage by his simple bloodthirsty presence. He had been too quick, too brutal for all civilians to be evacuated, and as a result, Stark was running around the city, opening path to underground passages to protect the people of his city.

It was noble, Loki recognised as much, but he wouldn't have wasted that sort of time. It was the harsh truth, but casualties were inevitable in a war. And yet, Stark was a man of ideals -so strange, for one clever as him.

Either way, Stark was, for once, careless. Perhaps his virtual servant was busy, or perhaps he was too slow; either way, the human didn't see the building behind him being hit by the falling ship of a Chitauri and start to crumble.

Loki raised both hands before he could actually think -it was all that saved Stark, in fact. Golden green fire lashed out at the falling structure and forced it to immobility.

“Man of Iron! Out of the way!” He yelled.

The mask covering Stark's face only turned to him for a fraction of a second, then to the threatening mass of bricks and concrete before taking off. Loki expected him to return to the fight, to give assistance to Banner's beast, but instead, the human did a loop and dove back toward Loki, who was startled when a pair of armored hands seized him by the waist and tore his feet from the ground. A blink later, and the cold air was whistling by his ears, the streets growing small below them. Torn by the distraction, the building crumbled like a sandcastle. He hoped the mortals inside had had the time to escape.

“What are you doing?!” He shouted to be heard over the hiss of cold wind, struggling against the mighty metal grip in his ribs to turn and get a look at the inexpressive metal face.

“Actually being useful to you, for a change,” came the distorted voice of the human, and when Loki looked down, he saw him: Cull, escaped from his previous battle, roaring at them from the ground.

The beast broke something out of the torn building, and an instant later, a metal pipe flew their way like a spear, avoided at the last second by Stark. Loki cursed, disturbed. He didn't like the predatory way of this one to look at him.

“I guess it's a bit unfair,” Stark babbled. He babbled when he was agitated, which was often when someone was intently listening to him, rather than a crowd of vaguely interested onlookers. “You were busy saving my life, again, so -but I still finally got you, isn't that nice? I felt I've been owing it to you to actually be useful since I let you rot in that jail for a month before figuring it out.”

“You've been -more than useful,” Loki protested. If not for the painful grip of the armor on his ribs, he might have believed this was an illusion of some kind. This made no sense. “The other day with Midnight-”

“Yeah, I tried, but I barely made a dent in her armor, did I? And then, bam, you show up like Perseus with Medusa's head, angry viking lord but kinda sexy, all covered in blood, which, as a hero, I gotta say, I shouldn't find attractive, but I kinda did-”

“Stark,” Loki interrupted, although he wanted nothing more than to ask Stark to repeat what he had just been saying, “the monster at hand. He's moving on. I suggest we go help your friends.”

“Right, sure, of course. Uh -I know you're usually like, whoosh, magical teleportation and cape swirling behind you, but try to hold on, okay? I'll try to land us cleanly.”

So perhaps, Loki thought as Stark, somewhat clumsily, it was true, brought him back to the surface of a rooftop, perhaps he needed to start communicating.

Chapter 15: Day 8 - Ignoring an Injury

Chapter Text

On the upside, the recent attack of Outriders had been pushed back quickly. On the downsite, it had been yet another attack, and Tony was starting to think that they would never stop.

Thanos was defeated, the Stones had been dispersed all around the Universe to the most qualified guardians, the war was won and the world was saved; it should have been the happily ever after. Tony had certainly been ready to retire from a life of super-heroing at this point. The big bad boss was dead, and he should have gotten to relax and let the younger heroes get to work.

But, in the six months since Thanos' death and the return of everyone who had been snapped or killed in the war, Earth had already suffered four attempted invasions by the aliens known as the Outriders, the same four-armed beasts that Thanos had brought to Wakanda to bring down the Avengers. They couldn't understand how, because the aliens were supposed to be practically mindless, and they couldn't understand why for the same reason, but the facts were there all the same, and the attack were vicious. They needed all the strength they could muster.

The latest attack had been aimed at South Korea. Thinking of it, Tony wondered what would have happened if the aliens had managed to spread to the border with the North, but he was too tired to consider much of geopolitical questions for now. Which was why he was sprawled in a seat in the Quinjet instead of flying home on his own -that, and his armor was going to need some tender loving care.

“I'm gonna need a long, hot shower as soon as we get home,” Barton was grimacing on the other side of the jet. He had wiped himself clean, but he still looked disgusting. He had shot an explosive arrow at point-blank in one of the monsters and had been covered in flesh and fluids whick reeked badly enough for the archer to be quarantined at the back of the plane.

“Maybe the hose first,” Romanoff suggested.

“I volunteer to hose the archer,” Valkyrie smirked from where she was cleaning her swords.

“Thank you so much. Really helping.”

“Good news, everyone,” Captain Marvel said, removing her headphones and turning their way from her copilot seat. “Shuri and Dr. Pym were finally able to get their hand on one of their ships. They're taking it to Wakanda as we speak.”

“Am I invited to that party?” Tony asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You, Banner, Thor. Anyone who can help us get a better idea of what is going on,” Carol said, glancing at the others as she named them, before glancing back at Tony and eyeing the damages to his suit. “Unless you were hurt?”

“Nah, just the few odd scratches. Not that they didn't try,” he admitted with a grimace.

The Outriders were being of exceptional savagery. Carol's best theory was that they had been bred artificially with the clear intention of turning them into a mindless, bloodthirsty army, and since neither the Asgardians nor the Guardians of the Galaxy had any knowledge of them, it wasn't an entirely absurd idea.

With that in mind, it was all the more concerning that their attacks hadn't ceased with Thanos' death. The Outriders didn't have ship of their owns and given their constant berserkr mode, it seemed a stretch of imagination to picture them piloting calmly to Earth. The fact that they hadn't been able to find any trace of ships or portails until now had also pointed at the possibility that someone, somewhere, was dropping them on Earth to cause chaos without dirtying their own hands.

Which was a very unpleasant consideration.

“Good,” Carol approved with a small nod. “We've been lucky so far, but let's try to keep it that way. I've had reports that Strange was bitten to the leg.”

“Oh, no,” Loki said with the least amount of sorrow a being could produce, and several of them rolled their eyes at the reminder of the animosity between the two wizards. Tony didn't bother hiding his chuckle.

“He's with Helen Cho,” Carol continued with an unimpressed glance to the god. “She's optimistic that she can fix it, but he was lucky that it wasn't ripped off.”

“Yikes,” Tony remarked, and even Loki didn't comment this time. “Anyone wants an armor? I can do armors.”

“For now, you're off to Wakanda,” Steve countered with a small shake of his head. “We need to cut this menace from the roots. You too, Banner, Thor. Anything we can find out about whoever's been sending these abominations our way..."

“I'll accompany them,” Loki said, prompting a few startled glances. “I want to take a look. If this is the work of one of Thanos' old minions, I might be able to tell which one.”

“What about New Asgard? If Thor and yourself are both in Wakanda for a few days...”

“I'll go home,” Thor said readily. “Loki's knowledge of spacecrafts equals my own, and he can recognise enemies I don't know. I'll be more useful tending to our people.”

“Alright, then,” Steve agreed after sharing a glance with Carol. “I'll head back to the Tower and update SHIELD on what happened.”

Two hours later and one of King T'Challa's lieutenants welcomed them to Birnin Zana, the capital of Wakanda, and led them to the palace for them to get changed and cleaned up. Tony was always rightfully impressed by Wakandan tech, but some prideful part of him led him to keeping the bracelets of his suit on and push the repairs back to later. Bruce was quick to clean up, but it took Loki half an hour to join them in the hall.

“Hey, princess. Done braiding your hair?” Tony questioned with a grin.

“It's an art,” Loki replied seriously, even though Tony had his doubts that he had actually spent all this time on the twin braids that tied his hair behind his ears. Most likely, he had taken the time to enjoy a hot shower, and Tony couldn't blame him. The fight had been long and stressful.

“Her Highness Princess Shuri has taken the ship to her laboratory,” the guard who had been assigned to them announced. “If you are ready, I can take you to her.”

The ship was shockingly small -it did, in fact, fit inside the lab, and was hardly bigger than a four-persons airplane. It was of a rough triangular shape, with folded wings made of something like a turquoise hybride of rock and metal. Shuri was already unassembling it, examining a glowing cylinder with a magnifying glass when they came into the room.

“Wait, that's our alien ship? It would fit one Outrider, two if they could share space without murdering each other,” Tony said, frowning.

“You're in for a great surprise,” the princess grinned, and Tony noticed for the first time that she was practically bouncing around the room, sorting pieces away. “Door's that way. Look inside.”

Tony did, followed by Bruce, while Loki stayed outside. A series of curses left his lips as he poked his head in and out of the ship. He knocked on the wall next to him. It was solid and perfectly real -it simply didn't agree with his eyes.

“Bruce, you're seeing this?”

“This is physically impossible,” Bruce said, his voice making it clear he was absolutely aware then that this place didn't care for physics.

“It's bigger on the inside! I never thought I would say that outside of a reference in my life -how the hell?”

“I don't know,” Shuri grinned, “but I'm going to find out. This is world-changing.”

It wasn't a surprise that the princess was already decided to understand and exploit the tech, and Tony found himself smiling. This was what he meant when he said the younger generation was ready. Heck, with kids like her, Parker, Bishop and Khan, the world was in good hands. If they could just figure out this last alien threat...

“Loki, you need to see this. Even you are going to- Loki?”

He glanced around the room, surprised. It had been a while since Loki had disappeared; when he did, in the past, it had usually been to go against the decisions of the group, or to go sulk in a corner, but Tony was quite convinced that they were past this sort of consideration. He was about to ask again when he spotted the god, actually slouching in a chair with his back to the wall and looking at them through half-lidded eyes, like he was about to fall asleep.

“Loki? Ex-cuse me, am I bothering you, your Highness?”

“You are not, yet,” the prince answered, glancing up at him. “I'm familiar with the principle of what you're describing. No need to inspect it more closely.”

“Seriously? You're a real killjoy.”

“That's me,” Loki agreed, but there was something a little odd about his posture. Although he was slumped against his chair like he might eventually slip out of it, his jaws seemed a little tense.

Tony almost asked if everything was alright, but there was a wariness in Loki's eyes that kept his tongue. There was a lot the prince didn't like to discuss, and even more so when he felt like he was facing a group. Perhaps the ship was familiar, and Loki wasn't ready to mention it. If it was relevant, he was confident the prince would actually tell them, and even though he was curious, he generously allowed it.

“Fine, have it your way, Grinch. Shuri, you got a measuring tape?”

“Ahead of you, Iron Man. The inside and outside dimensions are already in the study file, just there. Come look at this instead and tell me something. Do you think this is liquid or solid?”

It was easy to get carried away with such a topic, and Tony was quick to forget all about Loki. He, Bruce and Shuri toyed around with the ship, taking notes and pictures and bouncing theories off each other, going from whether the ship was meant to be driven by a four or two-armed being and whether its energy came from cold fusion like Shuri thought. Tony was lying on his back on the floor to look at the partially disassembled engine, something he would only do for such an interesting toy in his old age, when he caught sight of Loki's dark boots circling around the ship. He finished his examination before shifting out and looking at the prince. He seemed cautious still, but less stiff.

“Any thoughts to share with the class, Tommy Wiseau?” Tony asked.

“This is an unfamiliar ship,” Loki replied. “Perhaps the Guardians would be able to situate its origins. I can only tell you that it is not from anywhere in the Nine Realms.”

“Eh, it at least tells us that we're not being attacked by elves,” Tony said, though he was intrigued by what might have bothered Loki earlier. “Anything else?”

“I'll conduct my own observations. I should at least be in a position to figure out whether its users were seiðrmaðr.”

They kept going; there was so much to observe and question that they hardly saw time pass, and it was T'Challa himself who came to inform them that it was almost midnight and petition them to get some food and rest. Tony lost the vote against the other three and they went to bed soon after a hearty meal, fully intending to be up at first light to continue their investigation.

At least, they had said as much. Shuri, it turned out, was big on sleeping in, and, more surprisingly, Loki did not show up at breakfast either. T'Challa explained that his sister would probably not be up until ten or eleven and had the lab unlocked for them.

“Hopefully, working for the sake of this world might encourage her to forgive me,” he said with a small grimace.

“What about Tall and Horny?” Tony asked Bruce once they were together near the ship -which was still as weird and full of mysteries as it had been on the previous day. “Any sign of him? He's usually up before any of us.”

“His door was still closed when I got up,” Bruce shrugged. “He must have been tired from the fight.”

Tony wondered; he had never seen Loki looking tired, except perhaps after the fight with Thanos -which was fair: being brought back to life only to lead a battle to the death with the Mad Titan would have filled anyone's day. Still, it wasn't like there was any reason to worry.

Loki eventually joined them half an hour later; as for Shuri, her brother had been right, and it was almost noon when she came into the lab, seeming both irritated that they had started without her and unwilling to blame them for her own sleep. The day went on much like the previous one, with the notable exception that guards also brought them lunch and encouraged them to take small breaks. Loki seemed back to normal, and Tony told himself he had been mistaken.

On the third day, Loki got up even later than on the previous one, and he decidedly looked a little pale, with dark half-moons under his eyes, when he joined the trio (Shuri had used an alarm, and she was present, even though she looked pretty frumpy).

“Trouble sleeping?” Bruce asked carefully. So he had noticed too, Tony thought, oddly relieved that he wasn't being weird for staring at the god.

“So it seems,” Loki replied, with a voice that edged just enough on warning that the scientist chose to retreat.

“You know, your Hulk and I are just worried about you,” Tony said, ignoring the wise opportunity. “If anything's troubling you, you know you can tell us.”

Loki rolled his eyes and turned away. Not fast enough, though, for Tony to miss the flash of a smile on his lips. It made him blink in surprise and fail to push any further. So Loki wasn't actually irritated with them, then

Again, they kept working, the four of them organizing their findings and comparing their theories -though, admittedly, Loki mostly kept to himself, since he was the only one in the room who could apparently tell the difference between dark energy and dark seiðr. Still, there was no aggressivity in any of his words, or his stance when he came close to the others. It was more like a continued stiffness that Tony couldn't put his finger on.

T'Challa interrupted with lunch, a noble kingly task. Loki excused himself to the bathroom and the others sat down directly underneath the ship to gobble down their sandwiches. They had shared their most important findings with the team in New York as they went, so the urgency had slightly died down; still, this wasn't the sort of toy you could keep a team like theirs away from.

“You guys know you can rest, right?” T'Challa still winced, watching them work their way through the meal. “The ship is not going anywhere.”

“It isn't now,” Shuri said, triumphantly, “since we deactivated the remote-controlled autopilot. We figured it out, probably just in time. That's certainly how our enemy kept the ships out of our sight all this time.”

“It's true that I haven't talked to the others since the battle,” Bruce admitted, looking a little more rueful. “Any news?”

“They found nothing more than you,” T'Challa admitted. “SHIELD has studied patterns to try to predict where and when the next attack might happen, but they're sure of nothing. Ah, and the Doctor Strange had some complications.”

“How come?” Tony asked, frowning. He didn't particularly like the guy, but he could recognise the man's qualities. “The bite?”

“Doctor Cho was sure she had cleaned it well, and yet it grew infected. Perhaps the effect of those monsters' teeth.” T'Challa winced, and Tony knew they shared the same unpleasant thought: so far, nobody had survived being attacked by the Outriders long enough for the wound to worsen. “She feared she might have to amputate. Thankfully, her work and Strange's himself won over the infection.”

“Thankfully,” Tony winced. He knew Strange already struggled with the constant trembling of his hands; a missing leg would not have improved the man's general moods. “Yeah, I'll work on some armors for everyone before the next attack.”

“I can look into it too,” Shuri interfered. “I can't produce a lot of armors like my brother's, but I can certainly make some vambraces or legs protectors.”

“Sounds good. Then let's get the last secrets of this ship out,” Tony said with a little smile, “and we can have a workshop party.”

He was too busy debating the functioning of the ship's water recycling system to notice exactly when Loki came back. What he did notice, however, was how sickeningly pale the other man had grown, and how stiff his movements were as he crouched underneath the ship, keeping one hand close to his chest.

“Hey, not to poke where I shouldn't, Lokster, but, any chance that you might be coming down with something? You don't look so good.”

“You hurt my feelings,” Loki assured him without taking his eyes off the reactor he was interested in.

But Tony had expected him to deviate his question and shook his head, unimpressed. Now that he was paying attention, he could see how his forehead glistened with sweat.

“I'm serious. You look sick. I'm not caring about you or anything, I don't want to catch a space flu because of you,” he added, just in case Loki wanted to protest that he was stronger than this.

“I'm not sick,” Loki frowned, clearly displeased.

“Maybe you could take off your jacket,” Shuri suggested. She had never been as impressed by Loki's aura of ex-villain as she should probably have been, and even now, she shrugged at his irritated glare. “You're sweating.”

“I'm fine,” the god hissed. “Can I finish my work?”

It seemed useless to keep pushing, but by now, Tony couldn't stop himself from throwing constant glances Loki's way -and the god, of course, noticed every time, meeting his eyes and glaring back in displeasure.

“It's nothing,” he finally snapped, making Bruce and Shuri turn their head his way in confusion.

“So there's an it”, Tony prodded.

It wasn't that he was... Worried. But, well -okay, he was worried, actually. And why not? Loki was his teammate. A clever, funny teammate. It wasn't weird to be concerned for an ally who was clearly feeling under the weather and didn't seem to want to admit it, was it?

“Let me take care of myself,” Loki demanded. He seemed impatient, and his dark circles made him look even more so.

“I just want to know that you're okay,” Tony heard himself say, and almost bit his tongue, wondering what to add to make this sound less serious than it had. Bruce was definitely looking at him now.

“I am,” Loki said, firmly, without giving him a chance. “Enough about this. Did you finish your analysis of the batteries fuel?”

There was no way to insist, not without risking a genuine argument, and one he didn't have anything to justify. Reluctantly, Tony dropped the topic.

But on the next day, Loki was late again. And this time, he didn't show up at eight. Or nine. Or ten. By lunch, he still wasn't there, and even though the prince valued his privacy (as he had proven by actually bullying JARVIS into removing any monitoring devices from his rooms), Tony couldn't hold back. Backed by Shuri and Bruce's hesitant concern, he went to knock at Loki's door.

“I'll be up soon,” Loki's voice said, after a few long seconds during which Tony's stomach had turned into a mass of knots.

He sighed, relieved and embarrassed. Of course it was all normal, and Loki was just -resting. It was the right thing to do, even, if he was actually feeling sick and just didn't want to admit it. He should have just let him be. And yet. When Loki had gone to his room on the previous day, Tony had noticed how shaky his walk had been.

“Is there... Anything you'd like for me to bring you?” With a bit of innocence, it could pass off as asking if Loki wanted something for breakfast. Or lunch. But if he did need help...

There was a long silence, and he almost walked away, telling himself Loki had actually fallen back asleep. And then, to his surprise, the door creaked open, revealing the darkened room, and he heard Loki sighing.

“I am not asking the right man for this,” he said, sounding pained, “but can you be discreet, Stark?”

“Hey, I can be discreet,” Tony said, trying to appear offended so that he wouldn't seem concerned. It looked in the room as if it was still nighttime, and he tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness as he stepped forward. He had a bad feeling, something his senses warned him about, but he couldn't explain. “What is it you need?”

“Assistance. And a strong stomach.”

“That's concerning. Can I... Turn on the light?”

Loki did it by himself. Tony squinted, eyes struggling for an instant to catch up. The god was lying in bed, and this time, he was decidedly drenched in sweat. He was also shirtless, and, Tony realized, wearing a bandage that covered most of his left shoulder and part of his upper arm.

“The f*ck is that?” He asked. Oh but this was more than a bad feeling. He could start to identify it; it was the smell, like something sour, gone bad. He stepped forward, his reactor whirring with a sudden rush of worry. “What happened?”

“It seems,” Loki seemed pained, but Tony couldn't tell if it was the wound or the admission, “that my healing spell didn't work as well as intended.”

“What happened? When did you get injured? Oh my god-”

Even as he said it, it clicked. Loki slouching on his chair, watching them work wordlessly. It hadn't been sulking of any kind. It had been much more simple than that.

Except, why the hell had Loki kept his wound to himself?

“It's one of the Outriders, isn't it? Damn it, Loki. Take that off!”

“I'm afraid,” Loki said, gritting his teeth visibly, and looking at some distant point away from Tony, “that I can't do that. I... Struggle to move my arm.”

Tony cursed. With a few steps, he was at Loki's bedside and, bracing himself, he started to unwrap the white gauze around Loki's shoulder. He expected bad; he got worse. He was pretty sure flesh was not supposed to ever have that color.

“Oh Christ. Loki, this is beyond infected. It's -I think this is rotting.”

“Yes, thank you,” Loki said. Unlike Tony, he was carefully not looking at his own biceps. “Which is why I need your help.”

“My help?” Tony released a laugh that, he realized, sounded quite hysterical. “My help! I'm not a doctor, Loki! f*ck, we need to call Cho. And Strange- damn it, Loki, why didn't you tell us?”

“I overestimated my healing spell, I told you.” Loki actually looked like he wanted to sulk, which was not a normal reaction to part of his body possibly dying. “I didn't think it would get so bad, so fast.”

“Which is why you should have seen a doctor!”

“In any case,” Loki said, finally meeting Tony's gaze. He didn't look as calm like this, Tony realized. He was fully aware of how bad this was. “This needs to be fixed.”

“Alright,” Tony said. “I'll ask T'Challa to get you a doctor, and give Cho a call. She will need hours to be here, but maybe she can explain over the phone how to treat-”

“Stark,” Loki interrupted. “I want you to take care of it.”

Tony stared. Loki looked serious. And he looked very sweaty, and pale, and tense, but he sounded like he knew what he was saying.

“Loki, I'm not a doctor. Not a medical doctor, anyway -that's besides the point. I can't treat something like this-”

“This,” Loki interrupted, “is beyond treatment. I don't want to lose my whole arm, but I'm confident a -a chunk of it will grow back. You just need to remove the infection to allow my body to start healing.”

Just. I'm confident. Tony knew the situation was dire and he needed to get moving and get that doctor now, but he was frozen in place by the absolute madness he had just heard.

“I am not going to do that,” he informed him, incredulous, when voice came back to his lungs. “Loki, you need a doctor, not some -some butchery to -to remove- are you actually insane?”

“I've given it a great deal of thoughts, actually,” the prince said. He wasn't smiling at Tony's shock, which told Tony how bad this was. “A human doctor will fail to comprehend how powerful my Jötun healing factor might be. You're a clever man, and good with your hands. You're a perfect choice.”

“Might be? Might be? You're not even sure!”

“I'm sure I can't survive if this infection spreads,” Loki countered, sounding both alarmingly calm and so crazy that Tony wasn't sure he was hearing right. “More importantly, I do not want news of this to spread. I cannot trust a doctor not to discuss this with anyone.”

“How is that more relevant than treating this -this thing?! Wait -don't tell me,” Tony interrupted himself, dread spreading over horror over disgust over disbelief, “that that's why you didn't go to a doctor, even as it got worse?”

“My healing spells have always been sufficient to treat myself,” Loki argued. “Stark, I'm asking you-”

“No. My answer is no. I'm getting you a doctor.”

“Stark -please.” The word actually froze Tony solid before he could fully turn away from him, as well as the valid hand of Loki, suddenly grabbing at his wrist. “Don't.”

“The doctors won't go gossiping, Loki!” Tony protested, growing frustrated. “Even if they did, this is more important than- than people knowing you were hurt in a fight, goddammit! Shouldn't you be proud or something?”

“This isn't it,” Loki said, and there was definitely, this time, distress in his voice. “Stark, I -I can't. I can't see a healer. I won't -I can't handle it. Not anymore.”

“This is for your own good, Loki! You have to know that it's going to be better for you to see a medical professional than to have an idiot with a blade trying to carve you like a f*cking chicken!”

“I can't,” Loki repeated, his fingers squeezing harder around Tony's wrist. “Stark, please. You were tortured.” Tony froze, his heart growing cold. “And your torturers had you healed. To buy you more time. You have to know...” Loki's voice suddenly dropped, and his hand with it. It shook, Tony realized dimly. “You have to know how terrifying that is.”

“Loki, the doctors here wouldn't hurt you,” Tony said, but his throat was dry now. He wasn't doing this. He couldn't possibly be considering this. “They're good people. They want you to get better. Come on, at least let someone who actually knows what they're doing do it. I can...” He hesitated. “I'll stay with you the whole time. I'll watch the doctor.”

For the first time, Loki's expression twitched with hesitation. He was considering it, Tony realized with sick relief. He could do this. This wasn't the time, and any second wasted was making things worse, but he could convince Loki.

“I can't trust them,” the prince said, shaking his head. “I can't -not in this state, not when I can't protect myself.”

“Loki, we're talking about human doctors,” Tony said, and even tried to make himself smile, if briefly. He wasn't convinced the result didn't look more like a grimace. “You could fight twelve of them in your sleep. You're stupidly strong, when you're not trying to get beaten. And I'll watch them. I swear. I don't want to, trust me, this is gross, but I'll make sure they're fixing this. And then I'll make sure they don't tell anyone. But you have to let me go get them.”

He could see the balance tipping in Loki's mind, through the way his eyes scanned his with hesitation, and then, slowly, resolve gained his face.

“You must think me very foolish,” he remarked very quietly.

“Not yet. I'm too worried for that right now. But I'll be yelling at you later,” Tony offered, “for not telling us what you needed earlier. You're part of the team, you know.”

“Will you truly stay?”

“The whole time."

Loki allowed him to go. Tony went, starting to sprint as soon as he was in the hallway, and pretty much yelling at the first guard he met for immediate assistance.

Because, through the shaky horror and panic of this all, there was one new fact that he was going to have to deal with -far more interesting than any he could have salvaged from the ship, from his enemies.

Because Loki had just admitted, indirectly, that he would trust Tony.

Chapter 16: Day 5 - If Only We Had More Time

Chapter Text

Forty-eight hours ago, Tony had never heard the name of the Ten Rings. Just two tiny little days earlier, terrorists had been the distant, faceless bad guys his weapons were fighting. And now, Tony was held captive in a dark cave away from the world, with the prospect of arming the bad guys himself or dying, painfully, in refusal.

He kept telling himself that it was all a bad dream, and that he was going to wake up soon, home and safe and never travelling to the Middle-East again. But time passed and people yelled at him in languages he couldn't even identify and pointed his own weapons at him, and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't waking up.

He had a fellow prisoner, too. He didn't know if it made things worse or slightly, slightly better. He had never been good at sharing enclosed spaces, let alone his emotions. And he was having a lot of emotions right now.

The other man in his cell was tall and White -very, very white, in fact: he had probably been pale before his capture, but now, with his long limbs and sunken eyes, he made Tony think of an underwater creature, living its life away from the sun. It wasn't a very comforting thought.

At least, the man still had his senses, which Tony hadn't been willing to bet on. He was wordless and obedient to the presence of their captors, but as soon as they had been gone, he had come to Tony with the hunger in his eyes speaking of seeing a miracle.

“You're Tony Stark,” had been his first words. “People are looking for you, aren't they?”

“I don't know,” Tony had replied, and then, catching up to the first question, “yeah, that's me.”

Tony hadn't answered much beyond those, even though there had been more questions. He had been unable to process them, his brain struggling to comprehend the situation he was in, too busy being horrified to consider much of his companion beyond the fact that he didn't seem to be threatening him.

It had taken hours -half a night, perhaps, although there was no way, in the dark, to guess how much time had passed- for things to start getting in motion that made him have to face the fact, as if the metal circle embedded in his chest and hurting like a bitch could have been a bad dream. The bad guys came in, pointing more guns at him than he could count. Their leader had given Tony his demands, and his fellow captive had translated. They wanted his latest weapon. They would reward him.

Even as his translator had said it, he hadn't sounded like he was willing to pretend. Tony wasn't stupid enough, despite his shock, to expect anything but death once he had given those men what they wanted.

He had told them no. He had been punished for it.

And here he was, back in the cell, shaking with cold and relief and terror and the vague knowledge that he had just been tortured, that he might be tortured again, and that either way, he only had a few days left to live.

And he was starting to give up on his hopes of waking up somewhere else.

“Here,” a voice said, close to him, and he startled.

When he glanced, he saw that his cellmate was standing a few feet back, presenting him his hands. One of them held a glass of tea. It was so out of place that it took him an instant to process it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, accepting it.

The warmth of the chipped glass was a small comfort, and he found himself clinging to it. He looked at the amber liquid, no longer having the hope that it was part of an illusion. On his right, he heard a mattress creak. He glanced at the other man. The other man was looking back at him without bothering to hide it.

“What did you say your name was?” Tony asked.

“I didn't,” the stranger said. “It's Loki. Loki Odinsson.”

“Loki,” Tony repeated. “Nice... To meet you.”

“We've met before, in other circ*mstances. I'm not surprised you don't remember it, though.”

Loki spoke English with an accent, although Tony didn't think it was a Pashtu or Arabic accent. Loki's appearance aside, his unusual name did ring a small bell, and Tony frowned at his statement. Loki was eyeing him and took the silent question in stride:

“Two or three years ago, at a New Year's Eve party in Switzerland. Although between you and me, you were so intoxicated, I'm not sure you knew where you were.”

Tony found himself laughing, although it was a little shaky still. A drop of water fell from his wet hair into the back of his neck, and he squeezed his blanket more tightly around himself.

“I do remember that party,” he said, glad for the distraction. “Most of it, anyway. The fireworks were great, right? I can't say I remember you, though, you're right. Sorry. What company are you from?”

“I was there with my father. Odin Borsson.”

“Odin...” It took a moment for it to ring a bell. When it did, Tony looked back at Loki with surprise. “You're Odin's son?”

“I don't look like it, I know,” Loki said. He wasn't smiling, and his green eyes, staring at him practically unblinking, were a little disturbing.

Tony didn't remember seeing Odin Borsson at that specific party -it was true that the details were a little jumbled. He did remember the man, though, and finding his son here was a sick, strange irony. Tony had pretty much driven Odin Borsson and his company, Einherjar Tech, out of business with his superior weaponry. Once the biggest player in North America and Europe, the man could now only count on a few strongholds in Scandinavia to buy his stocks.

Moreover, it was true that Loki didn't look the part. Odin was a relatively short, strong man with pale hair and an angry quality to his look, while Loki was tall, dark-haired, and was eyeing him with disturbing calmness.

Although, Tony supposed, being captive for any amount of time of these madmen would probably make someone at least a little apathetic, given time.

“How long have you been here?” Tony dared to ask, though it came out as little more than a whisper.

“What day is today?” Loki questioned in return, and it took Tony a painful instant, during which he felt his heart contracting against the metal cylinder in his chest, to realize that he truly couldn't have known.

“April 29^th.” Hey, a month to his birthday. With a week to live, it was a dizzying time to consider.

“Then,” Loki paused, his eyes moving to the ceiling for a minute, and then back to Tony at last. “It's been a little over seven months.”

“f*ck.” Tony didn't know what else to say. It certainly fit what the information elicited in him.

If Loki hadn't been found in all this time, then what were the odds that Rhodey and the others could find this place before the week was out? What was the chance that he would die a free man, having the chance to say goodbye to his loved ones?

Seven months. What had he done in those last seven months? He'd been in Vegas, definitely in Malibu for a while, he'd purchased that small building in Manhattan he was planning to destroy and convert to something new. He'd worked on the new missile a lot, but he had been resting too. Enjoying days on the beach, sipping drinks. Of course he had been aware that people in the world were suffering, world hunger and war and yes, hostages. It wasn't like it had stopped him from enjoying himself.

All this time, Loki had been here?

“I'm useful to them,” the man answered before Tony could ask. He was looking at him still, as if he could read his thoughts through his skull. “I speak Farsi and Arabic, as well as English, French, German, Swedish, Spanish. Not all in use around here, but they've been using me to send their demands out.”

“I'm sorry,” Tony said.

It didn't feel like there was another appropriate response, and he was. God, he was sorry. Sorry that he wasn't out, and Loki too, free to meet again at a stupid party without a worry about the future. He kept the glass of tea in his hands, unable to drink it, and appreciating its slowly vanishing heat. How he longed for home, and a hot shower, hot coffee, take-out food. If he had been home, he thought, he would have gone for a cheeseburger. If he got out of there, he would go for a cheeseburger, he promised himself, hopelessly.

“You should rest,” Loki said.

The quiet implication -that he should rest while he could made Tony's stomach twist painfully. He didn't want to. He felt like the eleven years old he had been, terrified to enter college and willing the night to last forever. Only, what awaited him on the other side of the night was so much worse than anything he could have prepared for. His breath hitched, as if his lungs were already full of water. Something suddenly burned his knee -the tea, spilled out of the glass by his shaking hand.

“It's alright,” Loki's voice broke through the soundless noise that was rushing at his ears. His accentuated voice was cool, but not without gentleness. “You're alright, Tony Stark.”

“I am not alright,” Tony gasped.

“You are,” Loki repeated, a little more firmly. “Right now. Listen to me, Stark. Right now, you're alright. You're with me. You have a bed and a blanket to lie on. Tomorrow will not be easy, but for now, that's not your problem. For now, you're alright. You can lie down and be comfortable and rest.”

His mind rebelled against the futility of such claims, but even then, he could understand what Loki was trying to do. He made himself breath in, shakily, then out. He placed the tea on the ground, next to the bed.

“How long do I have?”

“At least four hours,” Loki said. It was so little. “That's at least two sleep cycle. During that time, you'll be alright, Stark.”

“Did they hurt you?” Tony burst out, without meaning to. He felt like a kid yelling out something rude in the street, the way Loki looked back at him, but he needed -just needed to know if this man, who looked sane enough, had gone through it too.

“Yes,” Loki said, expressionlessly. “But I'm not as useful as you. They were hoping for a ransom, not for my brains.”

Were hoping. Seven months. Loki's eyes told Tony he knew exactly how the pieces were connecting, but he couldn't keep himself from swallowing painfully at the implication. Borsson had always seemed to him like a cold asshole, but he wouldn't have just abandoned his son to terrorists, would he?

“Try to sleep, Stark,” Loki said again. “It's the best thing you can do for now. For now-” He turned away from Tony, “you're alright.”

Tony didn't fully fall asleep; he did, once or twice, manage to doze off enough to forget just where he was. It made the waking up more painful, but he realized that Loki had been right. Those had been hours much better spent than if he had used them to ponder his immediate, dreadful future.

It was only a small relief, though. Was he to try to sleep his few days left alive away? Was he to spend what little time he had left being tortured, and chasing away the fear of it?

The thought was paralysing. He was playing a game of will with his captors: would he break first and give them what they wanted, or would he die with the miserable satisfaction of having resisted them? If he was aware of this race, they were, too. They would be tempted to make things worse. Perhaps they wouldn't let him rest at all. Perhaps the upcoming days would be nothing but pain.

“You might have a few hours left before they come,” Loki's voice startled him. The other man was crouching near a small camping stove.

“I should die immediately.”

It was the scariest thing he had ever considered, and saying it out loud didn't help. Funny how often he had thought of his death as so far away, it might as well never happen. He had never given much thought to his own mortality. And now, now that he had so little time, now that only suffering awaited until the end, he found he still was more scared of it than of the torture itself.

He was almost scared Loki would offer him a way out. But the other man was just quiet, looking at the kettle on the stove.

“I've thought the same. Still, I practically begged them to let me be useful to them. Funny how that works.”

Tony didn't think it was funny.

“You still have a chance. You don't have an expiration date jammed in your chest.” The metal circle seemed to burn in his chest as he mentioned it, like it wanted him to know it was actively killing him. “Maybe my friends will find you,” he said.

“In these mountains, even if we were shooting fireworks, I doubt we would ever be found.” Loki gave a smile, though Tony really didn't think anything about this was funny. “Maybe you and I should try to escape. Get shot cleanly and quickly.”

“I wouldn't have much to lose,” Tony murmured.

It was strange, to share such intimate, dark thoughts with a stranger -but he supposed Loki was doing the same. Maybe he wasn't the worst possible cellmate to spend his last days with.

“And yet,” Loki removed the kettle from the stove and turned it off, “I've told myself as much several times. But something has stopped me everytime. I keep imagining that, if I just wait a little longer, I might go home. Find my brother. Destroy my father,” he added as an afterthought, with a small smile. “Do you think you can stomach some oatmeal?”

“Am I the first person you share this cell with?” Tony questioned, while Loki was pouring hot water over what looked like military rations. He almost feared he answer -feared to hear that Loki had seen a dozen like him dying. It would explain how calm he managed to be, and how he had made to help Tony with such knowing eyes. But the other man just shook his head softly.

“I've been alone for all this time. You're the first occasion I've had to speak English in seven months, aside from subtitling propaganda videos.”

“I'm honored,” Tony said, and they shared a bitter smile. His voice shook as he took the bowl Loki was handing him, but he pretended it wasn't so. “You know, they're asking me to build a bomb. I could blow all of us up. It might be the best option we have.”

“It might be,” Loki agreed, but Tony thought he looked even more pale than usual.

At least, Tony thought, at least he hadn't been abandoned here. At least, he knew that Obie and Rhodey and Pepper were sick with worries. Loki had only himself to count on, if he ever made it out.

The idea came to him somewhere during the torture session that day. His mind, desperately clawing at the edges of his brain, grasped the thought and held to it as his lungs burned, burned, burned.

When he came back to his cell, Loki raised his hands for the guns that were pointed his way. He exchanged a few words with the leader, or rather the leader yelled at him and he said something softly. When they were gone, he helped Tony to his bed, and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

“What did he say?”

“That he would take my left hand if I fed you.” Loki sounded very calm, but Tony was starting to think that it was his default mode. Maybe he should really panic if he ever heard Loki's voice waver.

“Loki, I have an idea.”

“Walls have ears,” the man said in a small whisper. Out loud, he said, “It's alright. It's not my favorite hand.”

So Tony didn't speak his idea, not out loud. But something in the glance Loki threw his way told him that the other prisoner would be with him. Perhaps, just like he sounded relaxed at the idea of losing an appendage, he managed to rationalize the idea that Tony was going to kill them all, and take the choice out of his hands.

But Tony had no plans to blow himself up. He had something better.

The creation of the reactor went faster and better than he had expected. Once he had agreed to the terrorists' demands, they had grown very amenable and eager to get him any material he asked for.

It was only a matter of one day to switch the primitive magnet in his chest with the reactor he had built, using palladium from some of his old missiles and Loki's confused assistance. The other prisoner could handle delicate components as well as languages, and although he kept interrogating Tony wordlessly, he followed his instructions without ever arguing.

Still, a matter of one day meant much. And though Tony believed the reactor would give him a few more days, perhaps even weeks, than the first version, he had fitted his plan to his given timeframe. He had five days left to get this done. As far as the Ten Rings were concerned, he was building them a missile.

“What would you do,” Loki asked one evening, while they were each lying in their own bed, “if you got out?”

“Have a cheeseburger,” Tony replied, because it was true.

“Such ambitions.”

Tony was quiet for a minute. He had asked himself the same question, and the answers he had gotten had been of a wild variety. Actually visit Coney Island like he'd always wanted. Destroy these monsters. Make a speech, let everyone know what was important. But who the hell would have listened to him? The repented Merchant of Death, frightened away from his murder profiteering? Others had given him speeches his whole life, and he had turned a deaf ear. How pathetic, to need such a lesson.

Yeah. A cheeseburger would have been nice.

“What about you?” He asked softly. “You've mentioned your brother.”

“I don't think Thor ever knew about the ransom,” Loki replied quietly. “I've spent my life accusing him of not caring about me. Deep down, I knew it wasn't true. If I could see him, I'd say sorry. I'd listen to his stupid sentimentality. I'd let him be my big brother.”

“I hope you will,” Tony whispered.

Everything was going according to the plan. They were on schedule. The metal cylinders and half-spheres were piling up in a corner, while he pretended to assemble a fake missile that wouldn't even have been good for fireworks. Only two days left, and he wondered if it was dread or shrapnels sinking ever closer to his heart.

That's when they were interrupted.

The real leader of the Rings was a bald man with eyes that immediately spoke of deadly danger. Tony would have known as much even if he hadn't heard Loki's breath catching for the first time since he had known him at the sight of the stranger calmly walking into their cell. Tony raised his hands above his head, as had always been demanded by Bakaar. Standing in front of his little army, the man looked like he wanted to smirk.

“Relax,” he ordered Tony, in English.

Tony glanced at Loki. The other prisoner stood still, looking at a spot on the wall. Slowly, Tony lowered his hands, half-expecting to be shot for it by the expectant terrorists.

“You, too,” the man said, this time glancing at Loki. Stiffly, his hands lowered to his sides, too. “I see you've been working diligently. I trust you know you don't have much time left.”

“Yeah,” Tony answered. His heart was beating painfully hard. Had they been discovered?

“My name is Raza Al-Wazar, Mr. Stark,” the man said out of the blue. He wasn't looking at Tony. He had started walking around the room, glancing at the melting metal over the fire, then at the disassembled missile on the worktable. “I suppose you could say I am your biggest fan.”

Tony didn't reply. He had a feeling any response would be the wrong one. There was a quiet sort of menace to the way Raza moved that made him feel like he was only waiting for the opportunity to pounce. When nothing but silence answered him, the terrorist turned back his way.

“Are you not flattered?”

“Not particularly,” Tony said, lips barely moving.

“I don't see why,” Raza said. He glanced at Loki and stepped behind him, looking at cut straps of leather, piled up on a corner. “You build weapons, Stark. What kind of man did you think would care for you?"

He took a piece of leather in hand and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. Then, with Tony still trying to decide whether he would be forced to answer this, too, Raza suddenly switched language to ask a question. Tony didn't recognise which one he was using, but Loki clearly understood. He stiffened, and replied in the same language. Raza questioned him again, narrowing his eyes. Loki repeated exactly the same thing he had just said.

“You know,” Raza said, once more using English, no doubt for Tony's benefit, “I think we could find another translator.”

He made a small gesture, and within an instant, two of his soldiers were on Loki, dragging his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees.

“Hey, what-” Tony's step forward prompted a deluge of warning shouts as guns were pointed at him, and he stopped, raising his hands, but looking at Raza in growing horror. “What are you doing?”

“Are you building me my missile, Mr. Stark?” The man asked, sounding very at ease.

“I am,” Tony assured him, feeling like he was going to puke. “We are. Loki's helping me. I -I need his help.”

“Is that so?”

“He's a good assistant,” Tony insisted. His heartrate picked up as Raza pulled out a sharp-looking knife from his belt. “Hey, I'm building your missile! Please!”

“Are you,” Raza murmured, “building my missile, Loki? Think about what you're going to say.”

Loki blinked, looking, for the first time since Tony knew him, as panicked as he was. For one second, Tony was sure his cellmate was going to admit the truth: the reactor, the measurements, the explosive charges.

“We are,” Loki said, voice choked out.

