Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blue terrafoil hexagons tilted in a hive-like grid. Every piece of an intricate mechanism poised for use. The mobius strip, the circle of Avengers all decked out in their Christmas best, dead eyed and despicable after five years of grief.

Together at last, back to the beginning. One jump each, one day to relive out of a lifetime of regrettable days. One last chance.

Tony wouldn’t waste it, wouldn’t let himself relax only to be reeled in again. This time there would be no mistakes, no last minute fixes, no improvisation. He'd had his eyes on the goddamn prize for eleven relentless years while everyone else slept cozy in their denial beds, and he was tired. So unbelievably tired. He intended to end it, for good. For every single person that got snapped, and every survivor that lived empties lives afterward.

One last chance—chance, not on his shiny iron ass.

If he got his way there wouldn't be any luck involved. Their victory would be entirely by design. 

One jump, six stones melting in his pocket like the M&Ms in Morgan’s overalls. Not reclaimed by the team, but by him. Alone. The only person he could trust.

Whatever it took. Whoever it took.

With trust taken out of the equation the decision was obvious. Only one other person was caught dead center in this whirlpool, dragged down bit by bit with him. Only one other person was there for every damn step.

He would win him over. Had to. Because Tony Stark was a motherfucking hero, and you only got to call yourself a hero if you won.

The tower was a flashback, and not an all-together pleasant one. 2012, dear god. What a crappy year. His apartment was a statuesque throwback that filled him with equal parts nostalgia and self-hatred. Living in a giant beacon with his name on it, flying around in a tincan and calling himself the privatizer of world peace? The arrogance. Good grief.

Past-him was such an overwhelming embarrassment that he could barely stand to look at the guy, which was probably a good thing because he never noticed how terrible he was at maintaining eye contact before.

The first couple of minutes in the tower, he kept trying to get a good look at himself before the crow's feet and the grey hair set in—only to very nearly catch his own eyes as they flicked randomly and without any discernible warning from point to point.

Steve, the bar, the couch, the window. An eyeroll at Clint’s bad joke and then back to Steve, Natasha’s belt, Hulk’s hairy feet, the crater in the floor. And the pacing, the fussing with any hand-sized object in reach. It was exhausting. Did he really do that? How did anyone manage to talk to him without getting distracted?

And then Steve’s voice in his ear dragged him back to the present.

Tony, you in position?

Right, the stones. Loki. His secret detour.

Roger, he answered, snickering at his own bad pun and ignoring Lang's chatter.

Their past selves weren't in a hurry, bantering and chewing the fat as he watched them hand the scepter directly to Hydra like the naive idiots they were. It was hard to do nothing when history was right there for him to undo, but he resisted. Soon, soon.

The scepter went in the elevator and modern day Rogers executed his part perfectly. Down to the lobby then, to fetch the Tesseract. His golden opportunity.

Lang did his creepy body horror trick and the arc reactor in Tony's double rebooted, an uncomfortable memory not retired long enough not to sting. Cardiac arrest never did become routine, not even when you got a touch of it every couple months like he used to.

Chaos erupted, which meant it was his moment. Showtime.

Pretending to flub the briefcase exchange, he tripped. Dropped the case accidentally-on-purpose, and flipped up the latch so the Tesseract fell out.

Kicking it as subtly as he could into Loki’s direction, he scrambled across the floor in his bulky disguise and got his hand on the glowing cube at the exact moment the trickster god bent over.

Through the visor their eyes met and he winked. Why the hell not? This whole situation was already insane. Loki balked.

“Hey, Frosty, what’s up?” he said, because he couldn’t help himself. “Been a while for me, but I can understand if you’re not super sentimental about the thing that happened five minutes ago.”

It didn’t last long, not nearly long enough for him to fully appreciate the comedic glory, but there was a frigid half-second of absolute confusion. With his free hand he flicked up his mask and gave Loki a clear view.

Two blinks, and then Rock Band finally seemed to catch up.

“What are you waiting for, get us outta here,” he whispered, just in time to here Steve take a punch over the communicator and Ant-Man demand to know what the hell Tony thought he was doing.

The black haired villain wrinkled his nose, and then they were gone. Dissipated in a miasma of dark matter and orbiting electrons.

They reappeared in a room Tony couldn’t begin to identify. Tan stone, wall scrolls, the faint smell of smoked meat. Asgard. Probably.

He took off his helmet and fluffed his sweaty hair.

Loki finally marshaled his features into quaint indifference a whole five seconds too late.

“So you know what I said about losing?” Tony quipped.

Loki removed the muzzle, which made the whole situation a little bit less awkward.

“Stark,” he said, querying but not quite a question. His fine-boned features bent in the most understated look of intrigue Tony had ever seen. “You’ve aged rather badly, I see."

Having just faced his younger self, he kind of had to agree.

“I prefer to think of myself as a fine vintage,” he cocked his head. “Are you really not gonna react to this?”

“To what? To you presumably bypassing all natural barriers of time and continuity simply to gloat over your victory?”

Tony exhaled through his nose and he bit his lip while he thought of what to say. Nervous tick, never could kick it.

“I’m not here to gloat, actually I still haven’t won. How’s that for overtime? Are these real?” Tony tugged on the chain between the handcuffs and Loki’s left eye twitched.

Good, now they’re both uncomfortable. Even terrain.

For a blink he got caught on Loki’s baby blues, bright but not enchanted. A striking difference to the unnatural glow of the Mind Stone.

“I have created Earth’s mightiest defense, was that not damaging enough?”

“Not really, no. We may have gotten a little sidetracked...decided to fight each other instead of the aliens. Not really the best idea but, well, it wasn't really our idea come to think of it,” Tony rolled his eyes and took off his jacket, throwing it on a nearby wooden bench. It was a whole lot warmer wherever they were. “The point is...I told you so. I told you there was no version of this where you came out on top—and maybe I didn’t get the details exactly but I was right. One hundred percent, absolutely spot on.”

“You will have to be at least twenty percent more transparent if you want me to follow this incoherent nonsense.”

“Ok, fine, I’ll dumb it down. This whole elaborate plan of yours, the taking over Earth and getting the cube and ruling as an almighty deity, blah, blah, blah...it really, really, really, really, really, really doesn’t go your way.”

“And what am I in your world? A specter? A prisoner?” Loki sat on the bench and kicked his feet out wide, arms crossed over his chest in disbelief. “Oh, let me guess, I am your little man servant bringing you grapes and biscuits on a platter.”

“Dead,” Tony said. No point sugar coating it. It was the best bargaining chip he had. Seemed like a good one—most people weren't keen on dying. But Thor’s brother wasn't most people. Instead of looking disappointed or upset he grinned. The smarter-than-you smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Thor seemed convinced.”

“And you believed him?”

“Oh don’t worry, I heard about your propensity for ‘resurrection,’” Tony punctuated the statement with a pointed pair of air quotes. “This was different.”

The drunken rambling of his once untouchable friend returned to his mind. Sad, in a hitting-too-close to home way. Maybe Loki could help with that, but he kind of doubted it. The man sharing the room didn't seem like the nurturing type, and the stories he'd heard of Thor's youth didn't really contradict that impression.

“I don’t believe a word of this,” Loki scoffed, crossing his arms and slouching against the wall like this was all a big joke. "You want the Tesseract for yourself, nothing more."

“Fine, you want details? He got fat. Your brother got a belly out to here and the mountains did quake with the force of his belching. He cried at the drop of a hat. He never shaved. I know what despair looks like, I’ve been there, and his was real–”

“What?” Loki tipped his head, eyes alight.

“What, what?” Tony stared.

“He mourned?”

A point of fascination. A burning need. Of course. Tony could have slapped himself in the face. He had gone about this all wrong.

Fanfair, parade floats, a full tilt diva. He said it himself a lifetime ago in a helicarrier far, far away.

“Inconsolably,” he swore with perhaps too much sincerity. “After his mother, and his dad, and you...total train wreck. Couldn't deal.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Loki’s back had straightened, his lip a thin line.

“Mother?”

“I don’t know the details on that one... but it was you that broke him. Definitely. Died right in front of him, that’s what he said.”

“Who did it? How did it happen? When? You must tell me.” Loki demanded, all in a rush, all at once. A startling surge of intensity that drove him to his feet and made Tony take an instinctive step back. He was beginning to understand Loki’s interpersonal troubles. This all-or-nothing tendency wasn’t especially relaxing to be around.

Loki grinned, like scaring his last hope for survival was a good thing. Steeling himself, he approached the bench and sat down very deliberately at Loki’s side, pausing when the man tensed and shifted to sit as well. Carefully, he sized up the Asgardian and prayed to whoever was listening that he wasn't just projecting, that the history he thought they shared was real.

“I think you know who it is,” Tony said. “Somewhere in that barrel-o-monkeys brain of yours, you know that you’re never gonna outrun him.”

Loki tipped his head down, and he knew he’d hit the mark. All those years ago the solution was right in front of him, and he never even thought. It was strange to think that he’d been thinking of this one problem through a million different lenses during a thousand different all-nighters in a hundred different rooms. Disguised as different problems, different threats, different solutions, and yet all wound up like a slinky tangled in its own loops. The Civil War, the Avengers, the invasion, the stones. All one thing plucked apart like atoms in a nuke, waiting to be dropped and released, reconciled back into a single particle that would detonate and devour and expand into a force of universal annihilation.

And at the beginning of it all, this man. A stack of bones and sinew not that different from Tony or any other person, and yet simultaneously other. Different. Undefinable. A living god standing on a rain slick step and screaming about the great lie of freedom, about being born to rule when he himself was, at that exact moment, a slave to his own destiny.

Tony swallowed and tilted his head so he could look the wannabe tyrant in the eye.

“You know he’s not gonna leave, and you know he’s not in your head—but at the same time he is, isn’t he? He’s there every night haunting you all the time. You’re not safe, never safe, you could never run far enough. Because he’s out there, looking. Imminent. I know, okay, I know exactly what it's like. So don’t be cute with me, Rudolph, you know who killed you.”

Loki sat like a pillar, like a man made of stone. He swallowed, he breathed, but he didn’t try to make a joke.

“And you think you can do better?”

“I know it," Tony said.

“And what makes you think I need you, now that I know this information?”

Tony clicked his tongue, looking down to his shoes in a put-upon kind of reluctance.

“Well, I know a thing or two about time travel which is kind of a big deal. I know where all the stones are, and more importantly when. I’m not bad to look at, obviously, and we both share a certain–”

“Verbosity?” Loki drawled.

“Showmanship,” he corrected. “Which I know is pretty important to you. You know, style over substance.”

“Why settle for one when I can have both?” Loki cocked an eyebrow.

“Sure, I like both.” Tony held out his hand. The chains rattled as Loki lifted his wrists to shake, but when he moved to let go the Asgardian grabbed his collar and pulled, dragging him so they were eye to eye.

“If I find that you have mislead me-”

“Easy, Genghis, I’m pretty done with lying teammates,” Tony grunted. “Did it once, wasn’t a good time. Don’t lie to me, and I won’t lie to you.”

Leaning his head back and lowering his eyelids in a long moment of consideration, Loki grimaced.

“Then you have a deal. Although if you are choosing me you must be severely low on options.”

Wiggling out of Loki’s vice grip, Tony laughed darkly and rubbed his perpetually heavy eyes.

“You have no idea, dude, you have no goddamn idea.”

Chapter Text

"Okay, okay, slow down. Do you know how long it's been since I had to write notes by hand?"

"If you intend to take notes while we are traversing the galaxy then I think I shall go back to where I'm meant to be and call this entire campaign a foregone conclusion."

Tony angled a thousand-yard stare at the slowly circling spheres of the planetary map, each one an incandescent gold with a name and a number and coordinates. Massive, in a word. A so sprawling and teeming with life that there seemed no other word for it but 'big.'

And somewhere in there, at one or many points in time, were unknown iterations of six all-powerful rocks.

"Well excuse me for wanting to keep all these timelines straight," he puffed up his cheeks and blew out his frustration. His earlier assessment of Loki as someone rather hard to get along with was...an understatement.

"I don't know why you are so concerned with what happens when," Loki said with high brows and his gaze downcast to where he was picking at his fingernails. "So long as we get one of each, does that not accomplish our goal?"

"Not if we steal them from ourselves. Or the other Avengers. This is a backup plan, alright? Two complete sets of six. I'm not trying to sabotage the team, but I don’t want to leave anything up to chance either. And our original plan already involved," he recounted it in his head, fingers popping up at each new timeline visited.

Loki snickered. "Are you really counting on your fingers? I'm beginning to think Barton overstated your genius–"

"Okay, you know what, screw it," Tony rolled up the parchment— parchment, seriously— and the ink pot. "I'll figure this out on my own and if you still feel like being a nag later, then we can do this Harold and Kumar shit on the way to the stones."

"All I said, and I'm sure you'll find I'm correct, is that with our present skills and abilities we've only access to certain stones. If you can't write a few monosyllabic words without throwing a tantrum, then I see that as a shortcoming of yours, not mine."

"Fine, Snowflake, you take the notes," Tony threw the rolled up parchment at Loki's head but the smarmy bastard just caught it. Between his bum knee and the arm that never quite got better after Afghanistan, those reflexes made him excessively jealous.

Loki glowed with satisfaction at his irritation, a flick of his hand returning the pot of ink to the table.

"Can we get back to planning now, or does the old man need a nap first?” Loki grinned.

“Fifty-three is not old–” Tony grumbled, flopping back into his chair and resting his chin on his propped up hand.

His eyes scanned the room, Loki's room he'd realized once the prince had walked him out of the antechamber where they'd landed and into a lushly decorated living room complete with fur-covered settees, emerald green goat-horn insignias, and a hulking fireplace that cracked without any visible fuel.

"Power and soul," Loki mused, twirling the quill lightly between his fingers so that the feathered ends danced along the line of his chin. "If you can only verify where they will be in two year's time, and we've no means of shortening that time–"

"Yeah, about that," Tony scratched his beard and wondered if he should be trusting Loki with this information. "I oversimplified that a bit. This thing on my hand is for time travel. It's how I got here. Problem is, it only goes back. In order to go forward, I have to go back to my own time and set a new destination using the nexus at the Avenger's compound."

"Which we cannot do, since you've made yourself a turncoat," Loki wiggled his head with obvious glee.

"You don't have to make it sound so sensational."

"No, but this is telling. I like this," Loki leaned forward and pointed the quill at Tony like one of his little daggers. "Ten years in the wind, your comrades returned, your hope restored, and yet you betray them to collaborate with your once and rightful ruler?"

"Ruler is putting it a bit strong–"

"What sort of man comes so close to redemption only to turn his back and pursue his own whims?" Loki whispered, eyes bright, an unkind implication communicated neatly without a word being said of it.

Working his jaw around the taunt he would prefer to throw, he instead fixated his attention on the objective. Winning, the stones, the world restored.

"The sort of man that hates surprises. If I can't rely on anyone, then I might as well work with someone who I can trust to be untrustworthy. I like to keep things predictable."

The swirling of the feather paused, suspended in the air like an unspoken promise. Sitting up from his slouch Tony laced his fingers and accepted the flat inspection of Loki's suspicious eyes. This impromptu interrogation wasn't about him, not really. It was about the Avengers, about how he’d tricked them to achieve his own goal. How he could easily to the same to Loki.

Ten years of what-ifs and compulsively reviewed security footage had rendered the Rightful King of Asgard's speeches a case study in projection. When Loki wanted answers he issued insults rather than questions. Most people probably wouldn't notice, wouldn't follow the double talk or see through the subterfuge, but Tony wasn't most people.

"I have a daughter," he said, not expecting the pang of separation to hit him so hard. "Morgan. Four years old. She loves popsicles and camping and...and narwhals, for some reason,” on Loki’s incomprehension, he added, “Aquatic mammals. Kinda like whales with horns. If we undo what went wrong, if we turn the clock back five years and bring back everyone who Thanos killed... she's gone. Like she never existed."

Loki lowered the quill.

"And I can't let that happen. I need to be able to protect her, no matter what else happens. I'm not okay with a one in fourteen million chance of winning. I'm not okay with losing my little girl to save the world. Yes, I'm being cagey. Yes, I'm giving you every reason to think that I'm a Machiavellian psycho who will toss you aside once I've gotten what I want. And, yes, I'm going to take fucking notes. But it's not because I want to betray anyone. It's not because I'm a bastard that gets off on fucking with people.

It's because I can't afford to lose. I have too damn much on the line to put anything, anything, up to chance. I have a family and they're depending on me, okay? They need me. And any outcome where I don't get to go home to them, where I don't get to see my little girl grow up? That's a hollow victory."

Loki's mouth had parted slightly, the accusation in his eyes transfigured into unconcealed surprise.

Pursing his lips, the trickster dipped his quill  in the pot and tapped the tip on the blotter.

He wrote, in precise and measured strokes:

Space (Tesseract) - in possession

Mind - New York, 2012

Time - New York, 2012 (?)

Reality (aether) - Jane Foster, 2013

Soul - Vormir, 2018

Power - Morag, 2014

"I cannot claim to have such noble motivations, nor do I have an overly reassuring history of loyalty," Loki murmured as he wrote. The hair on Tony's neck pricked up, his heart unsteady as he realized how vulnerable he had made himself, and to a man so known for exploiting weakness.

"But?" he prompted.

"But," Loki's shoulders lowered as he took a steadying breath and refreshed his ink. "I have recently been burned rather badly by my propensity for espionage."

"And?"

Loki huffed, annoyed at being rushed to the point. "And given my current streak of losing I would very much welcome a foregone conclusion."

"Good," Tony slouched, "Because I didn't really make a Plan B for if you said no."

The god redirected his gaze in a baffled flick.

"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off with a rueful smirk. "Pot meet kettle, I know, but for the record, as someone who wants to walk out of this in one piece, if I had no choice but to double cross someone, you would be the bottom of the list. I've heard some stories, and can I just say—savage."

"A wise choice," Loki said dryly. Despite a visible effort to be stoic, his tone was obviously pleased, his arm buoyant as he dotted the "i" in "reality" with a flourish. It now included a diagram of known time distortions as well. With Loki, it seemed that flattery would always be a safe bet.

"And I didn't even have to write it myself."

"Indeed, witness my shame. A king turned scribe."

"How the mighty have fallen," Tony chuckled, finding as much to his own surprise as anyone's that he was enjoying the back and forth.

"More to the point," Loki shifted his weight and set the quill on the parchment, perfectly horizontal. Meticulous. "Once I was successfully transported to Midgard it was Thanos' intention to return to the Nova Corps in search of the power stone. If your information is accurate and the soul stone has been entombed on Vormir, then it will also be within a day's journey of the Titan and his children. We would be fools to venture there before we possess more power ourselves."

"Agreed," Tony sighed. That was new information. Nebula had not been especially forthcoming during their planning, providing only the scantest of information in the most acerbic ways possible, but he hadn't thought she would leave out something so vital.

Romanov, Barton—he knew they were liars. It was in their job description. Likewise Rogers had shown his true colors in what could only be described as a blatant and very public kiss with a fist. But he and Nebula? They'd almost died together.

Twenty-one days in the black, twenty-nine hours without food or power, twenty-two minutes he'd held her hand and listened to her talk about calling a warlord "father" and repaid each story with his own. He thought they were of one mind when it came to sharing information.

Across the table, a different dictator's scapegoat cleared his throat and continued.

"Hence, I propose we seek the Time Stone first. Should we fail at any other endeavor with it in our possession, we will be able to undo the misstep and try again."

"Logical," Tony agreed, "But barring that, I was thinking the Mind Stone. Figured you might know better than me where it came from."

At this, Loki tensed. "Could we not simply take it from Rogers?"

"No, we covered that already—back up plan, remember? It doesn't work if we take the same ones the Avengers are after."

"So you need to acquire it earlier?" Loki's face clouded.

"Ideally. How'd you get it? Party favor from Mr. T?"

Loki stood and ran his fingers through his hair. In the flickering light of the fire and torches, his face looked near skeletal, mottled under the eyes and gaunt, the dark locks of his hair separated and filthy.

Qualities which Tony previously hadn't noticed, or perhaps that he had noticed but hadn’t particularly cared about. Now that they were allies, their fates intertwined, these minor defects swelled into big, insuppressible warning signs.

Loki paced, hands firm at his side except when he would lift one to anxiously fix some aspect of his less-than-stellar appearance.

"On second thought–" Tony moved to deflect.

The Asgardian whipped around, the picture of offended indignation.

"Before it was given to me I was not in a state to take notes," he admitted.  "However, it was in the past which makes it accessible by your device, and you are correct that I could reprise my role in that particular exchange. I did not look...especially different."

So, like hot garbage. Yikes.

"Then why do I get the sense that you would rather thumb wrestle the Hulk?"

"Would you be overly giddy to return to Raza's cave?"

The unexpected mention jolted him, and his discomfort made Loki smile.

"I was not of a clear mind once the scepter was in my hands. Had I known the full scope of its power, I would have chosen death instead."

"O—kay,” Tony sputtered, hoping despite his humorless tone that Loki’s words were just a turn of phrase. “Time stone it is, then.”

When the big guy made no further comments, his stomach sank and he slapped the table in an awkward one-one-two before beating a hasty retreat to the antechamber where he’d left his coat.

The Tesseract lay on the bench as well, a wonder of basic geometry and inscrutable cosmic forces. Beautiful, enchanting. Not in spite of the danger it posed, but because of it. Because of the impossibilities it made real. A warm light for all humanity, a tempest in a teapot.

One of six.

Loki picked it up and Tony set his hand on top, the glow so bright it turned both their hands white. The near instant lurch of corporeal matter into sudden non-existence.

Then, all at once—light, sound, pandemonium.

Bicycle bells ringing and people shouting. A shredded newspaper rustling against a dry wood door with the paint peeling off. Cars crunched like balled up foil on the sidewalk and the oppressive smell of death and diesel circling like a noxious cloud.

Behind them, bodies. Chitauri limp and contorted in death, powerless to stop the citizens plundering their weapons and blood-slicked armor.

In front of them, a house number.

177 Bleecker Street, Manhattan.

Chapter Text

The Sorcerers' so-called Sanctum was a four story fortress of concrete and red bricks boxed uncomfortably between taller, newer buildings like the middle passenger in a row of airplane seats.

Tony didn't think it looked all that impenetrable, but Loki insisted that it was wrapped in defensive magic tighter than Black Widow's ass in a pleather catsuit, so he figured they had to proceed as if it were Fort Knox.

In his experience the best way to get into a restricted area was simply to look like you belonged there, so that's what he intended to do. Tapping on his arc reactor, he felt the nanobots sweep over his body like a particularly ticklish jumpsuit and then harden into the protective shell of Iron Man.

"Hit me," he said, turning to Loki in a fighting stance.

He expected a witty reply, maybe a confused eyebrow lift. What he got was a sucker punch right in the jaw. He cursed, his whole body recoiling.