“You know,” Raza said, giving the knife an experimental twist, “I really don't think we need you to have your tongue to do your job.”

Loki said nothing. He looked pale, but he stood still, held up by the two guards behind him.

After what felt like an eternity, Raza turned back to Tony, and Tony had never before felt the urge to see another man dead.

“You have twenty-four hours,” Raza said, detaching syllables. “After that, I'll start carving one of you for each additional hour. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Tony replied. He just wanted the bastard to step away from Loki. He hadn't begged any superior force, not even since his capture, and yet, he found himself praying now.

Raza watched him for an instant longer, his knife in hand. Then, a last, he sheated it again and gestured for his goons to release Loki. A minute later and they were gone, the sound of the heavy metal doors shutting down echoing like death in the cave.

They were running out of time. It was time to finish this.

Nineteen hours later, they were finished. There wasn't a trace of a missile in the cave. Tony felt like celebrating, but his eyes kept getting wet without his consent. Loki didn't question him when he handed him the leather gloves and boots they had salvaged from a pile of trash in the corner of the cave. He did, however, frown when Tony handed him the first of the metal pieces he had so carefully hammered.

“Stark, what is this?” He whispered. There was never any way to know when they were being watched. Tony just hoped they would have enough time before the guards reacted.

“It's a breastplate. Put it on, let me tie it up on you.”

“What's your plan?”

“Just hurry. I'll explain, I promise.”

Loki pressed his lips together, but he let Tony help him into the armor -piece by piece. It was crude. If Tony had had more time, and better materials, this could have been amazing. It was a dizzying, almost nice thought. He could have done great things still, if he had had the chance.

“What now?” Loki shifted uncomfortably in the heavy suit of armor, with only the mask remaining to be put on his face. “I don't think I can walk in this, Stark. Much less run.”

“You won't have to. Let me show you.”

So he explained. He showed him the flamethrower at his right hand, and the machine gun at his left. He indicated how to use the explosive that would, in theory, destroy the caves they were in, and half the mountain over them, if needed. He explained how to make the suit take off, and Loki's eyes were starting to understand. He didn't let him ask. He showed him the last button.

“This one,” he said, “is literal fireworks. You got five. Once you're out in the desert, use them one at a time. With any bit of luck, my friends will see it.”

“Stark,” Loki started, but Tony just shook his head.

“Once I get you ready, I'll blow up the door. I kept a bunch of explosives with me. If they come in here hoping to ask questions, they'll be surprised.”

“I'm not going to leave this place alone,” Loki said.

“Yeah, you are. We didn't have enough time to make two suits. It's my baby. I get to decide who uses it.”

“Once we open the door, they will shoot at will, Stark. They'll kill you.”

“Then I'll have done one good thing in my life,” Tony said. He was trying to make it sound confident, but he didn't have Loki's way of controlling his voice, and it shook a little. “Look, we don't have time, Loki. Any instant now, they'll see the armor on their cameras and they'll come shooting anyway. You need to go.”

“My life isn't worth more than yours,” Loki hissed.

“I'm giving you this,” Tony interrupted. The reactor came out of his chest without a sound, but it felt like he had just reached a hand between his lungs. He stiffened a shiver and shoved the reactor into the gaping hole, at the center of the suit's chest. It clicked in place and locked itself in with a satisfying, definite noise. “Which means I'm going to die anyway, just slowly. So if you've got any heart, you're gonna go and make it worth it. If you want to be nice, bring this to Pepper Potts once you're out. Tell her I'm sorry.”

“I never agreed to taking your dying wishes, Stark,” Loki said, even as he looked down at the glowing blue light. “I didn't agree to this,” he repeated, and for the first time since speaking to Raza, his voice cracked.

“Get out of here, Loki,” Tony ordered. “It might not feel alright now, but it will. You deserve that.”

And without letting the other man answer, he triggered the explosive charge he had stuck against the metal doors. They blew away, out in the maze of cave gorges, with a deafening noise. Without giving him a choice, Tony lowered the mask on to Loki's face, completing the armor's protection around him. If Loki tried to say anything, the noise was lost to the screams coming their way and the whistle in Tony's ears.

At last, the other man turned away, and walked out of their prison. Yells and gunshots resonated, and were then silenced.

Tony slumped against the closest wall, and brought a hand to the empty hole in his chest. Something hysterical inside of him brought a smile up to his lips. What a metaphor, he thought. What a way to go. He closed his eyes.

He hoped Thor Odinsson didn't disappoint his brother.

Chapter 17: Day 12 - Chosen Family

Chapter Text

Tony had found Eir in her office, at the end of the infirmary. After sending her to Loki's rooms, he immediately sought Thor out. When he was allowed into the room, it was to find the King seated with Heimdall, the two of them looking both displeased and a little tense, as though he had interrupted a dispute.

Well, he was about to fix their mood.

“I cut the thread,” he said, unable to hold back a grin.

There was no need for any clarification as to what thread. Thor's eyes widened with immediate comprehension, and he was up and practically pushing Tony out of the door without a word to Heimdall, demanding to know how and why.

“I have no idea, buddy,” Tony said, walking fast to keep by Thor's side as they moved back to the infirmary. “I tried to cut it and it worked.”

It seemed wrong to lie to Thor, especially about something like this, but once Loki had grown calm enough to accept that the news needed to get out, he had forced the promise out of him that he would keep the nature of the curse between them. It had seemed normal to agree to his demand then, with the matter being so cruelly intimate; now it disturbed him a little how readily he had agreed to lie to one of his dearest friends.

They found Loki sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a wet compress to his lips while Eir washed her hands in a basin to his side. They both turned at the sound of the door opening, and despite evidences that she was still shocked, there was clear relief in the healer's eyes.

“It is out, my King,” she said simply.

Indeed, the stiff pieces of leather thread, bloodied by the effort needed to take them out of healed flesh, were resting on a towel on the bedside table, deceivingly small and harmless looking, as though they had come out easy. Loki was looking back at them as he covered his mouth with the clothe, as if weary that they might try to crawl back to his mouth.

“Brother, praise the Norns, you are free at last,” Thor choked out, emotion clear in his voice as he cleared the distance between them and put one knee to the ground in front of his brother. “Are you in much pain?”

“I'm having a wonderful evening,” Loki muttered from behind the compress.

His voice sounded more stable than before, but the words were still slightly misshaped by the hurt in his lips. And indeed, Eir was quick to raise her hand to catch Thor's eye and warn him.

“It would be best if the prince did not speak much in the coming days, my King. Not only do the wounds to his lips need to heal, but going so long without speaking, and barely drinking, for that matter, has done damage to his throat.”

“Of course,” Thor said. It was a testament to how much he had grown, Tony suspected, that he didn't try to make things better by making a joke about how hard it would be for Loki to shut up. Instead, he just looked pained and a little distressed, as if wondering what to say now that would not encourage Loki to answer. A tentative smile came to his lips at last. “Well, this is progress nevertheless, brother. Now, you will be better in no time and we will both be out of Eir's tyranny.”

Eir pretended to huff in offense, while the corners of Loki's eyes crinkled slightly with a hidden smile. Tony's heart ached with the unpleasantness of the secret he bore.

It was supposed to stay, Loki had said about the thread, until someone did it. And wanted, really wanted to hear me speak.

Of course Thor had wanted to free Loki. He had been desperate to help, desperate to remove the thread and seek vengeance and fix this. Perhaps in all this, he had forgotten the one most important thing -to ask his brother what he wanted, and care for his answer.

It was unfair. The cruelty of it made him sick. He didn't even want to go beat up the assholes who had done this; he just wished they had never existed, never tainted the world with their evilness, with the sadism of their promise. Nobody's taking it out. Nobody's going to hear your lies again. Not only had they tortured Loki, not only had they taken his voice, but to curse him like this...

In such moment, it was almost easy to forget everything that scared and angered him in Loki.

“I would go burn these, with your approval, my prince” Eir said, interrupting the train of his thoughts and Thor's hesitation to keep speaking. She had picked up the towel and the pieces of thread. “They may yet contain malicious magic, and I would see them destroyed, unless you believe they may help you trace the one who cursed them?”

Loki shook his head decidedly and made a small gesture for the goddess to dispose of the damned thing as she saw fit. She looked at Tony and raised her eyebrows before turning away, and he got the message. It would only be fair to leave the brothers alone, and let Loki speak what few words he could to Thor privately.

He walked out of the infirmary, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket to protect them from the evening cold, and looked at the sky above, walking a little aimlessly. He could see Eir's form walking away, her pace that of a woman who always hurried from one emergency to the next.

Who had cursed Loki? The prince had told him he had his suspicions. Someone as powerful, or nearly, as he or Thor themselves. Someone who had been clever enough to let his minions do the work for him, so that only they had been caught when Heimdall had seeked out the culprits.

Did Loki know? There was a sharp sort of pride to the man that made Tony think he just might, and had decided to keep the name to himself rather than let justice take the case. Had the person talked to Loki? Had he taken part in the tortures? Was Loki really planning to keep his suspicions to himself and live along the monster who had orchestrated this?

In a way, it was freeing to have made his choice. It wasn't that he could just will away the fear and resentment that bubbled in him whenever he saw Loki; he had simply decided to let the other, stronger part of him that wanted to give this man a second chance win.

It was easier, yes. It also made it difficult to realize just how much, then, he could no longer dismiss by considering Loki as a crazy, evil bag of cats. Because even if it wasn't evil after all, the madness remained. The pain, the distrust, the self-hatred he had heard in Loki's thought. And if he cared for Loki, it was his problem.

It was his problem, if Loki, somehow, thought that denunciating the one who had done this to him was too much trouble to be worth it.

He didn't see any reason to stop his visits to the infirmary just because Loki's situation had improved slightly. He entered the room the next day, same as usual, and found the prince sucking on ice chips. The skin around his lips was pink and the places where the thread had pierced it were still open.

“Hey there,” he greeted, checking to see that Loki didn't angrily wave him away before taking his usual seat. “How does it feel? Is it weird?”

Very, Loki answered easily enough. He took more ice chips from the small bowl in his lap and brought them to his mouth, carefully slipping them through his lips. Now I suppose is the time where I should properly thank you.

Even though the night had put some distance between himself and what he had done, Tony didn't find it any easier to face this morning that he, of all possible people, had been the one to fill in the unfair criterias of the curse. He didn't know what it said about him, and about what he was to Loki, and what Loki was to him. He was pretty sure there were no self-help books for his specific situation, and a therapist would probably have just called in for reinforcements if Tony had started to explain that he had fought his magically repressed memories of a man he despised and feared and successfully freed him from a curse by genuinely caring about what he had to say and was now wondering about his life.

“Don't mention it,” he said, because, what else was he going to do? Gloat? Hold this over Loki's head? Even though his skin still crawled when Loki looked at him in certain ways, he wasn't going to treat him like a villain without a new reason to. He had decided as much and he was sticking to it. “I'm just happy we finally got it off of you.”

Evidently, Loki said, looking at him curiously.

Yeah, he guessed it wasn't any easier for Loki to know what to make of him, either. Tony tried for a smile. They were both f*cked up, weren't they? Just in slightly different ways.

“Anyway, did Thor break your ribs hugging you after I was gone? I bet he did.”

He certainly tried. It was fortunate the Lady Eir eventually interrupted, or I would have been in worse shape than when you brought me here.

“He missed you, you know,” Tony said. He eyed Loki, mindful of any harsh reaction on Loki's part if he felt Tony was overstepping. The god simply looked at him, his eyes partially obscured by his hair. “He really did. When we told him you'd been hurt while he wasn't there, he was devastated.”

You do not need to tell me as much. Loki's thoughts were clear, and calmer than he had expected them. I do not doubt Thor's loyalty, nor do I resent him for failing to cut the thread, if that is what you fear. Thor might be a sentimental fool, but a liar he is not, not when he claims his love for me.

Tony nodded. Considering who he was speaking with, it was probably stupid to think that he could tell, but he had a feeling Loki wasn't lying about this. It was hard to miss how much Thor cared for his brother, despite -everything.

And that was it, wasn't it?

“He's eager to hold the trial, you know. You should tell him who you suspect.”

Loki cast his eyes down, and there was a slight slumping to his shoulders, like he felt too tired to hold this conversation. For a moment, he was quiet, with only the occasional crunching of ice between his teeth, and Tony thought the prince was back to simply ignoring the things he didn't want to respond to. But eventually, he saw Loki gently shaking his head.

He is a sentimental fool, he repeated, the thought barely formed enough to push at Tony's mind.

“For wanting justice?"

I told you before. There are those who would agree with what was done to me. More of them than Thor realises.

“Isn't that all the more reason to let them know this won't be tolerated?”

You do not know us, Stark, Loki said, sighing visibly. You've met a handful of Aesir. Thor, with his giant, stupid heart. Eir, who would cure anyone. Valkyrie, Heimdall, loyal to a fault. But we are not a forgiving people.

“You're including yourself, you know.”

Tony saw the impact of his words as though they had had physical form and had hit Loki where he sat on the bed. His shoulders stiffened visibly as he realized what he no doubt saw as a mistake. Tony did not let him back off.

“I know what you're going to say. You're a Frost Giant. These guys saw you as a monster and a liar just because of the planet you were born in. You've told me who you are. And you've... Shown me more than that, too. Probably without meaning to, yeah, but -you did.” He made an apologetic grimace when Loki winced. “I get that you kinda see yourself as a monster too.”

Don't you, Stark? You know better than most in Asgard what I have done.

This was an awkward, slippery topic. Tony probably should have let it drop. This wasn't the first time he pushed at the things that Loki had revealed about himself in his accidental flashes of emotions. He had been kicked out of this room more than once for that. But Loki didn't look like he wanted to chase him away yet, despite his crispation.

So why did he not give in to the temptation of dropping this? It certainly would have been easier. And less awkward.

But then, he wasn't doing this just for Loki.

“I know, yeah. Better than those guys, too. And I stand by what I said. Torturing people in a dark cave isn't the f*cking response. Especially with people who don't give two sh*ts about Earth and are just using it as an excuse to be racists.”

So you've said. Loki actually smiled, though it was a tense, unhappy thing. He wasn't convinced at all. Perhaps the one who did this knew exactly what I deserved.

“Do you really believe that?” It was so weirdly easy, once the questions started to come out, to keep them going. How those conversations he would have thought impossibles went on, with the two of them speaking as they would never have outside of these walls, outside, perhaps, of Loki's own mind. “Do you think you deserved to be beaten and burned and to have your mouth sewn shut? I don't need to tell you that that's f*cked up, right?” He smiled, too, very joylessly, as Loki gave a little, but audible scoff.

I believe that they believed it.

“Some people believe the Earth is flat and I'm secretly a lizard.”

A lizard?

“Yeah, it's a whole conspiracy of -though, I guess, you can turn into a lizard if you want to, can't you? It probably doesn't sound as crazy to you as it is. Anyway, you get what I mean. sad*stic bastards can't just take justice into their own hands. Thor has forgiven you. Asgard and Earth and the Avengers have agreed that you deserve to be free.”

All Thor, in fact, Loki remarked quietly.

“Yeah. And Thor knows you. Better than anyone else. So what does that say about these assholes knowing what you do or don't deserve?”

I cannot believe I am being lectured by a being of less than fifty years of age.

“You're a Frost Giant, big deal. You've attacked the Earth... Actual big deal,” Tony amended. “But not one that justifies what happened, and I'm an Earthling. Whoever did this is a sick son of a bitch. You're no longer a villain. They weren't fighting you to protect anyone, they were fighting you to hurt you. They're the assholes, and they need to be contained.”

I may not be a villain anymore, Loki said. But if New Asgard falls into civil war over my fate, things will be no better than if I had destroyed the Realm myself.

“I think you're overestimating how many people can resist Thor's angry puppy look, even if they were still mad at you.”

I am not of Asgard, Stark. The people will not see its heroes punished for taking arms against me.

“You are of Asgard,” Tony interrupted, before the twisted monologue could unravel further. “You were raised in Asgard. Their beloved King is your brother, Loki. The place you were born in doesn't change that. Asgard is literally your family.”

Loki was quiet for a time. This time, Tony could tell he was meditating his answer. He let him, feeling bizarrely at peace with how intimate he had gotten, how invasively he had refuted Loki's thoughts without the other man protesting. It was definitely weird, and yet. He had started this argument for himself, but he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had gotten through to Loki. Maybe he was getting an answer.

Maybe not. Either way, he would have tried.

I do not know that Thor is not ready to fight his own people. Even for me.

“I doubt the person who did this to you is someone he considers a valuable part of his people,” Tony remarked. “Thor is on your side, Loki. Every decent Asgardian I've met is.”

Actually, Loki thought, and there was a pause. Tony didn't think it was for dramatic effect, not the way Loki's hands clenched around the bowl, perhaps as he considered whether he truly could share this with a man who had been his enemy so recently. You might be surprised.

There was no fight. It would have been too easy. Heimdall claimed his innocence with an honest look of disbelief, pleading Thor to realize that his brother was lying for some reasons unknown to him.

It frightened Tony, despite himself. It terrified him, how hard it would have been to choose who to trust, if, with Loki's reveal, he hadn't suddenly heard the calm, strong voice of the Guardian speaking those awful words he had left in Loki's mind.

How, afterall, had Heimdall never seen Loki's distress? He hadn't been hiding at such a time. How had he captured the perpetrators so easily? How, when Loki had spoken not a word?

Thor was livid. He had hesitated, Tony realized, for a split second, before ordering the arrest. Loki had been right. There had been shocked murmurs, disbelieving words. People had openly stared as Valkyrie and another guard had escorted Heimdall to the prisons. There was disapproval. The Guardian was a symbol almost as old as Asgard herself, a reminder of the stability of home. Nobody wanted him to be traitor.

The trial, Tony hoped, would put things into perspective.

Loki didn't appear surprised when Thor came to his room, immediately after the events. He shifted uncomfortably when his brother fell to his knees next to him and used his one hand to squeeze his, desperately, begging him to forgive him for his blindness.

“How would you have known?” Loki retorted, his voice hoarse and low, careful.

“I should have,” Thor replied, showing no mercy for himself. “You're my brother, Loki. I should have seen.”

“Oaf,” Loki croaked out.

And you, too, Tony heard, and he managed to smile.

He was starting to think that, for Loki, it was a word of love.

Chapter 18: Alt. 6 - Carrying Someone

Chapter Text

Being part of the Avengers was not what Loki had envisioned as the best scenario for his new life on Earth. Somewhere, he had a feeling that the Norns were laughing at him.

With the Asgardian refugees to take care of and the mantle of King fallen on his shoulders, Thor seemed to have caught up to all the centuries he had refused to take in maturity. It had only been a few weeks after the Statesman had landed on Earth with what remained of Asgard's population that Thor had invited some of his favorite mortals to New Asgard to have a serious conversation with them, in which he had announced his intention to give up on his super-heroing activities. Loki had been pleasantly surprised by the news.

At least, he had been, until Thor had turned to him -whom he had insisted be there for the visit of Stark, Rogers and a newcomer going by the name of Black Panther- and smiled.

“Fortunately,” he had proclaimed, with booming cheerfulness which announced only trouble, “I am pleased to say that I have found a replacement for myself.”

It had been a very awkward few months with Loki as a probatory Avenger. He had not asked to be there, and the Avengers hadn't asked for him, but Thor had been so insistant, the heroes of Midgard had fallen for his demands -and Loki, despite his best wishes, had had no excuse to say no.

With time, things had grown... Less difficult. The Avengers, despite their weariness, had made obvious efforts, no doubt for Thor's sake. He had been encouraged to share his abilities with the team, and had found with some surprise that they didn't seem intent on mocking his seiðr. As he had been allowed to join the team on small, then more important missions, he had indeed found that they seemed to appreciate his power and assistance.

It was -gratifying, in an unexpected way. Still, he refused to think that Thor had been clever enough to plan as much. It was luck, pure and simple.

Not that he complained.

As months went on, he had had to admit that working with the Avengers was... Pleasant. Saving civilians lives had never been the priorities of Asgardian warriors, but he found that it came to him better than fighting. And the look of awe on their faces when they looked up to find that Loki was effortlessly holding a falling building with his magic while encouraging them to please go on was always a peculiar pleasure.

Plus, the companionship of the Avengers themselves had turned out to be much more pleasant than he had expected. He didn't think he would ever consider Steve Rogers or Bruce Banner friends, but he had grown to hold some respect for them, and had the pleasant certainty that they thought the same of him. On the other hand, he had found himself enjoying the occasional banter with Clint Barton, odd little competitions with Romanoff, and, more than anything, Stark's sense of humor.

The man was clever, by far the smartest human Loki knew -in fact, he was certainly far above many Aesir. He was resourceful and creative: Loki had once seen him defeating an enemy with a fondue fork, when his armor had been out of reach, and then deliver a cheesy punchline to the defeated foe. More than that, and as entertaining as he was, was the fact that Stark, for all he was easily distracted and always fidgeting, was an attentive teammate. He was the only one who had noticed the injuries Loki preferred to keep to himself, and instead of bringing it up in front of everyone, as he would have expected him to, the human had simply gifted him with human medicine. One or two late night conversations, when insomnia kept the two of them up, had led him to consider that Stark, once a Merchant of Death, was the most heroic man on the team.

Of course, it didn't help his interest in him that Stark was very good looking.

Some foolish part of him thought to try his chance in that regard more than once. The thought was persistent, coming back to him as he looked at the human being particularly ridiculous or adorable or efficient. Earth wasn't as shy about men lying with men as Midgard. Everytime, he managed to keep it to himself. He didn't want to jeopardize what he had now with this strange team he had come to think of as his own.

If there was one thing he wasn't particularly fond of, though, it was the team-building exercices.

They had come about with the addition of one Ant-Man to the team. Despite the ridiculous name, Scott Lang was in fact a valuable fighter, with an easy-going attitude that Loki found he could get along with. But he had been the one to suggest the exercices, and Loki blamed him for it, because they had since become a monthly occurence in Stark Tower.

There had been the truth-or-dare evening, which had turned to a very bad hangover on the next day after everyone had tried to drink away the things they had learned about each other. The boardgames evening hadn't been too bad, except for being told that every word he tried to play at Scrabble was invalid. The paintball had actually been fun until Loki had been removed from the game after everyone had been covered in green paint for concern that, quote Clint Barton, his villain was showing. Then there had been the three-legged race, in which Loki had spent too much time in Doctor Strange's proximity for his taste...

He dreaded what was to come this month, it was true. After the latest exercice, which had consisted of an escape game and cost Stark thousands of dollars after Banner's beast had shown up and destroyed the room they were locked in as his best attempt at problem-solving, Rogers had announced that he would be picking the next activity. Loki was understandably concerned as the day drew near.

They were to gather in the training gymnasium, below the shared floor, at nine. Coincidentially, when Loki took the elevator, feeling moderately certain that today would be a trial of patience, he was joined by Tony Stark.

“Hey,” the human grinned. “Ready for a wonderful experience in team-building?”

“Oh, but I couldn't wait for the day to come,” Loki ironised, amused by the tone the human used -it was obvious he was just as prepared for disaster as Loki.

“Right? I'm sure we'll all learn some valuable communication skills as well as, uh, whatever other lesson these things are supposed to be about.”

“Not put Banner in a small, enclosed space?” Loki suggested.

“That's the one.”

They made it to the lower floor, with Loki pushing down the squirming of something naive and eager in his chest at being in such a small space with the human. They got down to the gymnasium to find the others already gathered at a corner of the room. Apparently, not even Banner had managed to be excused from this one.

As they approached, Loki frowned at what appeared to be a bare human torso lying on the floor, detached from the lower body that should have come with it and staring at the ceiling with a partially open mouth and dead plastic eyes.

“Oh, god,” Tony groaned next to him. “Dammit, Rogers.”

“Tony, Loki, come join us,” the soldier greeted them with a smile. “Alright, everyone's here! We're gonna get started,” he announced to the team.

The team, plus one, Loki noticed. There was an unknown man, beside the torso, who very much looked like he had not expected to find himself surrounded by the Avengers on a sunnny Monday morning. He couldn't be more than thirty and was wearing a slightly too tight T-shirt with a cartoon character. When he realized that Rogers was looking at him with an expectant smile, he seemed to choke a little bit.

“Right, right,” he said a little weakly. “Um, right. Well, my name is Kevin, and I will be your instructor today in this first aid formation. Me and... Bob, that is.” He glanced at the half mannequin on the floor and then back at the Avengers with a slightly bewildered look, as if he was second-guessing every choice that had led him to doing this joke in front of the team. Loki probably didn't look very encouraging, but the man must have found some reassurance, because his smile grew a little more confident. “By the end of today, you'll have a practical and written exam, and those who pass it will receive a certificate proving their qualifications. Um, yes?” He pointed at Loki's raised hand.

“This is a formation in human first aid?” Loki questioned. The man blinked.

“Well, yes.”

“Just making sure.” Tony looked amused. Loki tried not to feel proud of that.

“I'm an actual surgeon,” Strange said, looking very much unimpressed.

“I'm not a surgeon,” Romanoff said, “but I've performed a few surgeries in my life.”

“Most of us could use the refresher,” Rogers argued patiently, having visibly expected a bit of resistance. “We need to be ready when civilians need immediate assistance. I'm aware that we have a wide variety of knowledge on the topic, which is why I thought it would be unifying to have this class all together. This is a valuable skill, and one that require communication. I thought it would be appropriate.”

“I'm on team Cap here,” Tony said, which earned him a surprised, happy glance from the Captain. “This might be the best idea for one of those things yet. I've been meaning to learn at least a little bit since that incident in Spain. Nice to meet you, Kevin. And Bob.”

“Thank you,” the man managed, if a little squeakily.

The Avengers agreed with varying levels of enthusiasm to taking the class; since Strange looked offended that his medical and cooperative skills were questioned, Loki decided he would be the image of an attentive student.

Kevin, despite his obvious awkwardness, was actually a pretty good teacher; it helped that the matter at hand was actually of relative simplicity. Loki's training in Asgard's army had been decidedly more oriented toward battle-wounds than cardiac arrest or airways obstructions, but he found that most principles they were learning were similar for humans and Aesir.

They took turns ressuscitating Bob, the mannequin, until everyone had a certain song stuck in their head. Kevin then split them into pairs, and Loki found himself teaming up with Tony due to their immediate proximity. Amusingly, Kevin kept Strange as his own partner.

“Now, does anyone here -not you, Doctor- does anyone here know what the recovery position is, for an unconscious patient?”

“On the side,” Banner answered dutifully, standing next to Clint Barton.

“Good -and can someone tell me why?”

“Airways?” Wanda Maximoff suggested from where she was sitting on the ground with her brother.

“Exactly. We want to make sure that our patient can breath. Bob doesn't exactly have the body type for this, so I'll demonstrate with Mr. Strange, and then I want all of you to play the part of the patient and the part of the first responder. The patient will lie down on their belly or their back, and the other person will need to reproduce the adequate positioning, alright? Watch what I'm doing.”

“All this talk of reproduction and positioning,” Loki heard Tony mumbling, “and while I'm with a hot shapeshifter, too.”

“Shh, Stark, there are children present,” Loki pretended to shush him, even though the joke wasn't unpleasant to his ears.

“What, Peter? He's a big boy, he knows how those things work.”

“Attention please,” Kevin demanded, and Loki bit his lower lip, amused, as he watched the demonstration -it really was all the more entertaining with Strange reluctantly playing the patient, refusing to close his eyes for the part, and looking quite displeased.

It really was simple enough, and all the Avengers chatted a little amongst each other as Kevin walked around the room to make sure that the positioning was right; Loki pushed his luck, pretending to run a hand over Stark's waist as he pushed him gently on his side, and the human answered him with a feined gasp and a wink.

When it was his turn, Loki played along, resignated and amused.

“Somebody help,” Tony said to no one in particular, “I think this guy fell from heaven.”

“Asgard,” Loki pretended to correct him, head resting in his hand until Kevin corrected the posture.

It really wasn't the worst team-building exercice yet.

They paused for lunch after discussing examinations and calling for help. Rogers, having planned the activity, had ordered Thai food for everyone, and they sat eating on the ground of the gymnasium in a camaraderie that wasn't actually unpleasant.

“This is actually fun,” Tony said, echoing his thoughts and gesturing at Bob with his chopsticks. “You know, I've wanted to learn this for a while. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a paramedic or a firefighter.”

“That's kinda cute,” Carol Danvers smirked. “Though you're a bit scrawny for the job,” she added, causing a few 'oooh's around the room.

“Scrawny? Excuse you?” Tony played the offended part, and Loki eyed him, smiling. “I won't shame you by taking you on here and now, without power, but only out of respect for Kevin here.”

“It's kind of true,” Romanoff remarked, a mischievious spark in her eyes. “Without the suit, you're probably the scrawniest person in this room, Stark.”

“Maybe I could have been the first ever mecha-paramedic. You don't know. And besides, I might look small compared to all of you freaks of nature, but I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he added, curling an arm and pretending to strain for biceps.

“It's mostly a matter of technique, anyway,” Kevin interfered. “That's not part of today's course, but I could show you.”

“See? Kevin believes in me. Thank you, Kevin."

There were laughter and dispersed cheers, and suddenly, everybody wanted to prove whether or not they could lift their teammates from the ground. Parker had no problem pulling Scott Lang in his arms like a damsel in distress; Barnes lifted T'Challa like a royal potato bag; it was obvious that Pietro Maximoff was used to pick his sister off the ground. There was general applause when Romanoff actually picked Rogers up and, even though her arms shook a little bit, lifted him in a tasteful ballet lift.

“Well, my honor's in play,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “Loki, you didn't have too big a breakfast?”

“Maybe I should lift you,” Loki said, and then pretended to grimace when there were whistles. “I mean no offense-”

“How dare you,” Tony gasped.

“My body mass is not the same as a human's! Why don't you pick Rhodey up instead?”

“Nope, I'm doing this. Kevin, show me again?"

Kevin dutifully demonstrated the fireman carry with a long-suffering Strange, and Loki gave a dramatic sigh, letting Tony mimick the movements and lift his arm up.

“This is going to end badly,” he warned him.

“What if you get hurt someday and I can't carry you to safety?” Tony argued.

“You'll call your suit?”

“If you get hurt, all my suits have been destroyed for a while,” Tony assured him, and though maybe it was just for the dramatic effect, Loki felt something warm and fuzzy spread in his chest. “Alright, hold on. One, two...”

It was made terribly awkward by Loki being significatively taller than Stark, but the human stubbornly bent down and pulled his weight over his back. Loki was moderately surprised when he felt his feet leaving the ground, and the mortals around them granted Tony his well-deserved applause. The human lifted a hand to thank his public, and the world tilted-

“Stark!” Loki snapped, seeing the ground getting closer.

Too late -he landed directly on his face, and Stark fell hard with him. Loki groaned in pain, shifting as fast as he could to make sure he didn't actually crush the mortal, and heard him swearing from beneath him.

“Are you alright?” Rogers sounded worried as he rushed toward them.

“Did you hit your head?” Kevin questioned, already kneeling to their side.

“I'm fine,” Loki groaned, and then, seeing the worried faces of the mortals, started cackling. It was uncontrolable -the situation was ridiculous, and seeing Stark's startled face, like he was still processing what had just happened, just made it worse. Before he knew it, he was laughing loudly, rubbing at his sore forehead, and soon, he heard Stark joining him in his hysterical amusem*nt.

“Let's never try that again,” he suggested when he managed to catch his breath enough to do so.

“Are you kidding? That was amazing,” Stark chuckled, wiping a tear from his flushed face.

“I think we've had enough carrying people today,” Kevin suggested, looking a little concerned that he would be blamed for Avengers injuries.

“Sure,” Tony smiled bright like a sun. “Let's move on to mouth-to-mouth next, what do you say, Loki?”

“I honestly cannot tell whether you're being serious,” Loki snickered. “Are you flirting, or just not taking this class seriously?”

“Hey, I'm being super serious! Come on, stop breathing.”

“Because you need to know that this is the worst way to flirt ever invented. Stop breathing, really?”

“Alright, then I'll need mouth-to-mouth, because you take my breath away. How's that?”

“Oh, come on,” someone groaned, and Loki started laughing again.

Norns, let him have this man. Let him be serious, yes.

Chapter 19: Alt. 1 - Roadtrip/Vacation

Chapter Text

Few of the students at SHIELD Academy ever decided to stay over at school for the Christmas break. Usually, those who did so were the ones who had failed so wildly at the winter exams that they were terrified of seeing their parents in the flesh before a few months had soothed their anger.

Loki would have preferred to stay at school, too. He had done so, on the previous year, when Thor had been stuck on his internship in California. In his brother's absence, his parents had somehow seemed far less eager than usual to see him and had opposed no resistance to his staying at school over the break. But Thor was home now, and as such, it was absolutely out of the question that they wouldn't be spending the Holidays as a family.

His results had been excellent in practically all subjects, and yet he wasn't looking forward to this. Which was why he had devised this plan, as a last resort.

He had his own car since the previous summer, a dark grey Audi S3 he was quite fond of. With some insistance, he had managed to persuade his parents that he would be driving instead of flying home, and he was quite sure even his beloved vehicle could suffer some convenient trouble just an hour away from college and force him to turn back and give up on the trip.

That had been the plan, anyway. And then Frigga had thrown Tony Stark at him as though they were children on an unwanted playdate while their parents were busy.

“I've been talking to his mother,” she had explained, sounding so concerned that someone less attuned to evil plots than Loki might have believed there was no malice in her intent. “Apparently, the poor dear has grown afraid of flying, but he can't drive himself. She was so sad to think of Christmas without him, I just had to offer. You don't mind, do you, love?”

That was the worst thing about Frigga. Loki couldn't, no matter how he tried, tell her exactly how much he did mind, because some childish part of him was still forever afraid of hurting her feelings.

And so, Stark.

Loki knew him, of course. Everybody knew him. The boy was two years younger than everyone in his years, a diagnosed genius on his way to becoming the youngest graduate in the history of the school. And yet, such was not the reason why Stark was a local celebrity. It was because he was a mess. A loud, obnoxious, arrogant mess, organizing parties every weekend and thriving only with the attention of the whole world on him.

Loki didn't actually consider any of those traits particularly bad. In fact, the attentive observant would have noticed that he might as well have been talking about himself, minus the parties -he attended them, not organized them. While he had practically never interacted with Stark, or only with the two of them too intoxicated to remember it, his problem was of a purely practical nature.

Frigga had told him that Stark lived in Alexandriaè it would be very hard to have a car breakdown between there and Richmond and to persuade his parents that it made more sense to drive back to New York. Until the very last moment, he had told himself that there was a chance Stark would not show up for the ride.

Perhaps he had not been helping himself, celebrating the start of the vacation on the previous evening. His brain still felt like it was pulsing with the long-dead beat of the party when he made it back to his apartment on the day of the planned departure. He squinted underneath his sunglasses when he caught sight of a small figure standing by his door, and at first, he didn't connect the dots.

“Can I help you?”

The other boy turned. He looked older than Loki remembered he did, but there was still something very genuine, almost boyish to his features. It was his eyes, he decided, temporarily distracted from his headache. They were big and bright, looking more alive than Loki certainly felt at the moment.

“Odinsson, right?” Stark sounded co*cky, despite his gentle looks. “I was looking for you. Have been for a while, actually. I was about to try your phone.”

“Do you have my number?” Loki frowned.

“Well, yeah. Are you done packing up?”

He wasn't exactly surprised that Stark would be so forward, but he had been clinging to the hope that he wouldn't show up at all, and only answered the question with a non-commital sound as he unlocked his apartment's door.

“Sorry, is that a yes or a no?” Stark asked, following inside.

He hadn't invited him in, so Loki refrained from the reflex of apologising for the mess. His apartment, a well-lit studio, was a pretty bad one, though -it was getting to be too much for even his tastes. The last few days, with Thor and his parents calling him repeatedly, had not helped him get in the mood to clean. The dirty dishes piled up all the way to the abandoned kitchen table and a life-sized bear plushie in the couch wearing a tricorne, half-buried by a neglected sewing project.

“I thought we were leaving at four.”

“Well, yeah. It's 3:40.”

Loki glanced at the clock on which and winced -true enough, he had missed lunch as well as breakfast. And most of the day as well. No wonder Skadi had been so impatient as she had woken him up.

“Right. Well. So. We're going home together?”

“That's the plan,” Stark said. He was looking around the room with evident curiosity. “You read tarot?”

“I -uh.” Loki gathered the deck of cards spread in a circle on the floor with the tip of his foot. He couldn't remember speaking with Stark before, if not without a lot of other people and even more booze involved, and it would have been weird to discuss his semi-serious exploration of wicca and spiritism. “Anyway. Where are your things?”

“Right here,” the other boy said, patting his messenger bag. “Should I come back later?”

“Yes -I mean -no, this is fine,” Loki corrected himself with a small grimace. “You know what, I'll be ready in a sec. Sorry.”

He grabbed the backpack he used to go around the campus, emptied it of all but its laptop, and started to toss clothes into the bag -giving some of them a discreet sniff first. Stark seemed content to walk a few steps around, looking at some of the paintings on the wall and the miniature basket hoop above the trashcan.

“Right, so, uh, I was thinking we'd stop for the night, maybe in Baltimore,” Loki said. He didn't exactly fear judgement from Stark, considering what he knew of the guy, but this was a bit awkward. Plus, if he had to do this, he wouldn't make it to his parents' house today if he could help it. “We could go directly, but your Mom told mine you didn't drive?”

“Not these days,” Stark replied. “A stop sounds good. Don't think I've ever seen Baltimore.”

“They have an aquarium and they eat crabs, as far as I remember.”

Stark made a little noise, which might have just have been polite approval or moderate enthusiasm for crab meat. Loki removed his sunglasses long enough to pick the Advil out of the pharmacy and swallowed two before going back to his bed and throwing a pair of socks into the bag.

“You need to go to the bathroom?”

“No. But I was hoping we could stop at a drive-through, if you don't mind. My treat.”

Money was hardly a problem, but he could guess that Stark was trying to be nice. He would need to eat before they made it to Maryland, anyway. He felt his shoulders slumping slightly at the thought. He was really doing this, then. He really had thought he would be safe from Christmas with his parents this year.

“Deal. I guess I'm ready, then.”

At least, Stark didn't seem like he would be overly annoying. For the kind of wild party animal he was usually described as, he certainly seemed polite and calm enough now. It wasn't his fault, Loki supposed, that he had been dragged into this plan. Maybe he should try to properly get to know him, so long as they would be driving over four hundred miles together.

“Right,” Stark said. “I almost forgot -you mind if I pick the music?”

Loki usually wasn't the kind of person who disliked any kind of music. He could appreciate nearly anything, from dubstep to accapella medieval harmonies, so long as the context felt right.

Going to his parents' house with the clawing remains of a drunk headache wasn't the context he would have preferred to listen to AC/DC, Black Sabbath or Iron Maiden in, and it didn't help that Stark seemed to love his music loud enough for the whole car to vibrate to the bass.

Loki had managed to argue to take turns picking the music, but it had been twenty minutes and he was already wondering how long he could manage. It was his car and he could have simply chosen to veto the music choice, but if he wanted to drag this on for as long as possible, it wouldn't do to alienate Stark.

“So, Stark,” he said, because talking was the only reason why he could justify lowering the volume. “Looking forward to family Holidays?”

“Sure. My Mom's biscuits are absolutely killer, and I mean, I've missed the old house,” Stark answered easily enough. “You? You've got an older brother at home, right?”

“Right,” said Loki. Everyone knew about Thor, the same way everyone knew about Stark, even though his brother had never partied past midnight and had been part of the student council for three years in a row. Even now, Loki would regularly be introduced to people as Thor's brother, even though Thor was literally on the other side of the country. He did see an opportunity, though. “You know, what with the exams and everything,” mostly everything, “I forgot to pick up gifts for everyone. Would you mind terribly if I did some window shopping tomorrow before we get back on the road?”

“That's totally fine with me,” Stark said before co*cking his head to the side. “Actually, I didn't get anything for my Mom, either, so that could be useful to me.”

“Great,” Loki said. Mentally, he added six hours to his mental reasonable delay to get home. Physically, he winced as the volume of Renegade suddenly picked up with the vocalist yelling.

“Wilmington!” Stark's voice startled Loki as he switched lanes. His headache was mostly gone, and so were the sunglasses, meaning the other saw his reaction and apologised. “Sorry, I just -hey, you think we could do a detour? There's supposed to be a winery I've been meaning to see for years.”

“A winery?” Loki repeated, confused, but already looking up for the next indications for the city. Anything Stark wanted, so long as it made them late -but he couldn't deny being curious.

“Yeah- they're supposed to have this fun wine -I can pick a bottle up for you, if we do stop- they make wine from tomatoes. Apparently, experts are sure it's regular white wine when they taste it, but there's no grape at all. Isn't that crazy?”

“It is,” Loki agreed, quirking an eyebrow at the strange anecdote. “You know where it is?”

“Nope.”

That worked for him.

Stark looked up the address, but his GPS signal was apparently jammed for some reason. Loki could have suggested his phone, but he didn't exactly mind the delay, and they spent a little over an hour and a half driving around town, looking at street names and driving avenues up and down in search of the famed tomato wine. As they did, Stark explained how he had come to hear about the strange thing.

“I've been preparing a road trip for when I get my car back,” he said, visibly unashamed to let Loki know how he had come to be a pedestrian: “My Dad took it away because of one stupid racing incident -I wasn't even in the car, but he thought I was being irresponsible. I mean, maybe a bit, but I was young.”

“When was that?”

“Last month,” the answer came after a thoughtful pause.

“How old are you, already?” Loki asked with a smirk.

“I'll turn eighteen in May next year. You?”

“I'm nineteen,” Loki said. May was still five months away -Stark clearly didn't want to be thought of as too young. Funny. His age was bound to cause admiration everywhere he went. Maybe he was tired of that. “So how did your car come to drive without you?”

“That's the sh*tty part,” Stark winced. “I was there, just chilling at a party at Hammer's, and I left the keys to my pal because I didn't want to drive drunk, you know? Being super reasonable. And people wanted to look at it -I should have started with that, but it was a custom R8, so of course people wanted to look at it.”

“Of course”, Loki agreed. He hadn't bothered asking for the R8, knowing fully well that his father wouldn't have allowed such a flashy ride, but it was amusing that Stark was partial to the same sort of ride as his own. He made a mental note to ask about the customizations.

“My friend didn't mind letting people take a look, and one thing leading to another, he started the engine for everyone to hear it. I was in the pool at the time and didn't pay attention, but next thing I knew, that asshole was street racing right there, five minutes from the school. He almost crashed in a lamppost too -made a mean scratch on the car. My Dad heard about the repairs and I guess he asked the right people about what happened, because my baby never came out of the garage.”

“That sounds like quite a friend,” Loki remarked carefully. It sounded quite irresponsible, too, to let that kind of people play with 600 horsepower. Maybe Mr. Stark hadn't been completely wrong to take away his son's toy. Even as he thought it, he held back a wince. Whose side was he on?

“Yeah, we haven't talked in a while,” Stark said, looking out through the window before suddenly perking up. “Hey -that's the street we're searching for! Make a right!”

They procured the wine easily enough, and Stark insisted on purchasing two bottles for Loki to thank him for making the detour. Loki felt almost guilty at letting Stark believe that he was doing him a favor, when really, he would have driven the car into a ditch to make himself late, if he hadn't had some miserable feeling of obligation to get Stark home.

By the time they loaded the tomato wine in the trunk, it was getting to be late afternoon. Stark pleasantly surprised him by suggesting they take a break to eat before getting back on the road, and they were soon seated in an Italian restaurant in which the red, white and green decorations had been modified to look more Christmas-y than patriotic, and carols and religious hymns resonated in Italian.

“That's pretty convenient,” Stark said, looking at a tricolored guarland on which little bells had been sewn. “So, you looking forward to the break?”

“Sure,” Loki said, because saying the truth would bring questions, and those questions would bring lies or awkward responses, and either of those would make the trip weird. “My brother will be there, my sister's flying home from Europe as we speak. It's gonna be fun.”

And he could almost believe it, too. Look back to his childhood, to memories of pajamas and cookies and Christmas movies with Hela and Thor, and tell himself that it was going to be great to spend time with his family again. He would actually have been truly excited, if only it had just been the three of them.

“You got a sister too?” Tony asked, clearly intrigued.

“She's older than Thor. Looks more like me than him. Currently working as a lawyer in Sweden.”

“Your family's from Scandinavia, right?”

“My parents,” Loki corrected, briefly taking his eyes off the road to glance at Stark, trying to judge if he was just making small talk to be polite. Those large brown eyes were on him, though, and clearly waiting for his answer. “My mother is from Norway, and our father from Iceland.”

“Hence the weird names,” Stark said.

“Hence the weird names,” Loki agreed with a little amused scoff.

“And Thor? I've never met him, but I hear he's a loveable guy. What is he up to?”

“He's finishing his internship at a hospital in California, as a pediatrician.”

“You've got pretty impressive siblings, uh?”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, and he pressed his lips, wondering if the bitterness in his voice had been audible to Stark. It didn't take a genius to understand that the younger, party-going, theater and literature major kid was the black sheep of the family.

“I wish I had siblings,” Tony said, surprising him with a sigh. “I guess my parents found out they couldn't stand each other after they made me, though, so no luck.”

“Are your parents divorced?” Loki asked, a little surprised. He realised that he knew so much about Stark -that he was a genius and a mess, that his father owned the megacorporation Stark Industries and was incredibly wealthy, that he had slept with half the girls at college and half as many boys- but also had practically no idea about who the kid was. And yet, it didn't seem like he was particularly intent on hiding it, as evidence by his little unamused laughter.

“No, they're both old-fashioned. Divorce is a sin, and all that.”

“That is pretty old-fashioned,” Loki approved with a grimace. He could imagine how unbearable things would be if his parents actually despised one another. At least, Odin and Frigga agreed about most things, like how Loki was an unexplainable disaster while Thor was the eight world wonder. He thanked the waitress who passed by to fill their glasses, and clarified: “Is it just you and your parents for the Holidays, then?”

“Yes and no. I guess we'll have some extended family visiting, but it should be just the three of us Christmas, sitting in an awkward silence and wondering how early we can go to bed."

Loki chuckled, the defeated tone in Stark's words sounding awfully familiar, and unvoluntarily funny because of it. So maybe they had more than the parties in common, he told himself as the kid smiled at him.

“Well, you're not wrong about siblings. It's definitely a blessing to be able to split parental disappointment. For instance, while Thor is flawless and can do no wrong, Hela is actually dating a black man, which is possibly the worst thing to have happened to our family since being kicked out of the Garden of Eden.”

“Oh my god,” Tony snickered. “I introduced one of my friends to my parents without warning them ahead that he was black. They were literally looking over his head, complaining that my friend was late.”

“Oh, ouch. Let me guess -it ended with a talk warning you about the dangers of taking crack?”

“Almost. They warned me that Rhodey was probably looking to steal all my sh*t.”

“Why the heck are we going home,” Loki smirked, shaking his head.

“Because of a sense of moral obligation that will plague us throughout our whole life,” Tony suggested. “Or, I guess the proper way of saying this would be, because it's Christmas, and Christmas is about family.”

“You know, they're right about you,” Loki chuckled. “You are a smart kid.”

“Correction, I'm smarter than everyone at this stupid school. I just apparently need the diplomas to prove it.”

He sounded serious, too; it was obvious that Stark thought highly of himself, yet at the same time, Loki didn't get the impression that it was unfounded. Even though he was as far as could be from the actual science department, he had regularly heard from students who shared Stark's classes about how the kid was never listening, yet aced every single test and could debate with the teacher about any topic. Some people complained about Stark being arrogant. Loki thought it must have been incredibly boring to suffer through years of explanations about things you already understood.

“So what are you planning to do?” He asked, curiosity piqued. “When you're done, I mean?”

“I don't know. It's not like I'll ever actually need to work in my life, but my Dad wants me to put my name out there, work with the NASA or something, until I'm “mature” (he made quotation marks with his fingers) enough to take over the company.”

“What if you had to choose?”

Stark was quiet for a while, and it occurred to Loki that few people had ever made it to asking that much. There was a careless aura about the kid that didn't inspire to deep conversations, but he was also too quick-witted for small talk. Aside from parties, maybe it was a surprise Stark had friends at all. But then, he had spoken of the one named Rhodey in past tense, and there had been the one who had taken his car on a dangerous joyride without his consent.

“I'd want my own lab,” Stark said at last. “I'd finally sit down and look at the real questions, without teachers babbling and keeping me from thinking properly. Sometimes I feel that if I could actually be alone, with the right tools and nobody pushing me on, I could do practically anything. I could push at everything interesting without people explaining to me why it's impossible.”

“It's your brain,” Loki said after a pause, putting down his fork. “You probably know best what you should use it for.”

“What about you?” Tony asked suddenly.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What are you studying?”

“Oh -nothing much,” Loki shrugged. “I got a degree in literature and I'm getting another one in theater. Or, you know, wasting away my Dad's money, depending how you want to phrase it."

“Do you know what job you want to have?”

“I'm already a full-time family disappointment, so,” Loki said, and then tapped at his glass a little awkwardly when Stark kept staring. “I'd love to be an actor. Not -Hollywood or anything. Just classical theater. Or a professional storyteller. Maybe write my own plays. Nothing very serious.”

“What kind of theater do you like?”

“Do you like theater?” Loki asked, a little uncomfortable.

“I don't know anything about theater,” Stark shrugged. “I think maybe my Mom dragged me to one or two plays when I was younger, but I can't remember anything about them. I think she never really felt like it, either. But I'm guessing someone who cares could actually recommand the good stuff.”

It was so far from what he had expected that Loki didn't know what to answer for a while. Gathering his clothes today from Skadi's living room, he had not imagined finishing the day in an Italian restaurant with Tony Stark, talking about their uncertain future.

“Well... It's cliché, but my dream role is Macbeth. You know -the Shakespearian play? You don't know Macbeth?” He asked, disbelief taking over his hesitation.

“Shakespeare is definitely a person who wrote things, at some point,” Stark said, visibly unashamed of his ignorance, and shrugged when Loki stared. “I skipped half my education to get here ahead of everyone else, you know.”

“You can't be serious about Shakespeare. To be or not to be? Romeo and Juliet? If music be the food of love? No?”

“I've seen Romeo and Juliet. With DiCaprio, right? I understood nothing.”

“Wow, you're a really ignorant genius,” Loki said, shaking his head.

“Hey, I don't want to go home, and you don't want to go home,” Stark said, making him frown with the change of topic. “Nothing's stopping us from seeing if there's a Shakespeare play somewhere in the US and to drive there.”

“What happened to the sense of moral obligations?” Loki asked, incredulous at seeing his earlier plan pretty much mirrored out of the blue.

“You could be a terrible influence, and I could be one too,” Stark shrugged, pushing away his plate, “and my parents would blame you, which wouldn't make you feel guilty, and vice-versa.”

“Won't your Dad send an helicopter to pick you up?”

“Not if he doesn't know where I am, I guess.”

“That sounds like the best way for me to become a wanted criminal over this Christmas time.”

“You don't look like a criminal,” Tony laughed. “Come on. It's for the greater cause. I don't know who Shakespeare is.”

“Are you lying to make me want to fix that?” Loki asked, incredulous, and increasingly tempted.

“I'm not, actually. Wait, is Game of Thrones Shakespeare?”

“Fine. We'll call our parents when it's too late for heli-rescue?”

“Obviously.”

Chapter 20: Alt. 7 - Hair Braiding

Chapter Text

The Wakandan doctor Tony had found was rightfully horrified by the state of Loki's arm. He didn't actually yell at Loki, but Tony suspected it was because he was too dumbfounded that someone had allowed an injury to get so deeply infected without getting help. The yelling could still come, just later.

Despite Loki's wish for secrecy, the doctor -a woman by the name of Zide with a very stylish crown of braids- had no intention of operating with the sharp dagger Loki handed her, in an unsterilized bedroom. Tony sided with Loki -not because he wasn't mad and concerned himself about Loki's terrible decisions, but because, searching for it, he could see the minute shaking of Loki's hands.

I can't see a healer. I can't handle it. Not anymore.

Tony argued in favor of Loki's alien resistance, hoping very much he wasn't helping Loki die in this stupid room. The doctor agreed, and something in her eye told Tony she understood much more about what was going on than she should have. Either way, it was a small concession to force Loki to swallow a harder pill: Dr. Helen Cho and Strange had to be warned and called for help.

“Absolutely not,” the prince hissed between gritted teeth, glaring at the woman. “You swore to secrecy!”

“Strange's bite got infected even after it was cleaned properly,” Tony argued. “If we want to have some hope of keeping what's left of your arm from infection, then we'll need his and Cho's expertise.”

“We're not talking about infection anymore,” Dr. Zide interrupted impatiently. “This is necrosis, and judging by what you told me, it's moving fast. I don't even know that we can purge the wound without having to amputate your whole arm, and you will not manage to keep this a secret then.”

“I know you don't like Strange,” Tony tried, refraining from rolling his eyes when Loki huffed. “But he's a doctor too. He'll want you cured.”

“What do you know of that?” Loki hissed, and there was a feverish glint of almost primal suspicion in his eyes.

I can't trust them. Not in this state, not when I can't protect myself.

Zide had moved to the desk in the corner of the room, and was writing something down with quick movements. Tony didn't know if her retreat was meant to help Loki relax despite the urgency, or if she was really busy, but he meant to use it.

“I know what I told you,” he said, heart heavy with the memory of Loki's words, and his unpleasant comparison between them. “I'll stay right there and watch the doctors work. I'll make sure they're helping you.”

“How will you know that?” Loki asked, but he seemed just a little bit hesitant. Like, just above the immediate refusal option. It was something.

“Come on, Loki,” Tony made himself smile, though he didn't feel like it. “You were ready to let me operate. You have to trust that I'm not completely useless at this.”

“I... Suppose,” Loki said.

So maybe he hadn't considered whether Tony had he smallest knowledge of anatomy before asking, which was even crazier than he had come to hope from Loki. But his hesitant approval was a start, and for now, getting him to agree was the only priority. Tony was about to keep pushing when Dr. Zide came back with a slip of paper and handed it to him. It was covered in uncomprehensible doctor scribbles. Tony looked up to her in interrogation.

“Get back to the hospital,” she told him, “and tell them I will need all this with absolutely no delay. Then get the word to Dr. Cho and Strange of what is going on, and to share any recommandation immediately. I can't afford to wait for them to get here before I start operating.”

“But you will wait for me to come back?” Tony asked.

“Only if you get to it and hurry.”

Tony glanced at Loki, but the prince was only looking at the doctor with a carefully crafted blank expression. Tony thought he seemed more sweaty and tense than before. Arguing would do no good.

“I'll be right back,” he promised, more for Loki than for the doctor.

There was obvious confusion as to what was happening. Bruce had come to ask why Tony wasn't coming back to the lab, and Tony had sent him away without any reply; now, despite the requested secrecy, the word was already spreading that the foreigners had demanded the help of the best Wakandan doctor for an emergency. The technician Tony met in the hospital of the palace didn't hide his curiosity, and, in fact, looked up from the piece of paper he had been handed and frowned.

“Who is that for?”

“Can you please just hurry?"

Tony felt kind of bad about hiding the truth, and he doubted he could keep it up for long, if only because they were using the resources of T'Challa and his country, and would need to justify as much. Plus, it just didn't make sense to him to hide what was happening when Loki was in such poor shape. The prince had been wounded in battle and the wound had grown infected. There was no shame in that, even if you considered how stupid it was to avoid medical assistance.

You were tortured. And your torturers had you heal. To buy you more time. You have to know... You have to know how terrifying that is.

But then, he supposed Loki had his own reasons that went beyond, well, reasoning with.

They could always worry about that later, he told himself, when Loki would be out of danger. Heck, he hoped they would get to worry about that, and not about the Prince of Asgard having to adjust to life without an arm.

Or about them having to adjust to life without Loki.

He made it back to Loki's room in less than fifteen minutes, and found the room now brightly lit with little spheres of Loki's magic, and the doctor scrubbing her hands clean.

“You have everything?” She asked, and, at Tony's nod, shook her head. “I cannot believe I'm about to do this outside of an operating room, without any assistants. Very well, let's anaesthetize you, for a start.”

But she injected Loki with one, then two, then a third dose of aenesthetic, and minutes passed without Loki showing any sign of losing consciousness, nor even any sensation in his arm. The only result they obtained was the prince growing more and more tense everytime the syringe stabbed into his arm, and the doctor cursing.

“I can't do this,” she said, shaking her head. “I can't do anything without sedating you first, and I just don't know enough about your biology to risk playing with chemicals. For all I know, another dose would stop your heart. We can't proceed.”

“You can,” Loki answered drily. “Stark, pass me my belt.”

“You're not thinking of that.” Half of the reason Tony had insisted on getting someone competent, other than his not killing Loki, had been in the hope of proper anaesthesia. They couldn't just carve Loki's sick flesh out of him like a rotten piece of fruit with the prince awake and aware.

“Even if I was willing to do that, I can't operate on someone who moves,” the doctor argued.

“Then I'll stay still while you operate, and we will put this disaster behind us, Doctor,” Loki said, the title sounding less like a mark of respect and more like a binding order from a royal to a servant. “Would you rather we wait until the infection reach my heart?”

“I agreed to purge a wound, not to operate on a conscious patient!” Dr. Zide protested.

“If you won't do it, I'll have to do it myself. Which do you prefer?”

“This is madness!” The woman argued. Tony almost felt bad for her. She had no idea.

“Please,” he interfered, though it sickened him to do so. “I know this is really bad, and, like, very unconventional, but if Loki says he can stay still...” He grabbed the leather belt Loki had pointed at, grimacing. “Please, Doc. We both know this needs to be done fast. At least, you'll make it clean.”

“Something like that, with Loki awake, outside of the hospital, will not be clean,” Dr. Zide said, and then she said something quietly, in Xhosa, that sounded like a curse. “Fine. Do you need Stark to help you hold your arm in place? And this isn't a moment for pride. If I cut too deep because you move, any chance you have at keeping your arm goes away.”

“Stark,” Loki said, eyes lowered, and he looked halfway between a scolded child and a dangerous predator, temporarily pushed back, “please hold my arm down.”

“Jesus f*cking Christ, here we go.”

The operation would haunt Tony's dreams for the rest of his life. The doctor, once decided, was quick, precise, and without hesitation. Her scalpel blade cut through infected skin as easily as if it had been paper for a fancy cutout, her hand unshaking despite the blood that ran, ran, ran. And Tony had promised, so Tony made himself watch, although he wanted nothing but to look away and hide his face and plug his ears shut, because the worst of it all were Loki's screams, like the howls of a dying animal, made all the more terrible by how they were desperately choked by the leather strap, like this was some kind of sick torture with no other purpose than to bring about his suffering.

I can't trust them. Not in this state, not when I can't protect myself.

So Tony held down, and watched, and felt every single one of Loki's tremors and cries, protecting him while he couldn't do it himself.

When it was done, there was probably not a single person left in the capital who hadn't heard about the incident, through rumors or muffled screams. The doctor's face had gone grey, and her gloved hands, now that she had finished her work, had started shaking slightly. As for Loki, he was pale as death, clinging with his free hand to his shoulder, just above the thick bandage that covered most of his biceps, and looking like he was about to finally break down and cry.

And still. In the few moments of startled silence when the three of them stood there, disbelieving, bloody and shaking, Loki took a few shallow breaths, clearly trying to stabilize himself. When he spoke, it was with a quiet, fragile voice, but there was no weakness to it, only that absurd control.

“You both have,” he murmured, “my most sincere gratitude.”

Dr. Zide didn't stay long. She made it clear that she would be coming back with a stretcher and bringing Loki to the hospital, to keep the closest possible watch on the open tissues, and Loki didn't fight her. Perhaps resting in the hospital would be less scary than being healed there. He didn't explain himself, and Tony didn't ask.

They were alone for a time, though, and Tony helped Loki clean the streaks of blood that had made it as far as his forehead and opposite arms, in his unintentional movements and the doctor's quick ones. He used a wet handkerchief, which would be ruined forever, and Loki just slumped against his chair, away from the blood-soaked sheets he had been operated on, like in a sick horror movie. Yeah, they would need to explain that to T'Challa.

But later.

“I apologise, Stark,” Loki said quietly, after a time. “I can recognise that I... Made this harder than it had to be.”

“You sure f*cking did,” Tony agreed. And because of that, he was probably not getting a proper night of sleep for the rest of his entire life. Doctors were strong people with strong stomachs. But he made himself smile a little. “But we don't choose that kind of things anymore than we chose fighting an army of flesh-eating four-armed monsters.”

“We certainly don't,” Loki sniffed, closing his eyes. “I meant what I said, still. I owe you.”

“Not for this, you don't”, Tony said, shaking his head quietly. “You're part of our team, Loki. This wasn't a favor I made you. This was something you needed. It's alright.”

“Nobody else would have had such needs,” Loki said, with a distinct look of displeasure on his face.

“Yeah, and nobody else gets too scared to swim across a river without the suit,” Tony replied. “But you just teleported me across, that one time, didn't you?”

Loki opened his eyes, seemingly startled. Tony wondered if he had forgotten about the incident -or if he had thought that Tony had forgotten, like this had been inconsequential. He met his gaze and shrugged softly. I won't make a big deal out of it, he told him wordlessly, if you don't.

“Thank you, Stark.”

“The one thing I'd ask of you,” Tony said after a small pause, “is to promise that you'll just ask me, or JARVIS, or anyone, next time you need something. Don't let it -literally- fester. Okay?”

“...Very well. You have my word, that I will... Try.”

Tony noticed the loophole, of course, but it was already a lot, no doubt, especially considering who he was talking to. He offered him a smile, and Loki replied with half of one, even though his face was still tensed with evident pain.

“There is one thing,” the prince said, so abruptly it took Tony by surprise. “One- stupid little thing. Nothing like what just happened.”

“Shoot anyway,” Tony offered, intrigued despite himself -and the feeling only grew as Loki bit at his lips, seemingly hesitating, until the pain won.

“When I was a child, and I was sick, or injured in any way, my... The Queen would braid my hair. I've taken to the habit of doing so when I am especially distressed, or unwell, and... But I can't do it at the moment. I...” Tony couldn't believe his eyes; Loki was actually blushing, his cheeks turning distinctly pink. “Perhaps it would... Distract me a little from...”

“Say no more, Rapunzel,” Tony mercifully interrupted him, and grinned. “You're in luck, actually. I'm amazing at making braids. Pepper used to wear one to sleep every night. Can you sit a little up? Or should I stand behind your chair?”

“You'll do it?” Loki clarified, looking a little disbelieving.

“Well, you asked, and I can provide. Also, it's not, like, world domination, or something. Of course I'll do it. I told you, Loki. You're part of my team.” Tony stood, throwing away the wet handkerchief and smiling at Loki. “I take care of my people.”

Loki's smile, however pained it still was, was almost, kinda, sort of, making the previous hell worth it.

Turned out, he loved doing Loki's hair, too. And he would do it again, very often, in the following weeks and months, and not only when Loki felt distressed.

Chapter 21: Day 19 - Time Loop

Chapter Text

Something was wrong.

Tony knew this much, because the last hour of his life had been going on on repeat for four times already, and he wasn't intoxicated enough to justify this kind of bad trip.

In a way, he wasn't even entirely surprised, and damn if that didn't say a lot about him and what he had done with his life. But when you were a man flying around in a suit of armor, and your friends turned into giant rage monsters violating the laws of physics and a hundred years old man who could run twenty miles an hour, and you were fighting everyday with space vikings and talking racoons to protect the world from an angry purple alien, you had to give up on at least some of your interpretation of what was actually normal, let alone possible.

It didn't mean he felt exactly calm about this. Especially because it didn't feel random.

See, the thing was, Tony Stark had given up on common sense somewhere between the time he had joined Fury's boyband to fight an army of aliens, and the moment he had started to realize he had it bad for the leader of said army. And somehow, what was happening now felt like it could only be linked to Loki himself once more.

Which was very confusing, because he had told himself this was the day he would finally put an end to his own doubts about the Asgardian prince.

Yeah. The loop had started after Tony had told himself he was going to ask Loki, once and for all, if he would care for them to be together.

Insane in its own right, of course. As mentioned above, Loki had a pretty controversial background to say the least. The fact that he was helping the Avengers preparing in their fight against Thanos didn't erase that completely, and it was true that on any given day, Loki still threatened to stab someone at least five times -sometimes five times the same person, too. It would be a stretch to say that he was definitely on the good guys' side, and entirely inappropriate to call him a good guy himself.

But Tony had given up a long time ago on common sense, and the facts were there. Nobody in Tony's entire life had ever made him laugh so much as Loki, had ever made him feel as valuable, had ever felt like such a match for his mind. And Loki was still dangerous and sharp and untrustworthy, true; yet it did nothing to lessen the appeal he held.

It had started months ago, when he and Loki had created detectors to warn them of the approach of Thanos' ships, when they would come. It hadn't been all fun. Speaking of deadly threats and the possible end of the world wouldn't have been Tony's guess of a fertile soil for love to grow, except even then, he had found that Loki, no longer being an enemy to control and destroy, was something strange and amazing and sensitive and irresistible. Loki had been agitated, impatient, clever, and Tony had started to think of who the Monster of New York might actually be.

And, damned and resignated, it hadn't been that long from there for Tony to fall.

Which was why he had decided to make his move, stupid as it might have been. Thanos was coming, the world was in danger, and Loki's help was desperately needed for them to have a chance of defeating the bastard. Interpersonal relationships complicating his fragile cooperation with the Avengers was the last thing they needed, sure. But lying or hiding the truth from a man like Loki? Not a great plan, either.

Tony wasn't deluding himself. Chances were, strong chances, that Loki would refuse him. Perhaps he would be offended, perhaps he would be amused. Tony liked him, loved him. Loved the little dimples of his smirk and his inventive insults and his surprising gentleness when Tony feared what was to come.

Maybe they were all going to die, Tony knew as much. He didn't want to have regrets.

At least, he had told himself as much. When he had first walked into the living room that morning, and found Loki sitting there with a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and they greeted each other and Loki gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile, his hesitation had quickly gotten the better of him. Why take a chance, when he already had this? Why ruin everything for the off chance that Loki would tell him that he found him special, too, when he could savor the hints that he did?

“Busy saving the world?”

“I'm keeping the world-saving for the afternoon, actually. This is an interesting theory.”

“What's it about?”

“You wouldn't understand,” Loki remarked, and raised an eyebrow at Tony's immediate pout. He amended himself with a fake indulgence that gave Tony silly little butterflies: “It's about the transformation of power stored by a sorcerer's seiðr.”

“You mind if I sit with you? I'm reading a cool theory about a new line of Bugattis coming out next year,” Tony replied, and the butterflies all took off in a storm when Loki smiled minutely and gestured for the seat next to him.

Just a minute, Tony told himself. When Loki would say something. Minutes passed, ten, twenty of them, half an hour, forty minutes. Eventually, Loki's Starkphone had beeped, and the prince had sighed and declared he was needed with Thor. Tony had watched him go, feeling as relieved as he was disappointed.

That was then -just after Loki had climbed in the elevator and the doors had closed with the prince looking at his phone, unaware of Tony's attention- that something strange happened. It was like looking up from a book and realizing not a word had made it to your brain, wondering for a startled instant wherever you had been all this time.

Because suddenly, Tony was standing and walking into the living room, and Loki was there, reading a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and they greeted each other and Loki gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile.

“You seem lost,” the prince remarked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you only just wake up?”

“I -uh,” Tony said, his eyes pausing on the book. He remembered first looking at the pentacle-like circle that was drawn on that page, or had he? “I don't know. I mean, no, I didn't just wake up, it's been a solid twenty minutes. It's just... Some weird déjà-vu. Do you aliens know what déjà-vu is?”

“I know,” Loki answered, still appearing a little intrigued. “Well, you may sit down to recover. This is your house, after all.”

“That's so generous,” Tony said, despite still feeling a little confused.

What had that been? He just refrained from shaking his head, letting himself fall next to Loki on the couch. No -it didn't matter. What mattered was that he needed to talk to Loki, needed to use this time, and not bite his tongue like a shy teenager too scared to talk to a cool girl. He straightened up a little, finding that Loki was still eyeing him curiously.

“Well, uh. I was just thinking...”

“What is it?” Loki co*cked his head to the side slightly. “Is everything alright, Stark?”

It was such a rare thing, for Loki to ask someone how they were doing. It had to mean something, didn't it? Yet at the same time, what if he just stared at Tony like this when he told him, in nothing but confusion and disbelief? What if he got mad? What if Tony ruined everything, and Loki never cared again to know if he was alright?

“About your magic,” he said. It was all he could do not to blurt it out and sound even less convincing. “Well, your, what do you call it, your seiðr. You've never let me see you use it properly. Y-you have to know I have a thousand questions.”

“I told you quite a lot about magic when we were working on those detectors,” Loki said, still seeming curious.

“Yeah, Thanos' magic, not your magic.” Tony couldn't believe how cowardly he was. At the same time, he had never truly dared to ask for this, either, and perhaps -perhaps he could count it as a first step? “We're on the same side. I should know a bit more about what you can do.”

“Whoever tells you I'm on your side?” Loki asked, the corner of his lips lifting in a little smirk.

“Don't be an asshole.”

“How will you stop me?”

“What, from your inevitable betrayal or from your being an asshole?”

“The latter, of course. I wouldn't plan to betray you without being sure to get away with it. You should know that is my signature.”

“I don't know,” Tony grinned, relieved despite himself by the familiar banter. “I guess I could just be so charming you forget to be annoying.”

“Ah. Your charisma. My only weakness.”

“Knew it. So before I take out the big guns, will you tell me about your magic?”

“I don't know what you're hoping to hear. Your understanding of seiðr is in its infancy, if we admit it is there at all.” Loki closed his tome carefully, sounding a little bit more serious. “My take on runework as opposed to invocation magic is bound to be irrelevant to you.”

“You're seriously underestimating me. I can totally understand that those are two different things, and all by myself, too. Come on, try me. Your clones, for instance. Like, are they solid, or would I go through one if I tried to touch it?”

“You should try it, when the opportunity arises,” Loki smiled. “I'm sure it would be funny.”

Loki danced around several of his questions, moreso because it amused him than because it was truly a secret, Tony suspected; he did get a few answers out of him, like the prince teaching him about the difference between his illusions and his shapeshifting, and actually diving into details with what seemed to be genuine pleasure.

Then, abruptly, they were interrupted; Loki's phone chimed, and the prince pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and sighed.

“My presence is required by Thor's side,” he said, and Tony didn't find anything to answer, confused as to what was actually happening. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation some other time.”

“I'd like that,” Tony said, his voice choking a little as he watched Loki standing and walking away toward the elevator. “See you later, Loki.”

He watched him go, watched the doors closing, and then let himself fall against the back of the couch and rubbed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was standing in the hallway, facing toward that same couch, in which Loki was reading a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and they greeted each other and Loki gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile-

“Loki,” he interrupted, feeling dizzy, “are you doing this?”

“Am I doing what?” Loki asked, and he seemed genuinely confused, for the smallest instant, before his face turned to careful, cold blankness. “I have not moved from this couch in the last fifteen minutes. Your servant can tell you as much. Am I so threatening as to be forbidden from doing as much?”

“Mr. Stark, are you alright?” JARVIS questioned, visibly concerned.

So the AI hadn't picked up anything strange, Tony realized. Whatever was happening -it looked alright from the outside. But he knew, he just knew- perhaps the first time could have been a strange dream or déjà-vu, but twice? No. This was something else -magic, or a trick of some kind. Was Loki actually doing this? Was he fully aware of what Tony was trying to do, and pushing him away as his answer? If so, why not admit to it?

“Something weird's happening,” Tony breathed out, shaking his head. “It's -this sh*t only happens in TV shows that are out of inspiration, it's not supposed to happen in real life-”

“What in the Nine Worlds are you speaking off?” Loki stood, frowning. “Are you in distress? You are not making any sense.”

“In distress?” Tony couldn't help the laugh that passed his lips. He was in Groundhog Day. It was impossible, but he was trying to confess to a literal sorcerer -what the heck was truly impossible? “Loki, are you doing this to me?”

“I'm not doing anything,” the prince repeated, his expression darkening. “Stark, tell me what is happening.”

“We literally just had this conversation- not this one, no, but I was just there, and you were there,” Tony blurted out, incredulous. “I've been here twice, talking to you, and you had your book about, something, transformation of power in center magic? That's it, right?”

“You should sit down,” Loki said.

“If this isn't you, then what is it? What's doing this to me?”

“Sit, Stark. I will check to see if you are under a spell-”

Loki's hand wrapped around his wrist, and Tony's heart stopped for an instant. He couldn't remember Loki actually touching him, not since the invasion, and the deliberate, careful pressure of his fingers on his bare skin was electrifying. He looked up and met Loki's eyes, saw his frown, genuine concern, perhaps even worry, worry for him-

He blinked. He stood at the entrance of the living room, and Loki was there in the couch, reading a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and they greeted each other and Loki gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile.

No, Tony wasn't foolish enough to believe that this was impossible. But he didn't feel especially calm about this, because it truly didn't feel random.

“Stark?” Loki asked. “Are you alright?”

He needed to think. He had been brought back in time. By whom? What for? He had watched Loki walking away twice; was he meant to stop him? Who wanted him to? But the third time, just now -Loki had been with him, closer than ever, worried for him, and everything had gone away again-

He stared at Loki, his breath hitching, his skin crawling with the idea of someone or something watching him, using impossible magic to bring him back three times because they wanted him to do something -something different, something...

Something he hadn't dared to do.

“Loki,” he said, before he could hesitate, “will you go out with me?”

Loki's face froze almost comically. Then it relaxed, but for the thin line of his pale lips.

“I beg your pardon?” He said, in a voice that sounded rather like he was being very, very generous in offering Tony a chance to go back on his words.

sh*t. sh*t. Tony blinked, and blinked again, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant. He hadn't moved when he opened his eyelids again. Loki was still staring, and his face had blanched. Tony's heart felt like it had dropped in his heels. Loki didn't just look uninterested, he looked mad.

“I was just asking,” he made himself say, and something in him pushed out a laugh, and it hurt. “I mean, I was curious what you would say. It crossed my mind, you know-”

“I will not have you mock me,” Loki interrupted, standing up abruptly. The book disappeared from his hands, and he took steps that Tony was probably not imagining were meant to be menacing toward him. “Do you think you are being funny, Stark?”

“I,” Tony swallowed, and couldn't find an answer.

Loki stopped just a few inches away from him, and his eyes were burning with anger, those same eyes which had seemed so attentive just an instant ago.

“I was under the impression that you, of all your team, could pretend to have some respect for me,” Loki hissed. “But if a joke is what you think to make of my care, I will show you, Stark, which one of us will laugh-”

“Loki, I'm not joking!”

“It was Thor, wasn't it? He told you of what I am.” Loki wasn't listening to him anymore, and his lips turned down into a vicious snarl. “Well, I will not have it. You were curious what I would say, were you? You listen well, Stark-”

Tony took a step back; the world shook around him, and suddenly, he was back in the hallway, looking into the living room at Loki who was reading a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and who gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile-

He turned on his heels and walked away, steps unsteady, expecting to be teleported back to the starting point any instant. He made it to his room and closed the door, pressing his back to it.

It wasn't Loki, he told himself, shakily. Of this much, he was sure.

He let himself slide against the wood panel, and tried to take a few steadying breaths. His chest felt too tight for the exercice. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyelids and willed himself to keep them shut as long as he could.

When he opened his eyes, he stood in the hallway, facing the living room. It was midafternoon, even though he had spent perhaps hours in his room, and, lounging in the sunny room, Loki was reading a complicated looking tome of witchcraft, and they greeted each other and Loki gave him that thing that was almost, for him, a smile, before it fell softly.

“Stark? Are you well?” Loki asked.

“I'm having a weird day,” Tony replied honestly.

“Well, you are a weird human,” Loki offered, although he seemed not entirely mocking.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Tony scoffed, stepping into the room carefully. “Can I sit?”

“This is your house,” Loki reminded him, raising an eyebrow, and he waited until Tony sat to close his book. “You truly seem troubled. I wouldn't want you to make an habit out of it, but perhaps I could offer some assistance?”

Tony looked up at him. The prince was looking back, his head slightly tilted. It would have taken a fool to fail to see his concern. His attention. His... Care, yes.

Tony breathed in again, and out, gathering his courage.

“Would you truly mind?” He asked, carefully. Loki frowned. “If I made an habit out of it. Out of...” He gestured, poorly, between them both. “Us. I've been trying to figure out how to ask you out, and I don't... Want to ruin everything. But I don't want to lose my chance.”

“I don't understand your meaning,” Loki said, very quietly.

“I like you. I don't -it's fine if you don't like me back, Loki. God, like -I'm talking like a teenager -I enjoy the way we talk. I get chills when you protect me in battle. I like how clever you are. I miss you when you go back to Asgard for more than a day. And if you felt in a similar way, then I want to know it before this all blows out and we maybe get killed. And if you don't, then that's -fine. I'll appreciate your friendship all the more if you still let me have it. But-”

“You do speak like a teenager,” Loki interrupted.

Tony looked at his own hands. He had told the truth. He had kept silent. He had run away. Whoever was torturing him like this, he didn't get it. He didn't know what they wanted, what he was supposed to do.

“I'm... Fond of you, too,” the prince continued quietly, and Tony barely dared to glance up, afraid of what his own face would betray. “You are, by far, the best company I have had in centuries. If I were to choose a companion, you would be the kind of man I could imagine myself a future with.”

“But,” Tony said, just so Loki would get it over with.

“I'm dangerous,” Loki said. “Unstable, in my best days. I cannot make vows of eternity, Stark.”

“I'm not asking for that much,” Tony smiled, weakly. “A one-week free trial would be nice already. I've seen how you are, Loki, I know you have bad days. Heck, I do too. This isn't simple. I wish it was.”

“If this is about physical attraction-”

“Not only that.” He glanced at Loki. “Not only that. I'm not not interested, but it's more than that.”

He waited. He blinked, and Loki was still there, quiet, thinking.

“One week,” he repeated. “To see if I do more good than harm.”

“Finally,” a voice grunted, and Tony jumped at the sound while Loki hissed at the source of the voice.

“This does not concern you,” the prince snarled, at the same time as Tony squeaked,

“When the heck did you get there?”

The man's wolvish, grey eyes met his, and Tony froze with sudden understanding. The green stone of Time was glowing at Strange's neck, even as the magician was eating grapes like one would eat popcorn in front of TV.

“I owed you, Loki,” Strange said with a small shrug. “Things needed a bit of a push. I didn't influence you, or him, before you can get paranoid.”

“What are you speaking of?” Loki asked with a frown, and Tony noticed with something that might have been glee, if he hadn't been feeling so weirded out, stood one step ahead of him, as if to get between Strange and Tony himself.

“When we first met,” Strange said, looking at Loki. “I hurt you without meaning to. Consider this me doing something nice for the two of you.” He winked. “I'll leave you to it.”

“You f*cking dick-”, Tony started, taking a step forward, only to curse as Stephen disappeared in one of his golden rings of light.

“What is it?” Loki repeated, his eyes travelling from the spot where Strange had been to Tony himself. “What did he do? Are you well?” He tensed. “Do you remember what you were just saying?”

“I do, of course I do,” Tony replied quickly, before Loki could imagine everything had been a lie -or worse, a trick from the magicien he so despised. “I- he made me talk to you, except I didn't know it was him -what a f*cking bastard. I regret nothing, but that man is an absolute asshole-”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Loki said, eyeing him with obvious concern. “So we are still... Doing this? One week...”

“One week,” Tony repeated, and shook away the anger, for now. He had this now, and he wasn't giving it back, no matter how it had finally happened. He produced a little smile. Strange could wait. “I get to kiss you, now, right?”

Chapter 22: Day 15 - Offensive/Defensive Magic

Chapter Text

The battle was raging on, had been for hours now. Doom's army was endless, hundreds and hundreds of robots bent on destruction and death, and they were barely making a dent in them with all their combined efforts. They kept fighting with their head or arms torn off, pulling themselves off the ground after being shot; Tony struggled to put down robots with arrows sticking out of their eyes or still crackling with thunder, and from the sound of what he heard in the comms, he wasn't the only one struggling to find a definite way to kill them, save from absolute destruction.

And since Doom had decided to attack f*cking Manhattan on a beautiful, sunny Saturday, with tourists everywhere and people in the streets and families in the parks, it wasn't exactly easy to blow up murderous robots left and right without hurting civilians on the way. The robots were grabbing hostages, barricading subway entrances and building doors, and the Avengers were losing ground. Thunder rolled down from isolated black clouds, gunshots resonated here and there, but Tony wasn't a fool. The battle was taking a bad turn.

“ROGERS! You need to make the call now!” He snapped in his comm link, landing behind a Doombot and shooting a repulsor blast in its head. The robot stumbled, took a step forward, and turned to face him. Tony shot him twice more. “Civilians are dying!”

Where Steve was, he had no idea. He had last seen him near the Chrysler building, encouraging people to take shelter and decapitating robots with his patriotic shield. When he answered, his voice was rough, out of breath, indicating he had been keeping himself busy, and yet Tony felt his impatience rising.

“We can't risk everyone in this city on your trust, Tony,” Steve grunted, and there was the distinct sound of metal slamming on metal nearby -most likely, the shield, in a bot's face. “The army should be here soon-”

“They should have been here half an hour ago!” Tony interrupted. “Whatever the Security Council is thinking, we're wasting time and lives! f*cking do it!”

He cursed, less for the conversation, more because two of Doom's robotic doubles had chosen this moment to start shooting at him from their cover behind an overturned car. Tony's knee buckled as a bullet hit the articulation, and he shot two guided explosives the way of the robots. The car exploded, too.

“Anyone know where Loki is?” Rogers sounded clearly displeased, and they all had the poorly-timed, but precious honor of hearing him curse one second later. “I almost hit you with the shield!”

“We're wasting time,” Loki's voice came through, impatient and yet, despite everything, Tony could hear a quiet, almost hidden thrill to his words. “Stark is right. I can't evacuate the civilians fast enough. Now is the time, Captain.”

“If you make me regret this, Loki, I swear to God-”

“Just give him his powers back!” It was Clint, interrupting Steve with an edge of panic to his voice. “I need support here and I need it now!”

“Now, Captain,” Loki repeated, and Tony thought he could imagine how he would look, his eyes burning with that intense, dangerous green flame of contained might.

Because it had been the deal. The deal for Loki to escape execution, and to instead atone for his crimes by helping the very people he had tried to subjugate. The Avengers hadn't taken him in as a teammate, but as a worker; able only to do what he had been ordered; able only to use his magic in a defensive, harmless way, to save lives and protect his once-enemies.

It had been months now. Months of golden green shields glowing around them just before a bullet could pierce their skin, and teleportations just before the ground broke. Months of buildings miraculously holding on when they should have fallen down and civilians reporting being in one place and suddenly finding themselves in another, with no memories of whatever had happened, other than they had escaped certain doom.

Without their permission, Loki couldn't do anything more harmful than light a candle and hope it set the house on fire. But they had all understood, as time passed, the obvious thing they had missed: Loki was powerful. Much too powerful to use a scepter and let others do the job for him.

What it meant, they didn't agree on. They had hardly even dared to talk about it. But it had been a common understanding that there was more to the Asgardian than they knew. That Loki's servitude could only be temporary, and that they needed to be the one to break it if they didn't want to truly make an enemy out of it.

That Loki was more powerful than all of them, and was only waiting for a word from Steve, his designated 'guardian''s mouth, to unleash that power, one way or another.

“Loki,” Steve's voice rasped, “please, can you take out the Doombots?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” Loki replied. There was no mistaking the smile in his voice, and despite being the one who had called it, Tony felt a cold shiver running up his spine at the image it drew.

Then the city exploded into absolute chaos.

It took fifteen minutes for Loki to make it to the area Tony was in, or perhaps it wasn't Loki at all; just like the Doombots fell and rose with the will of their distant master, Loki's clones materialized out of thin air with vicious blades and clever traps. When he lured Doombots to a deadly fall from a roof, the clones would shimmer and reform, undisturbed by the force which should have thrown them off the roof too. When bullets hit their unprotected back, they turned with a disdainful smile, unreal and unaffected.

But the damage they did? That was real. Perfectly real.

It was the matter of half an hour, forty minutes at most. The bots were torn to pieces by impossibly strong hands when Loki appeared behind them, leaving them no time to hurt their hostages They were melted by golden, rushing flames, or fried from the inside by green sparks of power. They were crushed under a powerful heel, blasted back hundreds of meter or impaled on flying pipes.

The Avengers helped. Like kids trying to help their parents. Their kill counts were ridiculous. By the time they destroyed one of the bots, Loki and his doubles had dozens of them piled up.

All this time, there was a manic smile to his lips. The robots didn't bleed, or Loki should have been drenched in red by the time the Avengers gathered at the base of Stark Tower. He held the decapitated head of one of the robots, like a sick war trophy, and his eyes were positively glowing with mad delight. It was frightening to consider him an ally; unspeakable to imagine him an enemy. And they all knew it.

Tony was the first to say it.

“Thanks, Loki. We should have done that from the start.”

“It was my pleasure,” Loki grinned, and he looked deliberately at the ripped head of metal in his hand, “to be of service.”

It was a warning, a threat, and it was a genuine celebration. Loki was a dangerous, terrible thing.

Tony thought he wouldn't have looked half-bad, covered in blood. He didn't know what to do with the thought.

Chapter 23: Day 1 - "Your Timing is Terrible"

Chapter Text

“Anthony, my love. You're home early.”

“I didn't even tell you I was leaving the Tower.”