"Into the Sanctum, jackass! What the hell?"

Loki frowned, as if confused. "You didn't specify. You instructed me during our planning to follow your instructions exactly. Am I meant to read your mind?"

Tony shook himself, groaning. Loki snorted from behind his own unsettling disguise—a man in military fatigues with a Chitauri harpoon.

"You knew what I meant," he lifted his face plate and rubbed his temples. "Christ, what is wrong with you?"

"I was dropped as a child. Terrible trauma."

"I bet," Tony said, calling his helmet back on and straightening. "Fine, we'll do it tedious way. Loki, will you please gently and theatrically throw me through this door so that we can convince the mages they are being robbed by weapons dealers, thus buying you time to locate Dr. Strange and steal the Time Stone?"

Loki sniffed, like this sudden lack of loopholes was a buzzkill for him.

"You forgot to mention the clones."

Tony groaned. "Loki, would you pretty please with sugar on top, gently and theatrically throw me into this building thus buying you time to conjure a bunch of clones and convince the mages-"

Loki kicked him squarely in the gut.

Tony went flying, yelling his displeasure. He exploded through the door with a harrowing crunch and crashed shoulder first into the tile floor. A hail of dust and debris rose around him as the edges of his armor pried up mosaic tiles like shingles from a roof in a storm. He skidded, screeching and sparking, until he finally collided with a great sprawling staircase in a rain of destroyed lumber.

Footsteps pounded on the floors above him, doors swinging open and slamming closed. In seconds the room was flooded with people.

Men and women of every race and creed came out of the woodwork, all in robes of orange and yellow, red and navy. Seemingly as one they extended their hands and flaming, glowing arrays emanated from their palms.

From the outside Loki's clones stepped into formation, their shields and spear guns held high.

"Advance," one of the clones yelled. "The weapons are inside."

A burly mage of South Asian descent ran to the front, a man with a stern face and an air of authority. His magic wove itself into a long, serpentine whip which he directed at Tony as well as the clones, clearly unsure who the enemy was. Tony raised his hands in surrender.

"Woah, woah, woah, I'm with you," he yelled, activating his repulsors to hover in the air and shaking off bits of broken stairwell. "Me and the team are taking out some trash leftover from the invasion. Can I get a little help?"

Loki's clones advanced, and the lead mage's face opened into a look of boyish admiration.

"You're Iron Man!"

Oh boy. Tony rolled his eyes internally, but he made himself offer a little, friendly wave.

"Yep," he laughed like he wanted to die. "You got me, buddy. Can't get anything past you."

At the edge of his vision one "smuggler" broke from the rest, his form darting behind pillars and bookcases as he snuck to the staircase. Tony rushed to keep the attention on himself, before someone noticed what had to be Loki sneaking away.

"So, uh, you guys look legit. Kind of a Cobra Kai vibe? Very cool, very cool. Can we get these weapons dealers or... ?"

The man shook himself, settling into a fighting stance.

"I am Wong, and I would be happy to assist the Avengers," he swore.

It struck Tony as a little cheesy, but hey, at least the distraction was working.

"Alright, let's get it," he shouted, swooping towards a clone and firing his repulsor. He had the suit blast Metallica out of the speakers while he was at it, because it couldn't hurt, and chaos ensued.

The clone-who-must-be-Loki made a break for it, taking the stairs two at a time. Up and up he climbed, and Tony felt his jaw unclench. They were in, the plan had worked.

But then, tragedy.

As Loki ran the stairs started to move underneath him, the old boards separating and opening like teeth in a great, wooden mouth.

Tony stared, eyes wide. He thought to fly over, to fire a missile or yell out a warning, to do something, but it happened so fast. The mouth opened, yawing wide, and swallowed his ally whole.

Between one blink and the next, Loki was gone.

This, more so than any of his other failures in the past week, Loki found particularly mortifying.

He awoke disoriented, trapped in a full-body arcane bind.

Bested. By Earth mages.

Ugh.

Around him stood the city of New York, still smoking from his attack. Below him, a rooftop.

A tall, bald woman stood at his hovering feet, elderly and slight in a yellow robe. Seiðr rippled around her like waves in a pond, as if her presence disrupted the universe itself. Even Thanos did not have such power. True fear crept up his spine.

Giving no indication of his distress, he scratched frantically at the magic paralyzing him. Whoever his captor was, he must not remain at her mercy for long.

"Name yourself, witch, and know that you threaten the rightful king of Asgard."

The woman's gaze lifted, placid and unconcerned, as if Loki were a gnat who'd had the misfortune of landing in her soup.

"They call me the Ancient One, though you would perhaps know me better by the title of Celt."

Loki narrowed his eyes. That was not a word often uttered among modern people.

She gave a mild smile, clasping her hands behind her back.

"If you seek the stone, I would advise you turn back. I have no desire to kill a son of Laufey, but I cannot allow this stone into Thanos' hands."

Loki's jaw clenched at the name, at the knowledge it threatened. What did this smug cow know of him? Nothing. He was weakened by the Mind Stone, that was all. His shields were transparent, projecting. A novice with a scrying orb could glean such information from him in his current state.

"I am no longer loyal to Thanos," he spat, strengthening his efforts to break the seamless binding. It was a simple admission, not solely because it was true but also because giving her the impression of riling him might make her less cautious. Even a momentary lapse in her guard might be enough to escape.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and what manner of question was that?

Thanos had promised him power, a throne. He'd promised Loki a return to his honor, a life of pride and influence, and what he was given was a telepathic tormentor, a fortnight in mental agony, and a failed invasion he could scarcely remember through the violating haze of the Mind Stone's control.

No he was not loyal to that opportunistic swine, even if he may yet kneel before him again swearing allegiance in hopes of saving his own skin.

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth.

The Ancient One tipped her head, as if she could hear his thoughts as clearly as spoken words.

"Am I to believe that? From the God of Lies?"

"I don't see why not," Loki raised his chin in challenge. "You claim to know me, and I am famously seditious. My loyalty shifts with the changing of the winds."

At that she gave a true smile, and perhaps it said something of Loki's character that he found her mirth far more intimidating than her judgement.

"Your allies change, young one. Your loyalty is unwavering. You serve only yourself, and in that cause you are as unchanging as the oldest mountain peaks."

True rage consumed him, briefly, and were it not for his damned immobility he'd have slashed the infernal witch's throat.

"And to whom are you loyal?" he demanded, emotion fanning his seiðr into a caustic acid that burned beneath his skin. "To that coward Dr. Strange? Where is he? Does he sit in repose whilst you do his dirty work?"

Far from the offense or anger he'd wanted, the woman's face shone with interest.

"What do you know of Steven Strange?"

Nothing, Loki thought, seething. Nothing at all.

Perhaps it would have been more clever to lie, but he was distracted by his efforts to escape and his rising frustration made it difficult to think.

"I know he is a fool and a failure. I know he hand delivers the Time Stone to Thanos and allows half the universe to perish. I am here to take it so that he may not have it. Cease your ill-informed posturing and take me to him."

He redoubled his efforts, tearing furiously at her hold. Near the center of his chest he felt a crack in the structure and poured all his power into it, prying and squeezing through until the entire spell shattered. The moment his feet touched the roof he conjured two daggers and lunged like a feral beast.

The woman dropped into a serpent stance, golden fans erupting from her fine-boned hands. He rushed her, undeterred, his blades crossed and poised to strike. Effortlessly she dodged and Loki fell into a roll, skidding into a crouch and pouncing for another strike.

This time the Ancient One stood her ground, her fans banishing themselves as her hands balled up into fists. Expertly she twisted around the fall of his blades and shot her fist directly through his guard.

Her blow struck him sharply in the chest, the force shocking in its strength. Despite the blunt impact it seemed to push right through him, deeper, deeper, deeper until it extended to the other side, ripping his very essence from its tether and ejecting his spirit into the air.

Loki kicked but he felt no resistance, he tried to breath but felt no air. Frantic and terrified he moved to clutch his throat and saw disgusting blue hands covered in grotesque and primitive scars. He screamed, scratching at her arm where her clenched fist held his helpless spirit.

"Steven Strange is performing brain surgery in Los Angeles. He will not possess the Eye of Agamotto for four more years. If you seek the protector of the stone then you need look no further than me."

The Ancient One's nostril flared, her gaze intense as Loki fought and struggled.

"What have you done to me?! Return me to my rightful form!"

"This is your rightful form. In the astral realm a thing can only appear as it truly is."

"Put me back," Loki begged, any concern for dignity banished.

He could stomach defeat, humiliation, captivity. He could quietly await his inevitable death in misery and insignificance. He could even be heeled and heckled by a self-obsessed human with a martyr complex. What he could not endure, not for one moment longer, was gazing upon his monstrous, disgusting self without a glamour. He could not.

And so he begged, hideously, in a way he would normally never do. The Ancient One looked upon him with a pity that made him feel vile.

"You cover your eyes to all that you do not wish to see, son of Laufey."

She released him, and all the world seemed to topple, his vision a disorienting kaleidoscope as his soul returned to his body. A vision of his own shaking, sweaty hands greeted him when he could finally see. Pale, smooth hands. He was prone on the roof, winded.

The Ancient One waved her hand and the ground split open. Loki scrambled away from it, on all fours like an animal.

A pulsing, golden tendril sprouted up, growing and branching until it was a massive tree.

"You hide beneath a blanket of ignorance like a child afraid of the dark—denying your true power, avoiding greater purpose."

"How do you know this?" Loki hissed, defiant.

The Ancient One lifted her hand, indicating the upper branches where a hazy cloud seemed to choke out the leaves.

"The future spreads out before you. Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, circling the trunk and Loki both in soundless steps of her petite slippered feet. "But look, a fog. You are not where you were meant to be. What once was a predetermined path is now unclear. You are lost, young giant, in a forest of decisions you do not wish to make."

Loki's eyes widened, gazing at the thicket. It was enormous and complex, a river delta of potential spreading up and up and up. The woman knelt at his side, her gaze stern but not unkind.

"I've prevented countless terrible futures, each one worse than the last and always there is another. You say I made a mistake in trusting Doctor Strange," she blinked, contemplative. "Perhaps that is true. I've walked the branches of time as frequently as you have explored those of what you call Yggdrasil, and yet always I arrive at the same destination. I cannot see past it, I cannot see the outcome."

Shaken to his core, his skin crawling with the sensation of his own glamour suppressing his nature, Loki never the less realized that he may still have a chance at success. If he could speak persuasively, if he could marshal his damned nerves and think clearly—

"I do not wish to fail," he stuttered. "I would win."

The woman lowered her gaze, the smallest quirk of gentle humor on her lips.

"You lie very well."

Loki grimaced. "It was worth a shot."

She stood, serene and amused, gazing at the city.

"You have given me much to consider. Dr. Strange was meant to be the best of us. Perhaps I put too much upon him. Perhaps he is only a man, who cannot see just as I cannot see. Return to me with uncovered eyes and promises backed by conviction. Clear the fog from your future and I may consider parting with the stone."

The Ancient One bowed, and as if in inverse motion the giant arcane tree shrunk and withered.

"But-" Loki protested weakly.

"Go," the Ancient One replied. She made a V with her hands and pushed.

The ground underneath him opened up.

Loki crashed at great speed into a creaky, dark chamber.

Curio cabinets lined the walls and a galaxy of magical artifacts looked out from the numerous shelves. Grateful to finally be free and in his own skin, he stumbled to his feet.

Downstairs he could still hear a battle in full swing, and he realized he did not know how long he'd been gone.

While in the clutches of the Ancient One he'd allowed his disguise to fall, and so he now had to cast it again, wrapping himself in the attire of a monk. On unsteady feet he strode down endless corridors and around tightly clustered corners, arms stiff at his sides in an attempt to appear calm.

He ought to try again, Stark would not understand. He would think Loki uncooperative, or worse, mutinous. But bald terror beat in his chest and he simply could not do it. He could not face her again.

He found the stairs, beating down them with a tremendous drive. One floor, two, three.

On the final landing before the ground floor a foreign energy shocked him to a stop, sudden and sharp. A pull overtook him, like a magnet in his skin. Leading, calling, it cajoled him deeper into the mages' hoard.

He followed his feet until the pressure eased, and to his utter shock he discovered a most familiar bronzed metal falcon perched on a cluttered glass shelf. The craftsmanship was impressive, individual feathers of hammered metal arranged with loving care into a span of remarkable wings and a graceful silver beak.

From within its chest came a constant ticking, a rhythm simultaneously soothing and maddening, which Loki knew to be the healthy tip-tap-tapping of a Dwarven clockwork heart.

A quiet melody filled his ears. He reached out to touch it, and the falcon sprung to life. Its clawed feet scrabbled on the shelf and its wings squeaked as it stretched them and flapped, the poor fellow stiff and in need of oil. They blinked at each other, the dissonance of their reunion coming fully into fruition.

"Hello there," Loki said vaguely, reaching out a finger to pat its head.

The falcon nipped it and Loki feigned displeasure, although he was actually quite smitten.

"Whatever would Aunt Freya say if she found you here," he tutted.

He offered the bird his arm, and it happily crawled up his sleeve to settle on his shoulder. The falcon cape was a valuable relic, long ago lost in some forgotten battle. To find it here? A good omen, to be sure. He petted it again, and the creature mutated, taking the form of a rune-etched pauldron with a flowing red cape.

Well, that wouldn't do. He spelled it green, and executed a spin to see how it fell. Yes, much better.

A crash erupted from below and Loki remembered himself.

Stark, the sorcerers, escape.

At least one of those would be easier now. The falcon cape was renowned for its flight.

"Fine, then, old friend. You may come along. I suppose I shant tell Aunt Freya if you don't."

Together he and his heirloom returned to the stairs. Sorcerers were everywhere now, fanning out through the floor. He supposed his illusions must have dropped once his spirit was not in his body, which meant they knew they were dealing with a fellow caster and had come up in search of him.

He ran, seeing no value in subterfuge with so many eyes around.

The mages gave chase, slinging spells and shouting. Glass shattered just over his shoulder, and he only ran faster.

Rounding the final corner he saw the staircase just twenty paces ahead. There was hope, he was close, but dotted between him and freedom were at least eight more mages all raising their glowing hands.

He skidded to a stop, looking back at his line of pursuers and then ahead at the poised blockade.

"Well, this seems a trifle unfair," he said with false cheer. "Twelve against one?"

The falcon ticked his disapproval and Loki chuckled, splitting himself into eight clones and sending them all different directions. The mages had not expected that if their cries of alarm were anything to go by.

Loki snickered, rolling into the shadow of a heavy chestnut wardrobe and charting a path through the chaos. As if in answer to his need, the clockwork falcon chirped.

"Are you going to help me escape?" he asked, inordinately fond of the thing already.

The pauldron merely ticked and tocked, and Loki supposed there was only one way to find out. Kicking out of the alcove and into the fray, he shot bolts of green fire at the two nearest sorcerers and ducked just in time as a golden lasso came sweeping for his head.

Using the momentum of his drop, he slid under the arm of a third assailant and leapt into the air, spreading his arms and reaching for the buzz of the falcon's magic and amplifying it. Great metal wings spread out, carrying him over the banister of the stairs and swooping down into the high ceiling of the atrium.

Stark's voice bounced off the walls as he argued loudly with the mages' leader.

"No, that's what I'm trying to tell you! They were smugglers. Smugglers! What you saw wasn't magic, that was Chitauri weapons tech. Call your guys back and-"

Loki flew past the sorcerer and grabbed Stark's leg as he went by, dragging him into the air. He yelped, arms pinwheeling as he hung upside down in Loki's grip. They careened out of the doorway, and Loki laughed wildly.

"Did you and Strange stop for a beer? What the hell took you so long?" Stark demanded.

The falcon's wings screeched something dreadful from the weight of them both and Loki quickly found an alley to hide in. He dropped Stark on his arse, and it was only as he righted himself that the man took noticed of Loki's familiar.

"And you stole...a cape? Is this a joke to you?"

Loki landed neatly on his feet.

"I didn't want to leave with nothing."

Stark's helmet came up. He looked seasick.

"What do you mean, nothing? Where's the stone?"

"It was not held by Strange, your information was false."

"What are you talking about, he has to have it. He's the head honcho. I've seen him wearing it."

"In 2016. Four years from now," Loki sniffed. "It is currently in the possession of what I assume to be an Old God."

"An Old God? Like Cthulhu?"

Loki sighed, exhausted. He'd not had a moment's peace since accepting the scepter and now Stark was speaking in tongues.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are my perfectly reasonable questions annoying you?" Stark snapped. "You're Loki, you can fucking teleport and make clones and fly. I gave you the perfect cover and you had full access. It's not like you had to beat whoever it was, you just had to sneak in and take it."

"It was not that simple," Loki sneered, not appreciating Stark's tone or the force with which he disregarded obstacles he knew nothing about. "The protector was a being of immense power. They cut through my defenses and removed my soul from my body as if it were child's play."

Loki considered telling Stark of the Ancient One's challenge, but how could he possibly explain? She issued me a vague and esoteric quest to determine my future, by means unknown and inexplicable to me, then bade me return at an unspecified time, and on no solid promise that she would then turn over the stone?  No, that would only complicate matters.

If they survived long enough to make a second attempt, he could discern how to tell Stark then.

"I was lucky to escape with my life, I had no thought for the stone."

Tony cursed, kicking a refuse can into a nearby wall. It dented nearly in half and ricocheted down the alley in a loud clang, the noise setting Loki's teeth on edge.

"Be at peace, we will find another way. Perhaps at a later time, when we have secured another stone."

"Dammit," Tony yelled, pacing. "It would have been so much easier with Time. Without it—we have zero margin for error. One tiny thing goes wrong, one paradox starts, and it's over. We lose."

Stark's discouraged tone struck him as most distasteful. For all his bluster, was he so easily defeated? If so then they were doomed already. The thought made him irrationally angry.

"Is that what you expected of a near impossible quest? Easy?" he asked, somewhere between acerbic and disgusted.

The Man of Iron huffed, his hands clenching into fists and then slowly letting go. He turned toward the exit of the alley and begin walking into the light.

"You're not getting rid of me that quickly, Reindeer Games," he said, determination back in his voice.

It settled Loki, the equilibrium, at least until Stark opened his mouth again.

"Nothing for it then. The only other stone we can go after in 2012 is the Mind Stone. So, your show."

Raindrops fell in Loki's mind, a great yawning ceiling overhead. The sensation of another mind touching, invading, pulling him apart in places no one was meant to be. Fear, cold and deep overtook Loki and he felt he might be sick.

The Mind Stone meant he would have to return.

To the Breach. To the Chitauri.

To The Other.

Chapter Text

The base which Loki had used during his invasion of Earth was a dreary place, an abandoned subway station full of dust and machinery.

The ceilings were low and the light even lower. Rows of arches stretched between stone columns, the structure burdened with the weight of hung cables and the clutter of a military force on the move.

Stark followed him inside at a subdued pace, eyeing the equipment and taking inventory.

"Somehow I expected your secret hideout to be more grandiose."

"There wasn't time," Loki muttered, too tired to bicker. It had been one of the longest days of his life and he was ready for it to be over.

Loki remembered the layout of the facility, as well as the patterns of eating, sleeping, and washing that his stolen comrades had completed while he sat motionless on the side. He hadn't a care for his own needs, then, too tightly held in the Mind Stone's grip, but they could not be ignored any longer.

He excused himself, grateful for Stark's preoccupation.

The washroom was a ruin of tile and rust. Two broken stalls stood beside a line of barely functional latrines. A mirror hung over the basins and he found himself in it.

The man looking back was not a prince of Asgard. He was barely a ghost. The only resemblance Loki saw to himself was the green of his coat and the weight of loss on his shoulders. His face was gaunt, his eye sockets sunken and grey. A gash cut across his nose from when the green beast had bashed him into Stark's chamber floor, and a mottled bruise discolored his cheek.

Stark, what a gullible fool.

He was, of course, going to betray him.

The mortal's plan would be better described as a suicide and his stated motivations were beyond unbelievable. Tony Stark, famous rake, the Merchant of Death, a family man? Absurd.

Loki would sooner ally with a drunken goat than escort this half-mad human across the universe on a fruitless hunt to perhaps, potentially, land a hit on Thanos before he blew them both to tiny bits. The only question was when exactly he would commit this treason, and how many stones he could take with him in the attempt.

Crunching footsteps came across the gravel floor as Stark entered the washroom and Loki leaned on the counter as if resting, so as not to appear like he was plotting. Stark did not acknowledge him. He merely passed behind his back and selected a latrine on the wall for his use.

For an awkward cluster of seconds they both stood still, ignoring one another, and then Stark approached the mirror. Realizing he ought to appear busy, Loki waved a hand to draw water for a wash. It would not be a true bath, but it was sorely needed and there was a chance that the innate human prudishness about nudity might afford him some privacy.

His act hit a snag when he found no runes on the tap. Water did not arise, and when he threaded his seiðr into the open spout he found a blockage stopping the flow. He stepped one station over and tried again with the same result.

Stark snorted at his failure. Loki glared, wondering what so amused the mortal.

Reaching a hand toward the faucet, Stark pointed, an expression of teasing indulgence on his smug face.

"Hot," he said turning the knob until warm water flowed, then indicating the matching knob on the other side. "Cold."

Loki sniffed, resentful of his own ignorance. This partnership was humiliating, more and more so by the hour.

He shucked his belts and overcoat, noting with some displeasure that Stark had not left after washing his own hands in the sidelong sink. Loki bent over, splashing water on his face and scrubbing the grime from his hands. Stark still did not leave.

"Are you going to hover over me like a school marm through the entire campaign?"

"Would it stop you from disappearing in a split second, taking the Tesseract and any hope of returning to my family with you?"

His eyes pierced Loki, steely and cool. His energy was calm, but there was fear underneath.

"No," Loki answered. A naked, uninflected fact.

If he wished to leave then Stark would be powerless to stop him. This was unchangeable so long as Loki was a god and Stark merely a man.

The mortal smiled wide, as if this unkind admission pleased him greatly, and clapped Loki uncomfortably between his shoulder blades.

"Then no, I don't see a reason to."

The touch on his unarmored spine sent chills up Loki's back, like insects crawling under his clothes. Stark did not notice, he was too busy walking away.

"Take as long as you need, big guy."

Loki stared at his back until it disappeared from view. The steel door slammed closed in Stark's wake, echoing harshly in the small, sickly-lit room. All was quiet but the trickling faucet and his rasping breaths. He was alone.

Tension uncoiled as he absorbed the sensation. Alone. Alone. He had not been alone since before Thor's coronation.

Stiffly, he unclasped his tunic, his boots and other belts. The leather and twill slid over his skin and he made efforts not to look at himself any more.

Steam rose from the basin and he laid his head under the tap, submerging himself in the cleansing flow.

It felt like a benediction. It felt like mercy.