“You're home earlier than I thought you would be,” Loki amended. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Can we talk about who the heck the lady is?”

Tony wasn't mad. He wasn't disappointed. He was confused, and shocked, and there was an urge in him to act like he didn't care at all, to laugh this off and walk away telling Loki to have a good evening with the unknown woman in their bedroom or something. Why feel the need to call him my love, being caught in such an obvious betrayal? Did Loki actually think he could talk his way out of this?

The thought crossed his mind that JARVIS was part of the betrayal too -why otherwise had his AI chosen not to tell him of what was happening, not to warn him before he had walked in on them? He had been so pleased that JARVIS and Loki had been getting along so well, and now the betrayal felt twice as brutal.

“Ah,” Loki said, and his lips twitched slightly like he was holding down a laugh. “The lady. Won't you introduce yourself to Anthony, dear?”

“Yeah, won't you? I'd love to meet you,” Tony said, his voice coming out a little higher than normal as he strained not to demand the woman get out so he could ask Loki to explain what was going on.

Loki didn't seem to notice, though. He was smiling at the blond woman he had been standing much too close to when Tony had walked in, the two of them that Tony had learned to associate with Loki's most playful moods. The fact that this had been happening in their very own bedroom made him want to walk away. What kind of explanation was he expecting anyway?

The woman had actually turned her face away when she had seen Tony, hiding her face in either shyness or distress. She was dressed in clothes of blue and black which could have been either Asgardian or human, and honestly, Tony didn't care. Whoever she was, she had been with Loki even though the Nine Worlds knew they were an item.

Tony had never been cheated on by anyone he had cared about. He had never expected it to happen, and certainly not with Loki, Loki who was so protective and playful and loving, always, like Tony's simple presence brought him joy and purpose.

He had never expected for it to hurt so much.

“I'll kill you for this,” the woman mumbled, barely audible from where Tony stood.

“Come now, look at Tony,” Loki insisted, putting an arm around the woman's shoulders.

“That's enough,” Tony said, throat constricting. Not only was the betrayal burning viciously, but Loki's smile, as though this was all hilarious, when the woman was so clearly uncomfortable and Tony was right there-

“You've had your fun, brother,” the woman growled. “Now reverse this!”

Tony blinked. Brother? What kind of pathetic attempt of an excuse was that? Loki had told him about Hela, but although he had never met her, Tony knew she looked nothing like the blonde, curvy woman standing close to Loki, her arms folded furiously underneath her generous chest. What had Loki done to her? Was she so mad because Tony had found them out? Well, maybe you shouldn't have been with a married man if you didn't want to be found out-

“Tony,” Loki grinned, remaining impossibly indifferent to the pain he was causing, “isn't Thor absolutely stunning?”

Say what now? He half-opened his mouth, perhaps to say that exactly, and ask what the hell Loki was playing at, but then his eyes landed on the woman's angry, reddened face, and his mouth fell.

“...Thor? Thor?” He repeated, every emotion in him pausing at the sudden change in what he was looking at.

“Isn't he gorgeous?” Loki insisted, looking for all matter like he was having the most enjoyable day of his life.

He was, actually. Tony didn't know what to make of the information, but -just like Loki when he turned into his female self, Thor looked exactly like himself while simultaneously being incredibly different. His stormy blue eyes looked furious and his beardless cheeks were burning red, but Tony could recognise the God of Thunder, suddenly, in the shape of his face and the muscular arms and the ashen blond locks-

“Why?” It seemed like the best thing to ask.

“Because Loki is despicable,” Thor growled, still refusing to look at Tony. “This has gone on long enough, brother!”

“Oh, you're no fun,” Loki said, the spark in his eyes belying his pout. “See, Anthony, Thor was very insensible-”

“For the Norns' sake, Loki,” Thor hissed.

“-I was concerned that he was slipping back into the problematic mindset he once held of considering women and genderfluid people such as myself as somewhat weak by nature."

“I was offering to open the marmelade jar!” Thor exclaimed.

“By saying that I should give it to a real man,” Loki concluded with a little shrug. “So I thought to give him a new perspective.”

“You wanted nothing but to torment me, is what you mean.”

“Right,” Tony said, still processing what he was thinking of all this. “And why are you two in our room?”

“Thor followed me here. I meant to let him enjoy the day like this, but he is quite insistant about me turning him back. What do you think, my love?”

“Anthony, tell him! I have been like this for half an hour already!” It was interesting, how Thor's deep voice had turned significatively higher while still retaining its same usual husky, authoritative quality.

“Well, I mean,” Tony paused. He looked at Thor. “You know what we think about 'real man' talk in this Tower.”

“It was a tongue slip, I said as much already!”

“Besides,” he smiled, as his brain was starting to decide that this was in fact a great thing to come home to, “why do you mind so much? You do look amazing. Could really make all the vikings go yar.”

“I was just telling him as much,” Loki assured him, and came to stand by his side, plucking his hand from where it was folded over his opposite arm and placing a kiss on his knuckles. “You have a great timing.”

“You have a terrible timing! He was just about to change me back, and now he's so proud of himself again-”

“Thor, please,” Loki hushed. “You're being so loud. My lover had a long day at work. It was great to spend time together as brother and sister, but you can see now that I would love to be with my Anthony, yes?”

“Don't be mean,” Tony interfered generously, just because he was definitely feeling in a great mood now. “I'm sure Thor understood your point and he'll mind his problematic language now.”

“Mmh.” Loki looked at Thor, and Thor was wise enough to simply look like a kicked puppy instead of pleading his case. “Very well. Only because Anthony pleads in your favor, Thor.”

The green magic melted away the female appearance, and Thor looked down at himself nervously before sighing in obvious relief.

“Thank you,” he said, though it seemed to be a small effort.

“See you later, brother,” Loki smirked, waving him off before turning his full attention to Tony. Despite the grin that was probably burnt on his face for the rest of the day, he co*cked his head to the side to better look at him as the door shut behind Thor. “Are you quite well, astin min? I thought for an instant you were bothered by what I did,” he added on a questioning tone.

“That's not it. You know I'm in favor of that kind of things,” Tony said, and then decided not to share his stupid doubts with Loki. How could he have questioned him, he thought, his own smile growing, when he knew so well that his lover cared so well about him, and him only? “I was just surprised, mostly. I thought I would find you here alone. And Thor is certainly a sight as a woman.”

“He is, isn't he?” Loki seemed too proud of his trick to consider being jealous. “I wasn't truly offended, but he gave me the opportunity, and I couldn't pass it.”

“I have to ask, though. I always thought you could only shapeshift yourself...”

“It's harder to change others, but well within my reach, especially for someone I know as well as Thor.” Loki co*cked his head to the side, evidently noticing the way Tony smiled back at him. “What is it?”

“How come you never turned me into a woman?”

For such a short, such an awful instant, he had believed that Loki had grown bored of him; that his lover, so capable and changing and beautiful, was tired of just how limited Tony's own body and capacities were. For a moment, he had told himself, dreadfully, that it wasn't surprising that Loki had wanted to be with a woman for a change.

And the thing was, now that he knew what had really happened, this opened so many possibilities.

“Do you want me to?” Loki asked, with evident surprise.

“Yes. Now. And lock the door.”

Chapter 24: Day 29 - Open and Honest Communication is Hard and Scary, Let's Do Violence Instead

Chapter Text

“You f*cking did what?"

“You know I dislike it when you swear.”

“Yeah? Well I f*cking dislike when you're being an asshole! Hey, would you mind looking at me?!”

“I'll be in the other room,” Bruce excused himself, actually staying a little hunched as he walked out of the living room, like he was considering the risk of open fire was genuine.

Tony didn't look at him. Neither did Loki. The prince actually looked up to the ceiling with irritating dramatics before slowly bothering to meet Tony's eyes, and raised both eyebrows in an exagerated effect of Well?

Bruce wasn't wrong in his caution. There was a growing part of Tony that was itching to call a gauntlet to his hand and shoot Loki, just to make him take this seriously.

“You want to give me a reason why you thought you could destroy my stuff?”

“Whatever answer I give you, you will refuse,” Loki remarked with a little superior huff, like he was being dignified and reasonable while Tony acted like a child. “Do not act as though you couldn't afford more.”

“That's beside the point!”

“Why are you making such a fuss?”

“Because you're acting like a f*cking jerk!”

“You shouldn't be surprised that a villain wouldn't be pleasant company-”

“Oh, come on, get off your high horse!”

“I cannot help that you are being hysterical,” Loki argued, folding his legs calmly, like this was all a nice chat. “I wasn't under the impression I got rid of a treasured good.”

“My bar,” Tony snapped, “my booze. This isn't about how precious it is, it's about it being mine. What's your problem?! Just give me a single reason why you had to go destroy my stuff, if you don't want me to show you what hysterical actually looks like.”

“I dislike the smell and taste of your mouth when you drink,” Loki replied, looking him in the eye, with no sign of shame, or even of registering that his argument was the dumbest possible one. “Beside, it could only do you some good to drink less.”

“You dislike-” Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Well, don't worry about it, because I'll be replacing it, and you're sure as f*ck not tasting my mouth. What's wrong with you?” He snapped when Loki just rolled his eyes and pretended to yawn. “I still don't mind throwing you out of the Tower, you know. I'm sure you'd have some fun running from SHIELD.”

“You'd threaten me?” Loki's voice grew dangerously cold.

“I'm not threatening. I'm asking why the f*ck I'm bothering to being nice and letting you stay here when all you do-”

“Are you implying that this is charity-”

“I'm not implying anything, you're acting like you want me to throw you out!”

“I'm not asking anything from you, Stark,” Loki hissed, voice drowning out Tony's own, and anger clear on his features. “If you think I should be out, being hunted down by Fury's hounds, then why don't you do it?”

Tony had a feeling that the mature, reasonable thing to do here would have been to walk away. Loki clearly wasn't going to explain himself in a way that made sense, and now that he had gone from playing dumb to acting like a victim, the conversation could only spiral into more and more infuriating feelings.

Except, he knew already that if he walked away, Loki would mock him or play offended for that, too, and he didn't feel like being reasonable and mature when Loki was being such an asshole, and he didn't understand why.

On most days, Tony considered Loki a friend. He was fond of him, his quick mind, his easy power, and whatever had grown between them: sex, humor, battle tactics. Sometimes, it crossed his mind that he wouldn't have minded pushing this into something more. Nobody could match his genius like Loki. Nobody could make him laugh so much, impress him with such power. Nobody was hotter-

But everytime, everytime he felt they were growing just a little bit closer, Loki turned into an insufferable asshole. He pushed his jokes too far, and insisted well after Tony told him it was enough. He spoke of violent solutions to villains attacks, scoffing at Tony's refusals to sacrifice civilians life. Or, like this, he pushed at the limits of his own status, taunting Tony, daring him to justify the reasons he was protecting him while basking in his own sins.

And now, this. It felt so petty and gratuitous. He hadn't even suspected Loki, when he had found his bar wrecked with all the bottles thrown to the ground. He had just been confused, wondering what kind of accident could have done this, until JARVIS had told him the truth: that Loki had deliberately spent half an hour smashing the expensive bourbons and fancy spirits down on the floor.

He just wanted to know why. Why it was that Loki made himself so irritating when it could only be on purpose, when they had spent the previous evening working in the shop and laughing until the early hours.

But obviously, Loki wasn't going to give him any answer, not when he could instead keep being a jerk.

“Nobody's keeping you here, you know,” he retorted, teeth gritted. “If you mind it so much, you can go away.”

“But then whatever will you do?” Loki switched his angle with the speed of a snake striking. “Who will warm your bed, if I'm gone?”

“I'm not worried about being lonely,” Tony scoffed, though the use of this particular topic as a weapon hurt unjustly. “Unlike you, I'm not a wanted criminal. I'm pretty sure I can find a few willing partners if I start looking.”

“Oh? That's not what you were saying just a few days ago.”

It was true, and it was incredibly unpleasant to have his own words turned against him. He had willingly told Loki he had never had a partner like him, and Loki had smirked with obvious satisfaction. Had he been planning even then to make Tony swallow back his words?

“What the f*ck do you want, Loki?!” He snapped, running out of patience.

“Nothing.” Loki made a light gesture with his hands to demonstrate the fact that he was still peacefully sitting. “You're the one who started yelling at me. I told you why I did what I did. In fact, I was wondering if we were done with this conversation.” He grinned, a wicked smile of victory and disdain. “Did you have anything more interesting to offer, speaking of being lonely?”

“You're just-” Tony gritted his teeth. It was obvious Loki wanted him to say something he would regret, and he wasn't going to let himself be pushed to it. “Really? You destroy my sh*t for dumb reasons, and then you just casually suggest I go on with my day and maybe f*ck you like nothing happened?”

“Why pretend that nothing happened? You seem so energised. I'm sure it would be interesting-”

“Really? This is what this is about? You're horny and you couldn't just ask like a normal person? Well, too bad. I'm not in the mood.”

“Too bad,” Loki said, smiling. “Well then, is there anything else I can help you with? If you won't f*ck me, and you won't throw me to Fury-”

“You're moving,” Tony interrupted. “To your own floor. I'm not kicking you out, because no matter what you seem to want, I'm not that kind of man, but this is it. I'm done playing your game.” He had the twisted satisfaction of seeing Loki being clearly taken by surprise, but he continued: “You're moving to the seventieth floor. You stay safe, and I don't have to take your sh*t. JARVIS will warn me if you trespass here.”

“You think to keep me in a cage?”

“Don't twist my words,” Tony said, not letting him finish. “You want to stay here, you stay. You want to leave, you go. But you're done f*cking with me and trying to make me say what I don't mean.”

“It took you long enough,” Loki said, his voice now barely more than a hiss, “to realize you didn't want anything to do with me afterall.”

“Seventieth floor, Loki. Good night,” Tony snapped, turning on his heels and walking away despite the weight in his chest.

“Wait. Stark, wait,” Loki demanded, raising his voice. Tony grimaced, but paused, just before he could exit the living room. When he looked back, he found Loki had stiffened, and his face was tense, neither furious nor mocking.

“Well?” Tony asked.

“I-” Loki licked his lips and looked away. It was the first time since he had known him that Tony had seen him looking anything but confident, and he frowned, wondering what was going on. “I... Apologise.”

“For the booze?” Tony felt the need to clarify, unsure of what was going on.

“For breaking your things. I just...” He paused for a few long seconds, and his face hardened. Tony was almost sure he would stop there, but then he shook his head slightly and continued, eyes lowered. “I was in a foul mood. I wanted to anger you.”

That was... Surprising honesty, actually. Tony took a small step back toward the couch, frowning.

“Why?” He asked, when Loki remained silent. He felt like he was walking on thin ice, like Loki could snap any instant, but he had to push. “Why did you want to piss me off? Did I do something?”

“You didn't”, Loki said with an irritated little gesture of his hand. “Not yet. I keep...”

“Yes?”

“...I keep expecting that you will -figure out -that you will change your mind and realize...” He shook his head, lips pressed so tightly together that they blanched. “Can you blame me for wanting to control this?”

“I can,” Tony replied, and it came out a little more drily than he meant. He breathed in and out evenly, once, not wanting to ruin this, but not wanting to rush himself. “But I think... That I understand.”

It was twisted, and unfair for him. It was cowardly, in a way. But it made sense for Loki to want to bother him and push him away, and test the boundaries of what Tony would allow. Maybe it made sense for Loki to test whether Tony's affection was a fragile thing, ready to wither at the smallest provocation. It wasn't normal, but neither was it, probably, when Tony told himself he didn't care, and that he could always find someone else if Loki didn't want him.

It was f*cked up, but so was he.

Loki didn't answer. His eyes were lowered and his jaws clenched, looking for all matters like he was furious at what he had just revealed. Tony stepped forward, stopping only a few feet away from the god, and meeting his angry glare, then offering a small, awkward shrug.

“Like I said, Loki. If you want to stay... You're more than welcome to. Next time you're in a bad mood, just don't turn it against me to see what I'll do. It's not fair for me."

“I am not known to be fair,” Loki remarked, bitterly. “Nor kind.”

“And still, I know you to be both, sometimes.”

“You hardly know me at all.”

“I think you underestimate me. I think you might not know yourself as much as what you're scared that you are.”

“Now who's twisting who's words?” Loki murmured, but his shoulders had relaxed. A little. “Fine. I'll stay.”

Chapter 25: Day 7 - Blood Magic

Chapter Text

Tony was not doing good.

Which was probably the end goal of the ones who were doing this, but he couldn't help the fact that he wanted to scream and slam his hands on the door to demand to be let out now.

He didn't, because he wasn't a complete fool. He knew he needed to keep what energy he had, knew he couldn't give the enemy what they wanted. But he had to do a genuine effort to keep himself under control, and he didn't know how long he could pretend to keep his cool.

“This is really uncomfortable. It's damp, it's overcrowded. You think HYDRA takes complaints? I'll be leaving a bad Yelp review for sure.”

“It's cold, too.” Loki sounded calm enough, but Tony knew him well enough to notice the tension in his words. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Tony said. He had no idea if they were being listened to, but it was likely. He wasn't going to admit that his toes were getting numb already. “Just pissed. I want to take to their manager. How long have we been here, you think?”

“Less than an hour,” Loki replied quietly.

f*ck. Tony had been sure it had been over two or three hours already. He trusted Loki's sense of time more than his own, at the moment, though, and that meant that things were even worse than he had thought.

They had been thrown in the humid, claustrophobic cell with unnecessary brutality. It had taken four of them to shove Loki into the small space, which would almost have offended Tony, who had been manhandled by just the one big goon and bodily thrown inside. Timing had made him fall face first on Loki before the mage had been able to stand back up, and the door had smalled shut with the weight of a tomb before they had a chance to reach for it. Since then, everything had been quiet outside, like they had been locked out of existence and forgotten.

Where the f*ck were the others? How long could it take to mount a rescue mission and discover a secret base?

“Still nothing?” He whispered, eyes shut.

“Nothing,” Loki confirmed, voice tight.

They had been separated from the rest of the Avengers, fighting the most recent attack of those stubborn HYDRA assholes, and their fate had turned the instant Loki had gasped out in pain behind him. When Tony had turned, he had found him with a hand over his chest, eyes wide, his daggers blinking out of existence.

“Loki?” He had asked, sensing immediately that this was bad.

“My magic,” the prince had gasped. sounding disbelieving. “We need to leave, they have... Watch out!”

He had shoved Tony out of the way, blocking a hail of bullet with his armored forearm, just moving out of the way to avoid a clean shot between the eyes.

Tony had riposted, shooting at the HYDRA soldiers while cursing wildly, but he had not been fast enough. With Loki reduced to fist-fighting heavily armed enemies, Tony had been unable to have both his back and to fight off the increasing number of HYDRA operatives. They had been taken in, tied up with what looked like reinforced cuffs that even Loki hadn't been able to break out of, and, with their eyes covered, they had been brought here. The trip had been relatively short, which actually worried him more; if they were close to New York, it meant HYDRA was truly confident that they would neither be found, nor would their prisoners manage to escape.

How had they found a way to stop Loki's magic? Tony had actually tried and failed at it for years after the invasion of 2012, and although he had dropped the project when Loki had switched team at a decisive moment and helped them win against Thanos, he had classified the project as impossible. That HYDRA had managed something like this was terrifying.

They had taken Tony's suit, too, which made him sick with worry and hatred. He could only imagine that they were disassembling it at this very moment and looking for his secrets, searching for ways to turn the Iron Man armor into a mass murder weapon...

They had been made powerless, and they had nothing to do but wait for the bastards to decide what to do with them.

He wanted to believe that things would turn out alright. Nonetheless, memories of pain and fear in a cold cave such as this one were knocking at his mind's door, threatening to overwhelm him with terror of whatever was to come. Even if whoever was at the head of the organization wasn't planning to try to torture them into submission, what were the options? Did they plan to hold them hostages? Execute them publicly? They had been captured, not killed, despite the soldiers having the chance, so he knew they were planning something-

“Stark,” Loki's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he realized his breath was breaking and short, like he had been running... Or drowning.

“Sorry,” Tony whispered.

He couldn't show his weakness. Couldn't let the HYDRA goons see him already so distressed, even though they hadn't touched a hair of his head yet. He needed to calm down.

As for Loki... He forced himself to breath. Their friendship was so fragile still, a relationship of polite cooperation and occasional shared smirks, usually at Thor or Clint's expenses. Tony was fond of Loki, felt confident, unlike some in the team, that the mage was truly on their side.

It didn't mean that he was comfortable about being stuck with him in a space so small their legs were touching no matter how they sat, handcuffed and powerless and feeling on the verge of a panic attack.

But Loki glanced at him, and then turned his attention to the ceiling, so genuinely that Tony's gaze followed, expecting to find a possible exit there -but there was only dark concrete, and Loki spoke again, sounding very casual.

“You asked me once about sports in Asgard.”

“I -did I?”

“Aye. I didn't answer at the time, but you seemed quite amused at imagining a team of Asgardian football players, as I remember it. Well, we don't have the same sport exactly, but do you still care to know?”

Tony frowned, searching for a code of some kind that he was missing. Was Loki trying to hint at something without getting the attention of their probable guards? His relaxed expression as he glanced back at Tony didn't imply a secret message. Which meant...

“Are you trying to distract me?” He asked with an undecided smile.

“No. I'm growing bored,” Loki corrected him, “and the topic crossed my mind.”

“So what kind of sports do you play in Asgard?” Tony murmured, after only a small instant of indecision.

“Personnally, or as a realm?”

“Both?”

“You perhaps won't be surprised to know that our most common games are of horse-riding or archery contests. Axe-throwing is a favorite of most, but you know already that I prefer to use daggers. Then there's toga-honk-”

“That's an incredibly ridiculous name,” Tony remarked. The ball of anxiety in his belly wasn't going anywhere, but he appreciated the distraction, which at least kept him from spiralling.

“And a ridiculous sport, too,” Loki assured him. Somehow, he sounded as relaxed as if he was sitting in a couch with his hands in his lap by choice, not contained by force and deprived of his magic. “You need two men, or two team of an equal number of players, and a rope. At the signal, both parties attempt to pull the rope hard enough to make the other fall, or to tear the rope from their hands.”

“Viking tug-of-war,” Tony said. “What else?”

“There's a popular one about throwing rocks in target, and another one where you must use a stick to navigate a ball toward a precise goal, while the opposite player attempts to steal it with the same intention.”

“Viking hockey. Do you play? I can't picture you running after a ball.”

“I never saw much appeal to it,” Loki assured him. “I engaged in wrestling and hand-to-hand combat when the occasions called for it, but it was to me more of an obligatory training than an actual leisure. As I mentioned, I was quite good at knife-throwing and archery contests.”

“You with a bow and arrow, uh? Whatever would Clint say?” Tony's smile twisted painfully. Where was Clint? Was he okay? Was he ever going to see the clumsy archer again? He forced the thought away to focus on Loki's amused answer.

“I assume he would say something along the lines of wow, if he were to see me.”

“I can kind of see it. You don't look like Robin Hood, but -long hair, not smiling much. I can see you as Katniss, I guess.”

“I'm guessing that I cannot escape from your explaining this cultural reference to me?”

“What, you've been living on Earth for five years and nobody ever told you about the Hunger Games?” At Loki's small shrug, Tony managed a frail smile. He was good at explaining. Explaining could take all of his concentration. “It's a serie of movies. Books, actually, at first, but you know how us humans are lazy and like for people to act out stories so we don't have to read them ourselves.”

“I'm familiar. So who's Katniss?” Loki questioned, now looking at him with what looked like genuine interest. It was probably fake, but it was encouraging.

“Right, so, this is all happening in the future, right? And we humans -or we Americans, it's never explained clearly, and it could be either- we f*cked up and had a war that left the world devastated. Now North America has been divided into the Capitol, where all the power is located, and twelve Districts. I mean, technically, it's thirteen districts, but I'll get to that. So every year...”

Loki allowed him to go through the story's plot, asking questions when Tony was getting off track, expressing curiosity about the details of how Panem worked. And when he was done, with his mouth dry from talking so much, the mage easily picked up the conversation, never letting the silence settle, and telling him about a story he had read and loved once, about a travelling magician who helped people wherever he went.

“He was feared in some places, but he eventually always won the heart of the people by solving their problems. It was an incredibly naive take, but I was very fond of it. I saw myself in the character of the clever seiðrmaðr,” he said, and by then, it was like they had always spoken like this, with no secret for one another. “I remember a specific chapter in which the hero shames the local Jarl into leaving town after a particularly good bout of flyting.”

“A bout of flaying?” Tony repeated, head resting against the wall, but still following Loki's conversation with something that would have been pleasure, if it hadn't been for the knowledge that if he got distracted, he would fall into despair again.

“Flyting. A contest of insults, of sort. A game I was once very good at.”

“That happens, what, in taverns?”

“Sometimes,” Loki chuckled. “It can be part of the challenge to maintain a certain wit and articulation after drinking one's share. But flyting is performed by all ages and all classes of citizens, sometimes in very official contests. Although, I used to have to disguise myself to play, so people wouldn't go easy on me. Nobody wanted to risk angering Odin through me.”

“That sounds like a novel character, the prince disguising as a commoner to go play games with a fair chance. So what, it just consists of two people insulting one another?”

“A battle of words,” Loki approved. “Although the sharpness of the insults is only part of the effort. To win, one must demonstrate creativity as well as rhythm, rhymes, and generally a mastery of the language.”

“So I'm guessing when you did it, it was close to a flaying anyway,” Tony smiled. “Seriously. Viking rap-battles. You're not even making this up, are you?”

“I am not,” Loki assured him, and opened his mouth to carry on, then stiffened and paused.

Tony understood why an instant later, when he, too, heard the footsteps behind the door. He only realized how much Loki's conversation had made him relax as the tension returned to him all at once, fear and anger turning his muscles and nerves to a tense mess of anticipation. He glanced at Loki, and their eyes briefly met. The levity of the instant was gone. Loki's face was closed, his eyes nervous.

The door opened. Guns were pointed at them, two soldiers making sure they weren't moving, but barely fitting side by side in the tight opening of the door. Tony could tell there were at least two other guards behind the first ones.

“Stark,” one of the HYDRA agents said, voice hard and authoritative. His face was partially obscured by the darkness of the cell, but Tony could make out a three-day stubble and dry lips. “Up. You're coming with us. You, stay here,” he added, gesturing with his gun to Loki as another soldier moved forward to grab Tony by the arm and force him up.

“You do not want to antagonize me, human,” Loki said. His voice barely reached Tony's ears through his heartbeats, as he struggled not to let his panic show, but he did notice that the god managed to sound detached. “I'd still give you this one chance to recognise your mistake.”

“Right,” the man scoffed. “Don't worry, we'll take care of you too. Let's move.”

Tony was dragged to the door, another soldier putting his hand on his free arm to hold him hard. Despite his resolve, he found himself looking over his shoulder, as if he was stupid enough to hope for a solution. Loki was looking right back at him, and Tony realized then just how well Loki had played his game until now, because in this instant, the prince looked almost as terrified as he felt.

They roughed him up, but they didn't torture him -not yet. They made it clear that it would be the next step. The HYDRA agent with the stubble, in the light, had dyed blond hair and the kind of manic calm to his eyes that Tony associated with people who killed small animals for fun, and he mentally dubbed him Dahmer. He seemed to be in charge, and he told Tony he hoped he would resist, so that he could see how his methods compared to that of 'those savages in Afghanistan'.

“Waterboarding, wasn't it? It's not imaginative, but it's a classic for a reason. I'm sure we could spice it up a little for you.”

Tony didn't know if he was satisfied to have kept his head high, or if he wanted to break down and promise to do whatever Dahmer asked. He managed to keep silent as he was brought back to his cell, even as his heart stopped when he realized that Loki had been taken away, too.

The cell seemed, impossibly, even smaller and darker when he was alone in it.

He was infinitely grateful when they brought Loki back, even though it meant that the mage hadn't managed to run away. Loki looked as calm and at ease as if the guards who handled him had been his personal servants, and, even after being physically pushed into the cell and falling to his knees, with his hands bound up, his features didn't betray particular anguish. Tony reached forward to help him straighten up, trying not to let it show that he was on the edge of panic.

“Stark,” Loki greeted him, quietly.

“What did they ask you?” Tony asked, voice rough with contained tears, or scream, he didn't know.

“Well, I asked them for the opportunity to betray the Avengers with their help. Unfortunately, it seems my latest betrayals have been too publicized for them to trust me.”

Tony laughed, though there was definitely despair in the sound. He arranged his legs so he would again sit next to Loki. The space was too cramped to unfold their legs completely, and they just sat face to face to share what little space was there. Even so, the presence of Loki made the cell feel less like a tomb, and he was almost happy for it.

“What the f*ck are we gonna do, Loki?” He murmured. “Can Thor and the others find us?”

“I doubt it,” Loki answered, and it was with his painful honesty that Tony realized he had been hoping for the prince to weave hopes for him. “Without my seiðr, there is little I can do to alert my brother. Little, too, I can manage to break us out.”

Tony nodded, closing his fingers tightly around his knees. Without his magic, Loki was still physically much stronger and enduring than he was; if he didn't see a way out, what hope could Tony have of managing? He needed to use his brains. Needed...

“There might be a way,” Loki whispered, so low he almost didn't hear it. When he looked up, he found the mage was biting his lower lip, as if hesitating, before he shook his head slightly. “There is a way,” he corrected himself. “But it is flawed. And dangerous.”

“We don't have much of anything else,” Tony remarked, heart starting to pound in his chest. “What's the plan?”

“Do you think you can carry my weight?”

“I... Don't know? I guess, if our survival depends on it,” Tony answered, confused by the angle. “How is that going to help?”

“There's a chance that it will fail,” Loki told him. He didn't seem confident, actually, which told Tony it was a big chance. “In which case, they will catch us, and I will be even more limited in my actions than I am now.”

“Are you asking me if we should try anyway? Because the way I see it, we're f*cked if we don't. Might as well try our odds.”

“Of course,” Loki said with a small smile. “I suppose so. Well...” He leaned forward, and Tony did, too, to hear his words, barely above the level of a whisper, sounding controlled and powerful even now. “There is one last, desperate way I can access my magic. One spell; one chance. If it's not powerful enough, it will be for naught. I'll take us as far away as possible. But once I do, you won't be able to count on me.”

“I'll need to carry you,” Tony half-questioned, eyes searching Loki's. The prince gave a small, sharp nod. His discomfort wasn't evident, but Tony knew what it looked like. He nodded in return. “You do your part, I'll do mine. You get us out, I'll take you to safety.”

“Right,” Loki said. His eyes briefly flashed to Tony's, and there was a shadow of doubt in them. Perhaps he didn't know if he could trust Tony not to abandon him and run for his life. He didn't voice his hesitation. “You will not enjoy the process.”

“Do whatever you have to, Loki.”

“Get ready, then,” the mage said.

Tony didn't know exactly how to do that. He stood, with the vague idea that it would be a better start than to be cramped on the ground, and glanced at the door, half expecting a HYDRA commando to burst in to contain Loki before he could reach for his magic, one way or another. Nothing came. He looked down, every muscle in his body clenched with anticipation.

Loki breathed in, then out, as if preparing to meditate. He slowly raised a hand to his mouth, pressing his index to his lips, then moving his hand to his cheek. Tony didn't know what to expect, wild ideas running in his mind. Would Loki invoke some sort of demon, or speak a formula out loud? Would he produce out of nowhere a weapon like the Scepter? Ever since the invasion, he had always seen Loki using his magic as if it were as natural to him as breathing...

Loki opened his mouth, eyes shut. And then, with deliberate, decided strength, he quickly bit down on his own wrist. Almost immediately, blood started running down his lips, and still Loki bit harder, and pulled back, seeming intent on tearing at his own flesh as if he was biting into a tough piece of meat. The comparison was just as brutal as the image, and Tony could only stare, mouth agape, as the prince finally released his wrist and, with his free hand, shakily and rapidly started to paint the floor down with his blood, lines and symbols that half disappeared under freely falling, heavy drops of red-

Tony didn't dare to speak, lest he broke Loki's concentration. The mage's face was twisted with pain or effort or both, his bloody wrist held to his chest as he started to speak quiet nonsense to the circle he had drawn, and suddenly he reached for Tony, and his eyes opened and they were practically glowing-

The wind hit Tony's back, and Loki fell to his knees; suddenly they were out, the night sky looking bright above, the street clear and quiet with the distant noise of sirens and traffic, and Tony wanted to scream and run, get to safety. How far were they? Was HYDRA on their trail yet? Could he trust anyone?

Loki's weight hit his legs, and he caught the mage just before he could crumble to the ground. There was blood on his teeth and on his chin, and whatever power had possessed him was gone, leaving him -the word came to Tony rather than any other- empty. So Tony grabbed his arm, the one that wasn't spitting blood at an alarming speed, and hauled him up over his shoulders. His stiff legs almost buckled with the effort, but he had no time to be weak, no time to search his way, not when Loki couldn't tell him how far away they had made it. He couldn't run like this; he walked, as fast as he could. He hailed cabs, without them stopping, not realizing how desperately they were needed, maybe because Loki looked either like a drunk or a dead body, and his legs weakened, and he kept walking, pure, desperate panic powering him through.

He found a cop car, and he fell on them, almost literally, asking for their help, perhaps demanding or perhaps begging, maybe a mix of both. Either way, he was in Stark Tower an unknown amount of time later, practically falling to the floor of his kitchen in relief when Steve grabbed Loki's weight from him.

“Oh my god, Tony -how did you escape?!”

“You're covered in blood!”

He must have answered questions, or they must have realized he wasn't going to; he honestly couldn't say which one. Everything was a blur of fatigue and adrenaline, even as Loki was brought to the infirmary, even as Bruce helped him get cleaned up, even as he helped him to his bed. Somehow, despite everything, he fell into a near coma as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When he woke up, the sky had the dark blue hue of pre-dawn, and his memories had the blur of bad dreams. He walked unsteadily outside of his bedroom, finding the lights were still on. His feet led him without pause to Loki's own room. It was quiet, now, but he remembered it being disturbed by a mess of people. Not all of them had been humans, either, and now, Thor was sitting by Loki's bedside alone.

“Anthony,” he greeted as soon as Tony signaled his presence with a small cough. “The Norns be blessed, you are well.” It could have been the dimmed lightning, but Tony thought his friend's eyes were red. Had he had the time to cry for fear of Loki's fate? Or had it been while they had been missing, with no hope of finding them?

“I'm okay. Sorry I worried you. I think... I needed to process what had just happened.” He glanced at Loki. His wrist was bandaged now, and resting on a folded towel. “Loki saved my life,” he said. He felt Thor needed to know. He felt everyone needed to know, he realized. Those who had believed Loki was on their side, and the ones who had refused to believe it. “He got us out. I owe him my life, Thor.”

“He used blood magic,” Thor said, and whether it was a statement or a question, Tony could only shudder at the reminder of the sheer violence with which Loki had torn at his own flesh.

“I guess that's an appropriate name, yeah. It was -pretty scary. I guess I can see why he doesn't use that every day. It would definitely scare potential fans away.”

“Do not jest, Anthony,” Thor said, too quietly for it to be a proper reproach. Instead, he seemed uncomfortable himself, like even speaking of this was painful. “This is ancient magic. I never even knew that my brother had learned such dark arts.”

“He's not...” Dread started to creep at the back of Tony's throat. “He's not in danger, is he? He said he would not be able to help once we were out, but he didn't mean permanently, right?”

“Not permanently,” Thor confirmed, but his features were still pained. “But it could have meant Loki's death, Anthony. Blood magic -it is giving away your very life for power. It's a desperate measure. One who uses too much power might die, or never recover. The Völur assured me that Loki had not given too much, and that his own magic was back to its full power, but he could have...”

“Slept in peace,” Loki's voice croaked out, barely resembling itself, and making both Thor and Tony jump, “if you weren't lamenting at my bedside like a weeping widow.”

“Loki!” Thor's expression told Tony that these were Loki's first words since he had been brought here, and that, despite the blame, he was cherishing them preciously. “You woke! How do you feel?”

“Like wrought out clothe,” Loki said, but he opened his eyes, carefully first, then a little more. His gaze fell on Tony, paused, and then moved back to Thor. “I see I was expected. This is nice.”

“I owed you that,” Tony said, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. No wonder Loki hadn't seemed scared about the bloodshed, if there had been such risks just from performing the spell. “But I suppose I mostly owe you to let you rest,” he offered.

“Excellent,” Loki said quietly, but he met Tony's eyes again, and he actually smiled, a real smile. “I'll blame exhaustion later for saying this, but I am glad that you are well, Stark.”

As he left the bedroom, Tony could only wonder about the warm, fuzzy feelings this simple, obvious statement elicited in him. Because it was enormous, for Loki to save his life. It was even more intimate, more precious, perhaps, to have him spend so much effort distracting him from his own fear.

But he knew Loki enough to know that to admit something like that out loud, for Loki, was nothing short of exceptional.

Chapter 26: Alt.3 - Magic vs. Science

Chapter Text

Loki woke, the second time, to peaceful silence. So far above the city, the constant noise of thousands of humans going about their day was distant, turning into a gentle, faraway buzz. Loki was grateful for it. It told him, without opening his eyes, that he had truly succeeded; he was back in the Tower.

And alive, too. What a treat.

He slowly raised his left hand to his face, rubbing his eyes gently before carefully opening them. He was wearing long pants and a t-shirt that didn't belong to him, which meant somebody had changed him out of his bloodied armor. His right forearm disappeared in a thick bandage, throbbing with pain even without movement. Probably, some Asgardian healer had used magic to knit the flesh back together. He grimaced. It hadn't been a clean way to procure blood, but he had had little choice.

He straightened up carefully, without a noise. The sun was high, and he was startled to find that it must have been the middle of the afternoon. Had he slept so long, truly? He glanced at his side, and found with a twitch of uncontrolled feelings that Thor was still sitting in a chair by the bed, chin resting on his chest. He had clearly fallen asleep in the position, no doubt tired from having spent the night by his side, but clearly reluctant to leave him alone. Sentimental fool, Loki thought, his heart swelling with worries and relief mixed together. Whatever would Thor have done, if he had miscalculated? What would his brother have said, if this time, Loki had truly fallen?

Stark had brought him back, just as he had requested. Amazingly, he hadn't brought back a corpse.

Blood magic was a desperate, ugly practice. Using it had been madness, a gamble he had almost no chance to win. It was the most ancient bargain of all: life, in exchange for power. Magic-less ritualists drew runes with drops of blood for small enchantments; for a teleportation, the price could have been far too much. Without knowing where they were exactly, with only a destination in mind, it had been a matter of throwing dices and hoping they would land in a favorable light. If he didn't use enough magic, he could end back in another part of the HYDRA base. If he used too much... Well, it was better to use too much than too little. He had no doubt that HYDRA would sooner or later kill him, after all, if he remained in their grasp, and Loki had always preferred to suffer on his own terms. If he was going to die, it might as well be while he escaped. As Stark had said, they were f*cked either way. Might as well try their odds.

He hadn't been fully decided, when he had spoken the possibility. He had almost told Stark about the risks -almost. But the desperation in the human's eyes had shut him up, and he had pushed down his hesitations. It wouldn't do any good to consider everything he could lose.

Even if he failed, he told himself; even if he gave too much, and he preferred the risk of too much than too little; then Stark would be free, out of HYDRA's vicious claws.

He breathed in slowly, the pain pulsing in his wrist, and wondered about how clear it had seemed to him, back then, that this would be worth it. That freeing Tony Stark would be a worthy reason for Loki of Asgard to die.

He had never seen Stark appear frightened before. He hadn't expected he would, either, not even when they had been captured, because he knew the human to be a sarcastic, almost exagerately proud man. He had expected that, like himself, Stark wouldn't let anything show, not until he -they- ran out of strength. He had thought they had time for the others to find them, for HYDRA to give him a chance to slither his way out of their captivity. He had thought they would mock threats and torture together, because if there was in thing in common, it was their overabundance of sarcasm and lack of common sense.

And yet.

Something inside of him had shifted with the realization that Stark was already losing his grip, an hour or so after they had been locked in the cell. Something more than the evident concern that a captured party was only as strong as its most fragile member. HYDRA could use Stark to get to him, they could dig into his fears and break him. And Loki, in that instant, hadn't been worried for himself. He had found himself speaking nonsense in a hurry, speaking lightly in a despair he hadn't known was in him to see Stark relax.

When they had taken them out of the cell -separating them, attempting to intimidate him with pathetic threats of pain he had known tenfold before-, his heart had sunken with concern for what they were doing to the human. What good would it do to comfort him in the cell, to take away the fear in his mind, if he let him be scared and tortured? Rescue would not be there soon enough, he had realized. Not to keep Stark from something that might change him, hurt him for good.

Which was when he had turned to what he could do.

Thor -and in fact those few Aesir who still saw Loki as their prince- would have told anyone asking, with some pride, that Loki of Asgard was never out of resources. From turning enemies to allies and betraying them to speaking words of forgotten magic that turned the tables on any situation, it was commonly admitted, had once been known through the realms, that the second son of Odin was a dangerous thing, like those animals with claws and fangs and poison that you could never truly catch without paying too high a price.

It was true. Even locked in a minuscule cell, with his magic alarmingly out of reach, Loki wasn't completely helpless. He had ways to escape.

Even then, the important thing, usually left unspoken, usually forgotten by Thor and Asgard and enemies, was that these solutions were kept secret and desperate for a reason. Like animals who gnawed off their paw to escape a trap or insects who died to use their own venom, there was a price to conjuring hopeless miracles.

And still, he had told himself. Still, he had no choice. There was no time to waste, not for Stark to remain Stark, proud and clever and compassionate Stark. And Loki had found that he wouldn't let anyone break this human, not if he could help it.

And Loki could always help it.

He rubbed at the edges of the bandages, testing the tension of the flesh surrounding the wound. It was bad. But he had been more than lucky. He could move his fingers, with some pain. It didn't even look like there would be permanent damage to his hand.

He woke Thor -gently, carefully. His brother was just as happy to find him well and aware than he had been the first time. He told him what the healers had said, confirmed what he knew: he had been incredibly fortunate. His brother insisted on accompanying him to the kitchen and buttering his bread for him, to save him the trouble. Romanoff and Barton were there, and they paused in mid-conversation. The archer seemed to reach a quiet decision.

“Loki? I'm glad you're okay,” he announced, when their eyes met. “Thanks for bringing Tony back.”

“It's probably dangerous to say so,” Romanoff said. She sounded light-hearted, but her eyes were cautious and attentive, too. “But we owe you.”

“I'll make sure to remember it,” said Loki, with a smile. It was meant to be a joke, but it wasn't completely a lie. He was pleased to see their own answering laughs were hesitating.

After eating half a bread and some soup, he insisted to Thor that he didn't need to be bedridden and kept under surveillance; he had risked death, true, but he was in fact mostly fine. He promised to his brother not to overuse his healing arm, and went out on the balcony for a bit, enjoying the fresh air of freedom and the distant noises of the city.

All was well that ended well. He had won his gambit.