Loki returned to the main room of the station refreshed. Though still in the same soiled clothes he at least felt clean. The dirt and dried blood had been washed away, which allowed the cuts and scrapes below to finally begin healing.

In his absence, Stark had occupied himself with setting up a camp. Two cots had been dragged into the open, and a pile of scavenged food had been stacked between them. The man himself sat on a black plastic crate, attaching some manner of power cell to another larger machine.

No sooner had Loki settled himself on one of the cots than the mechanism came to life, rumbling and emitting a warm breeze. Stark gave a little cheer of victory, directing his smile at Loki with a teasing glint in his eye.

"I see you've chosen the 'not stranding Tony in a time paradox' option. Solid choice."

"And miss out on the tragic comedy of you bungling your way through time and space?"

Stark chuckled, holding his hands to the heat and massaging his wrists.

The mortal’s sense of humor struck Loki as useful. It was dry and at times hard to follow, but if Stark wanted to play at comradery then encouraging it would only make the theft easier.

Stark selected a can from the food pile and wrestled it open with a lever on the lid. Another one followed, an unappealing brown stew which he then offered to Loki.

"So, the Mind Stone. How did you get it? Is there anyway we can snag it before then?"

Loki pursed his lips. His memory of the time was vague and difficult to parse.

"Prior to me receiving it, the scepter was held on another base. I know not where. Perhaps we could find it, but it would be difficult to do. The Chitauri are mildly telepathic, connected by a hive mind. The moment one of them sees us their entire army will be aware."

Stark chewed his food, his heel tapping steadily on the ground. He seemed to always be in motion, as if stillness were his true enemy.

"How long were you there?"

"It is difficult to discern."

"Okay, what exactly were you doing there?"

He gritted his teeth, wishing this line of inquiry could be avoided. "Waiting."

"For what?"

"For the scepter," Loki snapped. "You already know this."

The mortal rested his elbow on his knee and regarded Loki with an unreadable expression.

Loki averted his gaze, clutching the can tightly enough to dent it on one side.

"When I was first brought to the Chitauri stronghold, I believed I would be fitted with a fleet and sent immediately to the target. I had already spoken to Thanos, and I thought we had come to an agreement."

Stark had stopped his fidgeting, his expression level and focused. Loki took a long swallow of soup simply to stall the inevitable. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stared unseeing at the floor.

"The Chitauri are lead by a man called The Other. He is a strong telepath and ruthless interrogator. What I came to understand during my stay aboard his vessel was that Thanos found my disposition unsuited to his task, but he saw use for my talents and my familiarity with Earth. He instructed The Other to...eliminate my character defects and ensure my cooperation."

Stark glanced mournfully at his food and set it aside. "Well, that ruined my appetite."

"How terribly inconvenient for you," Loki muttered. The mortal rolled his eyes.

"So I was right, you weren't all there during the invasion. You'd been-" He pointed at his temple with waggling fingers. "-messed with. Mind-jacked."

"Yes," Loki answered. "But I volunteered myself willingly. I only became resistant when I discovered the target to be Thor's precious Earth, which meant our assault would render me an enemy of Asgard. I tried to persuade the Titan to a different target, not understanding that he was only interested in the Tesseract. My machinations made me appear disloyal, and so I became a pawn."

Stark crossed his arms, disgust clear on his face, which Loki thought rather unfair. He had done what was necessary to survive. Surely he would do the same, when put in Loki’s position.

Stark’s brows furrowed, his hand reflexively smoothing his beard.

"So the only way for us to get the stone...is to put you in the place of your past self and let them fuck your brain all over again."

Loki tore the paper of the can's label, a terrible unease creeping up his spine.

"I can handle it. I failed to acquire the Time Stone, and I will not fail again."

Stark paced. Tight, fast loops that made Loki nauseous.

Abruptly, he sat on his cot and crossed his arms.

"Fine. We'll use the last of my Pimm particles to go back two weeks. We get you in, you get the scepter, I wake you back up, and we leave."

"If you're certain you can defeat me," Loki joked, weakly. Eager to speak of other things.

Let no one say that Stark could not take a hint. Between one blink and the next his entire demeanor shifted, his chest puffing out as he laid horizontal, his arms crossed under his head in obvious masculine bravado.

"Oh, I'll get you this time," Stark smirked. "You forget, I've got ten years of R&D on you. I've been gearing up for this rematch since Gangnum Style was cool."

"For my own sake, I hope you're right," Loki replied, following Stark's lead and reclining on his own cot.

It was stiff, and primitive, and his feet hung off the end, but it was the most comfortable he had been in weeks. His eyes slid closed, his thoughts wandering.

"Goodnight, Loki," Tony murmured, pulling the plug on the overhead lights and plunging them into darkness.

"Shut up, Stark," he grunted, and rolled to his side.

The generator on the other side of the facility hummed quietly as they each chased an elusive night's rest. Loki drifted, fighting a restless anxiety that rose steadily as he sat in the peace and the dark.

He dreamed of a pointed, black ceiling.

All around raindrops were falling. Drip, drip, dropping, ice cold on his skin. The same spots over and over. His forehead, his ribs, his frigid uncovered thighs.

A seven fingered hand covered his mouth and muffled out his screaming.

All night he dreamed of cold fingers, cold water, and a horrible, endless falling.

Falling down Yggdrasil. His body tumbling and cracking, the fissures opening and widening until his pale skin flaked away and surrendered his ugly Jotun soul to the stars.

Chapter Text

When Tony woke,  Rock of Ages was already walking around the base like a zombie, muttering incantations. 

Blue sigils glowed in the air around him and wound their way around his skin like tattoos, and it reminded him too much of a Blair Witch movie to be anything but creepy.

Loki startled when he noticed him watching. Between one moment and the next the magic flickered like a dying lightbulb, his skin turning blue then tan then blue. He spun sharply to face him and just for a fraction of a moment his eyes shone deep, bloody red.

A jotun, Thor had called him. Savage ice monsters who burned villages and ate their own young. Tony hadn't really believed him.

Loki's nostrils flared, he bared his teeth and the flickering stopped.

"I am repairing my mental defenses in preparation for The Other. If I submit myself as I am he will see his own handiwork in my mind. This requires concentration. Please be silent."

He had the same expression as when he threw Tony out of his penthouse window. A genius didn't need to be told twice.

He packed up the food and munitions in a big, brown rucksack and kept his eyes to himself.

Standing on the Chitauri base nearly gave him a panic attack, even so many years later. It looked exactly the same as the day his suit lost power with a nuke strapped to his back, and it took every breathing exercise in his arsenal not to lose his shit.

Loki shot him an annoyed look, which was pretty rich coming from Captain Twitchy. The guy had been acting erratic all day, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and his words cutting even when Tony tried to be nice.

Belatedly he was glad he put the Tesseract in his own bag, because Loki looked like a man preparing to jump ship. Being stranded here without an escape would quite literally be Tony's worst nightmare come to life.

The clicks and screeches of Chitauri soldiers whispered out from every direction as they crept through the dark, mysteriously damp gangways.

The ship was formed entirely of a rough grey crystal Tony couldn't identify, as if it had been grown organically over millennia rather than made. The doorways were cramped fissures, and the struts holding the fuselage together were pocked with holes filled by glittery geodes.

Loki led the way through the shadowed hollows as if they might be caught at any moment, his body poised and hidden against whatever surface was available. Tony tried to imitate, but he wasn't built for stealth. A few times Loki had to shoot an arm out, narrowly stopping him from stepping directly into a passing Chitauri guard.

At long last they found a tunnel going downward and Loki positioned himself at the mouth.

"The brig is below, if we are to install me as their prisoner then we must descend."

Tony opted not to inform Loki that The Descent was a rather apt movie reference for the situation, and not one he appreciated at that exact moment. 

The thought brought Parker to mind, always chattering on and on about television and celebrities, and homesickness nagged him. Today would be Sunday in his own time.

Before the snap that meant homemade breakfast. Peter and Pepper chatting good naturedly over tea while Tony wrestled his creaky, old body into workout clothes, so he could train his protégé in judo and catch up on the kid’s life. He banished the memory before it could destroy his optimism.

Gesturing at the ominous hole in the floor, he gave Loki and expectant look. He hesitated, wrists twisting at his sides.

"Well?" Tony prompted.

Loki bent his neck, staring down the point of no return. The ship groaned around them.

"You have the Tesseract, if I comply you will have the scepter. How do I know you won't simply leave me here and be done with it?"

"I won’t."

Loki grimaced, and Tony foresaw the situation spiraling out of control.

"How did you know about Raza?"

"Barton," Loki said roughly, eyes darting around. Tony grabbed his collar, centering his attention.

"Did he tell you I wasn't alone? Did he tell you about Yinsen?"

Loki swallowed, searching Tony's face like the secrets of the universe might be written there. He took that as a 'no.'

"He saved my life. He kept the shrapnel from my heart and risked his life to help me build the suit. I didn't get him out alive, and I've never forgiven myself for it," Tony looked away, blinking back the shame and the regret, still strong even after all those years.

He worked his jaw and let out a shaky breath, his palms sweaty and adrenaline pumping fast in his veins.

"I can't make you trust me, but believe me when I say this. I will get you out. If I have to die trying I will get you out of here, because I'm already living on one man's sacrifice and I can't do it again."

Pushing Loki away, Tony stepped over the hole and looked down into the abyss.

"Are you with me?" he asked.

Loki stared at him, unreadable.

"Are you with me?" Tony repeated, harsh, out of patience.

"I will follow,” Loki said quietly.

"Okay then." Tony shook out his hands and pushed his hair out of his face. "Alley-oop."

He jumped.

Sliding more than falling, he went down the tube, his hands scraping the sides to control the speed of his descent. They came away slimy, and when he landed hard on his knees he wiped them immediately on the ground, disgusted.

A heavy thump announced Loki's arrival shortly after his, though he landed perfectly on his feet, of course. Tony sighed, his joints popping unpleasantly as he stumbled to his feet.

The walls of the lower deck were more organic than the rest, jagged stalactites of igneous rock branching from ceilings to floors to form lines of ugly, primitive cells. Most were empty, but as he and Loki crept along the hall they did pass some prisoners, strange and alien creatures that Tony wasn't sure were sentient.

Through an arched doorway he caught sight of a larger room, a table in the center with sharp implements and crackling electrodes protruding from the wall all around. The hair stood up on his neck, and he hurried to keep up with Loki's long strides.

They walked for several uncomfortable minutes, dodging patrols of Chitauri and peeking inside cages that held only horrible sights.

Finally Loki stopped, his hand held out to prevent Tony going further.

The cell in front of him was occupied.

Tony looked through the bars, and on the floor laid an exact copy of Loki, hunched and naked. Through stringy, matted hair his wide eyes searched them, slowly lighting with hope.

"You-" he yelled.

Loki slapped his palm over his double's mouth. "Silence, or I shall slay you where you stand."

"Loki-"

The prisoner jerked himself back, further into the cell.

"You, you're me," he pointed, his head swiveling between them. His wild eyes landed on Tony. "How is this possible? Who are you? Have you come to save me? Please, please, let me out. I'll do anything, please-"

"Have you no shame?" Loki growled, grabbing his double by the hair.

"Woah, chill," Tony said sharply, shoving himself between Loki and the cell and pulling Loki's hand open for the poor prisoner to scuttle away. "We have to let him out anyway, don't we? Dude, he's you, have some empathy."

"The fact that he is me is precisely why I have no empathy for him," Loki wrinkled his nose. "But by all means, do as you will. Let the wretched monster free."

Tony rolled his eyes, pulling a stolen multi-tool out of his bag and starting on the lock. The prisoner came closer, relief on his face. He thanked Tony profusely, his sallow face lighting up with hope, and by the time Tony got the door open he was ready to gloat a little.

Until the naked prisoner pulled a dagger out of nowhere and tackled him to the ground, anyway.

Quick as lightning Loki's double had him in a choke hold, the knife poised over his throat, Tony grabbed his arm with both hands, fighting, but the god was stronger. He slapped blindly at his own chest, trying to activate the suit, and the prisoner threw him onto his front.

A bony knee came down sharply on his back and Tony swung wildly, his elbow connecting with the prisoner's eye socket with a sickening crack. Naked Loki grunted, his head thrown to the side by the force, and Tony took the opportunity to kick him in the groin, stumbling to his feet and scrambling away.

The real Loki cackled, pointing at the flurry of limbs and punches and clutching his side.

"A little help?" Tony called frantically, finally getting his suit on just in time to be decked again by a super-powered alien. They fell to the floor, scuffling, the knife slashing at his armored skin and bouncing off.

Loki covered his mouth, struggling to breathe.

"I tried to warn you," he wheezed. "But the great Tony Stark always knows better."

The naked Loki was ranting, spitting rapid-fire questions almost as quickly as he slashed and bashed at Tony's rapidly cracking armor. How did you find me? What is your purpose? You must have a vessel, take me to it, tell me where it is. Tell me! Tell me!

Disoriented, he raised his arm for a close range blast—his bad arm, the one that still twinged from when Wanda threw an airport parking garage at him—and the prisoner bent it all the way behind his back.

Tony yelled, pain whiting out his vision, and the next thing he knew there was blood everywhere. A wet gurgling sounded by his ear as a wicked, curved blade emerged from the prisoner's chest.

Loki ripped the blade from his double's back in a spray of viscera, the body falling to the floor.

"I can't believe you fell for that," he said.

The prisoner cried, not dead but gutted, dying.

"The fuck are you doing, we need him!" Tony shouted. He kneeled, cradling his aching arm and pressing his other hand to the prisoner's wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "If he dies it'll disrupt this whole timeline."

"And what did you expect to happen to him once we absconded with the scepter? You think me capable of taking Earth with nothing but my tricks? To say nothing of the damage he could do simply by speaking of meeting with himself from another time," Loki said, wiping his blade on his coat. "Do you think Thanos would not work out your plot? Our actions will change times and harm others, this we cannot avoid."

The double wailed, curling around Tony's hand and clutching his wrist mindlessly, bleeding out. Guilt flooded him. Though he knew Loki had a point, it still didn't sit well with him, this brutality.

"I could have explained it to him, he didn't need to die."

"Truly?" Loki huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is this wretch worth more to you than the fate of your world? Than your family? You cannot fight a war without casualties."

The dying man begged, his eyes watery. Please, my brother, tell my brother—

“He’s not your brother,” Loki hissed. With a vicious twist he snapped his doubles neck. The kicking legs stilled. Tony froze, shocked.

Loki flicked the blood from his hands with a look of unconcealed disgust.

"Besides, look at him. Ignorant fool. Doomed to failure and humiliation. He will accomplish nothing and be returned to Asgard a hollowed out husk, left to rot in the dungeons for the rest of his days. It's kinder, don't you think? To save him the suffering."

Tony's hackles rose at the implications; that he was soft, that he was naïve to the cost of war. He wasn't. He just didn't agree that a stolen life was better than a doomed one.

All the years Yinsen had bought him weren't wasted. He made inventions, he saved lives, he mentored Parker and got married. He lived. Even if he might soon fail, even if in the end he was doomed the entire time, it still had meaning. And so would the other Loki’s.

"I'm not afraid of the cost. I just don't believe that he deserved to pay it," Tony growled, removing his hand from the still-warm body's death grip on his wrist.

"Then you do not know what he has done to deserve it."

Without ceremony, Loki dragged the corpse to a nearby air vent and threw him in it. Tony winced at the tinny crunch that followed, the body probably lodged in a fan or a compressor somewhere far below. 

With a wave of his hand the blood was gone, and his own clothes were fading to golden threads of magic and then to nothing but bare skin. He shut himself in the cell. 

Tony shifted foot to foot, blindsided by the moment. A whirlpool of discontent sucking him in. The chittering, clicking sounds of alien speech came down the hall, which meant he was out of time. 

“We’re gonna talk about this later,” he said, pointing through the bars.

Loki raised a brow, eyes listing toward the approaching guards.

“I’m quaking in my boots.”

A squadron of eight Chitauri rounded the corner and Tony threw himself into an alcove. 

He watched as they opened the cell, their inhuman tongues spewing harsh syllables and jerking Loki to his feet. He allowed them to chain him, looking over his shoulder as they dragged him away.

With grim resolve Tony crept behind, keeping to the shadows and ruminating on what a massive mistake this was.

Chapter Text

The hall before Loki seemed to extend further and further away with every step, like space itself had warped around him, elongating the trek.

Clammy, pearlescent hands gripped his elbows and dragged him forward, his body stiff and uncoordinated from his heart's frenzied hammering. His vision swam, he could barely see.

Did he truly leave this place or was it all a fevered vision? A desperate dream to escape to while his body languished in the cell? It was possible, he'd succumbed to equally cogent fantasies before.

All was light and darkness as they entered the interrogation chamber, cold air and remembered humiliation curling his spine in revulsion.

The room was open on all sides, tall crystalline windows creating a public arena for the re-education of criminals and pariahs.

Conformity was the way of the Chitauri, assimilation their religion. Subversive thoughts needed to be conquered, and it was The Other's preeminence in this skill which had made him their ruler. They worshiped him with a fanaticism which could only ever flourish alongside existential fear.

Loki was not the first to showcase his suffering here and he would not be the last.

An uneven stair spiraled up the side of the cylindrical dais, and Loki was so overcome by tremors that the guards had to drag him by his armpits, his bare feet knocking each step as he struggled to keep up.

Sense and awareness had fled his mind the moment his shackles were locked.

He did not have the bravado which he so proudly wore the first time.

What he gave to Stark was an illusion of brazen disregard, the real thing having been amputated in this very room. He would know soon, and that was what brought the clenching, crawling sensation to Loki's chest. 

He would not be alone this time, his shame unseen by those who mattered. Every base, pathetic utterance, every scream and plea for mercy, they would be all the more humiliating for Stark having heard them.

The escorts released him when they reached the platform, cold and damp hands shoving him roughly into the center where his every flaw was displayed under a harsh, unforgiving light. He covered his genitals with his hands, his body hunching inward in a useless attempt to protect himself from an unknown number of watchful eyes.

A drop of ice cold water fell from the ceiling onto his head. He flinched, painful full-body shivers overtaking him which he knew would not subside. Not for the days upon days upon days which he would be trapped here.

He pulled in a labored breath and fog flowed from his lips on the exhale, all of the most sensitive parts of his skin firming and contracting from the cold.

In the center of the dais stood a single, featureless slab. Water dripped intermittently upon it, a half-frozen puddle forming in the middle where his body would soon lie.

Heaving a dry, muffled sob, he closed his eyes and begged the Norns for strength.

It was not as he expected. The familiarity did not diminish his terror, if anything the dread was amplified. Before he had not known what would come next. He could cling to brittle taunts and irrational hope. He had no such advantages the second time, only his purpose and the anticipation of a searing, knife-like presence dissecting the crevices of his mind.

Whisper soft footsteps announced the arrival of his tormentor, the dragging of a robe on stone steps. Cold sweat rose on his neck as the voice of his nightmares invaded his ears.

"Kneel, Asgardian."

His knees weakened with the impulse to obey, and shame flushed his face.

He could do it, he could submit and it would all be over. But he would also betray their plan. 

The Other would be suspicious, he would delve deeper into Loki's thoughts. He is no great talent at telepathy, The Other would find the truth and everything would be exposed.

He must not allow that to happen. He must pretend at defiance, at least long enough to protect his most hidden thoughts. Long enough to be found compliant without need of deeper rooting.

He stiffened his body and clenched his fists at his side. He would not yield. He would not fail.

For once he would take the more difficult path, and prove himself a man.

"I said, kneel," The Other repeated.

He came into Loki’s vision. A figure all in black, his pallid face hooded and obscured by a gold metal cage which followed the cruel line of his chin.

"I am a king," Loki answered, his jaw firming in resolution. "I kneel to no one."

"We shall see."

His tormentor unhooked a baton from his belt, a line of glowing purple rings activating around the hilt.

It rose above his head, the shackles on Loki's wrists rose behind his back, higher and higher until his feet left the ground. He strained, holding himself entirely by the muscles of his back and shoulders, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

If he remained this way longer than the limits of his strength then his shoulders would dislocate from the weight, his over rotated joints cracking like fish bones. He knew, he knew , but he must endure. He must play his part.

"How dare you? I am an ally of Thanos, I will not be treated this way."

"You think him fooled by your tricks?" The Other uttered a harsh laugh which conveyed no joy or humor, only cruelty. "It is by Thanos' decree that I am to shape you, to mold you into a vessel for the Mind Stone’s power."

"You lie, that cannot be," Loki choked, struggling to play his part with his body hanging aloft. Every breath required a contraction of his shoulders, every word a harsh, labored inhale. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort.

Laughing again, The Other swung his baton and Loki was thrown onto the table with his arms under his back. Ice pricked his skin, turning sections of it blue as his glamour faded to protect him, a wound of its own even as it eased the bite of the cold.

A vast, consuming blackness spanned above him, a peaked ceiling quartered by spires like the towers of a cathedral. The voids roiled with a miasma of black clouds, speckled with lights like stars in a galaxy, like the stars he had passed helplessly, falling through Yggdrasil.

The emptiness consumed him, as if he were there again, falling forever with no hand to grasp, no air to breathe, no one to hear him scream.

He could pretend no longer, his mind retreated and left him a shell, a defenseless body curling its legs to shield its core. Cold metal snapped around his ankles and then he could not even do that, one sweep of the baton spreading him flat with all his vulnerabilities exposed.

"Freedom is life's great lie, Asgardian," The Other said. "You think yourself a ruler? That you were born to be a king?"

"No," Loki whimpered. Not an answer to the question, but a plea for it to stop. 

Tears came to his eyes and he had no will left to stop them. He could not, he could not do this again.

"Then why do you posture?"

A seven fingered hand covered his face and scorching needles of seiðr pierced his fragile, poorly repaired shields. The black fog boiled and swirled. 

Two princes walked out of it, a golden ruler between them, all of them striding proudly across the ceiling. Golden, unblemished.

Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but you were both born to be kings.

"No," Loki shut his eyes. 

Twin thumbs forced them open and held his head relentlessly straight.

The Allfather stood on steps as Loki clutched the Casket of Ancient Winters.

You were an innocent child.

No, you took me for a purpose.

"He never meant to make you king. You were a pet. Fed and watered, trained to serve."

"I could have done it," Loki said, no farce left in him. The visions had captured him, dragged him fully into this torment. "I was betrayed, but I could have done it. He would have seen my worth."

"But he did see, didn't he?" The Other whispered.

The needles dug deeper, probing, sifting, spreading open the layers of his mind and plunging sadistically inside. Loki screamed, arching against the table with the metal of his bindings biting into his ankles.

The vision reformed as he watched, unable to move, unable to look away.

Laufey knelt over a sleeping Odin, an ice dagger poised to strike.

It is said you can still hear and see what transpires around you. I hope it’s true. So that you will know your death came at the hand of Laufey.