And despite that victory, he found, despite being alive and safe and having triumphed, he felt disappointed.

He had imagined that Stark would be there, too, waiting for him to wake.

And he called Thor foolish. What had he expected? He had not done this to create a debt. Stark had come to him already, to check on his state. What else did he want?

What else, indeed, he thought quietly, eyes on the bright blue sky.

He didn't see Stark in days. He told himself it was just fine; no doubt the human was enjoying his freedom all the more after his little bout of captivity, and wasn't that what Loki had wanted? He thought he heard Rogers and Banner debating about him once, arguing whether they should try to talk to him or let him in peace. He didn't interfere.

The general opinion of the other Avengers toward him seemed to have changed positively, which was ironic, considering how his first plan had been to pretend to work against them. After Barton's thanks, he also received a few words from Rogers, apologising for ever doubting him. Banner, who had voted in the past to trust Loki despite everything, just gave him a few awkward smiles here and there. As for Thor, he was insufferable in his evident pride. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, although he wasn't ready to admit it.

His wrist healed, slowly, from his self-inflicted damage. After three days, he could function almost normally, feeling pain only when he closed his fist or pushed or pulled somehing. He had given the Avengers, minus the ever absent Stark, everything he knew about the HYDRA base and the agents he had seen, and SHIELD had strong hopes of finding the location of their captivity. In almost all matters, despite the risks taken, this had actually turned out to be an absolute victory for Loki.

Except for the part where he laid awake at night, thinking of how he had been so ready to risk it all for this small human.

Just like he was known for being resourceful, Loki was known to be a survivor. He could be selfish, treacherous, he could fight dirty and shamelessly if it meant being safe. It was all true. He once wouldn't have hesitated to throw his fragile alliance to the humans away for freedom.

And he didn't know what to do of this certainty he had had, in the cave, that he would rather die for Stark to be free than to watch the man suffer and break.

That wasn't quite true, though. With Stark's absence, he knew exactly what to do of those foolish sentiments: bury them and ignore them, and let them die like unwatered plants. It was the only logical thing to do.

It was almost a week after their capture and escape that he did see Stark. Despite telling himself a hundred times that things were fine and back to normal, Loki wasn't ready to see him.

It happened at the breakfast table. Rogers had graced the team with his famous pancakes, in a celebration of the fact that it was Sunday, and the Avengers were chatting and eating together when the elevator's doors slid open. There were general salutations and sarcastical words of surprise as Stark emerged, carrying half a dozen empty mugs of coffee over to the sink. Loki made himself greet the human pleasantly and then hid most of his face behind his own mug of chocolate milk.

“Where have you been?” Barton's voice rose above the rest. “It's been a week and you only spoke to me through JARVIS to ask for an order of burritos.”

“You were having some anyway,” Stark said. “I was busy.”

It took hearing his voice for Loki to actually look up at Stark's face. There was something triumphant, almost elated to his words, and it echoed in his expression: despite his reddened, tired eyes and an untrimmed beard, the human was looking like he had just won some formidable prize.

“You look like it went well,” Banner remarked, eyebrows raised in obvious question.

“Yeah, yeah it went, where's... Hey, Loki, my man,” Tony interrupted himself, after looking around the table. His smile seemed to widen as their eyes met, and Loki's heart did a ridiculous little leap of joy. “Loki! Sorry I was out. How's the arm? How's the magic?”

“I am well,” Loki answered. Some part of him was warning him against accepting such quick apologies, but he found he was smiling in return, with no questions from his face as to whether he wanted to allow it.

“Can I talk to you? Privately, I mean,” Stark clarified after a beat, and glanced around the table again. “No offense. Uh, I need sleep? And I won't be able to handle all your congratulations at the same time.”

“Just promise to eat a couple of pancakes before you go to bed,” Rogers requested, but Tony ignored him, just grinning as Loki stood and gesturing him toward the living room.

“Hey. You really okay?” He asked as soon as they were alone, and though there was the manic glint of sleep deprivation in his eyes, the question seemed sincere.

“I am,” Loki assured him. Some strange part of him was disappointed that his wrist was now well healed, and only a pink scar in the shape of a bite remained of his heroic action.

“That's good. I should have checked on you,” Stark said with a brief frown, before looking down at his hands, almost as if hesitating. “Uh, anyway. I wanted to tell you, because -well, I'm not sure you want me telling the others this. You know how HYDRA jammed your magic?” He didn't wait for an answer, which was good, because Loki's heart skipped a beat, in a very unpleasant way. “Yeah, it pissed me off. So I, uh, I figured it out. I'm pretty sure I figured it out, anyway, my simulations are working, but I'd need you to test it properly.”

“You figured out how to block my powers?” Loki repeated, with a distinct effort to keep his voice neutral despite the creeping sense of discomfort that was rising inside of him.

“Yes. Wait, not like that -I mean, yes? I figured out how they blocked it,” Stark carried on quickly, eyes a little widened, “and then I figured out how to jam that signal. What I mean is, I think I can protect you. Your, your magic, that is.”

Loki was silent for a moment. He hated to admit it, but he was overwhelmed. Was that what Stark had been doing all this time? Recreating the vicious power that had brought him to his knees and rendered him powerless?

And- I can protect you. And creating a way to counter that same powerful weapon. For him?

“You were supposed to be resting,” he stated, stupidly.

“Yeah, I'll be resting now. I need some rest. I'll get it now that I know I fixed this,” Stark babbled quickly. “It was pissing me off. I'm sorry, I realize now I should have talked to you about it from the start. It's just, I started working just after wishing you good night, the other day, and you were still convalescent, so I thought I'd do it while you were out, and surprise you. I guess it took a little longer than that. I still don't understand everything about this magic thing.”

After wishing him good night. So it had really been all this time. Stark had gone straight from captivity and a few hours of sleep to figuring out how to make sure it never happened again? The tension in his chest was shifting to something else, something equally overwhelming, but different, warm like Stark's golden skin and chocolate-colored eyes.

“Then I owe you,” he said quietly, containing this feeling he couldn't quite name as best as he could.

“You what?” Stark blinked, as if bewildered. Then he shook his head before Loki could repeat himself. “No you don't. Hell no, you don't, Loki.”

“If your work is successful, than I need not worry of a powerful threat,” Loki clarified a little uncertainly, but Stark interrupted just as fast.

His exhaustion was evident in the unfiltered urgency of his voice, and Loki almost wanted to stop him and guide him to bed himself, but the human wasn't letting him place a word.

“No. You used that spell, knowing there was a very real risk that only one of us was actually benefiting from it. f*ck, you don't owe me. Probably, I owe you, you know? But don't think that this was some kind of payment on my part. This,” he made a vague hand gesture that probably referred to his discovery, “this was for me. Because I'm selfish, and when I woke up and saw you like that and Thor told me what you'd risked, I wanted to fix this sh*t. I want my friends safe, Loki. I want you safe. And I sure as f*ck don't want somebody else to sacrifice themselves for me because they think I deserve it.”

“I was confident I would succeed,” Loki said. It was a lie; he realized it as he said it. It had just come to him, an urge to quiet the distress on Stark's features. The word friends was resonating like the quick pulse of his heart. Either way, the human didn't seem to buy it, just shaking his head.

“You saw I was losing my sh*t, and that's why you took the risk. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“I...” Loki, despite himself, hesitated. Stark tilted his chin forward, looking part triumphant, part disheartened. “I had a possible way out. It only made sense to use it.”

“When you asked me if I could carry your weight, you were considering the chance that you would die. You were wondering if I would bring your corpse back to Thor. You did your blood magic thing anyway.”

This was a brutal conversation to have when he had been eating pancakes and thinking he was over his strange feelings. He didn't know what to say. Stark didn't seem to be waiting for an answer anyway. He held his hand out imperiously and Loki mechanically reached out. The human placed a golden ring down in his palm.

“Wear it,” Stark requested. “If I'm right, this will protect you from HYDRA's thing. And the next time they attack, you can absolutely destroy them for daring to put their dirty hands on a god, or whatever. You'll say it with more style than I ever could.”

“I meant to help,” Loki answered, looking down at the ring. “Not to cause distress.”

“Then don't die.”

It was so simple, so forward, that Loki couldn't help himself from laughing a little. He put on the ring, on his right hand, the one he could have lost to his desperate plan. It felt strange, like it was making a very quiet noise or vibrating very faintly. He looked at his hand, then at the human. Stark's shoulders fell with relief as he saw the ring at his hand.

“Perhaps you should consider,” Loki offered softly, “that there is a reason why your life holds so much worth to others.”

“My life isn't worth sh*t if I can't protect my people,” Tony replied, but it wasn't aggressive. He seemed to have exorcised his anxiety. “I owe you, Loki. I really do. Don't think I'm not grateful. Just... Stay with me, okay? I don't want your sacrifice. I want you here and whole.”

“Thank you, Anthony Stark,” Loki murmured.

“Just Tony.”

“Tony, then.”

He was going to need to do something about those warm feelings that looked like they wanted to reside permanently in his chest.

Chapter 27: Alt. 5 - Body Swap

Chapter Text

“However do you handle being so small? And weak? And small?”

“Oh my god. Oh, my god.”

“Your hands are so wrinkled and rough. Have you never heard of hydratation?”

“This can't be happening. I'm gonna wake up.”

“Don't speak in such a undignified way. It's weird.”

For the first few minutes, they were talking over each other, freaking out in their own way.

When the door to the infirmary opened and Steve rushed inside, having no doubt being warned by JARVIS that they were awake, they were graced with their teammate plus teammate on probation talking at the same time.

“G-guys?” the Captain asked, clearly lost over what was happening.

“Steve!” Loki said, relief flooding his features as he pulled himself out of bed, nearly crashed into the surgeon-bot in the corner of the room, and grabbed Steve's shirt by the collar, making the soldier startle. “Steve, you're my friend, right?”

“Um,” Steve said, eyes wide.

“Right. Punch me in the face, please. I need to wake up.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony said wih unusual articulation and detachment, sitting at the edge of his own bed with his arms crossed. “I will not have you damage me. Don't touch him, Rogers.”

“Um -what is going on?”

The door creaked, as Thor and Natasha entered the infirmary too, finding the soldier frozen in confusion, Tony with a too-straight posture and Loki with a look of genuine despair on his face.

“Brother?” Thor asked with a frown.

“This way,” Tony Stark sighed with barely contained exasperation. “It seems that Hela's spell was of a different nature of aggression than what I would have expected from her.”

“Brother?” Thor repeated with growing alarm.

“Dude, help me out,” Loki pleaded, green eyes blown wide with horror, before glancing at Stark and lowering his voice in a horrified whisper. “My body's talking without me.”

It was the start of a very weird week in Stark Tower.

“So just to get this straight,” Barton said, a few hours later, with most of the Avengers seated in the conference room. “This isn't actually Loki's fault?”

“Not this time,” Loki, in Tony's body, answered with a quirk of his eyebrow. “I was not adequately protecting myself for the type of spell Hela used on me. Stark was the closest to me at the time -I can only assume that this is why he was drawn into this.”

“f*ck Hela,” Tony, in Loki's body, croaked. He was holding his head in his hands and his elbows on the table. Loki frowned at him, but said nothing.

“How do we reverse it?” Rogers questioned.

“As I told you -it should be simple enough. The problem is, of course, that this body doesn't have the smallest amount of seiðr.”

“What of another seiðrmaðr?” Thor offered, looking from Tony to Loki, perhaps because he couldn't decide which one to address as his brother. “I could ask for the Lady Eir.”

“Breaking something is easy. Repairing it is harder,” Loki said. He still seemed weirdly calm about all this. “Figuratively speaking, Stark and I are tied in magical ropes. From the inside, it would be easy enough to break them, but any attempt from the outside would threaten to make things worse.”

“Isn't it worth taking the risk?” Banner asked, with a glance full of compassion for the hunched figure next to him.

“Sure,” Loki replied, with a disdainful glance. “If they fail, we will only be stuck like this until Stark's mortal form dies and take me with it.”

“What alternative do we have?” Romanoff questioned in a practical tone of voice.

“Stark has all the tools needed to break us out,” Loki said. He glanced toward his own body, and pressed his lips together tightly at the miserable glance Tony threw his way. “He is rumored to be a genius, is he not? It shouldn't be out of his reach, with my assistance, to figure out how to break this spell.”

“I can't believe this,” Barton said. “We got a Freaky Friday case, and Tony's not even making references. This feels so wrong,” he added, shaking his head and looking away from Loki's body, as if willing his brain not to get the two men confused.

“How long do you think this will take” Thor asked.

“Hopefully, no more than a week. Two, at most, if Stark would rather keep whining than get to work,” he added with a critical glance toward the human.

“Is that what I would look like as a supervillain?” Stark replied, looking at his own body with a worried frown and seeming like he hadn't actually been listening.

“Right. Well, Loki,” Rogers said, deliberately using the name while looking at Tony's body, “if you're so sure that Tony can do it, we'll give it two weeks. After that, we'll ask an Asgardian healer to take a look. What do you think?”

“This seems reasonable enough.”

“Tony?”

“Two weeks,” Tony repeated, Loki's face twisted in fresh horror. “Wait, I'm gonna need to go to the bathroom as Loki? I can't touch Loki's junk!”

“And that's the end of this meeting,” Romanoff called.

“Wait, what happens if you die while we're like this? Do I die too?”

“I don't know for sure. Hela didn't leave us with instructions, did she?”

“I take back what I said. This isn't me as a supervillain, it's me as a condescending English teacher.”

“And you are being me, but as a hysterical, blabbering mess.”

“Hey, don't act like you don't have a big mouth,” Tony argued, folding his arms against his chest.

They had moved to the living room, as Loki had suggested that being in a familiar setting might help the human focus. So far, though, his attention hadn't been much on trying to fix their situation so much as still trying to process that it had happened at all.

“Do you always slouch so much?” Loki interrupted, looking at the way his own body sat. “No wonder you are so short.”

“Hey, excuse me for not looking like I have a stick up my ass. Anyway, I don't know how you can do otherwise, this armor is practically a straightjacket. How do you remove it?” Tony added, hands fumbling around the coat.

“Magic,” Loki replied, unimpressed.

“What? I can't do magic! Does that mean that I'm gonna have to cut my way out with scissors?”

“It's an armor, Stark. Scissors will hardly scratch it. But, yes, I suppose you will have to cut your way out, since you don't know the first thing about magic. Which is why we are here, if I may remind you.”

“Why are you acting like this isn't freaking you out?”

“Because it isn't,” Loki replied, pragmatic. “You are desperate enough for the two of us, which lets me believe that you will do serious efforts to fix this situation. Besides, I may be weakened and-” his lips curled in distaste “-very short, but I know without a doubt that neither you nor your friends would want to damage this body to get to me. This is inconvenient, of course, but not a serious cause for worry.”

“You're being such an asshole,” Tony marvelled, seeming to fully realise this for the first time.

“Indeed. Now, may we focus?”

Their efforts did not bear fruits on the first day. And eventually, they had to stop. Because Loki needed to use the bathroom.

“I usually don't mind people seeing me naked,” Tony frowned, “but this is weird in every way. I'm coming with you.”

“You have to be joking.”

“I'm not. I don't want you checking me out or being weird or doing whatever to my body. New rule: until we exchange back, I'm sticking with you twenty-four seven. God, I hope we don't make it to seven days like this.”

“For the Norns' sake, Stark. I need to relieve myself. This is not some evil plot of mine.”

“I'm coming along, whether you want to or not. Anyway, I -I guess I kinda need to go, too.”

“So we'll be going together. What a grand moment of conviviality.”

“Shut up. Let's just get this over with. Wait, how do I get it out? Do you magic your clothes out of the way everytime you have to piss too?”

“I suppose this is as good a time as any to wreck my armor.”

They did, and they did what they had to do, with a minimum amount of glancing more or less discreetly downward and keeping watch of the other and generally having one of the weirdest moment of their life.

“Nice briefs.”

“Thanks. Nice boxers.”

They had supper with the other Avengers, who did appreciable efforts to act normal and addressed them with an overabundance of first names to avoid getting mixed up. Then, after another half an hour of Stark attempting to reach a mental nirvana where he could access Loki's magic with little progress, they agreed that it was time to go to sleep.

“I suppose you'll insist on watching me for that, too?” Loki asked, which prompted Banner to clear his throat, from where he sat opposite them. “In case my evil self considered making wicked use of your body before resting.”

“Do you even sleep at night, or do you just hang upside down in a coffin?”

“Your references are beneath me.”

So it was decided that they would share a room. Tony insisted on using his own, claiming he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise, and doubting he would sleep at all, circ*mstances considered. Thor very awkwardly wished them a good night, and then they went to sleep, separated by as much distance as could be achieved in the king-size bed.

Tony felt like he was at the world's most ridiculous sleepover and he couldn't even laugh about it because the joke was on him. Loki felt like this would be a long week.

Loki woke up first, and went to the bathroom on the tip of his toes so not to wake up Stark and his paranoia. Being alone, maybe he did take the time to check the human's body out. He did not come out of the bathroom with a disappointed look.

Tony woke up later. Not hearing a sound from Loki and finding the mattress still pressed down by his weight, maybe he examined the body parts that Loki always kept hidden under layers of clothes. He made an impressed little pout.

They both pretended to wake up a little after that, and kept their indiscretion a secret.

“I thought this magic thing was supposed to be easy.”

“I never said it was.”

“Well, it seemed easy to you,” Tony remarked, frowning.

“It became easy, with time. My body contains my own power, but using it is a matter of habit. It is not surprising that you would need a while.”

“Alright, I'm trying again.”

Green eyes disappeared behind closed eyelids, high brows furrowed with concentration. Loki looked at his own face, waiting. Stark was not a bad or a frustrating student; yet the god struggled not to grow impatient. It had been three days already, and it had taken far less time than he would have expected for him to sorely miss his magic.

As for Tony, in those three days, he had managed a few green sparkles which had burned at his own -well, Loki's- fingers, and that was that. Loki's advices of imagining a river within him, with streams of power pooling into reservoirs he could reach for, weren't bad or unclear; but Tony had never been good at being bad at something, and it was getting to his nerves.

Nevertheless, they managed not to murder each other.

Secretely, in fact, they were both surprised by the genuine efforts and attention they could see their own face betraying. It was easier to give a chance to feelings they could actually decipher.

“Nothing, uh?” Tony breathed out, face exhausted.

“Nothing yet.”

“How long did it take you to master it?” Tony asked.

“It's hardly similar. I was born into my power, using it before I knew it was anything different.”

“What, so there was a tiny baby Loki just casting spells all around Asgard?”

“Not exactly,” Loki said, but there was a spark of amusem*nt in Tony's hazel eyes. “Spells are deliberate. The use I made of my seiðr was instinctive. I would teleport my nurses to the side of my crib when I wanted their presence, or materialize my dreams into images around me. I'm told it was quite a hassle to deal with,” he added, and Tony recognised the way his smile tightened, just a little.

“Thor mentioned things were not great with your parents. I mean -even without the attacking Earth thing,” he amended after a beat.

“Barton mentioned things were not great with yours, at the time,” Loki replied, with just a little bit of warning in his voice.

“Yeah. Point taken. I just meant... That's bad for them, that things ended that way. Having a magic baby sounds like a disaster, but kind of a cute one.”

Tony was the first to suggest taking a shower. They exchanged a glance that was equally suspicious and uncomfortable.

“I mean, we can't go a week without washing. Especially with your long hair. They'll get gross.”

“Aren't you scared of what I'll do?”

“I'm hoping that you'll wash and not be weird. Can I trust that you'll do that?”

“Trusting me is a stretch,” Loki offered, “but of the many things I have been accused of doing, abusing others' bodies is not one.”

“A space invader but not a rapist, uh?”

“Even I have my morals, Stark.”

“What are they?”

“Mostly flexibles, except for a few. Does this mean that we will not shower together?”

“I need some me time. I guess it was a bit excessive to want to keep an eye on you all the time. I'm not saying sorry, don't look all superior.”

“That's just how your face looks,” Loki assured him pleasantly. “Very well, then. A shower it is.”

In the bathroom, Loki looked for a long time at his bare chest, and at the cylinder of metal that pierced it. The reactor gave off a constant, if gentle buzzing. It was bigger than it looked. Too big for someone to comfortably live with it lodged between their lungs.

In the bathroom, Tony twisted and stretched his neck to look at the nasty scar below Loki's ribs, in the small of his back, and traced the way it came out of his abdomen. He remembered Thor's story, of a sacrifice he had understood was only an illusion.

“You could instead try to picture a fire,” Loki offered gently. “A brasier near your heart, whose flames would spread toward your hands and turn into the spell you wish from them.”

“That's not a half-bad image,” Tony said. “What do I do with the fire?”

“You could try to conjure up actual flames. It's a rather instinctive trick.”

“Here in the living room?”

“Well, it is your house.”

Tony tried. It took over forty minutes, but then, he almost set the house on fire.

“Loki?” Tony whispered.

They had gone to sleep a little over half an hour ago, and had been silent since. Why they had kept sleeping together after Tony had admitted to it being useless, he wasn't sure, but Loki hadn't brought it up.

“What is it, Stark?”

“When I looked, Hela wasn't threatening you, on the battlefield. She was throwing her daggers toward civilians, down in the street.”

Loki was silent for a while.

“So?” He answered finally, carefully.

“Your morals. They're not that flexible, are they? You just don't want to seem like you care.”

“Oh, please,” Loki murmured, and then said nothing else until Tony fell asleep.

It was day eight of the body swap situation, and Tony was getting almost used to seeing bright green eyes and sharp cheekbones in the mirror, and he hardly ever hit his head against the kitchen cabinets anymore. Loki was getting almost used to seeing Stark's face, unusually serious, in his reflexion, and he almost didn't reach for his magic as a reflex anymore.

It was then that Hela attacked, again.

She came for the Tower, and she didn't hold her punches. Thor, who was closest, told Tony and Loki to back off and stay safe until the battle was over, for they were both vulnerable. Tony wanted to get his suit, but it wouldn't have obeyed his body; Loki longed for his power, but it wouldn't come; they hid in the bathroom, away from the windows, while Hela's green fire and sharp daggers kept the Avengers dancing.

“Why is your sister so pissed?” Tony asked to pass the time. “I don't think I ever asked. At the time, I just thought that all of Thor's siblings were evil and loved green.”

“Are you implying that that assumption was wrong? Because it seems quite accurate to me.”

“You're fighting her, aren't you?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You know, I used to pretend to be an asshole, too. Even to myself. It felt easier. Then someone made me realize that if I wasn't careful, that's all the world would ever know of me.”

“The world has a pretty strong opinion of this face you wear already, Stark,” Loki remarked quietly.

“Guess so. Doesn't mean you can't give them another, stronger opinion.”

Something exploded on the floor below. Loki's long legs folded in the bathtub, where Tony had decided to sit to wait out the storm. Tony's body stood by the sink, arms folded. Loki was quiet, lost in thought, until Steve emerged, covered in plaster dust, to tell them it was safe again.

Tony had nightmares, that night. It wasn't necessary that Hela's attack had triggered them. It was more that he was exhausted, and trusting, and his sleep was deeper than he had been since the body swap.

Loki hesitated. He gently shook the human's shoulder, and then backed off when Tony woke up. For a time.

“Do you want to come here?” He offered, feeling very stupid as he opened his arms slightly, the blue light of the reactor painting the dark room in subtle shadows. “Perhaps the familiarity of your reactor... If you want.”

Tony stared, shaking ever so slightly, seeming undecided. Then he shifted closer, until long, thin arms closed around Loki -his- chest. They hugged with the awkwardness of people who had forgotten how the gesture worked, lying back down in the mattress.

It took eleven days for Tony to be able to infuse his gestures with Loki's magic intentionally. From there, it was an easy feat to locate and undo the knot of spellwork that Loki described to him.

Coming back to their own body, they stared at each other in honest confusion while the Avengers cheered and sighed in relief.

That night, Tony went to bed in his own bedroom, after spending half an hour looking at his own face in the mirror, and fixing his beard, and recognising that he was pretty small, actually.

He brought the blanket over his shoulder and closed his eyes, marvelling at what strange things he had gone through in the last two weeks. He was almost asleep when a knock came at the door, so subtle he almost didn't hear it. But although his eyes widened in surprise, it wasn't long before his lips pulled out into a knowing smile.

“Come in, Loki.”

The prince did. He seemed agitated, almost embarrassed, and it was weird to see his face again, moving independent from Tony's own will. Wordlessly, Tony opened the blanket up to his side.

Loki climbed in.

Chapter 28: Day 18 - Let's Go Steal A...

Chapter Text

“You're sure this is safe?”

“Almost.”

“Right. Can I hold your hands, or will that distract you?”

Loki smiled at that, an amused little glint in his eyes that interrupted the look of worried seriousness he had had until now, and he held out his hands, palms facing up.

“I believe it might in fact help ground me. It's a good idea.”

“Yeah, that's totally why I'm suggesting it. I knew that.”

Despite the joke, Tony couldn't help a worried glance his lover's way, and he squeezed both his hands in his. Loki squeezed back comfortingly, and then took a deep breath that smoothed the worries out of his features.

“I'm looking for the spell,” he announced softly.

They were sitting directly on the ground of the living room, and between them, in front of Loki, sat a small bundle of herbs and assorted witchy things, including a small oak branch and a raven feather, arranged in what Tony vaguely recognised as the shape of a nordic rune. The sun was up and high, which kept the ritual from feeling overly Halloween-ish, but the atmosphere, nonetheless, was heavy.

“You can do it, babe,” he encouraged, a little too concerned himself to worry about sounding so lame.

Loki closed his eyes deliberately. Tony imagined he could feel the flow of his magic through their joined hands. Soon, the oak branch started to smoke ever so slightly, as if it was burning from the inside with an invisible fire. Tony scanned Loki's face for any sign of worry or distress, eager for the spell to end with no result.

Loki had told him of his idea very carefully, as if he had feared that Tony would try to stop him. He had done nothing of the sort, understanding Loki's concern, yes, but also perhaps why he wanted to do this without telling Thor. If he had known of this, Thor would no doubt have wanted to assist to the spellcasting, and this was delicate enough as was. That aside, Tony supposed that Loki wanted to be the first to witness what he would find, if anything.

He had explained it to Tony, how Odin's magic, strenghtened and bound by the ancient power of Asgard herself, had twisted and blurred the minds of the realm with his secrets. How, by the old king's will, Hela's very existence had been erased from memories, along with the violence of the old conquests.

How there was a chance that, perhaps, Odin had conveniently hidden more.

Loki knew more than anyone about the cruelty of his father's secrets. In a way, it felt fair, Tony supposed, that he would allow himself to investigate privately before he shared his discoveries, if any, with Thor.

In a way, really, the fact that Loki didn't even question having him here, by his side, as he dove into the possibility of other broken spells of Odin, was perhaps a proof of how much he trusted Tony.

Which was a nice sentiment, but Tony would only manage to appreciate it once the ritual was done with; for now, he just stared, anxiously, at the smoke rising from the small pagan bouquet of bones and herbs.

Because, to him, Loki had told him this, too: that there was a risk, however small, that he would hurt himself searching. Odin had told them the truth about Hela, unwrapping his spell by himself. Reaching for forgotten mists left in his own mind by the old king, there was a small chance Loki could break his own knowledge of himself or the world without meaning to, or something equally dangerous and unpredictable.

And in another way, the fact that Loki was willing to take the risk was another proof of just how much he feared, to the point of despair, discovering yet another betrayal from the one he had called father.

“There's something,” Loki spoke quietly, his eyebrows knitting themselves together. “Like a veil. I can...” He paused, for so long Tony thought he wouldn't finish, but eventually whispered: “I can look behind. It's big.”

“I'm here,” Tony reminded him, squeezing his hands, because for all his rising concern, being there was the only thing he could offer. His gaze travelled to the burning items. The smoke was rising straight and high like a column. “Whatever you see, I'm here.”

“I'm going to look,” Loki warned him, eyes shut.

And he must have. Because an instant later, his eyes opened wide, shocked beyond words by something invisible, and it was all the warning Tony was given before he crumbled into his arms screaming.

“Get some rest, honey.”

“You know I hate that nickname...”

“All the more reason to rest, so you can fight me about it later.”

Loki smiled, a very weak thing. Tony pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and the prince gave up trying to keep his eyes open, his head falling back into the pillow heavily, like it struggled to contain the weight of his newly found memories.

Tony made sure his lover was comfortably installed and had everything he might need within arm's reach -water, pain and migraine relief pills, music, an audio and a physical book, snacks. He had put together most of the kit even before the ritual, trying to be optimistic and to imagine that Loki might be tired rather than driven mad by what he saw. He had been relieved to find that his lover's mind was intact -but it was a comfort quickly erased by what Loki had found.

He left the room without a sound. Every quiet, measured movement cost him, when he wanted to shout like Loki had.

He had not been Iron Man for year by letting himself do as he felt, though, despite popular opinion. And this -this injustice, this horror- was the sort of thing that required him to be the unflinching hero he had built himself into.

He waited until he was in the living room again. There, he was certain Loki would not hear him.

“JARVIS,” he said, voice even, “I need Natasha, Clint and Steve here. Let them know it's urgent.”

“Yes, Sir,” the AI approved, sounding quiet and a little subdued, like he understood just how fragile Tony's strength actually was.

Tony's eyes landed on the burnt remains of the spell. Raven and oak and a stone painted like an eye -all ancient whispers of Odin's magic. His stomach churned, but his face betrayed nothing. He gathered the ritual's remains and angrily shoved them into a trashcan.

Natasha arrived first, quickly followed by Steve. Tony made them wait until Clint joined them, asking what was going on, to explain.

When he was done, his team's faces were frozen in various levels of shock.

“Okay,” Natasha said. Her fake, controlled voice was higher-pitched and more relaxed than normal, which told Tony all he needed to know about her opinion. “I suppose you have a plan?”

“I do. I don't need to tell you it could be a disaster, if we get caught.”

“Why isn't Thor here?” Steve asked, looking a little paler and stiffer than usual. “This is -this is about his family, and his kingdom.”

“Which is why I don't want him involved,” Tony replied. “Thor will be associated with our actions anyway, but I want him to have plausible deniability. This is one more proof that even with Odin gone, Asgard is f*cked up. We need Thor able to sit on the throne and fix this mess eventually, and that won't happen if he bursts in to kill the Council over this.”

“Sounds like a legit risk,” Clint agreed. He did not bother to try and look casual. His eyes had gone cold, the eyes of the Ronin more than those of Hawkeye, and Tony almost wondered if he had made a mistake in calling him over this. “I might be tempted, if we have some free time.”

“As much as I want to do some violent Avenging,” Tony said, “that's for Loki, and maybe, maybe Thor to decide. I'm doing this of my own volition, and if you're in, you too.”

“We're performing a heist,” Steve summarised, “in the royal castle of a city of gods.”

“Honestly, Cap, is that much scarier than Nazi Germany?”

“Well, even HYDRA didn't have flying hammers and magical teleportation,” the soldier said, but he managed a brief smile. “Not that it matters. Thisis more important. I'm in.”

“That's my Chaotic Good friend,” Tony cheered with what normality he could conjure, before turning his attention to Natasha.

“What?” She asked, arms crossed. “Of course I'm coming with.”

“Don't even ask,” Clint said before Tony could open his mouth. “Just tell me how we get there.”

“Right,” Tony said, and nodded, as if to confirm to himself that, yes, he was doing this. This and, no matter how much he wanted to, nothing else. “Well, then. Let's go steal a horse.”

In the first months of their relationship, Tony had, of course, asked Loki about the stories norse mythology carried about him. All in all, Loki had been oscillating between amusem*nt and outrage as he heard about the tales the humans had been telling about him. And then, of course, Tony had asked about the one story he had kept for last, looking forward to Loki's reaction.

“While we're on the topic of your junk and various animals,” he had said cheerfully, transitioning from the story of making one lady known as Skadi laugh (which Loki had completely denied), “you don't happen to have any horse kid that I should know about, do you?”

“Any... A horse?” Loki had repeated, and the amused grin he had had up to this point had faded slightly. “What?”

“An eight-legged horse,” Tony had clarified, barely containing his laughter at imagining just how scandalized Loki would be. “Legend has it, you turned into a mare and got close and personal with the stallion of a giant who just happened to be trying to mess with Asgard, so you heroically distracted his horse to save the day. Only, they say you miscalculated, and you ended up with a cute little spider-horse baby.”

Loki hadn't laughed. He hadn't shouted in horror or outrage, either. He had just frowned, looking at Tony as though he couldn't process what he had just said, and Tony's smile had hesitated.

“What? Don't tell me that's true,” he had prompted when Loki had just kept silent for too long.

“Odin had an eight-legged horse,” Loki had replied finally, shaking his head slightly. “Of course I'm not -I'm sorry, I just realize that I don't know how Sleipnir came to be. It's a bit odd, since Odin came to own him only a few centuries ago.”

“Well, you would probably remember giving birth to an eight-legged foal,” Tony had said, feeling something was a little odd. Loki should have been mad. Or amused. Or something. His confused frown was not the reaction he had been waiting for.

“Most probably,” Loki had agreed, and had managed a brief chuckle. “They really wrote anything at all about me, didn't they?”

“Yeah,” Tony had said, unable to shake off the feeling that there was something weird about this. But what could it be? It wasn't like Loki could actually have mothered a horse and not remember it. “So your father really had- what did you call him, Sleipnir?”

“Indeed. The fastest war-horse in all the realms,” Loki had confirmed. “I suppose he is still in the royal stables, with Odin gone. It is most likely Thor's horse now, unless some member of the Council decided to get his hand on it first. They're more scavengers than Odin's ravens themselves,” he had added with distaste. “He underestimated their greed and lust for power, in thinking they would give the throne up to Thor so easily.”

“So how will he take it? I mean the throne, not the horse. Though I guess it's part of the perks.”

“Either in a slow, legal process, full of attempts to make him fail or give up,” Loki had answered plainly, “or with a coup, I suppose, if he loses his patience. He's been attempting the first option for now.”

“I guess power is a messy thing, no matter where you are,” Tony had sighed, and then had raised his eyes to the ceiling thoughtfully. “Anyway, how does having extra legs make you go faster? Does he put all four front legs down at the same time?”

“This is the concern you take away from this conversation?”

“It's a concern I take away from this conversation. You know I can think of several things at the same time. I get that it might feel mundane to you, but an eight-legged horse is a topic that raises a few questions for me. Were his parents normal horses?”

“No,” had said Loki, and then he had shaken his head. “I mean -no, it doesn't feel mundane. I don't know why, I had -I almost forgot Sleipnir existed. It's odd.”

“You've got too much to think off,” Tony had offered, pecking a kiss onto Loki's lips. “Let's talk of something non-Asgard related, and you'll feel better.”

They had. And the topic had never come on again, and Tony had never thought more on the fact that Loki's mind seemed to slip around the notion of his father's horse. Why, after all, should it have mattered?

Admittedly, Tony had considered most of his plan without stopping on what he realized now was the most important point: whether or not Sleipnir would want to come along.

Now Steve, playing the part of an absolutely Asgardian man with a Brooklyn accent and Loki's borrowed clothes, had brought the attention of the stablehands to an accident in which Clint was playing the part of needing urgent care, while Natasha had assured him she would take care of the man of higher standing who seemed to be in charge of the stables that day. It left Tony with the part of sneaking in and sneaking back out with an eight-legged horse, somehow. Heimdall had promised to open the Bïfrost for them only if they were not pursued, for fear of what his association with the heist would do to Thor's hypothetical power, which meant he also had to be sneaky and quick about it.

Sleipnir, at least, was easy to find. Perhaps there was some paradoxal, ironical sort of respect for Odin that had trickled down to his mount if not to his sons; the stallion had a box the size of Tony's living room, cleaner and more sturdy-looking than the other horses, with his name painted above the door carefully. If the kid was as smart as Tony suspected, it was probably a small comfort.

He glanced over his shoulder and quickly moved toward the box. He was just tall enough to look over the box's door, and his breath caught in his throat when he did. Knowing that Sleipnir had eight legs and seeinga horse with eight legs were two entirely different things, and aside from that, the stallion was big. Even as he was when Tony first saw him, lying on the ground with too many legs folded up beneath him, he was a jaw-dropping sight, looking more like a being of myths than any Tony had yet met in his life.

Sleipnir had a dark grey robe, with paler spots toward his hindlegs, and a thick black mane of hair that was kept short and clean. Tony didn't know much about horses, but with the rumor of him being the fastest stallion there was, he had expected Loki's son to look like one of those thoroughbred Arabian, with thin but strong muscles. Instead, he found himself looking at a thick-limbed horse, the muscular body of which reminded him more of a plow horse, like those Belgian breeds that pulled heavy weights for contests. And yet, there was something very noble about the shape of his head, the stance of his body, something that didn't deny that, although powerful, there was nobility about him.

Grey, pointed ears twitched slightly toward him, and before Tony was ready, Sleipnir turned his head his way. Large, dark eyes bore into his with disturbing intelligence, and Tony could almost hear the questioning in his mind.

“Hey, Sleipnir,” he greeted him. “My name is Tony Stark, from Earth. Midgard, that is. I'm here to break you out.” A pause. “If you want me to?”

The horse's breath came out in a huff, surprising Tony with its loudness, and even though Sleipnir kept watching him attentively, Tony felt only a little nervous, and pretty stupid. He cleared out his throat and glanced over his shoulder.

“Right. Um, you see, I'm dating your Dad. Well, your Mom, actually. Loki? Yeah. And he just remembered -I mean, that sounds stupid, but he just broke the memory out of a spell that Odin placed to keep it a secret? He just found out that you're his kid. Did you... Know that? That Loki was your Mom?”

Sleipnir stared back, and Tony had the time to wonder if, perhaps, he had no idea what equine intelligence looked like, and this was how all horses stared, before the stallion slowly lowered his head in what could only be a deliberate movement, without looking away from Tony.

So they were getting somewhere.

“Well, Loki had no idea. From what I gather, the memory was completely blurred from his mind. He -he kinda freaked out when he found out, I'm not gonna lie to you. I mean, that's something big to discover years later, you know? But he wants to meet you. Again. He wants to... I think he might want to say sorry, not that this was actually his fault, but -that's between the two of you, I guess. And most importantly, he wants to break you the hell out of here, and possibly murder anyone who ever treated you badly.”

So why are you here?

It was only because Tony had had Loki playing that particular trick on him a few times in the past that he did not physically jump or scream in terror when he heard the unknown voice in his mind. Despite this, he did swear in surprise and took a step back.

It was a smooth, deep voice, accented with something that was neither human nor Asgardian, yet fully understandable. The words were even, 'spoken' with careful articulation, but careful still, almost suspicious. It sounded almost adult, but there was something in it that made Tony think of a much younger Loki.

And it took away any possible doubt that this being in front of him was a simple animal.

“Right -sorry, I somehow didn't expect to hear you so clearly,” he said, clearing his throat. “Why I'm here? Well, this is a rescue mission. My friends are creating a diversion, and the plan is to bring you back to Earth. I've actually purchased a giant ranch in Canada, with a lot of open space and nobody around, so you could get comfortable while we figure things out.”

Why, Sleipnir said again, and Tony startled again, not because he wasn't ready, but because there were feelings in that mental voice that he didn't know how to translate, and that broke his heart all the same, are you here?

Ah. That was a legit question.

“You mean, why isn't Loki here and not a complete stranger, uh?” Sleipnir didn't actually nod, but Tony could feel his silent approval. “Yeah, like I said. He freaked out.”

It sounded so mundane, like that, like a sorry excuse, and the kid didn't deserve that -didn't deserve to think that his parent was finding out about him only to send an associate to pick him up from school, or something, he corrected himself, realizing he was projecting a little too much. But how else to explain? How, when Loki and Sleipnir had almost never interacted, to tell the stallion about how Loki had broken down, practically howling with pain and laughter, at yet another lie about his life? How to translate the tears and the cries as Loki remembered thinking nothing of the horse of his father, and how he should have been able to tell something was off, the pained whispers of realizing that even now, his son was imprisoned, treated like a beast, used for its abilities without any thanks or love?

Sleipnir huffed again, and Tony thought he was being given the equine equivalent of a frown.

“Yeah. I know. There's a lot of catching up to do. On both sides. You both need that. Loki doesn't know I'm here, and you don't know Loki at all. I can't tell you everything about him or how he feels, andI can't ask you to be ready and willing to meet him like nothing happened. Which is why I bought a nice big piece of land for you. For now, step one is to get you free. Everything else, what you want and what Loki wants and how that meets in the middle, we'll see about that later, okay? For now, just tell me. Do you want to get out of Asgard?”

Yes, said Sleipnir's voice in his head, his answer clearer and faster than Tony had expected. More than anything.

“Okay. Then we're doing that.”

Tony had accepted a long time ago that you couldn't love someone to the point of healing everything about them that was hurt. It would have been nice, but it didn't work that way. The only thing you could do, sometimes, was being there, and figuring out what you could do.

Luckily, it there was a thing Tony Stark was good at, it was problem-solving.

Chapter 29: Day 22 - Spending a Day Together

Chapter Text

Out of them all, Tony hadn't expected that Steve would be the one to scream in terror, but it was true that Natasha was keeping silent as if she was doing this every week, and Clint was wooping in excitement.

As for himself, he couldn't have screamed in joy or fear if he had meant to.

Clinging to Sleipnir's mane, he had at first been hesitant to hold on too hard, lest he hurt the horse. Now he was holding on for dear life, feeling that he was only one bad turn away from being thrown of Sleipnir's back and lost to the endless void beneath the Bifröst.

They had been about to leave when Steve had burst in, announcing that they were almost out of time, and Sleipnir had seemed to decide for himself that he wasn't going to let this chance to leave Asgard go to waste. He had whinnied impatiently and showed Tony his back until he and Steve had understood and climbed on.

“We have two more friends,” Tony had warned hurriedly after unlatching the door and freeing the way out. “A lady with red hair and a guy with a little mohawk. Can you grab them?”

Sleipnir had rushed out of his box with such hurry that Tony had been certain that he was, indeed, the fastest horse in the world. Then they had grabbed Natasha and Clint from where they were, and Sleipnir had turned toward the Bifröst, and Tony had found out what they actually meant by that.

The world was just a blur of colors, as though he was racing in his favorite Bugatti with no red lights in sight, except he didn't have any wheel or pedal to control the ride, and with that state of being, he was forced to contemplate the fact that any crash would be entirely out of his control and would definitely kill him.

Sleipnir wasn't crashing, though; he ran and turned with the grace of a cheetah chasing an antelope, which was a weird analogy for a horse, his mighty muscles twisting under Tony's legs and the sound of his hooves deafening to his ears.

Only the change in that sound, turning from cavernous on the paved streets to an almost glassy echo, made him realize that they had reached the Rainbow Bridge. It was silly to have worried about being pursued; there was nobody in Asgard who could match that speed, and Tony was surprised not to have his neck snapped by the backlash when Sleipnir came to a halt in front of the Observatory, having crossed the Bifröst in less time than it had taken Tony to realize they were on it.

“I see you have been successful,” Heimdall remarked, sounding very calm.

That guy was kinda creeping Tony out, sounding always in control of everything, or at least unbothered by it. Nonetheless, he was on their side today, and if it was odd that he was in favor of letting Loki's son escape after saying nothing all these years, well, Tony wasn't about to complain.

“Well, back to Midgard, if you don't mind”, he said, after having swallowed and caught up his breath. The run had left him feeling cold and heavy, as if he had briefly gone to zero gravity and was now feeling his full weight for the first time. Which felt all the weirder, considering Sleipnir was breathing evenly, like this hadn't even been a little jog for him, even with four complete humans on his back.

“A good trip to you, my princes, my lords and lady,” Heimdall said with a small bow of his head.

It took Tony an instant to understand the plural of the title. Only the sudden iridescence of the Bifröst activating kept his blushing cheeks as he realized that, as Loki's lover and as his son, he and Sleipnir were, indeed, technically royals. Funny he hadn't thought of that until now.

With a blinding prism of light that still felt less dizzying than Sleipnir's run, they were actually back in the living room of Stark Tower. Tony startled, the sudden confinement of the room making it even more obvious how gigantic Sleipnir truly was; if he had reached up, he could have touched the ceiling. Behind him, he heard a 'bump' quickly followed by Steve going 'ow'. Sleipnir shifted, and Tony carefully patted his back.

“Sorry, big guy, I know this must feel a little cramped. Can you help me get down? I'll show you somewhere more comfortable.”

Sleipnir didn't reply, not with words, anyway; he did fold his legs down, bumping into the coffee table, and allowed his passengers to slide down. Natasha's hair was visibly messed up, Steve was rubbing his forehead painfully, and Clint looked like he had had the time of his life.

“That was amazing,” he told Sleipnir, and reached forward without hesitation to pat the horse's neck, stretching a little to look him in the eye. “Thank you for the ride, Sleipnir. Can I use that name, is that alright?”

He visibly startled then, and Tony suspected Sleipnir had answered him in his mind, which was probably a little more terrifying to Clint than to anyone else, all things considered. Still, the archer kept it together remarkably well, nodding and pulling his smile back up.

“Right, Sleipnir, then. Well, I know you're probably looking forward to seeing your new home and meeting your Mom properly, but I hope we can spend some time together, alright? If anyone's bothering you, ask for Hawkeye, and I'll be there before you know it.”

Tony had gone to Clint exactly for this, and still he was amazed by how natural the archer was at it. He had only needed to let him know about Sleipnir being kept hidden from Loki for Clint to visibly forget any possible resentment he might still have harbored toward the prince. Clint, Tony had learned with years, loved children. He could make them laugh in the middle of a battlefield, reassure them when their parents were nowhere to be seen. He could have one clinging to his arm and another one riding his back and jog in a funny way to distract them from the carnage around.

And he did not tolerate for people to hurt them. It didn't matter if they were five or twenty. If Clint saw them as kids, they were under his protection. And, Loki's blood or not, Sleipnir was a kid who had been mistreated by the very people who should have protected him. Hawkeye did not tolerate that.

Natasha wasn't as open about her feelings, and Tony could understand that. Still, he had been confident in asking for her help that she was not going to approve of someone's motherhood being forcibly taken away from their own memories.

As for Steve... Well, Tony hadn't been totally sure how Steve would react to the news that Loki was a mom. But whether it had bothered him or not, there had been one sure thing: Captain America did not tolerate enslavement, and there was hardly any other way to describe what was done to Sleipnir.

“So, like I said, I bought a place with a lot of outdoor space,” Tony said, when Sleipnir was done with saying his temporary goodbyes, seeming rather surprised and pleased to be talked to like an intelligent being. “It's a bit far away, but I figured you'd like it better. I can take you there -well, I guess, actually, you might be faster than if we were to take the car, but we'll see about that later. For now... Uh, do you want anything to drink? Or eat?”

Where's my mother? Sleipnir asked, quite directly.

His mental voice was so different from what Tony knew -it was hard to truly put an age on him, but if he had had to guess, he would have categorized Sleipnir as a young teen. Which, considering how Loki looked at most like he was thirty, was a bit disturbing, but, that wasn't even the starting point of how f*cked up that whole thing was, and that made Tony hesitate.

Upon telling him the truth, Loki had been hysterical. Tony could only guess that, yes, remembering a traumatic rape, the birth of your non-human offspring and the immediate betrayal of your father about it all was bad.

At first, some naive part of him had thought that maybe this lie from Odin had been benevolent, an effort to free Loki from what had happened with Svaðilfari. But even through his disconnected words, Loki had not been long to set the record sraight. Odin had immediately seen the potential of the young foal, and had argued that it would be better for everyone to pretend that Loki had nothing to do with it and to take it to the stables with the other horses. When Loki, horrified, yes, but not willing to throw away his own child, had refused categorically, Odin had taken the choice from him, as if he hadn't suffered enough of that already.

He had gone to Sleipnir with the intention of freeing him, first and foremost. What came next, he hadn't been entirely sure. Loki had seemed furious enough to have been deprived of the chance of knowing his child; it was still possible that meeting him now, after all these years, could make things worse. Heck, Tony had not been entirely sure that Sleipnir would want to meet Loki: what if he had been told that his mother simply didn't care for him? Now, with Sleipnir clearly eager to meet him, Tony was wondering if maybe he should have brought him directly to the ranch and spoken calmly with Loki first.

“Loki was resting when I left,” he told him honestly, if a little nervously. “I guess he needed a moment alone to absorb what he had just learned, you know?”

Odin lied, Sleipnir pointed out.

“Yeah. I guess he did a lot of that,” Tony winced. “To everyone. I'm sorry.”

But he's dead now. Why did my mother only ask after me now?

“Loki's been wanting to find out about Odin's possible lies for weeks. He's been... A little busy,” Tony offered. Again, memories of the excuses he had been given by the original Jarvis for his father's absences came to mind, and he squashed a bubbling feeling of guilt. Heck, he was telling the truth. “I don't know if you're aware, but the Asgardian Council has been trying to keep the throne from Thor -and from your Mom, for that matter. They're... Not good people.”

Tyr, Sleipnir said simply, with a small shake of his head, like he was chasing an irritating flight. He is an impatient rider.

“He's been using you?” Tony clarified, renewed anger rising in his chest. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry any of them have been doing that without actually asking about what you wanted. Did... Have you ever talked to anyone? Did you have visitors?”

Odin, Sleipnir replied, flatly, just told me to be quiet.

Tony clenched his jaws. He made himself nod, even though he wanted to shout. He turned his tongue in his mouth, swallowing back insults for the old bastard, and eventually just managed to croak out:

“Come with me. I'll bring you somewhere more comfortable, and then I can see if your Mom's awake.”

There was no way Sleipnir could have fit in the elevator, and Tony suspected he would have been too heavy for the lift anyway. They went down the service stairs, Tony explaining about how the Tower belonged to him, and how he belonged to Loki, so the Tower really was sort of belonging to Sleipnir too, now, if he wanted to think of it that way, and he talked about New York and cities versus countryside and the ranch he had purchased in Canada with its fields and its little lake and its nice big farm buildings, all the while helping the horse trot down the steps awkwardly, its many hooves struggling not to get caught. Finally, they emerged three floors down, and Tony guided Sleipnir into the main ballroom.

It had never actually held a ball, and Tony wasn't sure he had ever considered actually using it that way, but it had felt logical, when building the place, to include a place to have properly extravagant receptions. The room had high ceilings with giant speakers and more available lights than most concert arenas. There was a stage, a bar, benches along the walls with cushioned seats, small booths for private conversations; but most importantly, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire West side of the city. In the evening, the spectacle of lights reflected into the Hudson in a mesmerizing, postcard worthy view, and although it was now early afternoon, Tony thought it was as good an introduction as any to the city.

He looked back, and found Sleipnir waiting behind him, his eyes full of questions, but his many legs perfectly still. It came to Tony's mind that people wouldn't like their horse wandering around, and Sleipnir had probably been made to wait permission to go anywhere. It made him want to learn necromancy to punch Odin's one eye even more, but he kept himself from letting his rage show, and just gestured to the bay.

“You should take a look. This is something we have on Midgard that I'm told you guys don't, and so far, it hasn't disappointed. Your Mom love looking at it.”

Sleipnir trotted curiously over to the window. When he stopped, this time, there was no mistaking the startled amazement that had immobilized him.

Are there... humans... In all those places? He wondered in evident shock.

“There are. What do you think?”

How do they not walk over each other?

“Legit question. I guess we grow used to being careful. But I thought you might prefer something a little more roomy for all your legs, yeah?”

Sleipnir didn't answer, walking along the window to look around the landscape, his big black eyes wide as he tried to drink in the whole sight. Tony smiled, curiously noting the way Sleipnir's legs synchronised to avoid getting tangled together, and, as the horse was busy, brought his watch to his lips as discreetly as possible.

“J', is Loki awake?”

“He is, Sir."

“Okay.” He bit his lips. “Tell him, uh... Tell him I'll be up with him in a sec.”

“You'll get to tell him yourself, Sir,” JARVIS offered with what sounded like contained worry.

Tony only had the time to register that before he heard the footsteps. He turned around, stomach twisting as though he had been caught red-handed. Sleipnir turned around, too.

Loki walked into the ballroom and went still almost immediately. His eyes were red, his clothes wrinkled from having slept in them, and he didn't look ready for more shock thrown his way without a warning, staring at the grey horse nervously swishing its tail a few yards from him.

“Heeeey, love,” Tony started awkwardly. “You're awake already. Um, guess who I invited for supper?”

Loki didn't answer -didn't even look at him. He opened his mouth, half raising a hand as if he was going to point, then let it fall again.

“S-Sleipnir,” he said, his voice as unsteady as Tony had ever heard it.

Sleipnir didn't say anything, not that Tony could hear; he made a nervous little huffing sound, taking a small, multiple-hooves involved step forward before stopping again.

“Sleipnir,” Loki repeated, and he didn't run forward, like he did sometimes when Tony came home from a mission and he wanted to yell at him for not being careful enough and kiss him and heal him, no. Probably there wasn't time to waste like that. Instead, one instant, he stood at the door, and the next, a shimmer of green light became him, right next to his son.

He raised an arm like he was going to hug him, then froze, eyes wide and lips shaking with unspoken words.

“Sleipnir,” he managed again, finally, “Sleipnir, I'm so sorry. I never knew. How did you get here? How...”

It was Sleipnir's turn to move, and he shoved his large head into Loki's chest, whinnying in a way that sounded almost as nervous as his mother's voice. Loki's arms immediately closed around his neck, and Tony thought he heard a choked out sound that, from anyone else, would have been a sob, as Loki pressed his forehead to the horse's.

Tony breathed out. These two had a way of sharing their nervosity that was uncanny, he thought.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I'll leave you two to get reacquainted.”

He didn't get an answer, and although he couldn't teleport or run with supernatural speed, he didn't think they noticed him anyway.

The morning was beautiful and hot, almost unnaturally so for the season. Still, after riding Sleipnir's back all the way to Northern Quebec, Tony was concerned he was going to catch a cold. He also made a mental note that, next time, he should consider a biker helmet, because the speed the stallion reached on long distance running was definitely superior to that of a normal vehicle. For one thing, New York to Chibougamau was not supposed to be a one-hour trip.

Loki placed a comforting hand on his back as he helped him get down from his son's back, and he almost felt himself going back a normal temperature.

“Oh, thank God. No, I'm okay, it's fine,” he added with a smile as Sleipnir came to nuzzle at his shoulder curiously. “I'm just a fragile little human, that's all.”

“Don't joke about that,” Loki disapproved, and then turned to look around. “Oh, the leaves are just coming out here!”

They were. Tony had loved the way the colors popped in autumn, and Loki had visited most often in the winter to enjoy running in the snow with his son, but there was something very simple and lovely about this first spring they witnessed at the ranch. The sky was an almost surreal shade of blue with bright green shoots timidly blooming on the sleeping branches of the trees that surrounded the farm.

Sleipnir made a happy noise and ran a few meters, then came back toward them, and ran some more, stretching his legs with obvious delight. Loki followed closely, grinning with the sun on his beautiful face as if he hadn't been the one complaining about this weather an hour ago. Birds were chirping and singing high in the trees.

If Tony had been that kind of naive, sentimental fool, he would have thought that this was a good sign for the future.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed when Sleipnir came back to push him forward with his head. “I'm right behind you, kiddo, I only got two legs!”

You could use them faster, Sleipnir remarked cheerfully, and seemed to demonstrate by sprinting ahead and giving him the closest thing a horse had to a grin on his way back. Son of his mother, Tony thought.

“This way, boys,” Loki called, walking toward the converted barn and chuckling when Sleipnir ran ahead of him, and then came back to trot by his mother's side, head held high in pride, like he wanted all the squirrels and the birds in the forest to know that this particular two-legged being was his.

It was heartbreaking and it was endearing, no matter how much time passed, Tony thought, to watch Sleipnir caught between his eagerness to run, and his need to constantly make it back to their side, as if to make sure they were still there.

Perhaps the habit would never go away. Tony didn't plan to, either, so that was fine.

“Alright, I'm ready for that picnic,” he announced as they walked into the cool shade of the barn, where the world's most comfortable stables had been installed, complete with a nice, big mattress, giant brushes, and a screen the size of the wall activated purely by mind magic. That had been a true challenge to create, and Sleipnir hardly used it at all, but Tony still felt proud when he saw how happy his son was in the place, everytime they came back from the Tower to visit him -which was really half of the time.

He was one of only a handful of humans who came to this place. It was removed enough from the city that nobody passed by, and Tony had discreetly had the roads remodeled to discourage any visitors anyway. When Sleipnir felt like seeing people, he came to the Tower and enjoyed scratches from everyone. The rest of the time, he was safe and left in peace here, with only his few favorite mortals, his Mom, and his Uncle Thor ever coming along to run and play with him.

Tony had been concerned, if he was honest with himself, that having Loki's son would change their life together. He had been right, too. Now that they raised and cared for a horse son together, they were somehow even more intimate than before, and Tony? Tony felt more than ever in love with him.

“Right,” Loki said, spreading out a blanket on the ground beneath them, and pulling out a picnic basket -a real one, like in the vintage drawings, with a blanket and everything- from nowhere. “Well, there's a bit of a surprise in the lunch I packed.”

Oh, Mother, you didn't try to cook, did you? Sleipnir asked, folding his many legs together and pretending to wince away from the basket in fear. Tony grinned and gave him a high-hoof as Loki rolled his eyes.

“I did not. Steve Rogers did most of the cooking for me. I took care of the decorating,” he clarified as he pulled the boxes out of the basket: fruits and vegetables, sandwiches, boiled eggs, chicken... And a suspiciously large, elongated box he handed over with a grin.

“What's in there?”

“Open it,” Loki ordered. “With Sleipnir.”

So they did, Tony leaning over for the horse to see as he lifted the lid of the box. There were cupcakes inside, frosted with cared. Some of them were decorated with chocolate goats -big ones, and small ones.

“Um?” Tony asked.

“Eat up,” Loki said cheerfully. “I refuse to be the only one with a belly.”

“You don't have a...” It clicked. Tony froze. Sleipnir didn't. He jumped to his hooves and gave a delighted, high-pitched neigh. Tony opened wide eyes. “You're expecting a baby goat?!”

“What?” Loki paused in laughing and hugging his son to stare at him. “No, of course. It's a human baby. Why would it be a goat?”

“But the chocolate-”

“It's a metaphor. We're the big goats, and the baby is a baby goat."

“Of course,” Tony said, and the laugh escaped him like a hysterical, delighted sound, putting the box down to rush forward and join the group hug. “For God's sake, cupcakes, Loki? A cupcakes pregnancy announcement? That's so -so- normal-”

“I love you,” Loki announced, effectively shutting him up. Tony scoffed, disbelieving and happy, and leaned forward for a kiss.

“I love you, too. And you too, of course,” he added, wrapping an arm around Sleipnir's neck and grinning as the realization slowly hit him. “You're gonna be a big brother.”

I'm gonna be a big brother, Sleipnir agreed, and there was so much joy in him, Tony thought, at having even more of a family than he already did.

Chapter 30: Day 27 - Speaking Different Languages

Chapter Text

Tony wasn't used to having neighbors yet. Moving out of his father's house, he had actually been looking forward to living in an apartment building, with the constant noise of people coming and going about their own lives. It felt reassuring and exciting, like a proof that he was really out in the world and, consequently, away from his boring homelife.

Howard had looked disdainful and smug when Tony had announced his intention of renting his own place and getting a job. He had been so sure that Tony would be coming back begging for the luxury of a quiet home and the grand opportunity to study law or finance or something incredibly boring and follow in his father's footsteps. Three months later, he wondered if Howard was starting to doubt his flawless plan, as he should.

The job wasn't amazing, but Tony was proud of doing it by himself, and prouder for every pay that was deposited into his bank account, money he had earned with his own two hands. He worked in the laundry department of a nearby hotel, folding and carrying sheets and tableclothes all day long in a room full of machine hissing and warm steam. Most of his coworkers had had their job for twenty or thirty years and he was aware of being slower and more clumsy than any of them, but he was confident he was doing pretty good for himself.

As for the apartment, nobody had come knocking on his door to bring him homemade cookies after he had moved in, true, and even now, he only knew the names of a handful of his neighbors. He was still mostly content with the building he lived in: the hallways smelled of weed and the carpets were dirty, true, but he could hear the lady living downstairs singing in the afternoon and saw the kids from the first floor playing out in the parking almost everyday, and he liked how it made him feel. Between his shifts and his nights out with friends, he read science books he bought from the used bins at the local university and learned to cook painstakingly, and he had never felt more alive.

If there was one thing he was frustrated about, in this little routine he had built for himself, it was, in fact, his next-door neighbor.

Unlike some in the building, there was no label above his ringbell or even on his letterbox downstairs, so Tony didn't have a name for him. He had decided to call him Gerard Way mentally, because the kid -no more than twenty, Tony's own age- looked decidedly emo everytime Tony saw him, with black eyeliner and long black hair and -surprise- black clothing with occasional spikes and straps. If Tony was honest with himself, though, he had never actually been especially attracted to the singer, and his neighbor was, in fact, pretty hot.

Which was perhaps why Tony thought it was frustrating that any attempt he had made to say hi or introduce himself had been met with a decidedly cold shoulder so far.

Every time they had met in the hallway, Tony had greeted him, and every time, he had been ignored. Once, striking green eyes had looked at him as Tony waited expectantly for an answer. That was the closest they had been to exchanging.

And maybe Tony was petty, but because of that rude approach, he had stared to be unreasonably irritable to the noise this particular neighbor did. And it turned out that the Black Parade was, in fact, the most noisy person on this level.

Tony never heard him talking to anyone, which supposed he lived alone. But he did make a lot of noise, and Tony heard him moving things around, using his washing machine after dark, and sometimes grunting in an absolutely inappropriate way. Tony was at ninety percent sure that the latter happened when the neighbor was exercising, but it could also have been the noise of someone masturbating with a lot of enthusiasm, and either way, it felt like it shouldn't be audible from the hall, let alone from Tony's own room.

On that particular day, though, there was no possible ambiguity. Tony had started to notice the noise while climbing up the stairs, coming back from work, and it had grown to absolutely shameless volume when he had made it into the short hallway. And Tony didn't consider himself the most easy to embarrass, but either Loki was blasting p*rn at full volume, or -or that was his voice, and he was having a great evening.

Tony stood frozen in front of the door for several instants before he realized that he was actively listening. He quickly unlocked his own door and closed it behind him. The rythmic cries of pleasure were partially muffled, but at least he couldn't make out the sound of flesh slapping flesh anymore. He shivered unvoluntarily and gave an awkward laugh to his own empty living room.

“Wow, okay,” he told nobody.

He would almost have wanted for someone to be there to confirm the awkwardness of all this, and yet, he found himself with his mouth dry and something hot in his belly that made him glad he was all alone. Alright, he told himself. Alright, alright, alright.

Wait, was he sure those had been sex noises and not distress noises? Yes, of course. He would have noticed if this had been someone getting murdered. Actually, he could still hear it now, and, yeah, no, it didn't sound like the neighbor wanted this to stop. Quite the opposite, actually, although he clearly seemed too overwhelmed to make words.

Whew. So that was -that. How irritating. How shameless.

How awfully hot.

Maybe he ended that particular afternoon watching p*rn and chasing the high that his neighbor seemed to have reached so passionately. Maybe. At least, he didn't let the entire building know about it.

It was an isolated incident. Tony knew, because, maybe, he had been listening carefully. There weren't any more visitors than ever, either; most likely, his neighbor, like himself, was single, but inclined to welcoming occasional friends to his place.

It was about two weeks after the spontaneous vocal performance that he actually saw his neighbor again. Tony was locking the door, on his way to the grocery store, when the door facing his opened, and the dark-haired neighbor came out, carrying a recycling bin with, Tony noticed, a lot of empty boxes of fast-food.

Memories of what he had heard flooded his mind, of course, but he made himself act natural, and was confident he wasn't even blushing as he finished to lock his apartment.

“Good morning,” he said when he turned, as though he had just noticed the neighbor locking his own door. “Need me to hold that for you?”

No answer. The neighbor balanced his bin on one knee while turning the key in the lock. Hmph, Tony tought, pettily insulted. It was a wonder how this guy got laid.

“You know, I really don't want to be that kind of neighbor,” he said, prompted by something he couldn't entirely identify, “but I sometimes work late shifts, and I notice you're up pretty early. Do you think you could not use your smoothie machine before seven AM?”

The neighbor pocketed his key and grabbed the bin back in his two hands. Only as he turned did he seem to register that Tony was there, and he raised a perfect eyebrow at him. He was wearing red eyeshadow and snakefangs piercings, which should have made anyone look ridiculous, but somehow made him look very hot. So unfair.

“Hi,” he said, flatly, in lieu of answering, and then turned away.

That was so casually rude, Tony almost let him go with that, disbelieving. But this wasn't the first time the stranger just walked away while ignoring him perfectly, and Tony shook his head as he followed.

“Hey, I think I'm being reasonably not an asshole here. I'm not asking for so much. And the other day,” he decided to throw at the other guy's retreating back, “I mean, were you right behind the door? There are kids in the block, you know?”

Still no reaction, until Tony followed a few steps down the stairs, and then the other guy turned to look at him. He frowned, as if he had no idea what Tony was talking about.

“I don't think it was a big deal,” Tony clarified, feeling a little awkward. “But Mrs. Carter is babysitting her niece, and if she had been there, she would have heard.”

“Wait,” said the neighbor, looking moderately irritated.

He leaned down to put his bin on the ground, and reached for something in his pocket. Tony's mind had the time to race to imagining his own body being brought back to his father with multiple stab wounds for such a dumb matter before his neighbor pulled out... A notebook, with a pencil attached to it. He started to write something down and Tony blinked, wondering if the other guy was marking down his complaint, or if... If... Oh, shoot.

What about Mrs Carter?

You'll need to speak more slowly or I won't be able to read your lips.

Of course. The emo kid was deaf, which meant that Tony was being an asshole. No wonder his neighbor hadn't answered a word he had told him. And -the realization hit him like a slap to the face. He probably had no idea he had been so loud, and would indeed not be aware that Tony had heard his moaning and crying out in ecstasy.

This time, Tony was quite sure his cheeks did turn red.

“Oh, uh,” he said, and then licked his lips, overly aware of their movements. He made himself articulate the words more than ever since middle school oral presentations. “I meant... Your smoothie machine? You turn it on early sometimes. I don't really mind, but...” His words died down as the neighbor turned his eyes away from him and back to the notebook.

Noted.

Anything else?

Tony didn't know if there was any way that the other had actually understood all he had said. Could you actually learn to understand someone just from looking at their mouth? He knew theorically that it was possible, but... He shook his head, having absolutely no wish now to tell his neighbor the truth.

“No, I... I mean, yes,” he decided as a last minute thought. “My name is Tony. I'm happy to meet you.”

The goth kid squinted, as if Tony had done something incredibly suspicious, or maybe he was trying to figure out what the last words had been.

“Loki,” he said then, a little abruptly. His voice was rough, and now Tony understood why. He couldn't hear himself. Maybe he wasn't confident in it, because he wrote it down too:

My name is Loki.

Nice to meet you.

He had a terrible handwriting, Tony noted. He smiled, and Loki gave him a sharp nod, pocketed his notebook again, picked up his bin, and walked away. Tony waited just a few seconds to follow, not wanting to look like a creep. He guess having been an accidental jerk was enough.

The next time he met Loki, he was ready. He was coming home and Loki was going out, and when their eyes met, Tony did that little gesture like taking off a hat that was supposed to mean hello in ASL.

Loki hesitated, then gave a brief little nod. Tony considered it half a success. He lifted a finger to ask Loki to wait, and removed one of his backpack straps to reach inside the bag and pull out a notepad and a pen. Loki did wait, but he didn't look particularly excited.

I'm sorry for being weird last time. I had never realized you were deaf.

I've been learning a bit of ASL, so if you want to chat, I'll be trying to improve.

He showed the notebook to Loki, biting the inside of his cheek a little nervously as the other kid read his message. Was he being too much? He had told himself it would be better to address his neighbor's disability than to try to ignore it, but Loki didn't seem particularly happy about his efforts. Maybe, deaf or not, he was just one of those people who wasn't interested in having friendly relationships with the neighbors.

After a pause, Loki took out his own notebook from his pocket. He held it in his palm to scribble his answer. The delay was a little weird. When the answer came, it was scribbled a little impatiently.

I don't speak ASL. I speak norsk tegensprak.

Also, you don't have to write, I can read your lips just fine.

Have a good day.

Tony wasn't sure, but he thought Loki was probably messing with him when he walked away then, pretending to tip his hat Tony's way. Alright, so he hadn't imagined the awkwardness. What the heck was even norse tegen-spark?

Google kindly informed him it was Norwegian Sign Language, and that it was indeed completely different from American Sign Language, meaning his efforts to figure out thank you and goodbye and, as an hesitant concept, the whole floor can hear you banging, had been for nothing.

Visibly, Loki wasn't interested in Tony trying any further, either. The reasonable thing to do would be to walk away with what dignity those last exchanges had left him, and to give a polite wave if he ever met Loki again. Insisting any further would probably give some wrong idea, like that he was a serial killer who tried to befriend his future victims.

Except, too bad for Loki. He was the only other person on this floor who was Tony's age. He dressed funny and managed to make it look good. He seemed pretty lonely, but managed to have intimate guests over. He was clearly a weakling when it came to working out but did it anyway, and though he clearly didn't cook much, Tony's nose could attest that he baked like a god at least twice a week. Now, he had just learned that he spoke an incredibly obscure language from the other side of the world.

In other words, he was interesting, and Tony liked interesting people. He wanted to be friend with this weird guy.

Although, maybe learning NSL would be a little overkill.

He brought Loki cookies, because he had made too much and didn't want them to go to waste. His neighbor accepted them, but he never came over to bring back the box, and Tony had to do without one of his three sandwich boxes for work.

He locked himself out of the building and didn't let anyone else invite him inside. Loki looked suspicious when he opened the door for him, as if he wasn't entirely sure that Tony wasn't a criminal trying to sneak inside the property, even after Tony reminded him of his name.

He brought Loki a petition to sign, from his friend Steve, about keeping a kitten shelter open or some other cause that no normal human being could refuse. Loki signed it and pretended not to see Tony talking to ask him if he had ever had a pet and if he wanted one.

He came home once and saw Loki struggling to climb the stairs with a gently used coffee table that seemed a bit heavy for his twig frame. After glancing at his good looking butt and the thin abs that were revealed by his raised arms lifting the bottom of his t-shirt, Tony was delighted to grab one end and help him to his floor. Loki managed just fine from the door and wished him a good night.

He asked Loki if he was going to the 4^th of July neighborhood party and if he wanted someone to go with. Loki looked a little discouraged.

I'm not American.

“I know,” Tony shrugged, “but there's no need to be American to enjoy free barbecue, fireworks, and,” he waved the information sheet he had picked up, “giant cake decorated like the flag. Don't you want to grab one of those stars?”

I don't eat boxed cake mix.

“Hey, we don't know. It might be made by someone who actually knows how to mix flour and eggs together, unlike, well, me. And really, how long have you been in the country? You need to have a proper Freedom Day celebration.”

If I go with you, will you stop knocking on my door every two days?

So maybe he had been a little too insistant, too fast, Tony told himself, holding back a pout. Still, it was the best chance he would get to persuade Loki that he was actually an amazing person, when he wasn't being weird and babbling about kittens being the superior pet due to their chaotic cuteness. He agreed.

He picked Loki 'up' (from his door, facing his) at seven. His neighbor might not have been overly enthusiastic, but he had dressed the part: his eyes were darkened with tastefully smudged eyeliner, and he wore enough chains to be a repentant Christmas ghost. Together, they made their way to the park where the celebration was held.

Truth be told, Tony hadn't simply jumped on the occasion because he wanted to invite Loki somewhere. He was truly excited about enjoying the family-friendly party that the neighborhood had put together, with kids running everywhere with Spiderman and princesses face-painting and immigrants who were infinitely more enthusiastic than the senators and governors Howard insisted on visiting every year.

There were balloons everywhere, and the sky was a promising shade of blue, without a cloud in sight to ruin the possibility of fireworks. Loki looked around like it was the first time he made it to the park, but froze when Tony offered him a hand.

“So we don't get lost,” he smiled.

Loki shook his head no with a clearly unimpressed raise of his eyebrow. A kid staring at him nearly dropped his ice cream.

They moved around the party. There were stands from local businesses selling their goods: lots of food, mostly, but also a florist, an used books saleswoman with a selection of American-themed tomes, a few artists who offered landscapes or caricatures. Tony once had to maneuver Loki out of the way to keep overexcited kids from running in his legs, their shouts of delight going unheard by the Norwegian.

The music was loud, happy pop meant to keep everyone in a good mood, and Tony was surprised to find Loki knocking his fingers to a table in rhythm with the beat. When he asked about it, Loki gave him a little smirk: it looked smug, but it was the first Tony actually saw him smiling.

The bass is strong. I can feel it.

“So you enjoy music?”

Only the loud kind.

“I almost invited you to a concert last week and then congratulated myself on stopping before I did. I wish I had known.”

They moved through the party. Tony had no idea how Loki wasn't sweating under the hot sun -or indeed, how he had managed to stay so pale through the summer-, but the truth was that he was looking amazing. They stopped a a jewellry stand and Loki looked at some earrings; then Tony insisted on getting matching hennae tattoos, and insisted Loki chose. Perhaps surprisingly, they didn't end up with matching dicks, but instead with a lovely pattern of leaves and flowers on each of their hands.

The sun was starting to set, and Tony bought them food: heavily buttered corn for himself, barbecued hot-dogs for Loki, pop-corn and candies to share. They found a spot from where they could see kids playing with balloon sculpted swords, and Tony thought he actually saw Loki smiling at the scene.

“Do you guys celebrate your national holiday that way, in Norway?” He asked, when Loki's eyes paused on him for a second.

If so, I never attended.

“This is actually my first time, too,” Tony admitted, going to take a look around, then catching himself and turning back so Loki could follow his words on his lips. “This is fun, isn't it?”

It's certainly interesting.

“Come on, you're enjoying yourself. Say it.”

I won't. But it's true I haven't seen this much people in a while.

“Do you have a job? Or are you in school?”

Loki hesitated with his pen hovering over the paper. He briefly glanced at his new tattoo before finally scribbling a few words down. They were not what Tony expected.

Are you doing this because I'm deaf?

It was simultaneously shocking and not entirely unexpected. From the start, Loki had seemed suspicious of Tony's presence, let alone his continued invitations and visits. It had vaguely crossed Tony's mind that someone who didn't know him might think he was trying to overcompensate for Loki's disability -but he hadn't expected Loki to actually think as much.

“No,” he told him, and he tried to make his answer so steady that Loki would be able to read his sincerity on his face. “I'm doing this because I wanted someone to eat cake with, and you looked like someone I could be friend with.”

Do you think I have no friends? No job, no social life?

He didn't look exactly angry, but there was something sharp about his eyes that told Tony he had better be honest.

Luckily for them both, he had never been anything else.

“I don't think that. I'm curious about whether you do have those things, it's true. But this isn't a pity mission, if that's what you're thinking.”

I've given you absolutely no reason to seek out my friendship.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

“Yeah. You gave me a few hints. I just thought... You look a bit like a hedgehog. A hedgehog,” he repeated when Loki frowned. “Because you're spiky -kinda literally- and you push away people. But I don't think it necessarily means that you want to be lonely. It could mean that you're just careful in picking your friends, and I would have to prove myself. I might be completely wrong, but -I don't think I am.”

Loki stared until Tony started to feel uncomfortable. He ate his corn, probably covering his face in butter up to his nose.

Why would you care to prove yourself?

“Ah.” He licked his lips, a little embarrassed. “I don't know. I've kinda -started my life over, moving to this city. And I got a few friends, I'm good at making friends, but I thought there was something about you. I... Um, if I say something, are you going to strangle me with that chain?”

What would you be saying that would be so infuriating?

“You're so going to think I'm a creep.”

A creep?

“I think you're really hot.”

Loki stared some more. He didn't look particularly impressed. Tony put down his corn and wiped his face, feeling that it wasn't helping his point that he wasn't entirely a freak.

“Right. I think you're really hot. And, um -wow, this is gonna sound bad. I heard you-” he glanced at the kids around, and only mouthed the words, “having sex. And it's kinda been staying with me. And I'm not saying that I've been trying to become your friend because I'm hoping for anything to happen between us, don't get me wrong,” he added quickly. “But, uh, you sounded really, really hot enough for me to be intrigued. And then, from that point, I started noticing quirky things about you. Like how sassy you manage to be without ever actually talking.”

“I talk,” Loki said. He kept his small use of spoken words to a minimum, usually, which confirmed Tony's observation that he just really enjoyed messing with people.

“So, that's your answer. This isn't because you're deaf. It started because you're clearly the most exciting thing this city has ever seen, and it continued because I like a challenge and you're spiky. Did that make sense?”

You'll notice I didn't strangle you.

That was... An adequate answer, yes, although not quite a complete one. He raised an eyebrow. Loki just shrugged.

I don't sleep with my friends.

“That's fine,” Tony started. “Like I said, I'm not hoping-”

SO, Loki wrote in large letters as if to interrupt, and Tony dutifully shut up,

either you will have to impress me and become my boyfriend,

or it won't happen.

Tony stared at the notebook. He hadn't expected that kind of talk to happen with corn stuck in his teeth.

“Oh, wow. Uh, okay. So I'm still allowed to invite you to stuff, then?”

Loki smirked.

They bought glow-in-the-dark bracelets in red, white and blue -the colors of Norway, they agreed. They ate fried donuts, fried ice cream, fried chicken. They sat in the grass and watched the fireworks.

It was a very good first date. One of many to follow.

Maybe he should get ready to learn norse whatever.

Chapter 31: Day 24 - Common Enemy

Chapter Text

The whispers were deafening, echoing in the throne room as though the assembled crowd had been shouting. Still more people were pressing their way in, stretching their neck, following the rumor they had heard in the hallways and coming to check for themselves what couldn't be true: there was a Jötun right here in the throne room, demanding an audience with Odin.

“I understand that our people have had their differences, but I trust the laws of hospitality are binding to you, honorable Allfather.”

The Asgardian King looked supremely irritated, his one eye threatening more storm than his son's thunder. As for Thor himself, it had taken two other Aesir standing in his way and whispering hurriedly to stop him from interfering -and even now, he stood glowering at the foreigner, his famed hammer in hand.

Funnily enough, Loki didn't feel exactly intimidated. Somehow, he had imagined the God of Thunder would be taller.

“Why are you here, Son of Laufey?” Odin asked with a tone that could barely be considered formal, let alone polite.

Which meant that Loki's gambit had been right. Jötun or not, once he had managed to sneak in all the way to the throne room, Odin's honor demanded he welcomed and listened to his guest's demands.

At least, it demanded as much with all of Asgard watching.

“I am Loki,” he corrected the Allfather with a pleasant, easy tone. “My people know me as the greatest seiðrmaðr in Yggdrasil. I have travelled much and met many, Allfather, and some of them told me of your wisdom.”

It sounded respectful enough, if you didn't see the glint in Loki's eyes as he said it. Odin was in a good spot to be fully aware of the hidden double meaning of those words and Loki was pleased to see his fingers clenching on the armrests of his throne.

“Why then have you sought an audience with me, Loki of Jötunheim?”

“I come with a warning, and with a bargain,” Loki announced, his voice ringing clear and loud enough for all in the hall to hear it, and react to the audacity of his statement with more shocked whispers.

“Speak.”

“Here is my warning, Allfather. Malekith the Accursed wakes from his deep slumber. The elves of Svartalfheim are rising, and they seek the darkness your father once denied them.” He could hear some gasps behind him at that. Part of them were perhaps disbelief at the idea that the dark king was stirring; most likely, a majority of them were even more shocked by the nerve Loki had of speaking of Bor of Asgard as though Odin had not always been king. “Their magic has grown in their years of waiting. When they strike, Asgard will fall.”

“You would threaten?” Odin's one eye was burning with all the hatred his voice still carefully held at bay.

“I would warn,” Loki assured him with a barely-there smile. “I have heard many secrets, and seen by myself what I am speaking of. Even as we speak, Malekith's strengths are amassing power, preparing an attack Asgard is not ready to face.”

“Asgard is always ready,” Odin replied, and there was a general murmur of approval.

“Not this time, Allfather. The Dark Elves will not face your armies with blades and arrows. They have failed once, and will not do the same mistake again. Their witches and sorcerers are gathering, using dark rituals to make their seiðr stronger than anything you can imagine.”

Again, there were whispers, and Loki had expected the scoffs he could hear here and there from the assembled Aesir. They did not fear magic. They had forgotten that it was seiðr that protected their city and their crops, seiðr that brought them water and clean air. They had forgotten how powerful, how mighty magic was.

Odin looked at him with evident dislike. But he said nothing at first, for he remembered. He wasn't wise, no, but he wasn't entirely ignorant, entirely foolish enough to dismiss the sort of threat Loki spoke of. Good. Loki couldn't have worked with a complete imbecile.

“You seem to know much of Asgard's enemies,” Odin replied finally, with carefully spewed venom.

“Indeed,” said Loki, keeping his head high. “My magic is powerful, Allfather. In Jötunheim, I am known as the Mother-of-Wonders, the Speaker of Spells... The Sky-Walker. I have seen and heard much, and I can attest to what I am speaking of with great confidence.”

“If this were true,” Odin spoke, “whyever would a son of Laufey bring me warning of this danger?”

“I have no love for Asgard, true,” Loki shrugged with exagerated ease, for the people in the back to catch the movement. “But I know magic, Allfather. Better than anyone.” Better than you, he left unspoken, but his smile, only for the King and his entourage, said as much. “I can help.”

“At a price, I suppose,” the King didn't hide a sneer.

“At a price,” Loki agreed with a little bow, like a minstrel after arriving to the peak of a story. “I told you I was here with a warning and a bargain. I can offer you my own power.”

“You pretend that this attack would be too great for Asgard to face,” Odin said, “yet that your own magic would be sufficient to stop it?”

“I will tell you of my plan privately, Allfather. You know as well as I do that secrets win a war. But, yes. I believe that I can stop Malekith for you.”

“And your demands?”

“Simple,” Loki grinned. “I want a god for myself.”

Predictable outrage erupted behind him, but he only waited for Odin's own reaction. The King of Gods didn't actually seem as shocked by the idea as the rest of his people. He just looked like he was looking at the most despicable thing in the world.

“A God,” he repeated, commanding silence in the room, although there were still shocked whispers. “You demand to make a servant out of one of the Aesir?”

“Not a servant,” Loki corrected pleasantly. “A husband.”

“Father, we have heard enough!” Thor hissed from where he stood. “This Jötun is speaking nonsense and insulting us all with his blasphemous mockery!

“Your demand is outrageous, and your claim is not backed by anyone else,” Odin stated with clear displeasure. “You should count yourself lucky if you leave my halls alive, Son of Laufey. Have you anything else to say before I have you thrown out of this place?”

“You wouldn't break the laws of hospitality,” Loki argued innocently. “I will not force your hand, Allfather. I will leave today, if such is your wish. Yet when Malekith will come for Asgard, you might not be able to find me again.”

“We have no need of your help, Jötun scum,” someone shouted from the crowd.

Loki ignored him completely. His eyes were only on Odin. And Odin stared back, jaws clenched tightly as he lifted a hand to order silence.

“Do you have any proof of what you pretend threatens us?”

“I do. I'll give them to you privately.”

“Will you accept another prize?”

“No,” Loki replied easily.

“You want to marry an Aesir. Would you live in Asgard?”

“I would take my husband home, to Jötunheim.”

“Have you made a choice yet?”

“Father, you cannot be considering this!” Thor protested. “This is unacceptable in every way!”

“I demand Anthony, God of Change, as my husband,” Loki spoke, ignoring the prince.

All eyes turned to the young god, standing at a distance from the throne, and his eyes widened in shock. Loki didn't meet his eyes, all his attention turned to Odin, waiting for his reaction. A minute grin drew itself on his lips as he saw the clear hesitation in the god's one eye.

“If this threat comes,” Odin said, “and if you destroy it, then, and only then, will you have what you ask for. Until then, my hospitality has reached its limits. You will show me your proof and tell me how to ask for you, and then you will return to Jötunheim, not to return uninvited.”

Loki bowed deeply as whispers resonated all around the hall, shock and disbelief echoing from commoners to noblemen, warriors and gods looking from Odin to Loki and from Loki to Anthony. There was more than one in the hall to feel an unpleasant shiver running up their spine at the smile they saw on the Jötun's lips, feeling dizzyingly glad that they hadn't been the unexplainable choice of the ice predator. Odin stood and Loki followed him, a creature of red eyes and vicious victory walking after the King of Gods with the superiority of an equal. He didn't spare a glance at the one he had demanded as his prize.

Night had fallen over Asgard when Loki left the halls of Valhalla; he found his horse and rode away without being noticed, despite the activity around the castle. He hummed to himself a joyful tune, leaving the city behind, and paused only an hour away from Asgardia, when he neared a small river and a crooked tree. He tied his horse to the tree and started a fire, then sat down near the water and cast a line into the river.

He had caught half a dozen small fish and was grilling them over the flames when, at last, he heard a whistle sound from the darkness. He whistled back, a cheerful, springbird melody.

The hooded figure came out of the shadow, bringing his own horse forward. His red cape seemed like an extension of the fire, his eyes reflecting the flames with a sparkle of mad genius.

“It worked,” he said simply.

“Of course it did. Did you expect any less from me?”

“I expected anything from Odin,” Anthony replied, and tied his own horse next to Loki's. “I was sure for an instant he was going to have you arrested.”

“But he didn't,” Loki replied with a glint in his eye. “And now you'll be mine.”