Loki crashed through the doors, slaying the giant with a single blast of his spear. His face was stoic, his expression regal and assured.

And your death came by the son of Odin.

"He saw you murder your father in his name. He saw you massacre your own race to near extinction. And still he did not make you king," The Other said. "You never had a choice. That was an illusion. The lie of freedom told to control you. You were always a slave. All your suffering, all of your anguish, does it not flow from your futile attempts to deny this truth?"

The hand left his face, the cloying pressure of telepathy withdrawing from his mind, and Loki broke, his face crumbling and tears falling freely.

"Please stop," he sobbed, with no notion of what he begged for except relief. "Please-"

"You were never a king because you were never even a man. You are nothing but a tool, waiting for your betters to find a use for you. Thanos will give it to you. He will free you from the illusion of freedom, and in it you will find peace. The peace of a tool rightly used."

"I will not," Loki whimpered, his arms seizing from the cold and the stretched position. "I would rather die."

The Other grinned, a line of sharp teeth behind a gold plated cage. He glided to the downward spiraling stairs.

"We will see," he said, returning the baton to his belt.

Loki's arms spread to his sides, pinned at each limb like an insect to a board.

Water dripped from the spires of the ceiling.

On his forehead, his ribs, his naked thighs.

His chest ached from his crying, his face burning with shame. He screamed.

"We will see."

Chapter Text

Tony crouched beneath the stairs of the dais, listening to the guards chatter.

They talked non-stop, no matter how late or early the shift, no matter how horrific the screaming. It was all routine to them.

This was not the case for Tony. After five days of watching and listening he was on the verge of breaking himself. His head pulsed with a constant migraine, his body was stiff from being shoved into alcoves and under furniture, and his nerves were frayed from being constantly on the edge of a panic attack.

Everything about the base gave him flashbacks. The rough hewn stone walls, the darkness, the mysterious, terrifying noises and the perpetual dampness of the air. Even the sulfuric aftertaste of the water he collected and boiled for drinking was faintly reminiscent of desert canteens.

Massaging his sore forearm, he closed his eyes and focused his breathing. Dehydrated, stressed, and sleep deprived it wasn't easy to do, but this wasn't his first rodeo. If Loki could withstand the punishment, then Tony could handle a little waiting. It was the least he could do.

Only one more day though, no longer. That was his ultimatum.

If The Other hadn't brought the scepter by the following morning he had resolved to free Loki and bolt, damn the consequences.

No magic rock was worth this. No amount of power. If it weren't for fucking Thanos—for Peter, for Sam Wilson, for all Barton's kids, for every somebody that somebody loved—then he would have discarded the plan out of hand.

But it was necessary, everyone was counting on them, and so he waited.

Twice per day the guards changed shifts.

As far as militaries went the Chitauri were organized but not orderly. Nothing ever happened in perfect synchronicity, so there were always gaps where Loki was unattended. Tony took those opportunities to check on him, and to stuff food and water in his mouth whenever Loki was cognizant enough to cooperate.

The shift should end soon, and so he was poised to move. Any minute it would happen, any minute....there.

Boot heels clattered on the stairs over his head, dislodging dust and making it rain onto his hair. He waited, sitting with his pack between his legs. The footsteps passed, and were not immediately replaced.

"Go time," he muttered to himself, and peeked his head out.

There were always patrols during the day, but during the night cycles the base tended to quiet. This time it was late, and the coast was clear.

As quickly as he could, he hoisted the heavy bag over his shoulder and ran up the stairs two at a time.

Loki was on the table, unconscious. Mindful of the windows, he got on his knees and crawled to the center, hiding behind the slab table and creeping up to Loki's head.

Up close the big guy looked ashen, his eyes sunken and lips chapped. He shivered perpetually, hoarse moans coming from his mouth, and Tony wished he could cover him but there wasn't time.

"Loki," he said, quiet and urgent. "Hey, Loki-"

His head rolled to the side, his cracked lips moving soundlessly. Somewhere in the rotunda a metal door opened and slammed closed. He needed to hurry.

Patting his cool cheek, he hissed his name a little louder. Loki woke up gasping, his legs kicking and his eyes wide. He began to shout and Tony slapped a hand over his mouth before he alerted the whole ship.

"Shhh, shh. Don't freak out."

Loki's eyes were far away, glazed and drifting.

"Father?" he said, gravelly voice muffled by Tony's hand.

"God no, I'm not that old," Tony muttered, turning Loki's head toward him and trying to catch his eyes.

He was rarely fully present when Tony visited, always staring in transfixed horror at the ceiling.

Tony glanced up, but it was the same empty blackness as always. He didn't understand what was so captivating, but he wished it would quit so he could actually talk to Loki.

When he was reasonably sure Loki wouldn't yell he let go of his jaw and took an icy, abraded hand in his own, squeezing and shaking it.

He waited a tense half minute before he gave up, unbuckling the flap of his pack and extracting a stolen Chitauri water skin and a granola bar from the mess. He uncapped the water and held it to Loki's dry mouth.

"Drink up."

He poured a few drops on his parted lips and Loki swallowed feebly, automatically. Recognition sparked. His arms jerked against the manacles as he instinctively tried to grab the water and chug, and Tony pulled it away, catching his gaze again.

"Hello? You in there, Bambi?"

"Thirsty," Loki mumbled, his eyes unfocused but searching, his face scrunched and straining to reclaim reality.

He gave him the mouth of the jug, pouring a more generous drink until he pulled his head away gasping.

"Stark."

"The one and only," Tony said, his shoulders lowering as tension left him. "I thought I lost you there."

"You won't be rid of me that easily," Loki quoted back to him.

"What part of this do you consider 'easy'?" Tony asked, relieved. Certain, finally, that they were really talking.

"Certainly not mine," Loki wetted his lips and coughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Yours however..."

Tony laughed, more from relief than humor. He hadn't known how much he liked Loki until he met the man's hollowed-out husk. By comparison the prickly trickster with anger issues was a real Casanova.

"Agreed," he ripped open the bar with sweaty hands and held it up to Loki. "This has to end soon, I don't think I can cosplay Harry Potter much longer."

"Why must you speak in riddles?" Loki grumbled, biting the bar and chewing.

"It's part of my roguish charm."

"It's irritating."

"To you, maybe. Chicks dig it. It makes them feel smart when they get the joke."

Loki rolled his eyes, taking another large bite. He chewed, then froze. Swallowed.

"The Other returns. You must go."

"Now? It's the middle of the night."

Tony gathered up the wrapper and the water skin, hurriedly stowing it and throwing the bag on his back. Checking the windows, he moved to leave but Loki snagged the back of his shirt.

Tony shot a questioning look over his shoulder.

"I almost have him. He will bring the scepter soon. Once I am under its spell there will only be a short delay before I depart."

It's very composed, as far as cries for help go. It's understated and quiet and buried under ten layers of pride, but Tony hears it. The meaning behind his meaning.

"I've got the Tesseract. I'll follow you to Earth if I have to."

Loki breathed slowly, eyes taking on an intense charge. He blinked quickly, breaking away with fearful eyes.

"He's on the stairs."

Tony clenched his jaw and let go, darting toward a dark alcove and throwing himself inside just in time.

The Other moved like a phantom or a ghoul, in meandering lines with unnecessary touches to everything around him. Including Loki.

With a jolt, he noticed the scepter in the creep's hand. Loki was right, the time had come. 

The hooded vulture pressed the spear tip to Loki's heart.

Tony held his breath, the paranoid part of him convinced The Other would just stab him and reveal that he knew the whole time.

But then a blue, static-like spark crawled up Loki's neck and chin, his eyes beaming an unnatural blue.

"Are you ready to serve your master?" The Other asked.

Loki nodded, vacant like a doll.

"Grant me your fleet, and I will show them what true power is. I will do as the Titan commands and the cowering Earth shall be my reward."

The Other cooed his approval, a grating sound that made Tony’s face hot with hatred.

Loki stood, swaying on his feet. His eyes were steady with hawk-like focus as he stared at the scepter in his hand. Like he couldn't believe he'd done it.

With a twitchy movement of his head he summoned clothes to his body, rich but dirt-stained green and battle worn textured leather. The tails of his coat flapped softly against his boots, the armored shoulders wide and imposing. He gazed at his bruised wrists as if they were unfamiliar to him, twisting and rolling them with awe in his enchanted eyes.

Then just as abruptly he squared his stance, chin high and commanding.

"They are moving the Tesseract. Our time grows short. Take me to the transport."

The Other leered, extending a slimy, gentlemanly arm.

"This way."

Iron Man materialized around Tony's body, the repulsors activating as soon as they were whole and hurtling him after Loki's retreating back.

The Other must have felt confident in the spell, because they came to a fork and he went down a different hallway than Loki. Tony wasn't about to complain about a lucky break.

Through the door was a swarm of activity. Crackling tubes of purple light lit the room, a spoked wheel of them centered around a nexus where dark matter gathered in a vortex.

Fury’s report said Loki arrived in a black portal, releasing energy so strongly it brought the entire SHIELD base to the ground. This must be the origin, the transport. A long-range missile ready and waiting to be loaded with a living bomb and fired.

Now or never.

Tony launched himself into a flying kick at Loki's back, knocking him face first into a control panel without warning. Chitauri technicians scattered rapidly away, yowling and sounding alarms.

Loki pushed himself up on shaky arms, teeth clenched and eyes wild.

"Guards!"

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Tony said, arms extended and ready for the counter attack. "Mental recalibration better work, cause I sure ain't kissin' you."

Loki shot a bolt of blue magic, which Tony narrowly side-stepped.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you'll do nicely as my body man."

"Body man? Sounds kinky."

Flashing lights colored them both in blinding white and deep purple. A squadron of Chitauri rushed in, weapons drawn and crackling with energy.

"Hey, now, I was down for you. I didn't consent to all your friends."

Tony ducked as the guards fired a volley at his back, the bolts flying past and forcing Loki to drop as well. Taking the opportunity, he flew to Loki's side and aimed a punch, only to find a spear coming straight for his face.

Loki was crouched low, stabbing up at him. Left, right, center, down at his torso. He flitted around each time, bobbing and weaving like Happy taught him to way back in the day.

Loki growled, swinging in a broad slash which connected in a glancing blow to Tony's helmet. He fell backward, disoriented, barely registering Loki's overhead slam in time to scissor his legs and watch the blade bury itself deep into the floor.

Chitauri circled around them, and he got an idea. Firing only one of his boot thrusters, he went into a rocket-powered spin on the floor, sweeping the legs of every soldier within his radius including Loki.

Despite the dire situation he laughed, flipping onto his feet and observing the pile of limbs and blasters around him.

"You think this funny?" Loki fumed, spit flying from his mouth in his fury. 

He got back up, but his legs were wobbly, his body on the brink of collapse. 

“A little, yeah,” Tony shrugged. “You know what they say. Bad day on a spaceship is better than a good day at work.”

Loki tipped his head, his face going momentarily slack as if listening to a faint melody. He gazed at the scepter again, and then grinned with all his teeth.

"Let us see who laughs last, metal man, when your mind is no longer your own."

Realizing what was coming, Tony’s blood chilled. He didn't have the reactor anymore, and he didn't know if the nanobots would offer the same protection.

He fired his repulsor and Loki dodged, a dip of the waist rotating into a split-second grab for Tony's outstretched wrist. He twisted—again with arm twists, motherfuck—and put the tip of the spear to Tony's glowing chest.

He caught it, by the mercy of the universe, by sheer dumb luck. His metal fist wrapped around the shaft of the spear and held it, inches from his heart.

"Not this time, Frosty," he said through clenched teeth, forcing it away with his full augmented strength. Loki resisted, grunting, the one versus one clash distracting him enough that he didn't notice the Chitauri behind him lining up another barrage.

Abruptly, Tony jerked the staff toward himself and Loki's momentum pulled him along with it. The guards fired but their target moved, rotating ninety degrees so that it hit Loki instead. Hard. In the back of the head.

The lanky bastard slumped, his grip on the scepter loosening, and Tony ripped it from his hands.

"No hard feelings, buddy. It's just not your day," Tony said triumphantly.

And with a wicked, unforgiving thrust he brought the pommel down right on Loki's temple.

Crack.

K.O.

Mission complete. Once he got rid of the other assailants they could ride the Tesseract out of here.

Tony panted, aiming the spear at the remaining Chitauri.

"Alright," he lifted his faceplate and spat on the ground, winded. "Who’s got next?"

Chapter Text

A stale gust of wind travelled through the subway tunnel across the old tracks of Loki’s invasion base. The strain of the day weighed Tony down almost as much as the giant on his back. 

Digging deep, he closed the portal behind him and dragged Loki the last few steps to the cots.

His pet demigod was a disaster, to put it nicely. His cheeks were hollowed and his lips cracked from dehydration and five days of screaming. Blood dripped steadily from both wounds on his head, but given how cracked skulls normally gushed Tony took that as a good sign. 

Hovering his hand over Loki's chest and mouth, he felt steady breathing and heaved out a relieved sigh.

He hadn't killed a god. Yet.

Another train went by followed by another gust of air, strong enough to sway the hanging lamps.

It was cold today, and as the seasons changed it would only get colder. 2012 stood out in his memory as a particularly nasty winter, full of hurricanes and ice storms. They needed a more permanent base, somewhere with real food and a non-dirt floor.

The Tower was trashed by the Hulk, and his own past self would be in Malibu. Briefly he considered the old house in South Hampton, the one he grew up in, then rejected it out of hand. Too many bad memories, and for all he knew it didn’t even have the power turned on.

Grinding his teeth, he picked up the Tesseract and glared into the ocean of blue.

"What about you, Rubik's, you got any bright ideas?"

To Tony's utter distaste it answered. Out of the depths came a view of sandy brown colonnades, sofas the size of cars, and an enormous golden hearth. Loki’s place.

"Okay, so that's actually a nice thought.”

Calling out the arm of his suit, he grabbed the scepter from the pile of gear on the floor and a submerged feeling like being underwater came over him. The two stones seemed to resonate and amplify each other, and it didn’t feel like it was very good for Tony’s constitution.

Sweat beaded his hairline, the pressure and static growing, and he stepped through space into Loki's chambers before it became too much.

The Tesseract deposited him in an unfamiliar room, a massive space with ceilings as high as a sports arena and an elevated aisle dividing it in half. 

Stairs rose from the end of the aisle, leading to a small conservatory with square-paned greenhouse windows and several large, delicate looking instruments.

Midway down the aisle was a three-step flight that gave way to the recessed sitting area where Tony stood, an identical set on the other side leading to a library, judging by the high bookshelves and displayed antiquities. Creeping vines draped down the walls from high up sconces, bracketed by long narrow tapestries.

Though not normally one for architecture, Tony couldn't smother an invasive desire to snoop. Loki was so uptight and serious, and his outer rooms where they conspired a week ago were all gold and austerity.

This place was just about the opposite, every surface covered with trinkets, mementos, and personal effects. 

For a space so large he'd gone to great lengths to make it feel smaller, filling every nook and cranny with an eclectic mix of furnishings and artifacts.

It was so...sentimental. It spoke of a life before villainy.

Realizing he'd left Loki unconscious and alone while he gawked at his stuff, Tony ported quickly back to the station.

For a guy that scrawny Loki weighed a ton. Though he wasn’t quite old enough to be called ‘spry,’ Tony certainly wasn’t young anymore either, and even with the suit doing most of the work his footsteps clanked like a hammer on an anvil.

Phasing back to what he assumed was the Asgardian palace, he climbed the stairs to the center aisle and went in search of a bedroom.

At the end of the walkway a double door led him to the antechamber he remembered, and a pair of stairs going down on either side into smaller rooms.

One was the living room with the fireplace and chairs, which he now recognized as more of a parlor for entertaining people Loki didn't want in his actual sitting room. That only left one other door to investigate.

Working it open with some difficulty thanks to Loki's giraffe legs getting in the way, he shuffled through. 

There was a bed, though not like any Tony had seen before. It was circular and sunk into the floor like a fluffy, brocade swimming pool. Pillows in vibrant colors lined the edge and stacks of books covered one half of it.

Holy shit, Loki was a nerd. How had he missed that?

Two brothers. The popular, barrel-chested jock and the skinny, reclusive geek. A tale as old as time. It all made so much sense now.

Laughing to himself, he stepped into the bed and lowered Loki onto what was obviously his side. He looked rougher in such a refined setting, the blood and the bruises out of place in a way they hadn't been in the dirt and the damp.

His frailty unsettled Tony. He’d been there for all of it, but he hadn’t really seen Loki. He’d been focused on the mission. 

Focused on plugging his ears to the screams that grew quieter and quieter as Loki’s vocal chords wore out.

It’s kinder. Loki had said. 

You do not know what he has done to deserve it. Loki had said.

Fuck that.

Checking his breathing again, he arranged Loki’s limbs and felt for his pulse. 

A door opened. Tony sat up.

Light footsteps clicked on the stone floors, a slight humming coming from the antechamber, and Tony ported to the living room faster than blinking.

It was an older woman in plain robes, her long brown hair pinned back and sleeves rolled up. She stepped through the main entrance humming a soft tune, and stilled at the sight of open doorways. 

The door to the bedroom caught her eye, and when she approached she put her hand over her mouth. She yelled, rushing for the door, and Tony couldn’t hide any longer.

Static and pressure overtook him as he scooped up the scepter, appearing between the woman and the exit. Before he could lose his nerve, he touched the blade to her heart and watched the icy energy consume her mind.

"Stop," he ordered.

She froze on the spot.

A spectral cry came from the stone, which turned Tony's blood cold. 

"W-What are you doing here?" he blurted, goosebumps rising on his neck.

The maid’s face went slack, even as her mind screamed terror into his mind.

"I come once per week to dust and clean the artifacts, as Her Royal Highness bade me," she answered flatly.

Tony grimaced. He needed to get rid of her, but he couldn’t let her run around telling everyone she saw the Dead Prince of Bel Air in his bedroom.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, too forcefully. 

Her mind flinched inside his and he shut his eyes in a failed attempt to shut her out. Pressure built in his core like a balloon, the magic of two stones becoming so overfull it was painful.

"You saw something you shouldn't have."

Inside his mind he heard her plain as day—please, ser, I have a daughter—and that was the last straw. 

The woman's fear, the force of two stones rising and tearing him up from the inside, and he caved.

"My friend in there is hurt. He needs food and medicine. Can you get those?"

"Yes, ser."

"Do it, and don't tell anyone what you're doing. You're helping a royal guest, that's all you say. Get going."

With a bow she slipped out the door, expressionless like a doll.

Tony threw the scepter across the room.

Pacing, he forced himself to breathe. This was fine, this was fine. 

He hadn't wanted to do it, but it had prevented a disaster. 

It was necessary. Like everything else they’d done. Whatever it takes, wasn't that the mantra?

Is this wretch worth more than the fate of your world? Loki taunted him.

Mind control was better than murder, right? He couldn’t have let her go.

Shaking out his hands, he stared down the scepter.

Few tools were intrinsically evil, they just did what they were designed to do. An ice pick didn't choose to pierce a frozen lake, a human used it to do that. And if that human chose to use that ice pick on a skull instead, then the ice pick would have no say in it. That's what his dad used to say, anyway.

If he could use the Mind Stone in a way that didn't hurt, then in the end that could save a lot of bystanders. And maybe help him sleep at night, if that wasn't already a lost cause.

Not wanting to use both at the same time again, he stashed the Tesseract in the leaves of a potted plant that looked suspiciously like a magically miniaturized weeping willow. 

Then he took the spear by the horns, so to speak.

Soon the maid returned, wheeling a big cart full of delicious looking food. If not for her distress he'd have stuck his face in it right away.

Instead he touched her heart, not speaking out loud but directly to the stone.

He wished for her to forget everything that happened since she first came to the room. Then he freed her mind, the loss of pressure a relief to them both.

Her posture eased, and her somewhat owlish eyes blinked slowly. Orienting herself with a quick scan, she worried her lip like she was about to speak. Tony beat her to it.

"Thank you, miss. This all smells amazing, Her Royal Highness is too kind. We are honored to be her guests."

He laced the words with just a hint of suggestion, a tiny trickle of the Mind Stone's true power, and in conjunction with her confusion the woman's mind filled in the gaps.

Straightening her posture, she schooled her face into an accommodating smile. Her curtsy was only mildly stilted.

"She is honored to have you. Do you require anything further?" the maid asked, entirely of her own volition.

With great relief Tony inspected the cart, not needing to feign enthusiasm. No, he had plenty of the real thing just from the smell of the roasted meat.

The cart had two levels, both overflowing with fresh, steaming dishes. It had everything. Poultry, a leg of something that looked like ham, bowls upon bowls of roasted vegetables so completely slathered in butter that they shined like Christmas ornaments.

A basket of fresh buns wrapped in cloth took up one corner of the lower row, along with an honest-to-god cauldron full of rich, bubbling stew. A lush salad took up the other side, leafy and vivid green with pops of colorful fruit and candied nuts. And to top all of it off, strapped to the edge of the cart was an entire cask of what had to be booze.

Forget Valhalla, the Asgardian royals already lived in heaven. No wonder Loki thought Earth was a backwater dump.

On the far side there was a small plate of smooth pebbles etched with strange markings, which he suspected was not dessert.

"What are these?"

The maid blinked, naturally not remembering how the rocks came to be there.

"Soothing stones, ser. They're for ailments," she trailed off, her brows pinched again. Then she saw the scepter in Tony's hand and certainty returned to her voice. "And sore muscles. Her Royal Highness worried you would be fatigued from your campaign."

"Well that's very thoughtful of her," Tony said, feeling like he was at a Renaissance Faire.

"They can be used directly on the skin, or submerged in water to make a poultice. I can place them in a bath, if you would like me to draw one?"

"Now that is an excellent idea," Tony nodded at her with a playful grin. "And you are an excellent host."

The woman's thin lips twitched in a suppressed smile and she bowed.

"It is an honor to serve."

When she moved her way into the bedroom he followed.

As it turned out he didn't need to worry. She took one look at Loki, half dead and bleeding, and sighed. Deeply.

"I shall have to clean that now," she tutted.

"You're not surprised? About him being alive?"

She gave him a curious glance, kneeling down to inspect the prince's face.

"I suppose I never believed he was gone. His Highness always turns up. Anyone who looks after him learns not to weep until there’s a body." Pursing her lips, she stood and bowed again. "I beg your pardon, that was above my station. I shall draw the bath now."

He wore a bemused expression as she walked to an unadorned section of the wall and opened a hidden door that he hadn't noticed before. 

Inside he could see just a sliver of a curved balcony with blowing drapes, because of course Loki Invader of Earth grew up bathing in a gilded open-air terrace.

Tony rubbed his eyes and smoothed back his hair, eyeing Loki’s prone form.