“Do you know, I already had half a dozen concerned warriors offering me their blade to fight you off?”

“You don't want any blade but my own.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“I always chose my words carefully, Anthony. You know as much.”

The god laughed, and in the blink of an eye, he fell to his knees in the grass and threw his arms around Loki's shoulders. Their kiss was quick to sending Loki on his back, a sound that was half a chuckle and half a moan on his lips.

“Now you only need to impersonate a dead leader and his army,” Anthony said, out of breath. “And defeat them in a flashy enough way that there's no denying you your victory.”

“And you will be helpless,” Loki added with delight, “bound to accept Odin's bargain. What a bastard.”

“It's convenient. I'll take it.”

Yes. It was a good bargain. Loki certainly agreed, and he twisted his hips, switching their position to have yet another taste of the prize he had already won.

Chapter 32: Day 25 - "I don't want to talk about it"

Chapter Text

“I don't want to talk about it."

“Too bad, because I think we need to.”

Loki pressed his lips together and looked away, clearly uncomfortable. Tony reached a hand toward him and the prince slapped it back, a rare display of nervous violence. Tony frowned and Loki had the sense to look embarrassed.

Then again, he looked like he wished he could have turned invisible since Tony had walked in. Considering he could turn invisible, his sour face was probably to be interpreted as frustration for having been too slow. The silence was thick and unpleasant.

“Let me see,” Tony demanded.

“No.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“It's nothing.”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

“Please go away, Anthony.”

“Won't do. Let me see, Loki.”

Their gaze held and a quiet battle of contained anger and despair raged; then Loki breathed out, and shouldered off the coat he had hurriedly put on when Tony had walked in. Not fast enough.

Tony was quiet. Loki had folded his arms around his middle, in an attempt at nonchalance that didn't work in the slightest, seeing how he was also clearly trying to hide the worst of the pattern of bruises that covered most of him.

It wasn't the first time Tony saw Loki with bruises. Sometimes, what felt like a lifetime ago, he had expressed concern about them and Loki had laughed it off or pretended to complain dramatically about a fall from his horse until Tony himself had been distracted by his amusem*nt. These days, Tony didn't laugh anymore, nor did he let his attention be diverted so easily.

These days, he worried. And now he knew he had reasons to.

Despite Loki's attempt at hiding his midsection, it would have been impossible to miss the dark contusions that ran down his ribs and covered most of his abdomen in a grotesque red and purple painting. Tony had a sick certainty that there were more of the bruises trailing down Loki's hips and in his back.

He didn't reach forward again, although his hands itched to do just that. Loki looked like he might jump or maybe bite, like a cornered animal staying still while calculating its chances at escaping. It wouldn't do to be too rough.

It didn't help that Tony felt like getting into a fight of his own.

“Loki,” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, “what happened?”

“As I said,” the prince said, with faux detachment, “I don't want to talk about it.”

“So what? I just walk away, pretend I didn't see anything?”

“I would like that, yes.”

“Well, sorry not to be doing what you would like,” Tony replied, trying hard to rein in his anger, “but my boyfriend got beat up and decided to keep it a secret, so I'm a bit concerned.”

“I didn't get beat up,” Loki said through clenched teeth, “and this isn't a secret. I saw no reason to bother you about it, is all.”

“If it's not a secret, then I'm all ears.”

“Don't use that tone on me, Anthony, please.”

“In what universe is that not beat up?!”

He gestured impatiently to Loki's body and the dark, soft-looking skin of his ribs and stomach, and his lover flinched back. His anger mixed in with regret and worry, and he crossed the distance between them with a step, letting himself fall to his knees in front of the bed where Loki sat.

“I hurt them too,” Loki said. It sounded like he was trying to make that sound either casual or like bragging, but it mostly sounded miserable.

“Them,” Tony repeated. He searched Loki's eyes, in vain. “Loki, love. Come on.”

“I do not,” Loki repeated, very softly, “want to talk about it, Anthony.”

“Why?”

“Why can't you leave it at that?”

“How would you react if you found me in that state?”

“This is really not so bad.”

“Is that what you would say? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't care if you found me beaten black and blue and refusing to admit it?”

Loki briefly met his eye before casting his gaze down. He did not reply, but his hand found Tony's and squeezed it with unusual delicateness, as if he wasn't sure he could. Tony squeezed back, his heart in pieces.

His prince -his Loki- had always been a man of secrets. Ever since their first meeting, it had fascinated Tony, the certainty that for every thing that Loki said, he might have meant the perfect opposite, yet left his audience none the wiser. Between his mischiefs and his doubts, Loki buried his true self beneath layers upon layers of secrets. Heck, they were a secret, as nobody in court could know that his lover was dating a commoner, let alone another man.

But from the start, Tony had been able to tell when Loki was hiding something from him. It had been, he believed, why Loki had taken an interest in him in return in the first place. And Tony had always been rewarded with truths of his prince's lies and omissions.

That his Loki felt like he couldn't trust him with this, somehow, was almost as bad as the worry of finding him in this state.

“My Loki,” he tried again, very softly.

“Thor cannot find out,” Loki said, and audibly swallowed before adding, even more quietly: “My Father cannot find out.”

“Have I ever betrayed you?”

“I fear not your betrayal. I fear what you would do out of love and rage.”

And rightfully so, Tony thought, but didn't say. He reached his second hand to Loki's, and was grateful when his prince unfolded his second arm from his abdomen to take it, even if, doing so, he allowed him to see the extent of his injuries. Norns, was this even just bruising? How could he tell if someone inside was gravely damaged?

“You may not trust my rage,” he spoke quietly, “but trust my love. Let me at least help you with this.”

Loki only hesitated for a small instant before he nodded. He indicated to Tony the location of a soothing balm he had been about to seek when Tony had arrived, and, soon enough, he was lying on his stomach with Tony kneeling over his body.

“You know, I prefer when we do this for sexy reasons,” the smith joked, and was glad to seeing Loki relax in however small a laughter.

He stared to rub a generous amount of the balm on Loki's ribs and the curve of his back. The smell of mint and camphor was comforting, promising warmth and soothing, yet Tony was glad that Loki didn't see his face as he discovered the full extent of the violet and red marks.

“When did this happen, Loki?” He questioned as gently as he could.

“Yesterday,” the prince answered without resistance, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

It looked bad enough as was, but it might still worsen in appearance, then. Tony bit his tongue. He knew Loki would not tolerate the suggestion of going to Eir for medical care, as the goddess would be bound to share her discovery with Odin, but it felt like a stretch to trust Loki's healing.

“Turn over,” he asked him, trying to rein in his anxiety.

Loki did, somewhat awkwardly, his muscles evidently even more sore than Tony could guess. Wordlessly, he started to rub the balm into his tense, warm flesh, grateful for the opportunity to at least feel like he was helping.

When he was done, he screwed the lid back onto the balm container, stretched to place it on the bedside table, and laid down next to Loki. He felt the prince relaxing against him, either from the warming and cooling effect of the balm or from the diminished position, perhaps making him feel like Tony was done with the interrogation.

He wasn't. The last thing he wanted was to distress his prince, but he wasn't done.

“Loki,” he said softly, “please, tell me what happened. Not a word of it shall pass my lips, you know as much.”

There was silence, for so long that he had time to wonder if this was how Loki had chosen to deal with his questions. Then the prince shifted, very carefully, to come to rest on his side, facing him. He only needed a glance to have Tony opening his arms and snuggled against his chest. Tony was hesitant to hugging him, not wanting to hurt him any further, but he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

A minute more went by, and then Loki breathed out a little shakily.

“There's nothing much to say about it,” he said, almost a whisper.

“Someone did this to you, Loki.”

“Soldiers.”

Tony made himself say nothing, but his hands turned into fists behind Loki's back.

“They insulted me,” Loki started again, after presumably gathering the will to continue. “Asked me if I was enough of a man to make me take back their word.”

“How many were they?”

“Six, I think.”

Tony closed his eyes. The Aesir were a people of honor; the royal family were bound by it in a myriad of way, their every words equal to an oath. If a free man insulted them, they were bound to demand reparation, and, if it was refused, to bring the insulting party to their knees.

That was theory. Tony didn't know that anyone had been stupid enough to ever insult the Allfather to his face, and Thor would have only waited for the opportunity to smite an offending fool of that sort with his thunder.

But he could see it. Because his beloved prince was clever and proud and funny and beautiful; because he was different, like a fox amongst wolves, like a magpie amongst ravens. He was a rare, amazing thing, but there were imbeciles who could only ever see difference as a wrong to be righted.

Loki was good in combat -it had been trained into him through centuries of classes. He could kill a man in a thousand ways, and his magic made him even stronger. But the laws of holmgang demanded he didn't use seiðr, and the sons of wolves who had insulted him had known as much.

They had probably known, too, that Loki was perfectly aware of all this. That he was scared, another secret, that his beloved family was ashamed of him. That Loki, although he could ask for as many allies in a fight of honor as there were enemies, would not want to bring this humiliation to the attention of his golden family.

“You fought them all alone,” he said, feeling defeated. It wasn't a question.

“They didn't kill me,” said Loki, his face buried somewhere in Tony's chest. “By law, they did nothing wrong. By law, their words have been proven true.”

What their words had been, Tony could only guess. They might have called Loki an effeminate, or argr, or even nidhing. They might have done even worse, and spoken against the royal family itself, knowing that, if Loki failed to defeat them, he would have to carry that shame with him forever. Something told Tony it might have been the latter.

They had been cruelly clever, too. Loki's face, his arms, were free of visible injuries. The King and the Queen and the Crown Prince would not notice, not unless Loki went to them to complain, proving he wasn't enough of a man to face the laws of the Aesir. They had thought this through.

“I want their names.”

“The duel is over, Tony. Any vengeance exacted after this will be a crime on my part.”

“As if they would be able to link it back to you, or me.”

Loki smiled weakly against his shoulder, but he didn't answer. Tony was fuming, but he forced himself to calm, stroking his lover's dark hair with the desperate fury of knowing he was one of too few to recognise his wonders for what they were.

“These are old, stupid, senseless laws,” he told him when it became clear Loki wouldn't give him his answer. “If we were still living by them, we would be little more than barbarians barely mastering fire. A bunch of poisonous traitors using them proves nothing. You know as much, don't you?”

“Mh,” said Loki, and he didn't sound convinced. Tony had feared about something like that.

“I love you. And I believe that you are better than any of them, better than any of us. Can you at least trust that?”

“Perhaps,” Loki whispered.

It would have to do, for today, Tony told himself, his heart heavy and bitter.

But all of Hel's wolves come out and chase him, if he didn't find a way to avenge this injustice.

Chapter 33: Day 14 - We have no choice

Chapter Text

Wide blue eyes were staring at Loki. A white plume of airy fluffiness rhythmically stroked his wrist as he held the creature at arm's length.

“You can't tell it no,” Tony argued, as if that was the most self-evident thing.

“Let's try it. No.”

The creature stared some more, unaffected by Loki's most stern refusal. It blinked slowly at him, as if to prove that he didn't feel threatened by the dry answer. Loki scoffed, mildly offended.

The creature had been handed to Tony without a warning. They had been at a fundraiser of some sort, and honestly, Loki hadn't known until then that the association they were collecting money for had anything to do with Midgardian fauna of any kind. It wasn't that he didn't care at all about his Anthony's many charity projects; it was more that it was hard to keep track of them all, and also he would have preferred to be home with a book.

A young, blond Midgardian woman had given a typical speech of gratitude, expressing her joy at the fact that a being such as Tony Stark found time and love within himself to take care of her cause, and how hopeful it made her for its future. She had then announced a special kind of thank you for the generous donation, and Loki had expected a medal, a city key or another of those trinkets that Tony usually forgot in the living room as soon as the evening was over.

Instead, they had gotten -this.

Its white fur had already irrevocably claimed Tony's dark suit, and most of Loki's as well, despite the fact that he had not stooped so low as to hold the little thing to his chest, unlike Tony.

“Come on,” his lover scoffed, “we have no choice. He's a gift!”

“Then you can give him back.”

“Are you kidding? You can't tell me I married a man who doesn't love kittens.”

“Is that what this is?”

“It's a cat, Loki. You can't tell me you don't have cats in Asgard?”

“Not like this thing,” Loki assured him.

And indeed, though he supposed he could translate the name to represent something like Freyja's pack of felines, there was no possible association between this incredibly fluffy, tiny little thing and the vicious predators of the goddess.

As if to prove his point, the small... kitten made a noise then, like the smallest of squeaky meowls, and, visibly disinterested with staring at Loki, curled up its hind legs to its belly to start pawing very softly and uselessly at his hands.

“He's my gift, anyway, and I declare that we're keeping him,” Tony announced very seriously. “Come on, give him back!”

Loki obliged. The animal immediately found itself lodged in Tony's elbow, big eyes staring up. He did the tiny mew again.

“We're always busy. We can't take care of an animal,” Loki attempted to reason him, still a little disbelieving.

“We'll figure it out. Come on, babe, don't tell me you don't find it cute!”

Loki supposed he did -sort of. The creature was alien-looking and confusing and entirely new, but he could imagine falling for it, soon enough, if Tony kept mewing back at it like an absolute imbecile. Although-

“Do they always lose so much hair?”

“We'll have to deal with it,” Tony said cheerfully.

Right. It would take some getting used to.

Chapter 34: Day 20 - Roadside Medicine

Chapter Text

Somehow, he had never imagined Loki could get injured.

Tony could recognise how incredibly stupid it had been. It was one of the first few things a warrior was taught, that nobody was invincible, not even amongst Asgard's golden army. He had never gone to war without being aware that there was a chance that he would not come back, or that one of his friends would fall to the enemy's blades.

And yet, he had never imagined it happening to Loki.

Maybe it was because he had never bested the prince in combat, no matter how he had tried. Maybe, simply, because Loki simply gave off that impression of never being afraid of anything. Maybe it was because he had his magic, which effectively kept him a step ahead of any adversary.

No matter what, it kept him staring dumbly and uselessly, not twenty paces away from the scene. One instant, he was wondering what sort of trick Loki was playing on his enemy, to pretend to stumble backward; the next, just as confusedly, he looked as the bloody sword blade drove out of Loki's back.

He screamed with one second of delay, ran forward too late. Loki's foe, sword in hand, turned to him instead of finishing him. Surprise was the last expression that ever crossed his face as Tony slashed at his throat with one, then his second short blade and shoved his body back.

Loki was still standing, but he was hunched and his feet unsteady, in a way so different from his usual easy grace. Tony saw in his eyes the same startled disbelief he felt.

Then it turned to twisted pain, and Loki fell to his knees.

Tony turned livid.

“THOR!” He screamed to the skies, with all the strength of his lungs. “FANDRAL!”

He barely guarded his own back, rushing to his prince's side and falling to his own knees in a hurried effort to support him before he could fall face first into the dirt. Loki's hands closed around his middle, then let go just as quickly, and the sight of his hands covered in blood turned Tony's blood to ice.

“THOR!” He yelled again, turning around and seeking the scarlet cape of the prince on the battlefield.

“I'm okay,” Loki's voice assured him, and the prince looked startled still when he looked at him. “I- I just misstepped.”

Tony blinked. For an instant, relief flooded him and he almost believed that Loki knew what he was saying. Then he saw the massive stain of blood that was soaking Loki's tunic, underneath his armor, and running down his pants in an actual river. Loki wasn't looking at it. He was staring at the fallen elf warrior, looking too shocked to process what had just happened.

Thunder roared and the ground shifted slightly beneath his knees. Around them, a dozen elves fell to the ground, fried by a bolt of lightning, and Tony didn't even spare them a glance. He looked up at Thor with wide, frantic eyes, and found the prince blanching.

“What happened? Loki?” He asked, stopping in his tracks when he saw the state of his wound. “Hel, no.”

“We need a medic now,” Tony interrupted.

“We left them way back,” a hoarse female voice interrupted. Sif looked from Loki's side to his face and her jaws clenched. “I don't think we have the time to get one of them here, Thor.”

“Well get running,” the prince hissed at her, “and bring back the first one you see! We need healing stones immediately!”

She stood frozen for an instant, and Tony didn't bother to check if she was shocked to be given an order by her friend, or if she actually felt the same kind of urge to deny what was happening as Tony himself. Either way, he quickly heard her running off and tried to breath out and tell himself that she would be fast enough.

The blood was staining the ground around Loki's knees already. The prince was staring down.

“You need to lie down, brother,” Thor ordered, his voice rough with worry.

“Vitleysa,” Loki said.

“I agree,” Tony said, his heart beating furiously. “But let me take a look, okay?”

“No,” Loki actually protested, brows creasing. “The battle is not yet over. Only one of you should -should stay with me until the healer arrives. Our troops need...”

He never got to saying what the troops needed. Suddenly, his face twisted into horror and only Tony's hands kept him upright. His breath went ragged, and he reached again for his side, wild pain written on his features.

“I'm going to die,” he gasped suddenly.

“No you won't,” Tony bit back, heart beating furiously, and he grabbed Loki's hand at the heel, finding it wet with slippery blood. “Shut up and lie down.”

“How dare you,” Loki managed, but then he screamed as Tony guided him to lying on his intact side, and he rushed to brace his weight underneath him with his hands.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?” Thor asked him, eyes wide.

“Barely,” Tony admitted. “Guard us, Thor. Where in the Nine is Fandral?!”

He took out one of his swords and slashed at the torn piece of Loki's leather coat. The green of his tunic was already turned brown when he lifted it and Loki gasped as the fabric pulled ever so slightly at his flesh, menacing to tear it apart further.

Tony could hardly think. This was bad. Out of them all, only Fandral knew anything about the healing arts, and Tony had only ever seen him make a splint or hold infection at bay. What he was looking at was way beyond that. A healing stone would only give them a few minutes, and he shivered at the thought of what the Bifröst might do to Loki. They needed help, but by the time it came, they might be too late. Loki was losing so much blood.

The sword had come in under his ribs and out just above his hips. The thin elvish blade, sharp with the secret of Alfheim steel, had sliced its way out of Loki's side, leaving a grotesque opening in his flesh as in carved meat. The image was unreal, almost difficult to believe, and stopped his breath in his chest.

He tried to think rationally. What organs were there in that corner? He would have known if the intestines had been cut, but what about the liver or the kidneys? Even so, what was he to do? The most important thing seemed to be stopping the blood, but it wasn't like he could will the wound to close itself-

“Tony?” Loki said.

It didn't register at first, because it worried him enough to hear Loki's voice coming out so worried and weak. Then it hit him that he had never heard the nickname from the prince, and despite himself, he took his eyes off the wound to look up at Loki's face. He looked very pale. Tony had no idea if it was from blood loss or shock. His eyes were blown wide and dark, staring right at him and making something in him twist.

“I'm here,” he said, feeling it was something especially useless to say when his being here was not helping in any way.

“Tony,” Loki repeated, and then he gritted his teeth as a small movement must have bothered the wound. He swore again and Tony swore with him.

“Where the f*ck is Fandral?!”

Thor didn't answer; a few elves had neared, perhaps sensing that one of their most fierce opponent had been weakened. Thor was fighting them especially brutally, with no patience nor pleasure, constantly looking at them over his shoulder.

He needed to do something. There was no time to pray, and Tony had never believed the world to be kind enough to listen to anyone begging, so he just breathed in and reached out. Loki howled and writhed when Tony closed his hands around his wound, pushing at the torn flesh to hold it together and will the blood to stop; he lost his grip because of the blood and trashing, cursed, tried again. Loki gritted his teeth, hands searching for purpose in the grass.

“I'm sorry,” Tony said. “It's gonna be okay, Loki.”

“I can't die like this,” Loki rasped. “This is so stupid- ah-!”

“You won't die,” Tony hissed. “You're too stubborn for that, come on. What's a little cut gonna do against you? Uh?”

Loki whimpered, teeth showing, and he made an aborted move to push Tony's hands away before instead grabbing at the gorget of his own armor to control himself.

“Where,” he breathed out, “is that medic staying?”

“Coming,” Tony assured him, although he had no idea if that was true. “You just need to hold on, okay? Think of the badass scar you'll be bringing home.”

“I don't want stupid scars. I'm not... I'm not Thor!”

“You're my brother,” Thor said, and Tony wasn't sure how it answered to Loki's agitated retort, but he had a feeling it was the best the prince could muster to try to comfort his bleeding brother, seeing how agitated he seemed. The elves had stopped coming, but he was scanning their surroundings for another threat -or for the healer- with worried eyes.

“It's okay,” Tony offered, seeing the veins standing out on Loki's neck. “You can scream, you can shout, you can squeeze my arm, how about that? Here,” he encouraged him, taking his hand to his wrist. Loki immediately closed his fingers around it in a death grip, and the pain was almost a relief, a proof that there was still furious strength in that body. “That's right, you hold on.”

“FANDRAL!” Thor roared suddenly. “Here! Hurry!”

Relief washed over Tony as the blue and silver clad figure hurried to his side. Fandral cursed, but he didn't look like he was about to perform a miracle. Loki squinted at the blond in what might have been an effort not to scream or general dislike, Tony wasn't sure.

“You will fix him until we can get him to Eir,” Thor commanded. He sounded decidedly more royal and entitled when he was worried, Tony decided, but he was inclined to not minding at the moment.

“I can't do more than what Tony's doing,” Fandral said, shaking his head and looking at Thor in worry. “We need a true healer and we need one now. That's too much blood.”

“Don't you have any healing stones?!” Thor hissed. “Not even a spell?!”

“Hey, Loki's the witch, not me,” Fandral defended himself, but he didn't look so much offended as concerned. “I can't fix something like this!”

“I'm not a witch,” Loki groaned with clear displeasure, before he tried to bury his face in his own shoulder and seemed to muffle a scream there.

“I'll get that healer myself,” Thor snapped. “You protect them!”

It was crazy, Tony thought as Thor used Mjölnir to fly away, how quickly things unraveled. How disasters happened at a moment's notice, and despite knowing their whole life that it could strike, they had never prepared for it. What would it have cost to carry healing stones with them? Why had Loki taken a wrong step, he who was ever so graceful? Why had Tony been too slow to stop it?

“It's okay,” he repeated to Loki, even as he held harder to the wound and Loki hissed. “Loki, listen to me. It's gonna be okay.”

“You don't know that,” Loki accused him, eyes tightly shut.

He didn't, true.

“No, I do. If this were me or Fandral or even Thor, I wouldn't be so sure. But you're Loki. You could convince the sun not to rise in the morning if you put your mind to it,” he said, voice rising to cover Loki's whimper. “You're not going to tell me that you can't convince yourself to wait for a healer to get here, Loki. That's not like you.”

“I despise you,” Loki told him.

“Yeah,” Tony said, and made himself smile, although Loki didn't see him. “You despise all of us because we're loud idiots who can't eat without making a mess or drink without turning into one. Whatever would we do without you to keep an eye on us?”

Loki's jaws clenched further, his hand crushing Tony's wrist to the point of making his hand feel numb. He considered the possibility that he was actually making things worse by trying to distract him, but then, after a pause, during which Fandral glanced back at them in worry, Loki made a sound like a cat spitting, that turned out to be a messed up laugh.

“You're the worst mess,” he approved finally, voice rough.

“That's right, I'm the worst,” Tony agreed wholeheartedly. “I've got more style than Fandral and I can outdrink Volstagg, how amazing is that? It's a wonder you never got rid of me yet.”

“Tony.”

He waited, but Loki had shut his eyes, and he wasn't saying anything else, as though his name had been a full sentence. His silence was unnerving, and Tony made himself focus on the shivers and tension of his body to keep himself from panicking. Where was Thor?

“I know you and Sif go way back, as far as hating each other in a friendly way goes,” he continued, just to fill the silence, “but I think I have to be more irritating than she is. I work hard on that.”

“You are annoying,” Fandral chipped in, perhaps needing the feel of conversation to comfort himself, too.

“Tony,” Loki repeated, and this time, he hissed out a breath and kept going. “I don't hate you.”

That was -it was, weirdly, shocking. From Loki, it could mean anything, from I don't hate you -it's worse than that to I don't hate you, I love you. The closed, pained expression, Loki's eyes tightly shut, were giving him no hint as to which it was, and it left Tony worried that the prince was starting to speak nonsense.

“Hey, I don't hate you either,” he replied, glancing at Fandral. “I think you're smarter than all of us. Irritatingly smart, even, which is a compliment. And you're always pulling out surprise spells and tricks that come out of nowhere -I mean, for all I know, you didn't even get slashed, I'm being tricked right now.”

“Right,” Loki said, and there was a definite trace of a smile on his lips, through the grimace.

So much blood. So much blood out of him, and him so f*cking pale. Come on, he begged Thor quietly, hurry, just hurry.

“I mean, don't tell Thor, but I think you're scarier than he is, when you want to be.”

“Tony,” Loki said another time, and he seemed to be bracing himself.

“What is it?”

“If they're too slow,” Loki said, so easily that it didn't sound like he was really saying if I die, “will you mourn?”

“Don't ask that. That's not happening,” Tony replied, and his voice barely shook.

“Please do,” Loki said, not listening. “I would go more easily, if... If I meant something to you.”

“You shut the f*ck up,” Tony ordered with his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “You hold on to me and you shut up, Loki. There's not gonna be any mourning because you're going to be just fine.”

“We should hang out, then. If I do. I always... Meant to ask- ah...”

He pressed his forehead to the ground now, like his head was too heavy, and Tony only just refrained from letting go of the wound and shaking him back awake.

“Fandral?” He called instead, heart beating hard.

“They're coming,” Fandral said, not sounding a lot better than he felt. “I can see them. Just hold on. Just a little bit longer.”

They made it. Thank the Norns and the night sky and all the ancestors that had ever lived; they made it. Thor landed with a disheveled healer, and the little woman crushed a healing stone over Loki's wound and made him drink something and ordered Thor and Fandral and Sif to help hold him as they made for the Bifröst and Eir said she needed to operate but that it would be fine.

They made it.

Tony waited through it all, his hands bloody and his heart pale and never even remembering of thinking about the battle and whether they had won or not and whether they had abandoned the troops. He waited with the smell of copper in his nose and Loki's body seeming smaller than ever to him, no longer invincible.

He waited, and when Loki woke up, he would be there, ready to find what the dark prince of Asgard meant with hanging out.

Chapter 35: Alt. 4 - Protectiveness

Chapter Text

From the start, Loki had known Tony Stark was a possessive man.

Don't touch my stuff, the human had told Thor, speaking about him. He had been his captive, then, a danger Stark had decided it was his own mission to contain. It had been duty at the time, but there had been no questioning the roughness of his tone. He didn't trust others, not Thor, not his own teammates. He wouldn't share, not even a burden.

Then, he had learned that Stark was a thorough man. He did not let questions go unanswered. He didn't leave an unfinished job to others, especially not to strangers.

I don't care if you plan to execute Loki or lock him up and throw away the key. He has answers and it's beyond me how I'm the only one who seems to be willing to ask the questions. Perhaps it had been a continuation of his own duty. Perhaps it was what Loki would later find were the deep fears that had grown in his chest from the seeds of the invasion. Either way, Tony Stark was nothing if not persistant. He had forced them all to listen, and with time, he had persuaded Loki, bitter and angry and desperate, to share what he knew about the upcoming threat.

After that, Loki had found out that Stark's sense of possession wasn't limited to what he considered his burden. It was a thing of affection, too. The Avengers were histeam. His friends. New York was hiscity. It was incredibly egotic and it seemed like narcissism at first, but Loki was observant, and he was in great need of gaining some power through knowledge. He had figured out quickly that Stark considered the people he loved as his. You only had to look at the way he had organized his home with a floor for each of his teammates, as if to ensure that they never had to stray from him.

Loki had a floor of his own, too -but no doubt he was still falling in the "danger to keep close" category, even after agreeing to staying on Earth under close guard as an informant.

In the end, it wasn't useful to him. Not because he couldn't have figured out how to hurt Stark with it -he had. It was a fitting metaphor that Stark's heart advertised itself, open and easy to target. For anyone with half a brain, it was desperately obvious how fragile the human was, trying to deploy layers of sarcasm and power around himself and his people to protect them from all harm. It didn't come in handy to Loki, because he decided he didn't have any interest in hurting Tony Stark, not even indirectly; and harming any of the Avengers, he knew, would be as sure to damage the human as a dagger to his flesh.

He reasoned it with himself that it was just common sense. Keeping Stark alive was the only logical choice; the mortal was smart, led from the shadows while Rogers was in the light, saw possibilities that none others considered. In the battle against Thanos, if Loki couldn't fight for himself, then he trusted nobody better than Stark to replace him.

And that was the thing. They weren't going to let him fight, and he didn't have the power to escape them.

The use of the Scepter had left him drained, magically and emotionally, and none of his clever words had a chance to help him out of imprisonment. But Odin Allfather had declared his treacherous son beyond forgiving, no matter what Stark's questions about Thanos had brought to light of Loki's efforts to resist the Titan. Loki, he said, was too far gone to be trusted, and it was only prison that awaited him.

Loki didn't want to admit how much he dreaded it. He didn't fear torture from his once-father; Odin was too self-righteous for that. After Thanos' hospitality, it sounded ridiculous to fear the reasonably comfortable jails of Asgard. But Loki had never done well with silence and waiting and idleness, and he knew it was what awaited him in the dungeons. There were only too many ghosts and whispers living in his mind, bidding their time until he couldn't push them away, and he didn't know what scared him more, of boredom or madness.

Then, Loki learned that he was perhaps not cursed, as he had once believed. He found out that there might be some luck still in the universe for a being such as him.

Stark came along on the day he was brought back to Asgard. Loki thought nothing of it, only that the human wanted to see him locked up to believe it. He was too busy dreading what was to come to be disappointed in the human for wanting to gloat. The stupid metal muzzle had been fastened back on his face, his hands cuffed together to ensure he didn't use his spells or his words in a useless attempt to sway Odin's inexistant heart.

“We have returned with Loki, father,” Thor announced, sounding regretful, but also doing nothing to plead Loki's case.

“Take him to the dungeons, guards,” the King ordered, sparing Loki only a side glance.

“Wow, a dungeon. Real medieval.”

Stark sounded decidedly disrespectful, and although it was just his nature, and probably not a personal attack against the Allfather, Loki hated him a little less for it. Perhaps in an effort to be diplomatic, perhaps because he wasn't used to plain mockery enough to know what to do with it, Odin continued, even as the guards took Loki's chains from a reluctant Thor to lead him away.

“You may join us for tonight's feast, Warrior of Midgard, if you so choose. Your assistance in containing the threat posed by Loki is worth at least as much.”

“Right,” Stark said. “Just so we're clear, am I invited to the party for stopping Loki in the first place, or for being the only one smart enough to actually ask him a question? Hey, wait up, Lancelot, Percival, just one sec, would you?”

The last bit was for the guards, and they actually paused, clearly perplexed, and turned to look at the Allfather questioningly. Odin stared at Tony as though he had just started speaking a language unknown to the Allspeech. Thor frowned at his friend, seeming a little uncomfortable.

“I beg your pardon?” Odin said, after a pause long enough that anyone with half a brain would have started groveling to assure that they had meant no insult.

But Stark wasn't the groveling kind. And when he insulted, Loki had learned, he usually did so on purpose. Now the disgraced prince was staring too, wondering at what the mortal was getting at, using his words to cause discomfort as surely as Loki himself might have, were it not for the muzzle.

“Well, that's nice, but I think it's not me we should be begging, at least this time. I don't mind a bit of begging now and then, of course-”

“Friend Stark, what are you saying?” Thor said with an uneasy smile, clearly aware that his permission to stay on Earth might be jeopardized by the impression Stark was making.

“I'm saying that I don't understand what we're doing here. Why are we putting Loki in jail?”

The question, thrown around with exaggerated carelessness, hung in the air heavily. Stark had his hands in his pockets and was the only person in the room who seemed at ease.

“I'm saying,” he continued, as even the few guards present in the throne room whispered in disbelief at what they had just heard, “that out of all the solutions I, the local genius, if you remember, have been thinking off, none of the good ones involved locking up my teammates as punishment for being messed up with by a space monster.”

Your teammate? Loki wanted to ask, and his lips moved accordingly before he was stopped by the damned muzzle.

“Is that what you would call Loki's actions on Midgard? The dozens of mortals he killed?” Odin sounded decidedly unimpressed.

“Right, see, I wanted to get to that, too. The fact that you guys are calling us mortals with that tone of voice? It's leading me to believe that maybe what you're pissed off about isn't actually what happened in New York. Because it was New York, you know. And Stuttgart. It's good taste to know the name of the victims when you pretend to care.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

Loki looked from Odin to Stark, eyebrows raised in growing disbelief at what he was hearing. The Allfather was no longer looking confused; he was clearly just barely refraining from ordering Stark be thrown in the dungeons as well. As for Thor, he looked like Stark's speech was just as surprising to him as it was to Loki.

“I'm not insinuating, All-Daddy,” Stark said, and the sheer audacity of mocking the royal title made Loki snort out a laughter before he could hold it back. “I'm saying that I ran the maths. Loki's dangerous, but in that regard, all my team is. He needs jail like a burning house needs gasoline, and Earth needs all the defenders it can take.”

“You cannot be suggesting that I let Loki go free after what he has done,” Odin practically glowered, his one eye burning with dislike.

“Not suggesting. Demanding,” the human shrugged, as if entirely insensible to the aura of threatening that emanated from the King. “Seeing as to how Midgard, as you insist on calling us, was the one to actually suffer from Loki's attack, I figure we should get a say.”

“The Avengers have not spoken of this,” Thor said awkwardly, glancing at his father as if fearing that Tony was going to be impaled on Gungnir very soon. “Anthony, I appreciate your effort, but...”

“But nothing. The Avengers did speak of this, Thor. You were just kept out of it for being biased,” Stark said, but he barely glanced at Thor. He was staring at Odin steadily through his purple sunglasses, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “We came here for Loki to get any of his old stuff, so he can get comfortable in the Tower.”

“You do not have the authority to take such a decision!” Odin said, his voice hitting like a slap, with no longer contained fury. “Loki is a prisoner of Asgard, and he will be imprisoned as I have ordered for his crimes against the Nine Realms-”

“Loki's not even a citizen of Asgard,” Stark said. “You made that much very clear. And as I said, Earth -and Jötunheim, from what I heard- actually suffered from his actions. We could get a committee of Frost Giants here to ask what they have to say, but I'm under the impression you respect them even less than us humans, don't you? So,” he said, raising his voice to cover the stammering attempt Thor made at interrupting him. “You can either let him come back with me and hope he stabs me in my sleep, or you can make this difficult for no reason while we have a bigger threat to take care of. Which will it be?”

“Your arrogance,” Odin's words vibrated with anger, “is absolutely out of bonds. I should have you thrown into the dungeons with him.”

“Kinky,” Stark smirked.

Loki could only stare. He had not even suspected, not for the smallest instant, that Stark would speak in his favor, or plead for his freedom. He had never entertained the foolish iea that he could be considered a part of Stark's team, a worthy help against the Titan enough to be granted trust or freedom. That the human would show such clear disrespect for Odin was an added source of gleeful incredulity, and he would have almost pinched himself to see if this was all a dream if he hadn't suddenly pinned to the ground with the intensity of his not-father's glare.

Stark was right, he realized, dizzyingly. Odin had never cared for Jötunheim's near-destruction, and he didn't care for frail mortals. It was a matter of power, and Loki had chipped at the Allfather's omnipotence by speaking of the greater threat that was coming, by uniting the formidable force of the Avengers and preparing them for a war he had not been willing to see was coming.

“Thor,” Odin said suddenly. His voice rang colder than a blizzard. “What do you think? Do you agree with your... friend?”

It was a test, and had he not been muzzled and chained, Loki might have wanted to make Thor see as much. Although, by the worried look of him, his brother might well have realized it by himself. His stormy blue eyes met Loki's for a short instant, and Loki was startled by the expression he saw there. It wasn't the rueful, useless sadness of a brother who had given up on him. Not anymore.

“Anthony Stark is one of the smartest men I've ever met,” Thor said, after steadying himself to face his father. “I know I am naive with hope, but he is not. If he believes Loki should be free, then I would beg you to give him a chance, Father.”

He glanced back at Loki, and this time, the smallest smile was on his lips. Loki couldn't believe what he was hearing. And behind Thor, Stark was smirking.

“See? I think we all agree. Loki's coming home. Now can we get the bondage accessories off? It feels so weird to look at him like that in front of the in-laws.”

Loki held his breath, looking at Odin. He truly imagined for an instant that this sudden show of solidarity would get him killed, and have Stark thrown down the Bifröst immediately.

“Get him out of my sight,” Odin said, his voice rough with the dislike of one who had seen all his carefully laid out plans thwarted. “And do not come crying back when you are stabbed in the back.”

Loki stared in disbelief as a guard, looking just as dumbfounded as he felt, pulled out a key and undid the cuffs and unclasped the muzzle. He looked at Odin, and Odin was no longer looking back at him. He was looking only at Tony, as though he had made a mortal enemy in this day.

“Good!” Stark cheered, and he wrapped an arm around Loki with impromptu familiarity, making him jump. “It's no fun when you can't talk. Alright, so now that that's out of the way, what do we need to get from here? You know I can provide furnitures, but I was thinking your magical things would be harder to replace.”

“You are a mad man,” Loki observed, with pleasure as much as admiration.

“No,” Thor assured him, even as he quietly encouraged them to move out of the hall, and from his father's sight. “He is wise, and I should have seen what he did much earlier. A prison would suit you ill, brother.”

Loki almost felt like saying something petty and childish as duh, but he refrained. Just as they went through the golden doors, he glanced over his shoulder. Odin glowered at him with hatred. It hurt. More than it should have. He looked away. He had been so sure the entire world was bent on vengeance against him. It hadn't come to mind to actually consider Odin despised him most of all, when others -the most unlikely others- could forgive.

“Don't rub it in, big guy,” Stark said lightly. “Don't want to actually make Loki consider stabbing us all in our sleep. I know you could do it,” he added with a comical grimace, “but please don't? That would be so embarrassing now.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Loki replied, because just like him, Stark usually distorted all the things he wanted to say. Because, he expected, even if he didn't want to show it, the human would understand.

That in this day, in proclaiming him as part of his team, when he had been expecting eternal abandon, Stark had made an ally he might never lose.

They won. It was in no small part thanks to having a semi-crazy feral god fighting on their side.

Tony was barely holding himself upright to the wall.

It was so incredibly stupid. He had helped defeat the greatest threat known to the universe. Thanos was dead and gone and the Infinity Stones had been scattered to the far corners of the galaxy. He couldn't believe he had fallen into an HYDRA ambush on a solo mission.

His suit was making worrisome crackling noises, and its dead weight was threatening to take him down with it. How the bastards were messing with it, he didn't know, but he did know that JARVIS wasn't running the diagnosis he had demanded and his thrusters weren't deploying and the agents were getting closer like a wolf pack closing in on a cornered prey, with no hurry at all.

“You guys should stay back,” Tony said, having absolutely no confidence that he could talk himself out of this. “I've been training with a Black Widow and some crazy exes and I wouldn't want to hurt you.”

They laughed, but it wasn't in a friendly way. They had guns, but most of them hadn't even bothered to take it out of the holster. Whatever they were doing, they knew Tony was in no shape to fight them.

He considered his options quickly. He could stay in the suit like a cat in a bag and hope the armor would be enough to protect him, hope he could get a distress signal out, hope they didn't have a way to dig him out.

It sounded like a lot of hopes, and most of them fragile.

Or he could get out of the suit, lose what protection he had in favor of the mobility of a fifty year old man and the relative strength of a dead fly, if he was to look at the muscles on some of those HYDRA ops, and try for a way out.

He didn't like either of his options.

“You know,” the man at the head of the HYDRA team grinned, “I've been hoping I'd get this chance for a long time. Do we need to get you out of the suit ourselves?”

“Um, yeah, I think you're gonna have to do that,” Tony said. He didn't take a step back as the man came close enough to touch; the suit was too heavy, and he was too close to the wall of the abandoned warehouse already for it to be useful. “Out of curiosity, what have I ever done to you?”

“You talk too f*cking much,” the man replied, and it wasn't clear if it was an answer or just general criticism, but his smile wasn't encouraging.

Strong hands -too strong; one of their experiments?- closed in on his shoulders, and shoved him back hard enough that he hit the concrete wall. He was shaken in the armor like a nut in its shell, his forehead slamming into his helmet, and the weight was too much; he fell down to his knees.

“Get me a saw here,” the leader grinned, looking down at him. “It's time we see what Mr. Stark is without his suit.”

He took a few steps back, unhurried, unworried that Tony would escape. And indeed, the armor wasn't responding, his screens showing nothing but glitches of distorted calculations. Tony's heart was pounding, trying to think of a clever way to get out of this one.

Which was when something in front of him flickered.

He thought it was just his visor, at first, another failure of the screen. Then he heard the voice: smooth, pleasant, arrogant.

“Hello,” it said. “Am I interrupting something?”

Someone cursed. Tony gathered his strength to look up. He saw his feet first, elegant black boots fitted for slim legs which disappeared beneath Loki's black coat. He had his hands held in his back, like he was relaxing during a pleasant conversation.

There was a gunshot. It hit the wall above Tony's head with a deafening sound.

“Don't move,” one of the HYDRA agents warned. “I'll aim for your head next.”

“Now, there's no need for that. You know who I am, yes?”

“Loki,” Tony started, with more worry than he had felt for himself until now. He hadn't seen his ally in weeks, not since the battle with Thanos. Loki had wanted some time to himself, he had said, promising to be back eventually. How was he here now? How had he known? If he had come to rescue him, why was he speaking instead of teleporting them away as fast as possible?

“Thor's little brother,” one of the HYDRA ops sneered. “If this is all the cavalry he's got, he's less important than I thought.”

“I won't say it again,” the first agent said. “Hands above your head, or I'll shoot!”

Something happened -movement- the broken screen struggled to follow it, and Tony uselessly tried to lift his head to get a better view of it. There were shouts, and two more gunshots. When it glitched back to the present moment, the guns were nowhere to be seen, and Loki was holding an HYDRA agent by the throat, looking mildly interested.

“Come on,” he said. “Surely you have more tricks up your sleeve.”

“Loki, watch out!” Tony cried out.

But he needn't have bothered. As surely as if he had had eyes behind his head, Loki swirled at the last instant, taking his hostage with him. The agent who had slashed at him with a knife cursed as he hit only his colleague, hesitating for an instant.

It was long enough.

Loki dropped the screaming, wounded HYDRA operative, and he disarmed the one with the knife in a ridiculously fast arm lock that ended with a sickening crack and the man on the ground, howling.

Two agents looked at each other, than charged simultaneously. Loki was waiting for them. He pivoted at the last second, striking at one with a precise hit to the throat, then shoving him back into his partner and sending them back with a vicious, chest-high kick.

The three remaining agents gathered, tense. The one who had asked for a saw was amongst them, and in lieu of a tool, he was holding something that looked like a flamethrower. Of the two others, one had found his gun again; the other had a crowbar.