"You're a real pain in my ass, you know that? You got digs like this at home and yet you want to take over my planet? Fuck you, buddy. This is ridiculous."

Unconscious Loki, naturally, didn't have a comeback.

With a sigh, Tony banished his suit and massaged his sore neck. The armor always made his shoulders stiff if he wore it too long, to say nothing of the hunger and the low-level migraine that he'd been feeling for the better part of a week.

A good meal and a magical healing bath was exactly what he needed.

Dragging in a chair and table from the parlor, he set himself up with the scepter in front of him and a heaping plate of food on the side.

If he was going to use it humanely, then carrying around a giant glowing spear definitely wouldn't work. He needed something subtle, and portable. Something that he wouldn't have to hold onto all the time.

Picking at his dirty nails, he found the solution staring him in the face.

The handheld time travel device. He'd called it a Pimm Pal, but the other Avengers laughed him out of the room.

Whatever. His invention, his name.

With their jump back to before the invasion it was totally out of Pimm particles. Useless, for forward or backward travel.

It had a round slot on the face for the activator switch, which by sheer coincidence was the exact size of the Mind Stone.

"Welp, kill your babies, isn't that what they say?" Tony muttered, picking up the scepter and smashing the glass-like setting.

The blue cover cracked, and to his surprise the inside glowed a vibrant, summertime yellow.

Rummaging in his bag for the stolen multi-tool, he selected the smallest, thinnest blade and pried the stone out.

It rolled into his palm, small and smooth as a robin's egg.

Holding it between his finger and his thumb, he stared, momentarily entranced.

The sunshine gem didn't scare him anymore, removed from its menacing case.

It was just a tool. No different than the one in his other hand.

Even knowing what it was capable of, even knowing it had hurt people in ways that didn't heal, he could not suppress the thought.

It was beautiful.

The maid returned and he quickly closed his fist, smiling a business smile.

"All done?"

"Indeed, your grace. Is there anything else you require?"

"Not at all." Tony hopped up, dropping his multitool on the table and escorting her to the door.

She opened the door and stepped into the hall, all brisk professionalism.

"Actually, one more thing-" he said, hovering on the threshold.

She turned, attentive.

Carefully, so carefully, he infused his words with the stone.

"You won't remember ever coming here today, and for the next week you won't come back. Instead you'll take a long break somewhere you like and eat a good lunch. And as soon as I close this door you'll go home to your daughter and have a lovely evening."

The maid's eyes widened, taking on an unsettling blankness. Then she blinked, looking around as if she were lost, and he snapped the door closed before she could see him.

The stone radiated warmth into his fingers, and he felt a very welcome calm.

He was in a palace, eating a king's feast, about to sink into a hot bath that a pretty maid in a toga poured for him on an open balcony with a view of the Golden City.

"Okay, goldilocks," he said quietly to the stone. "I admit it. You're pretty cool."

Loki grasped only a few facts about his present circumstances.

He was clothed. He was dry. His body belonged to him again.

Things had taken a good turn.

Aside from the pain, and the colors. Angry reds and yellows and supersaturated blues, blurring together and spinning. Spinning. Spinning.

Someone knelt beside him in the—he was in a bed. He couldn't remember where he'd been, but it was not a bed. Frigid handcuffs, water on his chin, the whole of Yggdrasil on a steepled stone ceiling spinning, spinning, spinning.

But not now. Now they were in a bed.

They, who?

Broad-fingered hands moved his head sideways and Loki made an embarrassing whine.

Very suddenly he felt like he was falling, and simultaneously about to vomit all over the person—the man, they were a man's hands. Large and callused with blessedly singular thumbs.

They were tending to him, cleaning his wounds. He groaned, closing his eyes until the spinning stopped.

The man, Stark, he realized with a jolt. The stones, The Other, the ill-conceived plan which dissolved immediately upon its commencement.

He tried to rise, but Stark put a hand to his chest. From even such a minute shift the colors returned, and he relented. A familiar wash of omnidirectional healing spread through the area of Stark's attention, and consciousness soon became bearable.

"How did you get a soothing stone?" he rasped. His mouth was terribly dry. "Are we... in my chambers?"

Stark pulled his hand far enough in the air for Loki to see a device on his palm with the Mind Stone in it.

Loki averted his eyes. Even acknowledging the hateful gem was distasteful, to say nothing of his feelings on Stark evidently meddling with it. The mortal had a death wish, clearly.

"How's your vision? Any blurs?"

"No," Loki lied. Omitted. There weren't any blurs now that he'd stopped moving.

"What about your ears? Obviously you can hear me, but is there any ringing or echoing?"

"You're not a healer, I've no reason to answer you."

"I have training, do you think we send heroes out to save the world without basic first aid?"

It must have been rhetorical, because Stark didn't pause to hear Loki's admittedly lukewarm rejoinder.

"What about dizziness or nausea?"

"Yes," Loki sighed, relenting. 

Resisting Stark was exhausting.

"Yes to one or yes to both?"

"Yes," Loki growled.

Stark finished whatever he'd done to Loki's head and smoothed his hair back, which felt mortifyingly good.

Blinking slowly, he licked his chapped lips.

"I did not invite you to come here. Last time was purely a necessity."

"It was the best option on a short list," Stark said, perching on the raised rim of the bed across from Loki. His hair was wet, and he wore a night robe Loki knew from his own closet. Blue and turquoise fish swimming on gold Vanir silk.

"I see you've availed yourself of my hospitality. Does your kind always barge into other's private domains and loot whatever pleases you?"

Stark laughed, like Loki had been joking.

"Good one. Love the irony," Stark leaned back on his hands to admire the domed ceiling, where Loki in his youth had painted a map of Yggdrasil. "It's pretty impressive, though. I mean, I come from one of the richest families on Earth. I grew up in a mansion, I make more money sitting in my garage than some countries. But this place? This makes me look middle class."

"And why shouldn't it? I am royalty, and a god. Compared to the Aesir you and your people are mere insects. Your entire life is but a passing season to me."

Stark examined him with an assessing look. His hands fussed with the flaps of the robe, but his expression was implacable.

"What?" he finally spat, the edge of his patience reached.

"Nothing," Stark said. His weight shifted as if he might get up and leave, but then he put his elbow on his knee and leaned forward instead.

"You know, I think I've got you figured out."

"I highly doubt that," Loki drawled.

"No, really," Stark said, his index finger wagging at Loki like it sometimes did when the mortal was feeling especially smug. "It's actually simpler than I thought. You're not crazy or anti-social or whatever, you're distancing."

"Distancing?" Loki narrowed his eyes.

"Yep. Somebody hurt you bad, so now you keep everybody out. And if they get close," he affected a very poor accent. "Your people are mere insects."

"And who hurt you Stark, if you are such an expert? Was it your father? It's always the father."

"See, you're doing it again!" Stark's smile turned triumphant. "I'm prying, so you insult me to get me to talk about myself. Lucky for you I love talking about myself, so I'll play along. Yeah my father was an asshole, and he messed me up a little. But mostly it was my butler."

Intrigue dug its hooks into Loki, against his will. Stark was toying with him, he knew that. It was a mistake to indulge him, and pointless besides. He would be double crossing the man shortly, what did it matter what his butler did?

All the same Loki found himself asking, with unwelcome resignation, "Your butler?"

"My parents were busy, so Jarvis took care of me. He watched me, talked to me, he was my only friend. And then when I was fourteen he took a bullet for me," Stark paused, pursing his lips as if this long-ago event still spurned him. "Some wannabe extortionist tried to take me hostage and he died stopping them. After that I didn't get close to people. Until Pepper—my wife—and even then I waited too long."

Loki did not entirely relate. 

His youthful woes were centuries behind him, and all of them petty slights. Duels and rumors and empty, childish concerns. 

Anything of substance was so recent it would bleed, if the wound were physical.

He wanted to poke at this new vulnerability in Stark, if only to drive him away and put an end to the unwanted talk. 

But Stark had given a name to the tactic—distancing, such a typically human turn of phrase—and now provoking him felt like cowardice.

"It's easy to do, is the thing," Stark continued, now staring at his own hands. 

"You don't realize you're doing it, you just live that way. Hiding, deflecting, confusing people on purpose so you don't have to talk about this fear you're carrying around. And the next thing you know you're driving a bomb into space and your suit goes dead and you think, holy shit, I'm dying here. I'm dying and I never told her-"

Stark's mouth hung open and he shoved his wet hair out of his face.

"It changes things, facing death like that," he eventually said. "It makes you think about what's really important."

"I'm afraid I don't share that experience," Loki wrinkled his nose.

Stark did not need to know this, nor did he deserve to. But blast it all, he looked entranced. He was offering Loki a look of undivided attention that he had always carried a weakness for.

"How so?"

Loki swallowed, eyes on the ceiling.

"All of my profound realizations happened before the fall. The demise itself was merely an expected outcome, I felt nothing. I had already learned my lesson—that people are liars, and traitors, and it's best not to bother with them unless you absolutely must."

He could feel Stark's eyes on him, no matter how he tried to mentally distance himself from it.

"What about when you must?"

Raindrops and weightlessness came to mind, birthing an unfathomable compulsion to be honest. To spit out the poison, and perhaps scare Stark with the truth of it. He met his eyes, a sudden anger tightening his jaw.

"Devise an escape, silence all emotion, pray you survive."

To his credit Stark did not flinch, and he did not look away. His voice was low and flat, but an irritating sadness shone from his eyes.

"That's a hard way to live."

"It keeps you living," Loki blinked quickly, a strong, nameless emotion making it difficult to breathe.

Stark stood, tightening the belt of the robe as if pronouncing the moment complete. He began stacking books into piles and lifting them out of the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Loki demanded, sitting up despite the nausea.

The mortal rolled up a scroll that was older than his entire civilization and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.

"Stop that, those are my things-"

Stark raised his brow, unimpressed and weary.

"I'm tired. There's only one bed. I'm gonna sleep here."

"You most certainly will not."

"Really? That's how it's gonna be? I get you home, I get you food and drugs, I mind wipe a maid so we can have hot baths and you're gonna make me kip on the sofa."

Loki’s lip curled. He'd done his part of the bargain, steadfastly and painfully. He saw no reason he should owe Stark anything more.

But the mortal had gotten him out, and though Loki would not have done the same he had cleaned his wounds and made him comfortable. Calling upon his seiðr, he raised his hand to store the books in his pocket dimension and dagger-like pain split his skull. He yelled, cupping his face in his hands.

Stark was kneeling beside him in moments, the soothing stone returned. Loki panted, cold sweat on his neck.

"Dude, you have a concussion. Take it easy on the magic."

Loki felt hands on him and he wanted to shove Stark away, but relief was coursing through him and it had been so long since a touch had caused anything but pain. There was a hand in his hair, and another by his ear. His head was swimming in soothing magic and pleasant pinpricks of warmth were trailing down his neck. He was weak. He allowed it. Just for a moment. A handful of slowing breaths.

"I know you heal fast, but I really had to whack you back there," Stark said quietly. "Brains are fragile. If you don't rest until you're fully healed you'll only prolong the symptoms."

Loki gritted his teeth, batting the man away. He leaned on the cushioned wall of the bed in defeat and clutched the stone to his blighted skull.

Stark left, returning moments later with a platter of food and a poultice. He resumed clearing the other side of the bed, and Loki found he did not care anymore. 

The stew was briny and rich, the steam on his face a balm from the lingering cold that seemed attached to his very bones. He took a sip and it burned all the way down, a healing sort of heat that alleviated his raw throat and stoked the seiðr in his stomach. 

A second sip had him melting into the pillows.

"Norns, that is good."

Stark watched him, his hair in his face again. It would be hopelessly tousled once it dried, and Loki found that rather apt justice for such a vane creature.

Unaware of his dire fate, the mortal nodded, a meditative air wrapping around him like a blanket.

"When you get out, there's nothing like food from home," he said. “I must have eaten a hundred hamburgers that first month after the cave. I don't even like hamburgers, but they're just so damn American. Every time I picked off a pickle I thought, 'oh my god, I made it, I'm free.'"

Loki searched the depths of his bowl, the ring of truth resonating with him. He resented his family, and all that had happened the last time he stood on Asgardian territory. He did not belong to this realm, by all rights he never had. But the soup tasted like childhood, and the sheets smelt like his cologne, and he was so, so glad to be home.

He ate everything on the plate, and even bothered Stark for more. He ate for what felt like an hour while Stark painstakingly cleared the bed and made an elaborate nest for himself out of pillows.

By the time he was finished eating, the sky had grown dark through the archways and Stark was sprawled out across from him. He flipped through a tome Loki knew he couldn't read, the robe slung open enough for the device on his chest to cast a blue light on his face and the illustrated pages.

Later on he could not explain what made him speak. Perhaps it was contentment loosening his lips. Perhaps Stark had defeated him in his battle of wits after all.

Whatever the cause, a heavy feeling clawed up Loki's spine as he stared openly at the squishy, unarmored mortal.

He felt indebted. Unworthy of the man's sheer, indomitable goodness.

Loki could never be so. Had never been.

His mother used to look at him sometimes, after he'd said something particularly callous. 

Every time it was the same; her eyes softening like Stark’s had, and the corners of her mouth turning down.

Why can’t you just be nice, Loki?  She would scold. Is it so difficult to hold your tongue?

As if some fundamental kindness within him were broken, or conspicuously absent. Impossible to lose because he had never possessed it.

Empathy, Stark called it. An invisible thing which could only be known by the hole it left when it was missing.

Despite his deficiency, he felt something then. A foreign emotion that wriggled and squirmed uncomfortably in his gut.

Guilt, perhaps. A desire to be found acceptable.

"I—" he stuttered, his chest tight. "I am grateful, Tony Stark. It is indeed good to be home."

The old man tipped his head in suspicion, but then his mouth slanted in a handsome off-center grin.

Something altogether more frightening than gratitude squeezed Loki's heart.

"It's Tony, please, Stark is my father," the mortal said, casually, unaware that he'd tipped the very axis of Loki's world off balance.

Loki swallowed, nodding—then regretted it when his head screamed. He took a sip of the poultice Tony had prepared and sighed as the pain went away.

Tony yawned, arms stretching over his head, and collapsed quite luxuriously onto his mountain of pillows.

"So are you going to take a bath or what? You smell like a slaughterhouse inside a dumpster next to a fish market."

Loki scoffed, though he could smell the truth of it.

"Just for that, I think I won't. I'll let you stew in my aroma all night."

Tony laughed, infuriatingly, like he always did when Loki tried to be annoying.

"I guess I should have taken the couch."

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Loki did pass out after dinner and Tony did have to suffer the rest of the night catching putrid whiffs of him.

Fortunately he was dead-ass tired himself, and the bed was the perfect balance of soft yet supportive. As soon as his compadre passed out and the sky went fully dark Tony was counting sheep too.

Consciousness returned much slower than it left, each of his senses coming online one at a time. First the static of ocean ways, crashing on a distant harbor. People talking on walkways below the open terrace.

A few feet behind his back Loki was still asleep, snoring deeply.

A warm breeze tickled the hair on his forehead, and sunshine lit the backs of his eyes.

He rolled onto his other side and buried his face in the spice-scented pillows, not wanting to surrender to the day just yet.

A woman cleared her throat.

Tony was up before he even opened his eyes, his arms flying to the walls of the bed and his legs scrabbling beneath him. His hand extended in a repulsor blast that didn't come because he was bare footed in a bathrobe and not in his suit, his legs wobbling from the soft footing.

The woman put her pointer finger to her lips and tipped her head towards Loki, nonplussed by the attack.

Was she threatening him? The Mind Stone shined on his palm, and with alarming ease he felt it latch onto his need and reach out for her, seeking a mind to rend and destroy.

It did not find one, only empty air.

"Who-"

She poofed, reappearing by the doorway like the goddamn twins from The Shining.

The glittery edge of the dissipating illusion stopped him waking Loki. It looked just like his magic, and so had the conspiring look on her face. One or two theories materialized in his mind as to her identity, but Tony didn't become a genius inventor by making assumptions.

Rolling out of bed with minimally more grace, he tapped the actuator for his nanobots and regretted it when he looked down and saw himself wearing a titanium bathrobe. In retrospect, the need for a skin-tight undersuit to give the nanobots shape was a bit of a design oversight.

Sighing, he banished everything but the gloves and hoped to hell this not-so-mysterious mystery woman wasn't out to hurt them.

She led him to the parlor and he shut the door.

"Frigga, I presume?"

He crossed his arms as he weighed which bullshit story he should try to feed her.

"And who are you?" she asked, surprisingly unfussed by his lack of title. Loki sure never missed a chance to correct him.

"Tony Stark. I'm a friend of Thor's."

"The Avenger."

"An Avenger," he corrected, though a part of him didn't want to. There was some humor to the idea of Thor coming home from a future mission and hearing his mom talk about Tony like he was the sole protector of Earth. "It's sort of a team effort. Though I'm the leader, of course, and the financier and the builder and, well, it's pretty much all me to be honest. I'm pretty cool."

Frigga laughed through her nose, and her lips quirked in a motherly smile that reminded Tony of Pepper.

"And you know Loki."

"Not really. It's complicated-" He made a wheeling motion with his hands. "Never mind that, how did you know we were here?”

"I would know my son's presence a galaxy away. Although I wasn't certain until Anselma informed me that she was 'tending to the Queens guests' and then left her duties early. You ought to be more thorough, if you intend to use such dangerous magics."

Tony forced a cough into his fist to hide a wince.

"It wouldn't be my first option, to be honest. Things were on the dire side."

Frigga frowned, fussing with her silver armguard.

"How did you find him?"

"Long story. Like, Titanic long-"

Tony stepped past her to buy himself time, clacking the thumbs and middle fingers of his gloves together. Once he reached the fireplace he spun on one heel and put his hands palm to palm.

"The Spark Notes version is that he found me—or my planet, really—and I don't know about you guys, but on Earth we don't really like super-powered aliens crashing into our atmosphere. So I had to figure out what to do with him."

"Was he hurt badly?" Frigga's face fell in a level of concern that honestly surprised him.

Not that he doubted her love for her son, it was just... well, Loki.

Tony had spent the better part of a week hearing about how terrible and unfair Loki's childhood was. At a certain point he couldn't help constructing an image of this woman as either a negligent pushover or a fairytale witch. That she didn't appear to be either of those almost bothered him more.

That meant either she or Loki wasn't telling the whole truth, and between the God of Lies and a complete stranger—who presumably hadn't stepped in when her sons tried to kill each other—he wasn't sure who to believe.

Tapping his own temple, he made a so-so gesture with his other hand.

"He hit his head pretty bad and threw a little tantrum, but nothing we couldn't handle. I'm pretty sure Earth wasn't his first port of call...but anyway, we made it. He's back on Asgard and trickier than ever. Exciting!"

His false cheer faded as Frigga matched his footsteps to the hearth.

A focused tension came over her brows that felt like being x-rayed.

"I sense you will not be here long," she said.

"Excuse me?"

She put her hand on his arm, and he took a step back.

"Maybe you should go say hi," he sputtered. "I'm sure he can tell you what happened better than me."

Frigga turned to the door, to Loki, and her shoulders slumped.

"You'll look after him won't you?"

Tony's mouth hung open.

What was wrong with this lady?

"If he lets me, until we go our separate ways,” he said noncommittally.

It was true enough. As long as Loki was on his side, it was in his best interests to prop him up when he needed it.

A searching look answered that, and Frigga took two steps closer. Tony moved to retreat again, but she had him trapped against the hearth fire.

"Give him a chance," she said. And Tony blinked around a strong feeling of whiplash.

"I did, that's why I'm here-"

"I know he can be difficult, but Loki has a gentle heart. He's loyal, and caring, and he feels everything so deeply. He's just a boy, he's not a monster."

Tony wasn't sure he was the one she should be convincing. Up on the dais Loki himself had said the M word just as much as The Other.

In between wanting to sink into the floor and wanting to laugh at the absurdity of her calling Loki gentle, he thought this was probably a conversation more suited to Asgard's version of a therapist... or really anybody but him.

He couldn't disappear though, and he couldn't very well tell her that her precious, sweet baby had wrecked a helicarrier, invaded New York, caused billions of dollars worth of property damage, and murdered about five thousand people including himself—so he instead opted for a brisk subject change.

"What happens to him now that he's back? " he asked.

For the first time Frigga broke eye contact first, her hands returning to her waist in a self-soothing gesture.

"Nothing. I won't allow it. He was a prince before and he will be a prince now."

"He says he's a king. The rightful king. Do you really expect him to just move on and forget everything that happened?"

Pursing her lips and shaking her head slightly, Frigga withdrew.

"You know nothing of what happened."

"Funny, Loki said that too."

Silver shimmered around her shoulders, and he stuck his hand out.

She faded into nothing.

He sighed, and crossed his arms.

No way around it, Loki needed to know about this.

The once and rightful king was as exactly they left him, taking up most of the bed with his mouth open, snoring louder than a busted muffler.

Tony knelt by the bed and clapped his hands.

"Wake up, Frosty. Up, up, up, we got a problem—"

A hand shot to his throat faster than blinking, and one fast smear of motion later Tony was flat on his back with Loki's full weight bearing down on him.

"Woah, woah, easy-"

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and let go of Tony's throat in favor of clutching his head with one hand. The other had half a knife in it, cut off abruptly at the hilt like the universe forgot to render the rest. Or more precisely, like Loki's magic had failed in the middle of the spell. Fresh blood dripped from his nose.

"Stark," Loki blinked.

"Morning, sunshine."

"You should not wake me so aggressively," Loki scowled. Not his usual one. There was color around his ears that made it look more embarrassed than upset.

"No kidding. What are you waiting for? Get off me."

The veins in Loki's hand popped out from his tight grip on the dagger, his body quivering with the effort of rising.

Tony stumbled to his feet as well before the guy fell over and pinned him again, but less intentionally.

Broadcasting the motion clearly before he got close, he put his arm under Loki's and helped him sit on the edge of the bed. The roadkill smell had only gotten worse overnight, and his jacket flaked dried blood on Tony's robe. He brushed it off with a disgusted flick of his hand.

"What in the Nine Realms is worth such a racket?" Loki asked.

Tony grimaced and leaned in to whisper against his nose's better wishes.

"Don't choke me this time, but your mom was just here. She found us. Could be listening right now."

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

"Speak normally, you ape, this room is warded. Even Heimdall cannot see us. You must have made some asinine mistake, there's no other way they would know."

"She said she sensed you," Tony said defensively, never mind that it was technically his foul up that confirmed Frigga's suspicions. "Whatever, it doesn't matter how she found us, what are we gonna do? We're up paradox creek here."

"What do you expect me to do in my current state? Bleed on her? Use your stone if you must, I don't care."

Loki pawed around on the floor until he found a soothing stone and pressed it to his head. Growling, he threw it across the room and cracked an unsuspecting wall tile into thirds.

"Out of power, blast it-"

"O-kay no more projectiles for you, Genghis. God, you smell like death. Come on, let's at least get you cleaned up before the cavalry arrive."

Fixing the robe that had slipped open in their tussling, he bent over and got his shoulder under Loki's arm again.

Loki hissed, still clutching his head, and he realized he was going to be doing most of the lifting.

After a cacophony of bitching and moaning he got Loki to the tub.

The water was murky from last night but the stones were still in it, and Tony's soiled clothes were on the floor where he left them.

Beaming daylight came in from an open terrace along with the sounds of a waking city and Loki groaned miserably.

"Bright—hurts."

Checking the columns and billowing drapes, he padded over to the balcony and ripped the sheer drapes closed. The room dimmed marginally, not enough to matter, but at least Loki couldn't say he ignored him.

"I had no problem with light yesterday, why is it getting worse?"

"Concussions are like that, you might have trouble reading for a while too. It's pretty common."

"Well, I am ready to be done with it," Loki groused. He waved a hand over the faucets and the tub drained.

"It would help if you took a vacation from the wizardry, like I already told you," Tony said. "Hold up, was that nagging? Oh my god, I'm nagging you. How am I the responsible one here?"

"Wizardry involves incantations, sorcery involves seiðr. Bathing involves neither," Loki ran his hand over the pump and the runes pulled fresh, steaming water out. "Anyone can use runes. Their power is stored and regularly replenished, like your Midgardian batteries."

Loki tapped his shoulder guard and the plates torqued and unfolded like a transformer. Tony gaped at it, watching as a predatory bird appeared from the mandala of twisting brass. It looked like it got stuck at one point, its rusted gears crunching and lurching, and Tony realized it was a robot.

It clicked its beak, and the head swiveled sideways to watch them with its creepy marble eyes.

Every movement gave off the shrill squeak of dry hinges, and Tony winced in sympathy. The mechanism on its own would have been interesting, but what kicked it up to fascinating was the luminous, buzzing intelligence that the Mind Stone sensed within it. Within her.

Once it had feet and everything, the bird flapped its wings rapidly and hopped onto Tony's head.

He jumped in surprise, and the bird squawked unhappily. The second time it landed on his shoulder.

"Is all of your armor about to transform into woodland creatures?" Wiggling his pointer finger at its beak, Tony grinned. "Oh, Morgan would love you. What a pretty girl—ow!"

The bird's beak drew blood and Loki swelled with pride.

"If it did, they would all be so vicious. A boon for you, then, that I have only one familiar."

Tony sucked on his damaged finger and supposed that was true enough. He would have his work cut out for him cleaning up one set of horrifically neglected gears anyway; because Loki was occupied and Tony wasn't going to miss the chance to take a look under the hood of a magically powered automaton.

Walking to the nearby wardrobe he opened cabinets and drawers in search of anything he could use.

Leather and clacking armor hit the floor behind him, and he focused harder than necessary on the contents of the furniture.

Finding a stack of small, soft towels and a clear jar of amber oil, Tony sat down on the terrace with the bird on his knee.

Though Loki probably wanted privacy, Tony’s wasn’t totally convinced the guy wouldn’t pass out and drown if he left him alone. The terrace seemed a passable compromise.

A pained hiss caught his ears and Tony made the mistake of looking.

His first thought was, damn. His second thought was, no.

The giant's weight shifted, one leg rising to step in the water and granting a view of his—

Tony put his head down. Immediately. Before Loki caught him staring and force-fed him his own eyeballs.

He'd seen Loki's body before, obviously, but it was in a context so inhumane that he'd have to be a serial killer to find it alluring.

In the Chitauri base it was flesh and muscle and vulnerable skin, not a body so much as a state of being, a psychological weapon used to crack Loki's defenses. In the bathroom, with that lanky figure bent over the edge of the tub and his frankly ridiculous ass in the air, it was tougher to be so detached.

Tony tapped a small amount of oil onto a towel and put his mind to better use picking apart the bird's feathers and scrubbing off the grime.

"So what's the over-under on a bunch of guards storming in here and arresting us?" he asked with a level of composure Pepper would have been proud of.

Water rippled loudly in the room as Loki sunk in and, judging by the splash and dripping that followed, dunked his head in.

"If I had invaded Earth? Life in prison would be the minimum, execution a strong possibility. As we are, with my former self gone and mankind unharmed, I would expect a banquet."

"Seriously?"

"Why not? Odin's sleep has ended, Thor's birthright restored. The succession of the crown returns to the order they always preferred it, and me? I languish back into obscurity. There will be a gala, a public facing welcome for the prodigal prince, and then all will be as it was. Consigned to the catacombs of memory."

"But the Jotuns-"

"Are vanquished," Loki said flatly. "You'll find that the Aesir do not concern themselves with people who are not presently threatening. What are you doing?"

Once the bird understood Tony's intention, she'd become remarkably civil. Tony was holding her left wing open, spreading the feathers with a deft hand and dripping oil into the joints.

With Loki safely modest under the rim of the tub, he risked a glance and raised his brows.

"I'm a mechanic, I fix things."

Loki regarded him with keen eyes, and an exploring expression that looked like he was contemplating cannibalism. The ripples in the water stilled as he stopped all movement and sucked in his cheeks.

"Familiars are deeply connected to their sorcerer's magic. Touching one is synonymous with touching the other."

Tony let go of the bot and slowly lifted his hands into the air.

"Are you saying you'd rather I didn't grease your bird?" he said, the innuendo so automatic that it had flown out of his mouth before it even registered in his brain.

A barely-there flush crept up Loki's ears, followed by the tiniest, dirtiest smirk he'd had ever seen.

Shit, shit, shit. That was not a part of the plan. He should not be thinking those thoughts at a time like this.

The weeks away from Pepper had just made him horny, that was all. He was lonely, and missing his wife, and his brain latched on to the nearest available target. It didn’t mean anything.

The falcon made a cooing noise and fluffed her feathers up so she looked like a deadly ball of spikes.

Loki's deep voice echoed off the walls and gave Tony goosebumps he stubbornly ignored.

"It seems you've won her over. Carry on, the poor creature has waited long enough."

Tony cleared his throat and nodded.

Fumbling for the thread of the conversation, he moved to the bird's other wing.

"So your mother finding out, that's not necessarily a crisis?"

For a long minute the sounds of lather and scrubbing were Loki's only response.

"I killed him for a reason, you know. He'd have slaughtered you the moment your back was turned, but I could have put him in a stasis if that were my sole concern."

It took Tony a moment to realize who him referred to, and when he did he frowned. He hated that he understood, and that he hadn't seen the savage simplicity of that solution sooner.

"Killing him prevented New York, which makes your free return to Asgard possible," Tony said.

"And establishes, if I correctly understand your theories of time, a new dimension in which our actions are entirely disconnected from your Avengers and their heists. From here forward, we cannot unintentionally interfere with your team's stones. Whatever we find, we may keep."

"Savor this moment, Lokes, I don't say this often-" Tony sighed, crossing his arms. "But touché, you outsmarted me. Welcome to the Big Brains Club."

"It's not difficult to find a superior strategy when you only consider the morally defensible options," Loki said, like he couldn't give a shit about Tony's approval. His delighted face said differently, though.

"That's an awfully long winded way of complimenting me," Tony smirked.

"Because it wasn't a compliment," Loki said with perfect superiority.

He flipped his hair over his shoulder and dipped back to rinse. Tony pursed his lips and got back to work.

"Is that why you let go?" he asked, confident now that Loki could follow whatever logical leaps he threw at him. The guy was sharper than he'd given him credit for, Tony could take off the kid gloves.

Loki stood, water raining over the tub and flooding the floor when he stepped out.

Tony moved to help but Loki held up a hand.

"Please, allow me a small measure of dignity."

"Dignity won't last you very long if you fall and crack your head open," Tony rolled his eyes, knowing he sounded like a nagging dad but unable to stop himself.

He stayed put though, and if his attention focused a bit too much on the slapping sound of Loki's wet feet, then that was between him and the bird.

For the time it took Loki to dry off and shrug into a loose-fitting black tunic and slacks he figured his question had been discarded. Which was fair enough, it was an invasive question.

When he'd come to recruit the trickster, Tony had relied almost entirely on Loki's imminent death to persuade him. His reaction had been strange, but in the end he had come around and Tony had marked it off his to-do list.

Now it bugged him, that notion. That Loki clearly didn't care about living, and yet he'd put himself through hell to save his own life. It didn't make sense.

He wanted to talk to him about it, to try and understand.

For selfish reasons, so he could supplant that clumsy first persuasion with an incentive Loki actually wanted. So he could maybe avoid a sudden but very expected betrayal. But also because he'd heard so many conflicting things about Loki from so many different sources and none of it, none of it, fit together in a way that made sense.

So Tony had asked, and Loki hadn't answered, and he was prepared to accept that right up until Loki sat beside him and started talking.

"As a child my fath—Odin told Thor and I that we were both born to be kings," Loki began. "This was true, but also misleading. Unknown to me, when I was no more than a babe, Odin conquered the realm of the frost giants and brought me back as a trophy of war. I was the son of Laufey, the Jotun king."

Loki chewed his cheek, his face tense as if this was difficult to say. Not wanting to break whatever impulse had gotten him to open up, Tony sat still and listened.

"As the heir of the Jotun crown, it was Odin's plan to raise me as an Aesir. To teach me Aesir ways and Aesir values and mold me into a loyal and obedient puppet which he could install on their frozen throne."

Loki picked up one of the cloths and doused it. With careful touches he polished the falcon's head and beak, his eyes narrow and lashes long in the morning light.

It was more than Tony ever expected Loki to explain, and more than he thought he'd ever heard him say in one go. Wordlessly, he draped his dirty rag over his knee and laced his fingers in his lap.

"I learned of my true heritage the same day Thor was banished. They claim to have lied to protect me from discrimination, but I had always felt like an outsider. Armed with the truth, I finally saw my existence as it truly was. Hollow, farcical," Loki swallowed, rubbing furiously.

"For a thousand years I had toiled in a hopeless battle to prove myself worthy, to challenge Thor for the throne Odin told me I deserved. What I learned that day was that none of it had mattered. It had always been a rigged game. Even if I had won, Odin never intended for me to rule Asgard."

The bird fidgeted, its toes tapping in agitation as its master scrubbed harshly at its oxidized crest.

"Loki-"

"During Thor's banishment Odin slept, and I became king. I saw my opportunity to remove Thor, but I failed. Our friends favored him, even as acting king they went behind my back to return him to power. They betrayed me, it should have been treason but they were met with thunderous applause."

Tony grabbed Loki's wrist and pulled him away from the falcon where he'd been polishing so hard the metal was warm and buffed to the blue.

"You're going a little hard there, Houdini."

The bird screeched like a fire alarm and flew to the tub, nearly silent with its newly clean joints.

Loki worked his jaw and looked down at their hands. Though Tony expected him to withdraw, he didn't. He studied the touch like a foreign phenomenon, like luck or cosmic acceleration or ESP, like a novel mystery that science could not yet explain.

"Do you see?" Loki asked. "It was hopeless. My one opportunity squandered, and before me a life of subservience and invisibility. I would be a shadow and a pawn all my life, kneeling first before the king that stole me, and later to the brother that deposed me."

"So you let go."

"And became a puppet all the same," Loki shook his head. He sighed, brushing off the thoughtful mood and pulling his arm from Tony's hand.

Whistling, he called the falcon to perch on his wrist and muttered a soft apology.

Tony saw it then, unthinkable though it had been a half hour earlier—the secret gooey center. He wouldn't necessarily call it gentle, but under a few layers of fog and trees there was another dimension to the prickly bastard. Something cloistered and mysterious that begged to be understood.

"If we win, you don't have to come back here, you know," Tony said. An imperfect consolation, but the best he could scavenge at a moment's notice. "Hell, you could go anywhere you wanted. Any time, place, or dimension... with six infinity stones you could make your own damn world if you wanted to."

"And who would fill it?" Loki asked.

He stroked the bird's chest with the back of his hand, and Tony came up blank.

"You have your family, a true family. The simplest of lives can have meaning if one is accompanied by love. But I have no one, and thus anywhere I went would be equally empty."

Tony wanted to protest, but he knew what Loki meant. He'd been alone most of his years too, and he knew the holding pattern. Looping over life in slow circles, looking down at the world and wondering are you the one who can make me happy, or you, or you, or you?

It must have shown on his face, because Loki wrinkled his nose and clambered to his feet.

"Save your sympathies, I have no use for them. We will play the parts we've been given, you the traveler and I the fallen monarch. By our combined efforts we shall find the Aether, and then I will leave this dreadful place and never look back."

He offered Tony a hand, and that felt like progress. Tony took it, his old knees cracking on the bend. Loki's brows raised, and his eyes glimmered with judgement.

"Not a word, junior," Tony grumbled, shoving him playfully.

"If you can make yourself a living exoskeleton, why would you not first fix your knees?"

Tony rolled his eyes.

"I was a little preoccupied pulling forty-six shards of shrapnel out of my chest cavity. Still got the titanium tube where my sternum should be. Wait 'til you see the x-rays, Lokes. You'll be amazed I'm still breathing."

"No, absolutely not, try the next one."

"Oh come on, I like it. I feel like Robin Hood."

Loki waved his hand dismissively.

Tony checked the mirror, inspecting what felt like the hundredth Medieval Times getup Loki had shoved him into in the last hour.

"And you look like you sell fried meat at the sparring ring. Next."

Groaning, he went back behind the room divider and took the next outfit off the tailor's rack. It was a somber looking doublet in murky brown and burgundy, but at least it came with pants.

According to Loki, visitors to Asgard normally wore dress-like robes with no pants or underwear. Visitors, along with women, men, children, and presumably animals. Robes for everyone. Robes for days.

At this point if he found anything that could conceivably allow Iron Man to sculpt itself over the top, it would be a damn miracle.

Shortly after Frigga's early morning visit, Loki's rooms flooded with people. Maids scowering every surface, butlers and valets delivering food, clothing, shoes, and incense. Just when Tony thought he could close the double doors, a team of eight medics flanked by levitating equipment took over the parlor and scanned Loki head to toe.

The prince tolerated the poking better than he would have expected, and Tony took the opportunity to slip away before they cut him up like a middle school dissection project. One nurse followed him with unnerving determination all the way to the library, and he only escaped thanks to a kindly older tailor who noticed his bare legs and borrowed bathrobe and pounced.

A miniature atelier had been erected in the sitting room near Loki's conservatory. Racks upon racks of clothes and accessories had been shoved between the sofas, heavy and creaking from the weight of armor, tunics, robes, and boots. The epicurean in Tony enthusiastically approved.

Once he got the old tailor to understand that no, he really did not want help dressing, thank you very much, he'd actually had a pretty good time.

The fabrics were unlike anything he'd worn before, and the way the tailor resized the garments magically the moment he stepped out from the changing area was revolutionary. If he got home in one piece, he swore he'd never buy clothes anywhere but New Asgard again.

Always a lover of the finer things, the only complaint Tony had was the lack of women's wear. He would have liked to pick up some souvenirs for Pepper and Maguma, if he had the option.

Not that Pepper willingly wore anything he bought her, but if ever there was an exception he figured eight-layer gossamer dresses from another dimension would be it.

He put together two outfits of his own before Loki appeared in a literal cloud of healing, threw himself on the chaise, and slowly but surely sucked all the fun out of the exercise.

The nurses, or healers, or whatever Asgardians called them, had patched him up pretty good. His scalp was as good as new, both on the side where Tony had beaned him and the back where the Chitauri had blasted. The cuts on his face were gone, and his footsteps were strong and assured.

His head still bothered him and his balance was poor, but he sipped a neon cocktail that he claimed would help with his nausea. Although it clearly worked Tony suspected it tasted like jet fuel, because he clearly wasn’t in any hurry to finish it.

Sprawling indolently with his ankles crossed, Loki seemed determined to remind Tony that he was every bit the spoiled prince his title claimed.

Completely uninvited, he began spouting harsh opinions about every single article on Tony's body as if it was his domain to command, and then sent him back to the changing room with a new stack of gear like a postman returning a letter to the sender.

Apparently there was a feast tonight, and Tony needed to look a certain way.

Despite Loki bombarding him and the tailor with hundreds of words like visually stimulating, vigorous, functional, and streamlined Tony had no clue what they were looking for.

A New York eternity later he still didn't, although the tailor was dialing in on the target. By the eighth iteration, Loki's critiques were no longer demoralizing, and his compliments bordered on complimentary.

He was fixated on putting Tony in brown, which he would have contested if he thought he had a chance of winning.

This far out of his field of expertise, he fell back on the strategy of all married men with taskmaster wives—sit down, shut up, and put on the damn clothes.

Walking out into the sitting room, he felt the telltale itch of the tailor's magic shorting the legs by four inches and spread his arms in annoyed acceptance of Loki's scrutiny.

In a welcome change of pace Loki’s lips quirked up and he nodded, turning his pointer finger in a circle to indicate Tony should spin.

His brows set in a flat line, he performed exactly one rotation and glared.

"Are we there yet?"

"Can you put your armor over that?" Loki asked, sipping his drink.

Tony felt vaguely objectified.

Unbottoning the tunic to reveal his nano reservoir, he tapped twice and watched the bots coat the stiff fabric. To his relief it worked, the surface smoothing and hardening as it was meant to. It even took on the square shape of the knee-length butt skirt and gave him a fairly function set of leg guards.

Loki hummed approvingly.

"Tailor, my friend must have access to this artifact at all times. Alter all his selections to accommodate, and keep the hems close to the body."

Tony's frown wilted a bit at the consideration. It didn't remotely make up for the hassle, but at least Loki was attentive to his basic requirements.

Loki stood and slid a thick brown belt from a rack of leather satchels and tossed it over Tony's shoulder.

"A cape as well, I think. Red with black lining."

"You're enjoying this too much," Tony said.

"You'll thank me later. Dress is a language in court, you'd be lost without me."

"And you can't read or cast spells or do anything else fun," Tony pointed out, sliding the belt around his waist. "You're just bored, admit it."

The tailor hung a heavy cape from his pauldrons, and Loki rolled his eyes.

"Take up the lower legs of the suit. Leave the hip guards, arms, and chest," he instructed, popping the collar of Tony's tunic and pulling the overcoat so his armor was underneath instead of on top.

Tony humored him just to get the tedious chore over with, or at least that's what he told himself.

Studying his reflection, he had to admit that the formerly depressing maroon color complimented the suit's vibrant red and gold and made it look like antique brass. Layered with the cape and the brown leather, it did make for a convincing impersonation of Asgardian armor.

Loki caught his eye in the mirror, and wiped imaginary lint off his shoulder.

"That will do, I should think."

"What's the con?" Tony asked, hooking his fingers in his belt and popping his ankles outward. It was no Tom Ford, but in his not-so-humble opinion he looked pretty fly.

"We must obscure your origins, since admitting a Midgardian to Asgard is a capital offense. We shall pose you as a merchant prince of Alfheim. A scholar and smith, here to collect a debt for returning me to the Realm Eternal. You can take inspiration from your true history but remain vague on the details. Speak little of your origins, much of your accomplishments, and no one shall doubt for a moment that you hail from the land of the elves. Once we have their esteem, we can move freely and seek out records of the Aether's location."

Concentrating momentarily, Loki's brows pinched and Tony's ears turned pointy.

He twisted his lip and smoothed down his now-scruffy goatee.

"I already told Frigga I was a friend of..." Tony balked. "Oh shit, she called me an Avenger. This morning, when I caught her watching. But the Avengers don't exist yet. Maybe not ever, without you invading."

Loki paled.

"I don't like that look," Tony turned to regard him directly, and Loki paced a long line to the chaise and back.

"My mother is a seer, her gifts occasionally grant her insights from the future."

"So she knows?"

"She may," Loki massaged his temples, and blood dripped from his nose.

"Again with the magic-“

"Hush, it's necessary," Loki snapped, wiping it hurriedly with his sleeve and leaving a smear just over his lip. "If that is what she said, then she certainly had a vision. But of what? The original future, or this one we are adapting?"

"If she blows our cover-"

"I don't know if she would," Loki stopped near the stairs and covered his mouth with his hand. "It is her belief that these visions should not be acted upon."

"But she mentioned them to me, if obliquely," Tony tapped his heel. "Maybe it was a test."

"If so, then you failed," Loki said, throwing himself onto the chaise and then pinching his eyes regretfully.

"Would you stop hurting yourself? For fuck's sake."

"Shut up, Stark," Loki growled. "It is better now, unless I-"

"By the Norns, it's true," a bellowing voice called from the antechamber.

Tony and Loki both froze.

"Loki! It really is you!"

Horror dawned on their faces as a luminous figure approached them at high speed. Imperious, surefooted steps pounded down the raised aisle, leather armor flapping merrily on crisp navy pants.

Big, burly arms wrapped Loki in a hug that squeezed an undignified noise out of him and then dropped him back on the chaise.

Tony's shoulders tensed in anticipation of a matching embrace that never came.

"And who is this?" Thor beamed innocently. "I heard of your return, brother, but I did not know you'd made a friend."

Loki met Tony's frown with a cold, cracked-glass smile.

"Anthony Starkson, meet my brother, Thor. Crown Prince, Wielder of Mjolnir and Protector of Earth."

Chapter Text

Excluding a few notable exceptions, Tony hadn't had an overabundance of friends in his life.

He had associates—at SHIELD, at Stark Industries, at the Department of Defense.

He had investments—Wanda, Harley, Sam Wilson, Peter. A lot of them dust now.

He had enemies—too many to count.

True friends, those were rare. Among them he had always counted Thor.

He was, in Tony's estimation, every single thing a self-respecting billionaire could want out of a drinking buddy. Loud, sunny, privileged enough that Tony felt humble by comparison, and attractive in a non-competing category with Tony’s own dark, smart, and sassy schtick. 

Yes, The Man Who Wouldn’t Be King was often off-world doing god stuff, but Tony was often barricaded in the lab doing genius stuff, so he saw that as a plus rather than a minus. Unlike most humans with their voicemails and concerned text messages, Thor understood that sometimes a guy had to peace out for six months and get shit done.

Better yet, he hadn’t been involved in the Accords debacle at all, so he never looked at Tony with that weird mix of judgement and guilt that half of Earth’s heroes hit him with these days.

All that to say a simple thing—Thor was a good friend. Then life came along and punched his buddy in the dick a couple dozen times, and Tony had been too damn busy dying in space to help.

Once he was walking unassisted, Tony had visited once a week to oversee the construction of New Asgard and fruitlessly suggest Alcoholics Anonymous. Five years on, he came once a month just to sit on Thor’s gross, pebble-littered couch and play video games.

He claimed it was so he could be the cool, hip dad when Morgan got old enough to play online games, but really he just wanted Thor to know that he wasn't alone. That at least one human remembered everything Thor had done to protect their planet, and that guy wasn't going anywhere for as long as his high-mileage mortal coil kept on chugging.