“Lucky hit,” the leader said, icily. “It's rude to interrupt when you could have just had your turn, you know. Tell me, what did the Avengers trick you with?”

“L-Loki,” Tony stammered, eyes wide.

“In a minute, Anthony,” Loki said. Although his expression was still easy, his tone was no longer playful. He looked angry. “You really know nothing about me, do you?”

“I know you're the one who doesn't like the heat,” the HYDRA agent said, and then he pulled a trigger and his weapon spit out a blade of fire toward Loki.

The Jötun blocked it off with a wave of his hand, but it made him grit his teeth, and when the other agent shot at him, he had to lift his second hand to stop the bullet in the air. He glared furiously, and the bullet went back the way it had come, hitting the shooter at full speed and making him drop.

The flamethrower roared, but the second-to-last HYDRA op rushed forward, lifting his crowbar. The image glitched again and Tony's breath hitched with it, but he heard only a grunt that wasn't Loki. When the screen came back on, he saw that Loki had caught the crowbar with one hand and was now twisting it, bending the metal while maintaining eye contact with the agent, showing teeth.

The HYDRA agent cursed, then gave up his grip on the weapon. He made to punch Loki -too slow. Loki swung the bent metal rod at him. Tony only had the time to shut his eyes so not to see the gruesome way he died.

It left only the guy with the flamethrower. The roar of the fire stopped. The man seemed pale, seemingly realizing what it meant that his team of trained fighters had been sent to the ground so quickly, but there was an anger to him that told Tony he wasn't about to surrender.

“I thought you were onto something, at the time,” he said instead, with a sickly grin. “Too bad you became one of their lapdogs.”

“This coming from a servant.”

The HYDRA agent suddenly lit his weapon anew. Loki was ready for it. In a step, he had closed in the distance between his opponent and himself, and he disarmed him in only a few hits, throwing the flamethrower to the ground behind him. The HYDRA man reached for a knife at his belt and tried to stab at Loki in a laughable, desperate last attempt. Loki didn't even bother to stop him. He slammed his forearm into the man's throat, pushing him against the wall, and not even blinking as the blade sank in his shoulder, deviated from its initial trajectory.

“Are you done?” The Jötun asked, in what was almost a whisper. Tony shivered. He wasn't sure he had even heard such a threatening noise come out of Loki's mouth during the invasion, all those years ago.

The HYDRA agent stared in horror, too, clearly aware that he had been defeated.

“You're on the list too,” he said abruptly, glaring at Loki with evident hatred. “HYDRA will come for you. Just you wait.”

“Oh, but I will. I hope your little friends will have done their homeworks better than you did,” Loki replied, and he grabbed at the other man's hand before he could attempt to stab him again. There was a sickening wet crunch and the agent screamed. “See, you were right about some things. I don't like the heat, for instance.”

“f*ck you,” the man choked out, half whimper, half cry.

“But you would be wrong to think that I am loyal to the Avengers. I am not. I have never been.”

He grabbed the other man's hand, and, in a desperate twitch, it let go of the knife. Loki pulled it out of his shoulder with the same vague annoyance as if it had been a wood splinter, and he looked at the stained blade pensively.

“You could have lived,” he mused, “if you hadn't decided to hurt Tony Stark.”

“Loki-” Tony gasped, but it was too late.

Loki sliced the man's throat open in one clean, quick cut. He let the body drop to the ground, then made the knife disappear with his magic. He turned, and Tony saw he was looking at one of the men from earlier. He was still alive. And he was trembling.

“Loki,” Tony pleaded, trying to stand up.

“Please,” the HYDRA agent said. He looked young enough. Too young to be one of them. Too young to die for them.

“Listen well,” Loki said, and his voice was overly sweet, more dangerous than anything Tony had ever heard. He crouched in front of the agent and gave him a wicked smile, perhaps unaware of the splatter of blood across his face. “You will go to your leader. And you will give them a message for me. And if you do, perhaps, I will let you live beyond tonight.”

“I will,” the man whimpered.

“Good. Then you will go and tell them this: Tony Stark is Loki's ally. Touch him... Or his stuff,” he added, as if an afterthought, and there was sick amusem*nt on his face, “and you will pay the price. Do I make myself clear? New York. The Avengers. This is my territory now.”

“Yes,” the agent assured him. His voice was shaking. “C-Can I leave now?”

“I suggest you do”, Loki said sweetly, “before I decide your head makes for a better warning.”

The man staggered to his feet and ran off with desperate speed. Loki straightened up and looked around at the carnage, as if he was evaluating his own work.

“You didn't have to kill them all,” Tony said, his own voice weak with the violence of what he had just seen.

“I'm dangerous, Stark,” Loki replied gently. “This doesn't change because I'm on your side.”

“Your territory, uh?” Tony tried to lighten the mood, but he felt nauseous nonetheless. “Can you -can you take me home?”

“You're possessive, my friend,” Loki said, and the title sounded like a privilege, like a shield and a sword all at the same time. He walked to Tony and knelt before him to wrap an arm around his shoulders and haul him up, visibly with no effort. “You would be mistaken to think I am not. And I care for what is mine.”

“How did you know I was in danger?”

“I just told you,” Loki said, with a smile like he hadn't just killed half a dozen men. For him.

Chapter 36: Day 11 - Power strain blackout

Chapter Text

Tony had never been a teamplayer. The only reason he had agreed to joining the Avengers had been reluctant admitting to the truth: no matter how much he tried, he couldn't do everything himself, and even he had to face the fact that the other Avengers had skills he did not possess.

This had turned out to be especially true about Loki. Which, admittedly, he had been pretty mad about.

It was the whole concept of magic. Even the word made him angry. Fixing everything with spells was simply infuriating. Tony had spent his entire life being enough of a genius to work around the laws of physics, and the fact that there were people who could just will those laws away had been a hard pill to swallow.

It had even kept Tony from properly befriending Loki for months after Thor had introduced his brother to the Avengers. The man was obviously a genius, full of wit and sass and laughter, and Tony could normally not have resisted that sort of cheekbones for more than a week before asking him out. It had been hearing that he did magic, and getting the demonstration everyone had asked for. Fireworks in the palm of a hand, teleportation, creating copies of himself. It was impossible and they had all marvelled at it, at what it meant to have such possibilities on the team.

All, except Tony, who couldn't help being pissed.

It had never stopped to irritate him. With time, Loki's playful nature and amazing ass (in that order) had brought him to forgive him for playing so unfair; he had had to admit, too, that it was a definite advantage to have a man with that sort of capabilities on their side.

Because Loki could do more than party tricks, and they had never faced an enemy since he was part of the team that they hadn't triumphed over. The sorcerer could will a plane out of the air with an angry glare at it. He could walk as silent and invisible as a cat and infiltrate bases with his Force-like persuasion skills. He used his shapeshifting to trick the enemy fighters and his clones to carry informations. He wasn't just powerful; he was efficient, knew how to use the gift he possessed, and Tony had used that argument to make himself forgive him for messing up with the laws of nature so much.

It had never occurred to him that there might be rules to the magic, too.

Loki knew -had been very amused- about his aversion to his unnatural amazingness. It had come out months later, even after they had started dating, and he had just thought it was cute that Tony held such an opinion. He hadn't said anything to plead his magic's case as a just and logical way of fighting, had simply agreed that, yes, he was unbelievable and awesome, thank you very much.

Then this sh*t had happened.

They had gone to investigate a possible hostage situation in Latveria, with the intention of either negociating or fighting Victor Von Doom to free his unfortunate victims. It had been a reduced mission: Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Loki himself. The plan had been to try to talk Doom out of his usual nonsense and, when it would predictably fail, Loki would use a double to get inside the castle and free the hostages.

Things went quite as expected. Doom spoke in third person, was grandiloquent, denied the hostages taking, threatened war with the United States for this insult, and Loki said, “Please -we mean not to offend the great nation of Latveria,” which was the signal that he was going to send a double inside.

Things went wrong from there.

“And yet, you have,” Doom said.

Loki gasped, taking a startled step back and making them all turn to him in surprise. Tony looked back at Doom; the metallic mask looked like it was smiling wickedly.

“Loki?” He asked in worry.

“Move,” the prince said, eyes wide.

They would have obeyed blindly. They simply didn't have the time.

Doom exploded. Literally. His armor blew off into a shower of shrapnels in all direction. Tony pushed Steve, who was closest to him, behind his back, hoping to protect him with his armor, but none of the pieces of hot metal hit him. Something invisible got in the way -something that blocked off the heat of the explosion as well as the pieces of metal, if not the breath of it that threw them all back.

They picked themselves off of the ground and Tony cursed, lowering his hands from where he had raised it to protect his face and looking at the absurd pair of legs still standing below an exploded torso. A Doombot, of f*cking course.

Loki was panting, although he didn't look injured. He scanned their surroundings for any sign of the real Doom.

“We need to go,” he announced.

“What about the hostages?” Steve worried.

“None. It's a trap. My clone -my clone got killed.” He seemed disturbed by that. “We need to leave now.”

“We need to evacuate,” Romanoff immediately said in her comm link. “Mission aborted. Get a Quinjet here now.”

“On my way,” the voice of Clint Barton announced. “ETA is three minutes.”

“We can hold three minutes,” Tony said, and immediately regretted taunting fate that way.

“What's that sound?” Steve asked.

There was a metallic thumping, getting stronger with each quick beat. The doors to the castle, singed by the explosion, opened, and an army of Doombots marched out. They weren't identical copies like the one they had just fought, either; these were clearly war machines, mecha-like legs carrying them with a deafening sound. The first row of them dropped to one knee, and Tony almost thought their clearly enormous weight had pulled them down before he saw half a dozen cannons pointing at them from below their green cloaks.

“Oh, sh*t.”

“Avengers,” Doom -his voice, anyway- spoke. “Too long you have mocked the might of Doom. Today, Latveria will rise on the ashes of your arrogance.”

“Please,” Steve interfered. “We want only to speak-”

“Doom is no fool. He has learned much about your tricks. Your team can do much, but only one of you is truly dangeorus to Doom... And Doom will see him destroyed.”

“Loki?” Tony asked, worry climbing in his throat.

“He knows not what he speaks of,” Loki said, but he didn't sound exactly convinced. “I can contain this.”

“And Doom is wrong if he thinks Loki will fight alone,” Steve added, all honor and loyalty written on his face. “Avengers, Assemble!”

The cry was almost drowned out by the first hail the cannons -twelve of them, counting the kneeling bots and the ones standing behind them- fired their way. Loki raised both his hands and the missiles slowed their course to an unnatural speed. Steve charged ahead, his shield slamming a grenade back the way it came and another one to the ground. The explosion sent him flying back, but he held his shield in front of him and landed in an impressive roll, alive and well.

Tony grabbed Natasha and took off, flying her above the line of fire, and dropping her at her signal on one of the bots, which she electrocuted and sent to the ground. She then played the deer caught in headlight part and got a doombot to fire on another one. Tony kept going, shooting a row of miniaturized missiles into the standing line of bots, seeing them blow up in a satisfactory pattern, before grabbing the spy and taking her back to safety.

He felt pretty triumphant and confident; unsurprisingly, Loki hadn't even moved, and was using his magic to contain the remaining bots. One of them fell to pieces like its screws had suddenly dissipated; the one next to it turned with slow, clumsy movement and started to shoot at its teammates. There was a satisfying pile of dead robots on the ground.

“Clint will be there in 90 seconds,” Natasha announced, catching her breath.

Tony helped Steve pull up to his feet behind the metaphorical wall of Loki's protection. He looked at the defeated bots. Without Loki, they might well not have survived the assault, but Doom was wrong if he thought that he could face the mage with a dozen stronger bots. So long as Loki could contain the enemy fire and protect them, they were virtually invincible.

Which didn't stop him from shivering when he heard more metallic echoes.

At first, he thought it was just from behind the first ones, coming out of the castle; then he realized that during their fight, however short, troops had moved around and behind them. They were surrounded by forty, fifty of the bots now, and they were getting in position with no hurry.

“Doom wonders,” said the dictator's voice, from at least six different places, “how long the Asgardian can do this.”

“Doom said he learned much about my tricks,” Loki retorted. He sounded unimpressed, but this close, Tony could see how tense his partner was, how his hands stretched slightly like he was trying to shake off some strain in them. “Apparently, he didn't even figure out that I'm not Asgardian.”

He moved a hand forward, and no less than a dozen of the bots were swallowed by a wave of ice so thick, it cracked but didn't fail when the Doombots imprisoned within shot. The other bots started to shoot.

Natasha and Steve were most vulnerable, something Tony and Loki both knew and worked around. The spy danced around the enemy, using her Widow stings by getting too close to be fought by the heavy bots. As for Steve, he charged and slammed his shield into the bots, cutting their heads or arms off with the edge of it or hitting the grenades back like baseballs. Still, they were hardly making a dent in the rows of bots that, to Tony's horrors, seemed to keep coming at a growing pace.

As for Tony himself -well, the thing was, when you made an awesome flying battle armor, you had to think of space. Tony was ready for a lot of things, but he hadn't come here thinking of facing an army. Even if he had had infinite missiles, it wasn't like he could blow off half the capital of Latveria without injuring his team.

It left Loki with most of the work, and Tony didn't like that. It was undignified, for one thing, to let your boyfriend do all the work, and -the way Loki had looked when his clone had been killed had scared him. What if the bots could get to him?

So he tried to do as much as he could, while cursing under his breath and trying to listen above the explosions for the engines of the Quinjet. Loki would be able to teleport into the jet if Tony gave him a chance, and take at least Natasha with him, which left Tony to fly off with Steve and not get blown out of the air -hopefully.

Bots fell like flies around them, but still more came. There was shouting, explosions, Tony heard Natasha screaming and Loki say something without understanding what was happening. Loki's magic was fighting desperately, fire and ice and blasts of pure energy, but before long, Tony saw him from the corner of the eye conjuring up clones and throwing daggers as the bots grew closer.

At last, the whirring of the jet's helix grew above the chaos of the battle. Tony opened his mouth to warn the others of their chance to escape, but just as he was about to speak, he saw it: a bot, larger than the others, pointed a pair of canons up toward the plane.

He took off as fast as he could, but knew before it happened that he wouldn't be able to reach it in time. He fired two small guided missiles from his shoulder, but other bots got in his way, and before he could stop it, the bigger robot fired.

“LOKI! The jet!” Tony called.

Loki looked up, his face paler than usual. Tony saw the way his eyes widened when he realized what was happening, and he hurriedly raised both hands. The missiles exploded halfway to their target. Tony crash-landed into a Doombot and fired a repulsor blast at the one that had aimed for the jet. High in the air, Clint was maneuvering to try to hover above them, but more bots with the larger cannons were already pouring out from the castle with that same unhurried, confident pace. They walked over their fallen comrades in a constantly growing number -there had to be over sixty of them getting into position to fire at them.

“We need to get out of here!” Steve yelled, having clearly caught the attempt to take the jet down. “Loki, can you teleport us to the jet!”

“Get closer!” Two different Lokis ordered, one of them with his eyes shut in concentration, the other blasting bots left and right with waves of ice.

“Which one?” Romanoff demanded, having taken out her handguns from somewhere and fireing steadily.

One of the Lokis flickered when a grenade went right through him and hit a bot behind him. Tony grabbed Steve and dropped him next to the real Loki. The bots were definitely closing in now, and the jet had to move erratically above to avoid near-constant fire.

“Get out of here,” Tony ordered his boyfriend. There was a darkness around Loki's eyes that freaked him out, and he was in a hurry to have him out of here. “I'll cover you and be right there!”

“I'm not leaving you behind!” Loki said through gritted teeth. “Hold on to -Romanoff!”

Natasha had only just avoided a grenade launched her way by dropping to the ground, and now she was about to be shot at. Loki created a double of himself just in front of her, and this one didn't fade off. He exploded gruesomely in a sight Tony would never forget.

“Loki, GET OUT!”

Loki didn't refuse; he fell with one knee to the ground, clearly gasping for air. His eyes were wrong, he couldn't miss it now. Then his shoulders stiffened and he grabbed Steve by the arm and flickered out of existence.

The balance shifted immediately. With only Natasha, out of breath and disheveled, and Tony running out of useful ammunitions, the bots clearly had the upper hand. The ones who had been stuck in ice broke free; the ones who had turned on their own stopped and turned back toward them. Tony wanted to throw Natasha behind him, but there were bots in every direction.

“Hey, we surrender!” Tony shouted hurriedly. “Don't shoot!”

“Doom is not interested in surrender,” several of the bots said. “Doom will kill you now.”

Natasha gritted her teeth like she was planning to live through being killed. Tony realised he was incredibly terrified of dying. He didn't close his eyes as cannons lifted toward them, but it wasn't bravery.

Then a green flicker of light sparkled at the corner of his eyes. Suddenly, the battlefield and the bots disappeared; Natasha stayed; he was holding to her. The ground faded away and they were in the sky, three hundred meters above the ground, and the smoking crater that had once been Latveria's dictatorial castle was growing small.

Natasha screamed, pain and fear and something else. Tony realized what was happening. Natasha was barely holding on, outside of the Quinjet, pulled down by Tony and the armor's weight. Steve, inside, was trying to pull them both in, and the plane was soaring away from the battlefield.

Tony cursed; he lit his thrusters and flew inside, pulling Natasha in with him. The plane suddenly swerved to the side, sending them flying away from the door, and the spy screamed again when Tony's armored shoulder collided into her side. Finally, Steve managed to pull himself up and slammed the door shut.

“sh*t!” Tony yelled as soon as he had enough voice to do that. He slammed the release button of the armor, shaking his head out of the helmet.

“Clint, full speed!” Steve ordered, clinging to the closest wall. “Natasha needs a medic too!”

“It's just my shoulder,” she groaned, looking openly displeased about this. She was on the ground and held to the lower part of a seat. She made a grimace and met Tony's gaze before adding: “That didn't go as planned.”

“Where's Loki?”

The plane went back to a mostly horizontal angle then, and Steve managed to straighten up enough to point one of the seats in the back. Loki appeared unconscious and slumped; only the belts he had been strapped to the seat with held him up.

“Loki, f*ck!”

Tony ran to him. He realized then that Loki wasn't actually unconscious. He looked up at the use of his name; only, his eyes were completely dark, the green light of his irises burnt out completely. Tony shivered despite himself.

“L-Loki?”

“I'm not... Mér liður...” He squinted, as though the light hurt his darkened eyes. He said something else, more words that Tony couldn't understand or even associate to a precise language. Then his head hit the headrest with an unexpected violence and he gasped. “Tony!”

“I'm here!” Tony assured him, grabbing his hand and finding it icy and limp. “Loki?” He insisted when it got him no reaction, and his lover just kept staring at him with those disturbing black eyes.

“Oh,” Loki whispered, and he held an hesitating pause, then finally closed his eyes. He didn't open them again. Tony checked for his pulse and was only mildly comforted to find out it was still going, and weirdly fast for an unconscious man.

“How is he?” Natasha asked, pulling herself into a seat.

“I -I don't know. How -Nat, how are you? Your shoulder?” He asked, although he struggled to look away from Loki.

“Dislocated from holding you single-handedly. I need to lift more, apparently,” Nat said. She managed a smile, but she didn't look like she was doing so good. It was probably worse than that. He knew how much the suit weighted. But if she said it that way, she was probably confident that it wasn't beyond repairs. She gestured her chin toward Loki, letting the matter of her own injury drop: “Guess we might finally have found Loki's upper limit, uh?”

Tony frowned back to his lover. Loki's face looked unnaturally pale. There was a transluscent quality to his skin that wasn't normally there, something that made him look sick even though nothing else seemed wrong.

It had never seemed like Loki had limits. Tony had seen him holding a falling building with a glance and keep a conversation going at the same time. He realized now how foolish it had been to simply assume his lover could do anything, but then, Loki had never denied it.

“I guess,” he agreed, heart twisted.

They made it back to New York with the small relief not to be pursued. Steve carried Natasha away to the infirmary as soon as they landed, while Clint helped Tony get Loki on a stretcher and, after a brief debate, directly to his room. Tony washed the grime off his hands and face but didn't bother to change, standing by his boyfriend's side in impotent worry until Clint came back with a worried looking Thor.

“Friend Anthony, what happened?” the crown prince asked immediately. “Clint said my brother is unresponsive.”

It was true -Loki, who reacted so quickly to the smallest stimuli that they had for months thought that he simply never slept, was perfectly motionless. Only for his breathing and heartbeat was Tony sure that he was still alive, and it freaked him out.

“He used a lot of magic,” Tony said, way more worried about Loki's condition than about admitting to Thor that they had broken his brother. If he had a solution, then Tony would get yelled at all he wanted. “I think he kinda messed up the last spell he used, too. His eyes turned black. Thor, what do we do?”

“His eyes turned... Black?” Thor repeated, frowning. He looked worried, and displeased, but also confused. Almost as much as Tony himself. Which was of little relief.

“His magic is green,” Barton offered. “His eyes are the exact same green. Maybe his eyes changed because he ran out of magic.”

“Is that a thing that happens? Sorcerers running out of magic? Thor?” Tony insisted, growing impatient when the prince said nothing. “If you don't know, maybe we should ask someone who does. This could be dangerous. This could be getting worse every moment we stand there like idiots doing nothing-”

“He's not unconscious,” Thor said finally, frowning at him. “He doesn't look like that when he is.”

“Well he's not awake either!” Tony grabbed Loki's unresponsive hand, checking his pulse again to comfort himself. It was still going fast, at least ninety beats per minute. “What do we do?”

But nobody had time to answer. Something happened the instant he let go of Loki's wrist and squeezed his hand instead, and later, they would all struggle to put it into words. The room -shifted. The lights went off, or they went brighter, or they went pink and then blue like a lightning flash, according to Clint. The air turned into smoke, a smoke that smelled of winter. Tony tasted something like ashes, then something like coconut, then something like sour candy. Thor said he heard screaming, but Tony was only aware that he had heard his name.

It was over as soon as it started, truly like lightning striking. Loki was still lying down, his hand in Tony's. Everything was in its place.

They looked at each other, each realizing the others had felt it, too, no matter what it had been.

“That's his magic,” Tony agreed. He no longer had the smallest doubt. Something about it had been like Loki's signature, in all five senses and more ways that his body was not meant to be aware of.

“I'll get a healer from home,” Thor declared.

It took two hours for a Volür, a kind of witch priestess from Asgard, as Tony understood it, to arrive to the Tower. In the meantime, Tony managed to let Loki out of sight long enough to change t-shirts and check up on Natasha. She had been lucky, Dr. Cho had said. Her muscle would need time to heal -but it would.

As for Loki, he stayed motionless in bed, eyes shut, pulse quick. Thor kept by his side, and the other Avengers, after getting a briefing of the ambush, waited for news with worried frowns.

The Volür was a skinny old woman who looked much more gentle and concerned than Tony had imagined a sacred servant of the Norns would. She pressed her lips in what looked like worry after being brought to Loki's bedside, and listened to Tony's summary of what had happened. She pulled Loki's eyelid up to look at his iris. They were still blown wide, as though the pupil had swallowed the iris completely.

She shook her head and made a few gestures at Thor. They seemed too vague to mean much of anything, but Thor frowned as if he understood them.

“But he will be alright?”

She looked back at Loki before making a small circle with her hand.

“What did she say?” Tony asked, voice laced with worry.

“'Eventually'”, Thor translated. “She says Loki is a being of magic as much as flesh. Spending his seiðr so much could have killed him. It's fortunate he is so stubborn, she says, and perhaps has such strong reasons to stay attached to the physical plain, even when he is emptied,” he added with a frail smile. “She expects we will feel more of his magic as it heals.”

“Feel it,” Tony repeated, looking at the lady. “What should we expect?”

The white-haired, frail woman made a gesture as if patting his hand, looking compassionate. He swallowed. He didn't need the translation for this one, but it didn't matter. So long as Loki pulled through, they would be fine. Right?

The Volür spelled the bedroom and warded it with small engraved runes in pieces of wood, promising that it was the best she could do. It would not contain Loki's magic, she warned, but it would make it more... Harmless.

She insisted on staying, to keep watch. Thor had to translate near everything she said, but she was patient and seemed almost amused to answer Tony's many questions -the questions he realized now he should have asked Loki ages ago.

“So magic is like a reservoir you empty?”

“'In the same way your lungs are a reservoir your breath empties,'” Thor agreed, looking like he was learning this for the first time, too. “'You're not supposed to run out. That's how it is for beings like Loki, at least.'”

“Why beings like him? Aren't all sorcerers the same?”

He learned a lot -about witches and warlocks and sorcerers and wizards, and the fact that even he could learn to use rune-spells or invocations, if only he had a few dozen years to spare for the practice. He learned about how hard it was, actually, to master magic from its rawest form into the shape you wanted to give it. He learned that Loki wasn't bragging when he called himself Asgard's most powerful sorcerer. He learned that there weren't rules to magic so much as power needed to break rules.

The Volür -who never gave herself a name, despite Tony's questions about that- explained that most users of seiðr would never hope to use their power in battle. She said that using magic required too much concentration, too much strength. She said that Loki was the only one she had heard of who could do so much without metaphorically catching his breath.

“'Loki is much feared,'”, Thor explained, and this definitely seemed new to him, “'and much admired. You might think it frightening to have seen him reach his limits. That is because you do not realize what a miracle he is.'”

Tony was starting to realize it, though. As days passed, Loki, supposedly, healed. The only visible sign of this were his eyes, with green returning to them a little bit at a time. What was more obvious, though, were what Tony had mentally dubbed his magical sneezes.

Once, twice, and then more and more time a day, Loki's magic would do weird things to the people around him. It started with weird perceptions of noises and lights and smells, like that first time with Clint. But as time passed, weirder things started to happen. Unexpected objects materialized in odd places. Candles caught on fire. Fish came out of the orange juice bottle instead of, well, orange juice. The toilet started playing music.The fifty-seventh floor of the tower was partially the fifty-seventh floor of the tower, and partially, where a living room had once been, a green meadow with no visible walls, that seemingly went on forever if you walked in it (there was a Stark Industries intern still exploring that direction and giving regular updates through his cellphone).

The more green returned to Loki's eyes, the weirder, most powerful things happened. The Volür replaced her runes several times, looking a little bit nervous around the edges. Everyone in the building felt the urge to speak nothing but the truth, leading to several awkward conversations. Natasha's shoulder healed weirdly fast, but she felt a strange compulsion to singing extremely sad sounding songs in Russian. The clouds around the Tower took a lovely golden color that lasted a whole day in an otherwise normal sky. There were reports of birds speaking words of wisdom to people all around the city.

At last, Loki's eyes returned to normal. And, a little over twenty-four hours later, during which people started seeing hazelnuts and bananas growing from oak or elms and gigantic crystals from buildings, he woke.

“How do you feel?” Tony asked. He had been sitting by his side almost constantly, when he wasn't trying to comfort the general public that things were totally fine and under control, which almost wasn't a lie. He grabbed his hand, even though the gesture had seemed to trigger the weird magical sneezes several times. “Loki, can you hear me?”

“I feel like a carved out pumpkin,” were Loki's first words in days. He squinted. “Doom?”

“We'll need to take care of him eventually, but that's not the point.” Tony couldn't help grinning, even as he spoke of the robotic asshole. “It's good to see you, pumpkin.”

“The Volür wants to know how your magic feels,” Thor said.

Loki blinked, looking for all matter like he had not noticed his brother or the small woman -which was, again, unusual, coming from him. He was still recovering, Tony thought, with a small shiver. The Volür had told him that Loki's magic was most of his identity. That, if it hadn't recovered, he would have found a living shell of his boyfriend. That some of his traits were still not quite back was an unnerving confirmation of this.

“My... Oh.” Loki actually frowned, like he had moved a sore muscle. “It's... Sore.”

“She expected as much. But it is a small price to pay to see you back to yourself, brother,” Thor smiled, clearly relieved. “She says, 'You shouldn't have used that last spell, child.' But she believes you will feel alright within a few more days.”

“I'm looking forward to that,” Loki grimaced, then gave a crooked smile. “Did you worry?”

“Of course we did, asshole,” Tony said, and, with the confirmation that Loki was fine, stood from his chair to wrap his arms around him.

The world shifted. Tony saw colors that weren't real and he heard bird calls and smelled pine burning. He almost fell back with a 'ow' of confusion, and Loki caught him at the last instant with his usual surprising strength, looking startled.

“Anthony?”

“Right, so we're not fully done with the magical sneezes,” Tony warned the others, even though the Volür was holding to Thor for support and Thor was shaking his head as if to clear it of something.

“The magical... Sneezes?”

“It happened again when you touched him,” Thor remarked. He looked a little suspicious. Or possibly mad. “Nothing happened when I held his hand.”

“What are we speaking of? What happened?” Loki protested.

“You don't notice it?” Tony asked, disbelieving. “How your magic goes, like, woah?”

“I didn't do anything.”

“You did. You've been doing it for a few days, too. There are mermaids in the Hudson and a new mountain that somehow just exists now."

“What?”

“I'm so glad to have you back,” Tony said, and he couldn't help but laugh, suddenly, the laugh of all that had happened while Loki was asleep and he couldn't relax. He squeezed Loki in his arms again, and this time, he was ready for the surge of abnormal, powerful, strange beauty that hit. He squeezed harder. “I'm so glad. You f*cking miracle.”

Chapter 37: Day 30 - Recovery

Chapter Text

How long did it take for someone's face to grow back?

It wasn't a question Tony Stark had ever thought he would ask. It wasn't a question that would have had an answer, if life was still normal and sane and he was a selfish billionaire just going on about life without bothering with super-heroing and interstellar villains redemption.

It was a question, nonetheless, he had to deal with.

Thor had come to him in distress. He had needed a while to actually explain, seemingly worried that Tony would feel absolutely no compassion for what brought him here. He was wrong.

Locating the cave had been relatively easy. Breaking Loki out, not so much. Not only had the god been imprisoned with cuffs of a metal unknown to Tony and stronger than anything he had ever encountered, but Tony had struggled to keep his panic at bay through all the screaming and trashing of his once enemy.

Call him sensitive, and he guessed he knew some who might, but torturing people? Not where he was concerned.

Thor and he had taken turns holding a basin just above Loki's face, collecting the venom that drip-drip-dripped constantly upon what had once been the sorcerer's face. The snake that produced it looked frozen in time, its mouth gaping and its white, pale eyes staring at nothing, no matter the deafening shrieking of the man in his shackles or the trembling of the cavern when either of the men threw the content of the basin away, leaving the simmering yellow liquid to fall on its intended victim's face.

Tony built a super-powerful saw, powered by a miniaturized ARK. It took him three days, which felt like the longest of his life. He worked in the lab whenever he wasn't testing his progress, but Loki's screams followed him even when he wasn't there. He hadn't heard the man's voice other than the raw, scrapped sound of his cries since Thor had brought him to the cavern.

When he broke the first shackle, the one at Loki's right ankle, though, Tony thought he heard a rough, pained sound that might have been either a sob or a laugh.

Loki's face was a carnage, but with a stolen war criminal, it was hard to know exactly who to trust. Tony expected most human doctors would have refused to believe that Loki was still alive, but it was impossible to ask an Aesir for help when it was Odin Allfather himself who had ordered the punishment and Thor was technically betraying his father to do this.

That was a matter for another day, the possibility of civil war that this raised. The priority now was to figure out how to fix Loki.

His ankles and wrists were chaffed raw from the way he had trashed in his bonds, and that was the first thing Tony took care of, because it was the only thing he figured was within his reach. He applied generous amounts of antibiotic cream to the red friction burns and wrapped them, disturbed by the fact that Loki was silent through what had to be a painful process.

“Right, well, we're doing great,” Tony babbled, mostly for himself. “Next is just your face, which would make the Red Skull jealous. Any pointers?”

There was no answer.

Tony stared, feeling foolish and powerless, at Loki's face. Despite the fact that the sorcerer no longer had eyes, he felt that he was staring back, waiting for him to do something. He hadn't spoken since they had taken him back to the Tower. Maybe he just couldn't. Most of his face had been melted off by the corrosive venom, including part of his lips, giving him a skull-like grin. Maybe he had swallowed enough that he couldn't produce any sound more precise than a scream.

He was aware, though. Conscious of what was going on, reacting with jumpy movements or trying to push them away. Now he was still, his breath almost even despite what had to be endless pain.

Tony breathed in, looking at the red flesh of burnt cheekbones and the nightmarish gaze of empty eyesockets.

Right.

“Okay. Well, you stop me if that gets to be too much, alright? I'll need to start by disinfecting, don't know where that snake has been, and this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

He got to work.

Loki's words were the first thing to come back.

“What,” he asked Tony, and he sounded like a crow, speaking without a voice, “do you hope to get from this?”

“A sea of trouble,” Tony told him genuinely. He was sitting next to Loki's bed to keep an eye on him, and watching a crime show on TV.

He had expected to feel at least some fear or discomfort, and maybe it would still come, when Loki would start looking more like himself. For now, it was hard to feel anything other than horror for the poor bastard. And, perhaps, a bit of admiration. Tony didn't think he would manage to sound coherent, leave alone calm, in his place.

“That comes with the whole heroic business, though. Don't feel too bad for me.”

“I'm your enemy,” Loki croaked.

His lips were almost whole, although the flesh was still red and raw. It was a proof that Thor was right; that Loki's flesh would regenerate by itself, in much the way a human's wouldn't have. He certainly looked like a monster out of a bad fantasy serie, but his claim?

“Yeah, not at the moment, you're not,” Tony replied, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't known what to expect of Loki once he would be free. He hadn't expected him to point out that it made no sense to help him. “Maybe if you try to take over the world again. But I'd rather you don't.”

“Your pity will not endebt me.”

“No, I guess not. You'll probably try to kill me the second you can.”

“That's what I do. I kill and destroy,” Loki said, and Tony thought he saw a grim smile on his face.

“Yeah? Well, I try to help and save. To each their own, I suppose,” he said, only half-sarcastically.

Loki scoffed. He didn't answer. Tony pondered their brief exchange for a long time.

Loki healed at an incredible speed. Thor assured him it was unnaturally slow, but it was hard to accept that as truth when Loki grew a nose in three days with no surgery or graft of any kind.

His forehead was almost completely healed, too. Only his eyes, where the poison had dripped most constantly, were still as bad as they had been when Tony had found him: empty, dark, skull eyes looking at nothing while flesh slowly crept back up. When Tony slept, and he didn't do much of that, he dreamt of necromancers, giant snakes, and mad scientists carving Loki's face up. He woke up drenched in sweat from these dreams.

With strength returning to his famished and tired body, Loki started getting out of bed. Tony briefly considered how dangerous that was, but considering the sorcerer was only just capable of walking around the room with his hand on the wall, it would have been cruel to stop him. Still, Tony prepared himself for the inevitable moment when Loki would try to murder him and escape.

As his healing progressed, Loki started speaking more. He was mostly being a sarcastic little sh*t, which Tony could respect, and otherwise alternated between asking questions and making threats. There was a strange moment when he seemed to realize that Thor had convinced Tony to free him, and Tony, in turn, realized with no small shock Loki expected him to be his new torturer.

“I got you out of that cave because nobody, murderer or not, should get their face melted off slowly,” Tony had to articulate out loud, when it became clear that Loki did not understand this. “Not because I'm taking the next shift. Is that what you were expecting? That I would, what, eat your liver every day or something?”

“Do you eat livers?” Loki asked, with enough of a face to frown.

“I really don't, and especially not the livers of people.”

“It could be argued that I'm not a person.”

“I can't even tell if you're being serious or if you're f*cking with me. Loki, you didn't get the fact that we broke you out? If this had been with Odin's consent, I wouldn't have needed half a week to get you out.”

“Ah,” said Loki.

There was something too thoughtful about the look of him for Tony's taste. Like maybe it truly hadn't been certain, in Loki's eyes, that good people didn't torture other people.

Then again, considering his Dad had put him in that cave, with that snake and those cuffs -yeah. Yeah, that would f*ck someone's perspective of who he could trust.

“I told you,” Tony said, voice tense. “I try to help people. I also try to do it in the coolest way possible and whatever, but -that's the end goal.”

“Why? Whatever does it bring you?”

“Sometimes, I don't hate myself as much,” Tony replied with half-hearted sarcasm. “It's not like hurting you would make things any better for me, would it?”

“I don't know,” Loki said, which was a little disturbing, and then co*cked his head to the side. “So you are helping a monster because you believe it's the right thing to do. And yet, you expect me to kill you?”

“Correction. I expect you to try. I'm hoping I can have the upper hand on a blind, starved guy if it comes to it.”

“And then?” Loki's head was turned his way, and Tony wondered what it was to look at someone when you didn't have eyes. Did he see nothing, or did his brain not even process seeing anymore? “When I turn on you, and you stop me. What then, if not a cage?”

“I didn't say I wouldn't lock you up,” Tony replied. It was weird to have this conversation, so oddly open about this. He thought of how Loki was supposed to be the ultimate liar, and wondered if there was a way this was an elaborate manipulation. He shrugged slightly, even though the sorcerer couldn't see him. “If I need to put you in prison to protect myself and others from you, I'll do it. But I won't hurt you just because I can, and I'm not going to allow anyone else to do it.”

“Sympathy for the devil?”

“Lack of sad*stic tendencies, except maybe when both parties feel like it, but that's another topic.”

“I don't do well with captivity.”

“Then don't give me a reason to lock you up.”

“You expect me to believe that? That if I just behave, you'll let me be?” Loki sounded decidedly unconvinced.

“You can always give it a try and see how it goes,” Tony said with a brief smile. “Now that we've established I'm not patching you up just to cut you up again, can I help you with the cream?”

“I'm well enough to do it myself,” Loki scoffed.

Tony didn't argue. He just handed the medicine over, and pointed out when Loki forgot a smear of it somewhere. He wondered about Loki's questions. About the way Loki saw things.

On the next day, Loki had eyeballs. They were disturbingly white. It was a problem, because he didn't have eyelids to moisturize them. Tony procured eyedrops as fast as he could. Thor took the first shift of using the drops every minute or so on his brother's eyes. They must have talked, because after an hour, Tony heard objects clattering and glass breaking against a wall and Thor sheepishly came to ask if he wanted to replace him.

“This process is infuriatingly slow,” Loki groaned, but he allowed Tony to sit to his side and regularly drop the liquid in his eyes.

“What, your face growing back? You know a human would have been disfigured for the rest of their life, right? I mean, I can guess it's not exactly a fun process, but you should count yourself lucky to be Asgardian.”

“I'm not,” Loki said.

“If you say so,” Tony said. He supposed it didn't feel like luck to be able to be tortured to the point of losing your face and living through it. He was silent for a while, finding himself frowning softly. “Your Dad really had this done to you. It's so f*cked up.”

“I have no desire to speak of this, least of all with you,” Loki said dryly.

“Yeah, makes sense.” He paused, then a thought crossed his mind. “Is there someone you would want to talk to, though?”

“Thor's head, separated from his body,” Loki suggested.

Tony scoffed, having decided a while ago that this sort of statement was a joke, though he couldn't be entirely sure. He pondered this quietly, wondering about Loki possibly having no friend nor ally to turn to. Again, he wondered how f*cked up it had to feel to have something like this done to you by your own family. Thor, at least, had gone against his father's will, even though he was clearly worried about it, but whatever love the blond had for his brother was clearly not reciprocated. Or at least, not in a way that Loki wanted to share.

He switched the empty bottle of synthetic tears for a new one.

Loki walked face-first into the kitchen wall. It was Tony's signal that his ward slash prisoner was well enough to see, and he let out an exclamation of joy.

“Look at you! Eyelids, irises, the whole kit! Well, the eyebrows and lashes are still missing. Makes you look a little like Grima Wormtongue. Speaking of which, do you want a shower? We want you looking all nice and clean for your grand return.”

“Everything remains blurry,” Loki grimaced, rubbing his forehead. “And my magic remains sollicited by the healing process. This is far from back to normal.”

“It's a good step forward,” Tony argued. “Come on, it's been a week too. I bet you're ready to stomach something else than chicken soup and crackers. What do you want to eat to celebrate?”

“Why,” Loki asked, pale green eyes struggling to focus on his face, “are you not worried?”

“'Cause I know I did the right thing. Anything that happens, I won't regret it,” Tony said.

“You're so arrogantly confident,” Loki huffed, guiding himself wih his hands to taking a seat at the table. “What if I murdered innocents? Would you then regret taking me out of that cave?”

“I'd regret not stopping you. Assuming I didn't, which, we don't know, thank you very much. But, no.” Tony looked at him seriously, wondering what Loki was thinking. “I wouldn't.”

“You're an absolute fool. Do you expect me to stay here? Docile and waiting, while the Allfather's hounds chase me?”

“Honestly, I don't know you enough to expect anything.” Loki's reputation had it that he would probably grab a knife from the nearby block and stab Tony in the back anytime now. Tony's impression was that the prince already had a plan he couldn't even begin to guess at to escape and never be seen again. He didn't know what to expect, no. “But you know the Tower by now and you know my rules. No taking over the world, no murder, you can stay all you want.”

“Do you imagine you have tamed me with your supposed kindness?” Loki asked, narrowing his eyes, either to judge his reaction or to make his distrust more palpable.

“I'd imagine I'd have to be a way better manipulator to tame a guy who threw me out of my own window just by offering a celebratory meal.”

Loki's face was back to the way it had been when Tony first met him. Actually, he thought, it looked a little better; he remembered Loki's eyes being sunken and dark, his skin clammy and his cheeks hollow. The chicken soup had really done some good, and Tony congratulated himself on his first care.

“I fear he will leave at any moment now,” Thor confided in him one day, sounding worried. “I wouldn't have him running away defenseless when my father is hunting him. Anthony, he likes you. You must talk to him.”

“He likes me?” Tony repeated, and despite the gravity of the topic, he couldn't help but smile. “Which part of his threatening to put my head in the smoothie blender this morning did you miss?”

“He said it with a smile,” Thor reasoned very seriously.

“Yeah, even if that was true -he's not going to listen to me just because I ask nicely, Thor. Your brother, he wants to be in control of his fate. I get a feeling he didn't have that in a while, and I don't only mean the whole snake situation. If he's going to run, we can't stop him.”

“When his magic returns, he will leave,” Thor said, looking concerned. “Here in your Tower, your many energy sources make him invisible, but when he goes...”

“It'll be because he thinks he can outrun them,” Tony said. He couldn't pretend he wasn't worried, too. He didn't want Loki to be hurt again, maybe in a worse way than before. But- “I'm not going to put him in a cage unless he gives me a reason to. If he wants to leave, he'll leave.”

Loki kept complaining about his magic healing slowly. Apparently, Tony had never explained to him that JARVIS had eyes everywhere to tell him that Loki teleported when no one was looking, or that he filled the bath with a gesture of his hand, or that he created doubles to give himself back massages.

Tony didn't mention it. He waited, hoping that, one day, Loki would feel like talking, not to threaten to blow up the city as soon as he could, but, maybe, to tell Tony what he was thinking.