Which was why—when 2012 Thor strolled up to Loki's sitting room and gave them both a big, doofy, carefree smile—Tony almost teared up. 

Because he hadn't seen that guy happy in eight years.

Anthony Starkson, Loki called him. Pretty transparent alias, that one. He definitely did not realize what a big feature he and Thor were in each other’s lives, their meeting almost inevitable. Even Thor would put that together eventually.

"Elladan, son of Elrond." Tony corrected, with the Mind Stone backing him up.

Thor's eyes dilated slightly then refocused. He put his arm across his chest and nodded in greeting.

"I welcome you, prince of Alfheim, and thank you sincerely for seeing my brother home."

"I didn't do it out of the good of my heart." Tony waved his hand dismissively, slipping into the character Loki had given him. "But we have all night to negotiate. Don’t let me interrupt this touching reunion."

Thor blinked slowly at the disregard as Tony ambled to the boot rack to feign disinterest and find reasonably supportive footwear. In the mirror he caught Loki swallow a laugh. At least someone appreciated his acting.

Thor knelt by the sofa and put his hand on Loki’s neck with a somber face, and then Loki wasn't laughing anymore.

"Brother, thank the Norns. I thought you dead."

"And whose fault is that?" Loki shook off Thor's grasp.

Uh oh. Tony watched Thor’s posture straighten.

“You would fight and blame, when I am so eager to forgive you?"

Loki kicked his feet off the side of the chaise and stood. 

"Forgive me of what? Defending Asgard? Ruling when your rashness and pride got you banished during our realm’s time of need?"

"And in the course, unleashing a destroyer on an innocent Midgardian town,” Thor furrowed his thick brows. “And lying to me about our father’s death.”

“Your father. He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?"

Thor's mouth hung open, his hands wringing at his sides. He shook his head slightly, with genuine hurt.

"It matters not to me. You have stood at my side for a thousand years, what importance does your origin have?"

"What importance?" Loki said disbelieving. "It is everything, you fool. It is—I am a savage. What importance?! Are you daft?"

"You were raised here. You’ve been civilized.”

Tony paused in the process of tying his boots. Damn, just when he was starting to doubt all the claims of mistreatment, Thor had to go and say that.

Loki threw his glass to the floor, and it shattered in a rain of shards. 

“I’ve been what?”

“Now that was just a waste of good netherwart,” Thor sighed.

“You insolent-” Loki raised his clenched fists.

Tony barely got there in time.

"Your Highnesses, please.” He put himself between Loki and Thor and held his hands up in what would be surrender if he didn't have semi-lethal weapons on his palms. “Loki is collateral for my services delivering him. Maim each other after I've been paid."

"You court death standing between the sons of Odin in such a state." Thor scowled, raising his chin.

"Where I'm from we call that Wednesday.”

Despite himself, Thor was amused. His face didn't move, but Tony knew. It was a different version of his friend, but he felt the same. Still soft hearted. Well meaning but effortlessly offensive, until Widow taught him some history.

"I am no son of Odin,” Loki spat, and it was Tony’s turn to sigh. It would be nice if this were a scheme of some kind, but he had a hunch every bit of Loki’s outrage was real. 

If he couldn’t keep his cool around his family, then their plan had some serious holes in it.

"You really do have a death wish,” Tony muttered.

Thor shook his head, as if a spell had broken.

"I missed you, Loki. Be at peace. I only meant to tell you how glad I am to see you alive. I will attend your feast. Perhaps with an audience we shall manage to be civil."

“I won't embarrass Mother, that much you can believe.”

Evidently Odin was out, but Frigga was still mother.

Thor smiled, like that concession was enough for him, and left in a billow of red.

Tony let his arms down. Loki looked like he might combust.

"Would it kill you to play nice for a while?" He crossed his arms. "I know you hate the guy, but the best way for us to learn the Aether's location is to get it from Odin's mouth. Pissing off the favored child doesn’t help us.”

To his deep surprise, Loki's expression shuttered into what looked like shame. Maybe it was the reminder that Tony knew about the family dynamics, that he was on Loki's side. Maybe Loki just got tired of standing there in a full body clench. Either way he let out his held breath.

"I would rather check the archives and hope some remnant of proof remains from the ancient times."

It was a perfectly reasonable answer, but all Tony heard underneath was 'yes, Stark, I would literally die if I had to be nice to anyone, ever.'

"Then it's a good thing there are two of us. We can do both," Tony replied. "What do you want to do until the banquet?"

"Train you in basic etiquette, I suppose. Though it would be easier to train a dog to speak," Loki rubbed his temples again, and walked toward the stairs to the apothecary. "I'm going to need more potions."

That much Tony could understand. If Loki kept insulting gods and throwing shit Tony was going to need a drink too.

A dinnertime banquet on Asgard evidently began in the early afternoon, which did not bode well for Tony's sobriety. 

Odin apparently would not arrive for several hours, but as the guests of honor he and Loki had to be precisely on time.

Loki led them down a long gallery of carved stone railings and endlessly tall pillars. Between the parallel walkways and tucked-away corridors grew lush gardens with reflective fountains and Greecian statues.

It was airy and bright, but very public. Very few nooks existed to hide in or back passages to travel unseen. He could understand why a guy would learn to disguise himself in a place like this. Forget the walls having eyes, here even the statues’ eyes felt like they followed him when he passed.

"That way are the drawing rooms, the library, and the music room," Loki said with a careless wave, then tipped his head to the left.

At around his third glass of whatever-the-fuck, Loki had calmed down enough to ransack the tailors for his own wardrobe. Tony wasn't sure why he'd bothered, because he'd come out in almost exactly the same thing but with more gold and pyramid studs.

"That platform is an elevator. To use it, you stand on the base and picture the floor you wish to move to in your mind. Which is to say that you cannot access a place you have not already been shown. With the stone, that shouldn't prove too much of a hurdle for you."

Tony worried the edge of the Pimm Pal with his thumb, and nodded, though he would prefer not to use it if he didn't have to.

"Where are the archives?"

Loki's head remained staunchly forward, but his eyes traveled around as if checking for listeners.

"It is at the lowest level, between the vault and the dungeons. I've not worked out how to get you there yet. It's tightly supervised, and Heimdall will be watching."

"Great." Tony smoothed the beard he'd thankfully had time to trim before the shindig, and ran through his lines quickly one more time. "Are you planning to pick more fights tonight? Not that I'm going to stop you, it would just be nice to know."

"I don't always have an intricate fourteen-part plan, you know. Thor surprised me, and I reacted."

"I'm starting to wonder if you have a two-part plan, most of the time."

Loki's mouth twitched up on one side, but he otherwise kept a stoic mask.

"It varies from moment to moment."

At that point he made a sharp turn into a gargantuan atrium, and Tony assumed he was meant to follow.

Statues of soldiers held up the ceiling in long lines, leading up to a throne shaped like a hammerhead shark. No one was there but a cluster of soldiers ushering guests through a double door in the back wall.

"Thor wasn't kidding about the audience."

"Performance anxiety? You surprise me, Stark."

"You wish, junior." Tony rolled his shoulders. "More like worried you won't be able to keep up with me."

Loki clasped his hands at the small of his back and spread his lips in a beatific smile.

"We shall see."

"Alright, gentlemen, the game is simple," Tony said to the circle of Asgardians with three playing cards stacked in his hands. 

He performed a double lift to show a gold card with a woman's face.

"Find the maiden."

He sat cross-legged on top of a long wooden table, the nearby benches all cleared to make way for the crowd. Following the commotion, Thor pushed through two older men and crossed his arms over his chest.

Tony shot him a showman's smile and got an intrigued half-grin in return.

"These other guys don't pay.” He rotated his hand to show the bottom card, a black backdrop with an unfriendly satyr etched into the center. Then he executed a quick bottom draw to make the top card look like it matched. 

"Two thieves, here to steal your coin. They don't pay, but if you catch the maiden it could be your lucky day." 

He flashed the queen one more time for effect, then laid the cards in a line on the table.

"Watch closely, now. Pick the right one and I owe you a prize, guess wrong and you owe me a debt." Tony waved a hand at the large pile of rings, tiaras, and coins that he'd already won off other tipsy morons.

Reordering the cards at a quick pace, he swapped the maiden for a satyr and laid them face down in a line.

"Too simple, it's on the right," Thor said confidently.

"You sure?" Tony raised his brows.

"Absolutely."

He flipped the satyr, and shot Thor a wink. "Pay up, my liege."

The crowd heckled Thor good-naturedly, laughing and elbowing him in the side, many of them having fallen victim to the game already. With regal poise Point Break unpinned a broach from his cloak and dropped it onto the pile, to the approval of the men.

"I've seen better tricks," the prince chuckled, with a hopeful glance down the table to where Loki was watching with poorly concealed interest. The moment heads swiveled Loki snapped his gaze back to the poetry reading he was ostensibly watching, and Tony snorted. 

If he were subjected to two hours of rhyming couplets he probably would have developed wandering eyes too, so he didn’t let the attention go to his head.

"No tricks, your Highness, just the whims of lady luck. As you can surely sense I have no magic, and only three cards."

Tony stacked the cards again and flashed them in rapid succession.

"Here, I’ll make it easier. Find the maiden and you'll win back what you lost." He pretended to shuffle and fanned them in front of Point Break, with the faces toward himself. 

Thor frowned, and cracked his neck to the side. He pointed to the right card.

It was the money card, so Tony slipped the satyr over top and showed it with a contrite frown. 

"Oh dear, the satyrs' got another one," Tony said, returning both cards to his hand before anyone noticed. "Try again, I won't even shuffle. All or nothing, fifty-fifty odds."

Thor let out a harsh breath through his nose, and Tony grinned. This would be so good once he got to the end of the bit. He knew Thor’s humor, and he knew he would love the reveal.

"The left one, then.” Thor grumbled.

"The left," Tony repeated, pausing for effect.

He flipped to show the black back again.

"Then it must be the middle," Thor pointed, with all the confidence in the world.

For a split second, Tony thought about letting him win. 

The poor guy had a hard life ahead, and it wouldn't cost him anything... but it was also Thor, and he could feel Loki's eyes burning a hole in the back of his surcoat. 

Tipping back and forth, he decided he'd rather see Loki swoon than butter Thor’s already massive ego. He flipped the so-far unseen card, a brilliant red one with a swooping gold dragon.

"Oh my stars, where did that come from?" Tony said, showing the crowd and extending his palm to Thor with a face of faux apology. “I guess that’s three valuables from you, big guy.”

All the men yelled and howled, leaning in to see, and Thor gave a big belly laugh.

"I will not pay you one coin more.” He shook his head, turning to his brother again with a knowing leer. "Loki, out with it, what have you done to aid the elf's trick?"

Loki blinked, spreading his arms in an innocent show of hands.

Tony's smile spread ear to ear and he showed all three cards, doing a quick demonstration of his various sleights, and answering the questions of the charmed Asgardians. Evidently card tricks were not a part of the zeitgeist, even if they had decks and games like Earth. Maybe because magic was real, so nobody ever thought to fake it.

Flicking his eyes to the side, he caught Loki watching. Again.

The prince's jaw was tight in the same surly mask he'd donned like a cloak as they left his rooms, but his eyes glimmered with amusement.

The look did something illegal to Tony's insides, something he’d rather not name. It made his stomach flutter like the first moment of flight, and he swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. 

Despite his reputation this hadn’t happened in a long time, the heady, illicit ritual of flirting and eye fucking and sharing past trauma. Real life bombarded him with an abundance of adventure, and when he came home he had Pepper and a warm bed. 

Thrill seeking had lost its shine, and once his self-image recovered he’d never looked back.

Until now. 

Now he was definitely looking.

Loki's lips parted, as if to speak. 

To say what? A challenge, a teasing jab? Maybe—and wouldn’t that be a shock—an actual compliment? Something appropriately circular and caustic. Quite impressive, for a mortal. Do try to arrive at the punchline sooner, I thought I might fall asleep.

Whatever it was, Tony would never know. At that exact moment the thirty foot tall doors opened with a swell of brassy music, and Odin entered the feast hall.

Loki's nostrils flared, and the humor left his face in the space of blinking. He shot to his feet with the straightest back Tony had seen since Rhodey's graduation from officer training.

The clatter of chairs and scraping of benches silenced every other sound in the room.

Showtime.

The Allfather entered in full armor with Frigga by his side. They gleamed in their formal outfits almost as much as the murals of them on the ceiling above. 

Everyone, noble and servant alike, went to their knees. Even Thor and Loki bowed at the waist with their right hands over their hearts. 

Those two bowing to anyone struck him more than any other gesture of power Odin could have made. Tony was reasonably sure he’d only ever seen Thor bow to pick up Mjolnir and to pet the occasional neighborhood dog.

Per the plan, Tony refrained. He kept his head high and held his open palm vertically beside his face. And elf thing, according to Loki.

"Rise," Odin's rich baritone carried through the large room. He walked purposefully between the two long tables and up to the head table where Tony had set up his scam.

"My son returns," Odin said, holding on open palm to Loki in a formal acknowledgement that tightened Loki's brows almost imperceptibly. Tony only saw because he'd spent so much time watching those micro expressions for signs of incoming violence.

"By the blessing of the Norns," Loki responded stiffly.

"Uh, actually, that was me." Tony cleared his throat, feeling the weight of a hundred spectators focusing on him. He licked his lips and forced a cocky grin.

"Prince Elladan, son of-"

"I am aware," Odin said. "We the people of Asgard thank you for this gift."

"Purchase," Tony corrected.

"I beg your pardon?" Frigga said, her voice like music beside Odin's oppressive monotone.

Tony set his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side.

"My—ahem—kingdom was damaged by Loki's arrival, your grace, and climbing three realms through Yggdrasil was not a task I took on charity. I was promised a handsome reward."

One sharp eye cut to Loki, and Odin's face became like granite.

"I see."

"Now, boys, let us not sully this happy atmosphere with talk of coin." Frigga put her hand on Odin's arm and addressed the room at large.

Her smile was radiant and irresistible, and Tony once again had trouble resolving her kind disposition with the dark things he had heard.

Bowing his head, he gripped his wrist in front of him and offered a diffident shrug.

"Agreed. Why ruin a promising party? Good food, good ale, I'm in love with your culture already."

A few nods and whispers broke out and Odin waved to the troupe of musicians to resume whatever epic ballad they'd been playing before his entrance.

"Aye, drink heartily, people of Asgard, and eat your fill. Today your royal family is whole, the line of succession secured, and a new legend shall be sung to our ancestors. All hail the return of Prince Loki!"

The nobles and servants alike cheered, and just like that the festive mood was revived.

Apparently that was just how parties went around here.

Odin stopped in front of his son, and Tony wondered if that would be the end of civility. Loki wasn't wearing a look of open mutiny, but it was close.

"Father," he growled.

Wariness tightened Tony's gut as Odin cupped his palm on Loki's neck and brought their foreheads together. Loki's chest visibly quaked with his heavy breathing, and Frigga put her hand on her chest as if this was a moving and beautiful moment between father and son.

Tony respectfully disagreed, given that the panting was more likely to be Loki suppressing homicidal urges than dignified, masculine tears.

Odin stepped back and put his other hand on Loki's jaw. When he spoke his voice cracked with emotion.

"My son-" He said with wetness in his eye. "The Great Tree gives you mercy."

Loki's lower lip trembled, though again Tony saw more rage in it than anything else. He must have taken the earlier rebuke to heart, because he was putting his all into playing the penitent son.

"I am lucky to be alive," he said mechanically.

Odin pulled him into a hug and he cracked his knuckles at his sides.

"The Norns bless this old fool with one more miracle," Odin said, and Tony decided it was time to insert himself into the conversation before Loki snapped his neck like a twig.

"Excuse me, Your Royal Highness, but I'll have to ask you to step away from my prisoner until we've agreed to our terms."

"You dare speak to the ruler of Asgard with such disregard?" Odin said.

"Speak? No," Tony called up the rest of his suit and shaped four ion blasters at his back. "This isn’t speaking, this is threatening."

The music died abruptly, the room descending into a chorus of whispers and gasps.

Thor raised his hammer.

Odin summoned a spear, and Frigga stood between them with her arms outstretched.

"Dear, not here."

"You expect me to be condescended without retaliating?"

"No need for retaliation," Tony said through his voice changer. "Just get your hands off the merchandise."

"Guards!" Odin called.

A legion of Einherjar ran in from the throne room, decked out head-to-toe in golden armor and tall shields. Odin scowled.

"Arrest this provincial Alfir thug, and confiscate his weapon."

Tony fired lasers from his hovering blasters, shooting the entire legion simultaneously in the knees.

They dropped as one, and the frozen spectators scattered, dashing for the exit and ducking behind tables. Fearful yelling echoed off the golden walls, and Tony put the blasters back in the reservoir.

Odin gaped at the effortless destruction, and pointed his spear.

Tony met Loki's eyes. Loki blinked twice. Ready to go.

"No, please-" he begged, and Tony snapped his fingers.

Falling to a heap on the floor, Loki spasmed, shouting in mock pain. Frigga ran to him, falling to her knees and laying soft hands on her son's face.

"What have you done?" she demanded.

Tony supposed that answered one question, since she looked genuinely shocked. She hadn't seen this coming.

"It's a little invention of mine. Totally harmless, I assure you." Tony kicked Loki's paralyzed hand over so it was palm up and revealed the small metal button he'd made out of nanobots that afternoon. "I call it the Obedience Disc. As you can see it's very effective."

"M-Mo..." Loki stuttered, reaching for Frigga's hand but 'unable' to grasp it.

"Stop this, you're hurting him!"

"Name your price," Odin spat.

Tony snapped his fingers again, and Loki slacked to the floor. His mother bent close, whispering to him and petting his face. Odin seethed, and how was that for an attitude adjustment?

Maybe Loki was onto something with the effectiveness of villainy.

"My price, Allfather, is an artifact stolen by your father Bor. An ancient power source known as the Aether."

"No individual life is worth such a price. Not even my beloved son’s."

"He's more than a prince, though, isn't he?" Tony laughed derisively.

The Allfather's face shifted, in the muscles of his cheeks and the set of his brows. Anger became suspicion.

"He's the future king of Jotunheim. He represents five thousand more years of Aesir rule, at the very least. You would throw away your father’s victory, six thousand years of peaceful hegemony, and your own son’s freedom to keep one little rock?"

"The Aether is not 'one little rock.' Its power is beyond your imagining, the power to reshape the world. I would never surrender it, not even for my first born."

Snapping again, he watched Loki milk the tortured seizing act for all it was worth. His eyes rolled up and a sad whimpering yelp came from his lips. He kicked and twitched, spit spraying from his mouth as he struggled to breathe. Frigga begged him to stop.

Tony shot her a winning smile as he snapped again.

"The stone is my price. I'll accept nothing less.” He kicked Loki in the side and grabbed him by his ridiculous shoulder pads. "Get up, welp, let's give them time to contemplate your worth."

"You will face the full might of Asgard," Odin called to their retreating backs.

Tony barely held back a laugh.

"You know where to find me, Allfather."

He gave a lazy wave and pulled the oversized doors shut.

In tense silence, they walked back to Loki's rooms, the taller of them dragging his heels theatrically and hanging his head like an abused puppy.

Tony opened the door and shoved him inside roughly, slamming it behind them.

One moment passed where both of them stood rigidly still. They waited, wondering if they weren’t about to be raided by one hundred Einherjar.

When no cavalry came, Tony looked at the big guy with a boyish wonder.

Loki's blotched, flushed face split in a devious grin.

"They bought it," Tony whispered, awestruck into blank staring. "They actually fucking bought it."

Loki broke, cackling so hard that he ran out of breath and started gasping. Tony joined a few seconds later, lower and subdued. More shocked than amused.

"Did you see his face?!" Loki yelled, throwing his hands out from his sides and striding into the bedroom. Turning sharply around, he put his hand over one eye and made a constipated pinch out of his eyebrows.

That got real laughter out of Tony.

"I thought you were going to murder him when he hugged you."

"I nearly did,” Loki threw himself onto the bed with his arms over his head and descended into giggles. ”But oh—oh, Tony you were right. It was worth it. It was worth every moment just to see his face when you turned his precious soldiers into floor rugs."

The ruse had been Loki’s plot, combined with a story of Sakaar Thor told Tony once over a gallon of Guiness.

Loki had doubted Tony could handle the Einherjar alone. He’d made assurances, but part of him suspected Loki had backup plans anyway. Plans that weren’t necessary because Tony had engineered himself into a real badass over the years, and he’d proved it with no shortage of style.

"You weren't bad yourself," he said coolly, perching on the edge of the bed and unlacing his boots will long, even pulls. “The foaming at the mouth was a little much for me, but the rest?"

He mimed a chef's kiss.

Loki beamed, probably a little too delighted for the amount of distress they'd caused, but Tony wasn't in the mood to judge. The plan worked, and now they had several decent avenues to the stone.

Either Odin would decide that his machinations were worth giving up the Aether, or Loki could play the victim and twist his parent’s guilt until someone broke and told him where it was. Barring both of those plans there were still the archives to look through, and an old-fashioned scavenger hunt if all else failed.

One way or another they were going to find that stone, and after their award winning performances on opening night, he had a strong suspicion that the royal family would help them do it.

It wasn’t his style, and given time to reflect he would probably feel a little guilty. But for the time being, he embraced that tiny scrap of success and clung to it.

Two stones down, a third one on the way. 

For Peter.

Fury.

Wanda.

Wilson.

T’Challa.

Hell, even for that dickwad Dr. Strange.

For every person killed on a bus or plane or highway where the driver of a moving vehicle suddenly disappeared.

For every single life in the massive, unknowable universe that he failed to save the first time.

Whatever it took.

Whatever it took.

Whatever it took.

Chapter Text

For an uncertain hour, he and Stark awaited Odin's answer.

The mortal did so rather ungracefully, his tense sitting regularly interrupted by harried pacing and bouts of wild speculation.

Loki grew tired of it rather quickly, and ensconced himself in a chair on the parlor balcony with a worn book of children's eddas. The Nine Loves of Lofn, Búri's Bargain, and other such trifles. An unbecoming habit, but Loki took comfort in the tales. His own childhood notes were scrawled in the margins, identical, as if he were truly home and not inhabiting a parallel facsimile.

Turning his head to the light of Sól, he exhaled his anxiety and attempted to quiet his unfocused mind. He sensed an answer would come soon.

A knock echoed through the halls of his chambers. Loki did not answer. Short of being 'ordered' to by Stark, it was not his place. To act independently would undermine his supposed captivity.

Instead Stark answered, with his armor on.

"A message from His Highness, the Allfather."

Loki put aside his book, but did not get up from his chair.

Stark put his hands on his hips with a bored expression coloring his features.

"And?"

"He requests the presence of Prince Elladan of Alfheim and the captive Prince Loki at dawn in the Hall of the Nine. He will present his offer at that time."

"Sure thing," Stark shrugged, and closed the door.

Running a hand through his hair, he trotted down the steps of the parlor.

"I'm getting real tired of all this waiting," he said.

"This is the Realm Eternal. By Aesir standards we are moving at blistering speeds."

"Guess we better make it an early night then. Gonna need our A Game tomorrow."

"If you mean we must be at our best, wouldn't the term 'B Game' be more appropriate?"

Tony tipped his head, and shifted his weight to one side.

"See, this is why people don't like you. You make too much sense."

Mornings had never been Tony's thing, and dawn was a phenomenon best experienced at the end of a long, productive night.

Today met neither of those criteria, but Tony let himself be dragged out of bed regardless. He didn’t fuss over the clothes this time, silently tolerating Loki's nitpicking and his obsessive adjustments to collars and capes.

Muttering under his breath, Loki poured out an ocean of rules and protocols for state meals that Tony promptly forgot.

A big ass crowd of Einherjar came to frog march them to Odin, and Tony put his war face on.

The soldiers took them down the open gallery and onto a teleportation pad to an upper floor, where crisscrossing walkways overlooked the massive halls and gardens of the first floor.

At each end of the massive center lane were doorways that even Ant-Man at his maximum size could use comfortably. The inside was sparsely furnished and covered floor to ceiling in gold.

The room was triangular shaped, with a massive golden tree sculpted into the back, it's branches wandering outward and weaving around circular discs with small tokens and figures on them. The World Tree, he presumed, which made sense with the name of the hall.

A refreshingly normal sized table was set under the tree, with high-backed chairs and platters of crispy looking pastry and roasted meat.

Odin and Frigga already sat at the head.

They waited while two servants scrambled to pull out their chairs. It would have been more convenient to just do it themselves. In his sphere a person hired help to make things more efficient. In Asgard, it appeared the point was to display the help.

They settled into their chairs and the big guy kept his eyes down, his hands smoothing his emerald robes and then folding neatly on his lap.

"I thank you Allfather, for inviting us to your table. The Norns bless me with mercy," Loki said.

His acting was better than yesterday, much better. So much better it weirded Tony out.

He sounded like a different person, like a trained circus animal, and it was too damn early for him to try and wrap his head around that.

Odin nodded to Loki, but his expression bordered on tyrannical.

"The Norns bless you with a chance to defend yourself," he corrected archly. "Mercy is yet an unsteady thing."

"What exactly is the hold up?" Tony asked, not at all in the mood for thee and thou . "I made you a fair offer."

"The value of your trade relies heavily on the value of my son. Do you know, elf, the crimes he committed when last he resided on Asgard?"

"Crimes?" Loki's head snapped up.

Odin did not meet his eyes, he spoke to Tony as if his son weren't there.

"Everywhere he goes there is war, death, and chaos. In my name he massacred the people of Jotunheim, and destroyed the priceless Bifrost. "

"That was Thor," Loki protested. "And we were under attack. You saw! I acted in defense of Asgard just as you-"

"I would not have allowed it to come to war," Odin snapped, his jaw clenching.

"Dear... " Frigga put her hand on Odin's arm.

"Because of your actions the Nine Realms go unprotected. War, famine, and disease run rampant. Our people suffer from the halt of trade. You shamed our family and our people before all of Yggdrasil, and now you return and demand a king's ransom?"

Loki's mouth hung open, his eyes wide.

Tony almost couldn't believe it was the same man who tearfully hugged him yesterday.

"I love you, my son, but you have outlived your usefulness. In slaying Laufey and turning the Bifrost against your own kind, you have destroyed the very throne you so desired."

"I never wanted it," Loki said, and it impressed Tony that he managed to make it sound more like a plea than a protest. “I wanted to serve Asgard, only Asgard.”

"Liar!" Odin shouted, standing so quick it shook the glasses on the table.

"I speak the truth," Loki said, placing his laced hands on the table and bending in a bow. He could see Loki's jaw clench in anger, but by pure force of will he stayed in character. "Please, I beg you. I will be worth the price, I will fix all that I have broken, I will do whatever you ask. Don't leave me enslaved. Please, Father, please-"

"Oh, Loki..." Frigga stood gracefully and glided around the table. She put her hand on Loki's back and turned a quelling glare on Odin.

Odin raised his chin, gaze imperious as he answered.

"Repair the Bifrost, bring order to the Nine Realms. After we are satisfied, we will give the elf his price."

“That's impossible, that will take years. The Bifrost alone would be almost impossible to-"

"Oh?" Odin tipped his head with a hard chip of mockery to his tone, and Tony was struck by the unexpected resemblance between adopted father and son. "How quickly you jump from begging to arrogance. Do you think me fooled by your deceptions?"

"You would leave me at another's mercy, subject to his cruel whims? While I toil do earn your mercy?" Loki sat up, defiance shining from his glassy eyes.

A mean smile cut across Odin's face. "I think it quite fitting. You sought to bind me with my love for you, and so I will return your wager by binding you to your love of yourself. You are a selfish, lazy, cold-hearted boy, and you would never fulfill your word if you were allowed to be comfortable. But under the thumb of our friend, we can all be assured that you will rise above your defects."

"What say you, Lord Elladan?" Loki's eyes burned with rage, his knuckles white on the table.

The weight of the world fell on Tony's shoulders and he couldn't begin to discern whether Loki wanted him to say yes or no.

The two days they'd spent leading up to this meeting were too long in his opinion, two years was completely unacceptable. Frankly, he didn't know why they expected Odin to be reasonable in the first place.

Feeling the warmth of the mind stone on the back of his hand, he weighed the risks of using it on beings as powerful as Odin and Frigga. Who knew what might happen, and how it might affect him to have their thoughts in his brain.

He didn't relish the idea of doing it, but he saw no other way. They couldn't spend two years on this shit, they couldn't. He'd lose his goddamn mind.

Opening his mouth to respond, he closed his hand into a fist in his lap and prepared for another unpleasant mental storm. Reaching out with his mind, he felt the three gods around him like giant, explosive stars, powerful and luminous in a way that drew the stone toward them.

"What I say is-"

A cacophony of boots and armor interrupted his concentration.

Two gold-clad messengers skidded into the hall, sweat covering their faces and weariness pulling them into gasping crouches.

"A message for you, Allfather-”

"Urgent, from Heimdall!”

Odin raised his right hand, summoning his spear to his hand.

"It's Midgard, sire! They're under attack by a Chitauri fleet."

Loki's head spun from Odin to Tony, and Frigga's hand stilled where it was rubbing the prince on his upper back.

"Well, shit," Tony blurted.

He hadn't thought about that.

"They seek the Tesseract," Loki said quickly, his mind flickering over many options and returning more and more confidently back to one.

He stood, and with great effort put aside his resentment when he met Odin's eye.

"You wish me to set order to the Nine Realms? Fine, let us start with Midgard. The humans have no claim on the Tesseract, they can scarcely understand its use. If I may take it, will you accept it in exchange for the Aether? A stone for a stone, you know it is fair."

Stark at last finished staring like an imbecile, and shot Loki an annoyed frown.

Why? It was better than the alternative.

"You'll have your Aether, and I shall walk free. We all get what we want, is that not agreeable?" he said, fanning his hands out in a physical appeal to reason.

When Stark did not answer swiftly, Loki shot him a frustrated glare. He was not normally so dense.

"Sure, whatever," the mortal shrugged, and stood.

Calling on his replenishing seiðr, he traded armor for his casual robes.

"Allfather? Does this satisfy you?"

"If I find you have harmed a single mortal soul, you'll find a much worse fate awaits you than whatever this elf can fathom," Odin threatened.

Loki looked to his mother, and to the king, and wondered how he ever saw righteousness or virtue in them.

"Then so it shall be done."

Sweeping out with his cape full of air, Loki expelled his frustrations into forceful strides. Stark followed, having to expend full effort to keep up on his stubby legs.

"So, uh, that didn't go so well."

"Do not try me, Stark, I do not at present possess an abundance of patience."

"You know what I lack? Any confidence, at all, that your bastard All-Dad is going to give us shit for the Tesseract."

"Do you have a better plan?" 

Loki turned into the teleporter without waiting for Stark's reply.

Once he fully materialized on the ground floor, Loki led the way to Thor's quarters. His brother delighted in battle rush and bloodshed, and he adored his precious, defenseless Earth. Though Loki did not envy spending time with the oaf, if they were to face the full brunt of the Chitauri then he would be a fool to leave him.

Now with his suit fully covering his body, Stark flew to keep up with Loki's pace.

"So, what, we just do the whole invasion again and steal another Tesseract?"

"You need two, do you not?" Loki scowled. "The one in our possession belongs to your team's set. We do not yet have one of our own. If the goal is two independent collections, then we have a lack of a second space stone. Even if Odin should refuse it will not be a wasted effort."

"Well, since I'm the one responsible for the cube and I know I won't fail, I didn't really feel like I needed a backup. But if it’s a freebie, hell, why not? Double the infinity gauntlets, double the fun. Who snaps anymore? Clapping is the next big thing. All the cool despots clap."

They reached the doors to Thor's chambers, and Loki wiped a hand down his face. Time was short, he must gather his energies. Details needed to be considered.

"We shall have to hide you from your past self, hold still."

Turning to Stark, he cast a well-practiced color charm on the armor to turn it emerald green, and added a handful of ornamental plates and filigree pendants to cover the more Midgardian features. Conjuring a crest of his own seal, Loki covered the glowing relic on Stark's chest with it and gave it an experimental push to ensure it still worked.

The mortal's mouth set in a flat, unamused line.

Loki wiped preemptively under his nose

"What? You're clearly not Asgardian, why else would you be there if not as my ally? It is natural to wear symbols of one’s shield brother.”

“Okay, where’s yours?” Stark cocked his head and crossed his arms.

“I thought you didn’t want me to use unnecessary magic?” Loki lifted his brows.

Stark huffed. "Next time, I'm giving you the sidekick role. And I'm gonna make you look ridiculous."

"You'll have to survive the battle first," Loki rolled his eyes, knocking on Thor's chamber door.

"Against the bug squad? Pft, they’ll be lucky if they land a scratch on me.”

The door opened before Loki could rebut. Thor looked suspiciously between them.

"What is it? Do you have news of your..." Thor hesitated to call Stark a problem to his face. For once, he had some sense.

"Midgard is under siege,” Loki answered. “My release has been made contingent upon its defense. Will you aid them?"

The Thunderer held out an open palm at his side, awaiting Mjolnir.

“I doubt you volunteered out of good will,” he said.

Glaring, Thor caught the haft of the hammer and hit it to the floor to summon his armor.

Stark yelped and jumped, and a small degree of levity returned to Loki's mood. It was difficult not to laugh when Stark startled. His eyes grew so wide, and expressive face did not hide his distress at all. It was hilarious.

"How will we go without the Bifrost? Do we walk the branches?"

Loki wrinkled his nose, forcefully suppressing the memory of colors and lights.

"Dark energy. Now, come on. We’ve tarried long enough."

They set a brisk pace, the three of the sweeping down the gallery as servants and groups of courtiers split to grant them passage. Loki supposed it was pleasant to be noticed again, even if he resented the other aspects of his station.

"Who leads this force?" Thor asked. A prescient question, although one Loki took no pleasure in answering.

Stark’s face fell into a grimace, and Loki wondered if his allies in the future had warned him of the outcome Loki dreaded.

Up ahead, the oversized statues of the throne room stood sentinel over the Walk of Heroes. Just beyond them, a line of thick columns, and then the gleaming throne. Odin sat awaiting them with Gungnir in hand, and Loki lifted his chin in defiance.

"If we are lucky, it will be an unfocused attack led by The Other. A masterful telepath, but no great threat in combat. The Chitauri are remotely controlled. A decisive blow to the mothership will stop them instantly."

"And if we're unlucky?" Stark muttered, the metal of his helmet spreading over his skull in creeping waves.

Loki bit the inside of his cheek to keep the worry from his face. 

"Are you familiar with the name Ronan the Conqueror?" he asked with false cheer.

Either by ignorance or fear, the other two fell quiet at his sides. 

Loki smiled, as Odin wordlessly opened a portal by pure, cosmic force. If he’d known it was that easy to seal Stark’s chattering mouth, he’d have said the name weeks ago.

Chapter Text

Energy licked Loki's skin as he exited the portal in sure strides, his helm proud on his head and a sturdy claymore materializing in his right palm. He scanned the smoking street before him as Stark and Thor flanked him on either side.

Mortals ran screaming in all directions, with Chitauri on foot and in skycraft chasing them. In the night sky, jagged-spined leviathans dove through misty clouds toward the ground. Whoever commanded their army was moving fast.

"Well, this is different," Stark's modulated voice said. "How did he get uranium this fast?"

"He doesn't need uranium. Its only purpose in my plan was to stall. The Tesseract is more than capable of moving armies on its own and these villains clearly intend to win swiftly."

Thor glanced between them, and Loki felt no compulsion to explain himself.

"Defend your precious mortals. The prince and I have past dealings with this force, we shall take them apart."

"If I find that you have attempted escape-"

"You'll what? Kill me?" Loki snorted, nodding to Stark and then to the swarm of Chitauri all around. "Evidently there will be a line."

Down the roadway, a consuming darkness blacked out the glowing streetlights. The flow of fleeing humans abruptly changed current, and the air moved by their bodies rustled Loki's hair.

A black clad figure stepped from the portal, barely visible as the dark energy sucked up all light. Loki knew him. By reputation as much as shape.

"Who's that?" Stark asked.

"Our less lucky option.”

Thor charged ahead without further discussion, and for once Loki found himself in agreement.

It was a frustrating sprint, his path blocked by piles of debris and unaware bystanders, all while Thor and Stark effortlessly flew. Of course they had to end up in a fire fight on the one morning he chose to leave his familiar roaming his room.

Loki growled, but restrained himself from shadow stepping. He would require his strength in combat, and Stark had not lied. No amount of potions and remedies could replenish his seiðr and restore his mind so quickly. Even basic illusions were distractingly painful. This endeavor was poorly timed.

A series of overturned vehicles blocked his path, and over the horizon of roofs and upward facing wheels he saw his brother engaging the Accuser. Leaping over a dented hood, Loki rolled his eyes and prepared to run. Battles, so unnecessarily exhausting.

Passing under a blinking bar with many colored lights on it, Loki saw Stark arrive at the fight just in time to have Thor thrown bodily at him, knocking them both from the sky in a rain of sparks. Idiots. Hopeless without him.

He picked up his pace until a blinding light overhead stole his vision and forced him to stop. Covering his eyes and blinking, he heard the roar of a Midgardian engine, and then he was plunged once more into darkness as the craft landed between him and the skirmish.

He growled, impatient with the interruption, and attempted to pass. The ship's gun rotated and locked on his torso.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands over your head," a stern voice said through a speaker.

Loki paused momentarily, then resumed walking.

Dust clouded the ground ahead of him, dark little holes appearing in the concrete as the large gun shot its bullets. He stopped.

A ramp lowered and several humans ran out. Clint Barton, the hawk's eye, Nicholas J. Fury of SHIELD, and the Star Spangled Man. Fantastic, more idiots.

Barton's right arm was in a sling, so Loki presumed Ronan had already attacked their desert base.

"Please tell me you did not surrender the Tesseract so easily?" he said.

"How do you know about the Tesseract?" Rogers said.

"I've been sent to protect it, although it seems I'm fashionably late."

"And who sent you?" Fury demanded.

The irony tickled Loki—that Fury had failed to outwit him even when he had been aiming to lose, and now the man was poised to lose even more decisively. This time Loki had all the cards and a strong desire to play them perfectly. Ant meet boot, indeed.

Loki waved dismissively.

"Unimportant. Far more critical is the fleet upon us," he pointed up to the sky, where mounted Chitauri and lumbering leviathans approached like a plague upon the Earth. "Which is why I must know, do the enemy forces possess the Tesseract?"

Rogers and Barton looked at each other with grim expressions that answered Loki's question eloquently enough.

"I see, then our time is very short."

Loki ducked under the hull of the plane and watched his brother trade blows with the Accuser while Stark fended off a cluster of Kree mercenaries. The humans followed him under, and he pointed his sword for emphasis.

"That is Ronan the Accuser, a defector of one of the most brutal militaries in the galaxy. He has invaded many planets, and is known for his haste. His ships possess missiles which can kill every living creature on this continent if he is allowed to fire them. With the power of the Tesseract, he will be able to open portals all over this planet and reign untold destruction in a matter of minutes."

Pointing his sword to the sky, he indicated the first of what he expected to be many portals.

"Also at his command are the forces of the Chitauri fleet, an unimpressive but numerous military who I expect the Accuser will use to keep us occupied while his allies orchestrate a global assault."

"Global?" the Captain echoed, eyes wide. "You mean this could be happening in other cities? Worldwide?"

"As we speak," Loki nodded, spinning his blade as he returned it to his side. "Which is why there is no time to chatter. I must retrieve my ally so we can address the true threat."

"We have to get the civilians to safety," Rogers said.

"And where exactly is it safe ?" Barton sputtered. "Mars? Jupiter?!"

"If you can breathe hydrogen, I suppose it would be safe enough," Loki quipped.

The mortals were not amused. How disappointing. 

He'd come to expect a certain minimal level of appreciation from Stark. The lack of it drained away much of the fun of talking. An uncomfortable notion, that. That he'd so quickly become accustomed to the man's wit and sharp laughter.

While they had spoken, the first of the Chitauri infantry had landed. Their greyish bodies were suited to the dim, but their garish purple spears glowed like beacons. Uniformed law enforcement came to meet them, panicked and clearly untrained for open warfare. Rogers leapt to their command, barking instructions and dispatching a handful of the beastly creatures with bounces of his shield.

A battalion approached the jet, and Fury addressed Loki with an unfriendly stare.

"What kind of forces should we be expecting? How many portals do you think he could open?"

Loki quite frankly didn't care, but he couldn't very well tell dear Nicholas so. 

If one missile successfully entered Earth's atmosphere, Odin would have his excuse not to grant them the Aether. Thus any loss of life would be synonymous with defeat, regardless of how many actually perished.

A shrill beeping rang out from the director's coat pocket as three large Chitauri bruisers broke through the Captain's perimeter.

"I could estimate, or you could answer that call from your superiors and learn the actual figures," Loki drew the claymore over his shoulder with his other arm outstretched, preparing for the creature's assault. "Which would you prefer?"

With a dour glare, Fury turned away and flipped open his cell. His other hand drew a firearm that began as a small pistol, but which then unfolded and expanded to a compensatory size.

"This is Fury... I am on site, yes. No, sir, I do not authorize… Because I don't think it’s necessary, that’s why the hell not."

The director mowed down two of the brutes in a spray of bullets.

"Sorry, can you repeat that? I'm a little busy fighting the creatures coming out of the sky."

A leviathan floated around the corner of a building and Fury's head lifted to gaze at its wide, sharp-toothed mouth. A Chitauri grunt broke through the line while the director was distracted and Loki slayed it with a heavy downward swipe.

"That would be the manner of army we were discussing," Loki muttered, ripping his blade from the creature's corpse with a wet gurgle and returning it to his shoulder.

A shrill voice squawked from the communicator's mouth, and Fury answered with his eye still skyward.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to call you back. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire. We will exhaust all other plans before firing on a civilian population. That's my final answer."

The director hung up and threw the phone into his pocket. The leviathan completed its descent, its segmented body rolling in waves and angling itself parallel to the ground.

Fury touched his ear, presumably to speak with his underlings.

"Do I have any available birds to focus fire on sector B-46? Cause it’s supper time, and I got a big damn fish to fry."

"On it, sir," Hawkeye said, running up the ramp of the Quinjet.

Fury did not appear overly reassured. "Repeat, all active duty, do I have backup near B-46?"

"What about consultants who are.. what was it? It's on the tip of my tongue," a robotic, overly loud voice said from midair. Earsplitting 'music' echoed down the empty street. "Oh yeah, not recommended! That's right, it’s all coming back. What about those kinds of operatives, N.J.? You want them to give you a boost?"

"War Pigs, Stark? Really?" Barton said over the jet's speakers as the engines flared and he guided it into the sky.

"If you recall, Iron Man was recommended," Fury yelled, replacing his gun's ammunition clip with a practiced slap. "Guess who I'm looking at right now?"

"Ah, nothing like a nice cocktail of mistaken identity, denial, and cognitive dissonance to unwind after work," Stark the Younger said.

The metal man flew alongside the leviathan, and Loki wondered if he even had the capability to kill it. He'd been preoccupied with his own skirmishes during his iteration of the battle, and the influence of the stone made his recollection still hazier.

Barton's aircraft and the Iron Man fired a joint barrage at the oversized sea slug, but its armored plates repelled them. Just when Loki thought he would have to handle it himself, a cold blue beam bisected the creature down the center of its belly, and it met the ground with a thunderous crash.

Stark the Elder glided through the dust, and took in the scattered forms of the incomplete Avengers.

"We aren't making headway here. That fleet is the real problem, and the big boss over there doesn't have the cube."

Before anyone could detain them and demand to know more about Stark, Loki stepped to his side and hooked his arm over his shoulder.

"The battle cannot be won on the ground. My associate and I will attempt to disable the fleet. I suggest you all prepare to intercept Ronan's missiles. If they reach the planet, then there will be no humanity left to protect."

"You're awfully confident," Fury replied as Stark grabbed Loki's belt and lifted them both from the ground. "Are you sure you can do it with just the two of you?"

Loki frowned, shrugging as the wind blew his cape and hair all around.

"I should hope so, for all of your sakes."

Fury glared rather impressively for a man with one eye, somewhat more effectively than Odin in Loki's expert opinion. It had a much higher quality of morbidity, while maintaining roughly the same level of regal superiority.

"Forgive me, if I'm not totally comfortable taking it on faith."

Turning his away to Loki and firing his gun at the advancing Chitauri, he extracted a smaller device from his other pocket. Within seconds they were high enough that Loki could scarcely see them anymore, and the air became thin in his lungs.

"For all your sakes, I should hope so," Tony snickered.

Loki sighed.

"Did you enjoy playing the hero?" The mortal teased, the smile clear in his tone even if Loki could not see his face.

"I could accuse you of the same," he answered playfully, because speaking with the mortals had given him a new appreciation for just this manner of repartee. "I was fully prepared to take down the whale, but you had to steal the glory for yourself, as usual."

"Hey, I gave you a couple minutes. Watch, you'll be an Avenger now. Other me is gonna invite you to shawarma."

"Because you are pathetic and have no friends," Loki said without much bite.

"Because I'm incredibly smooth, and if you weren't evil I one hundred percent would have flirted with you back then," Stark corrected.

"Is that what you were doing in your tower? Flirting?"

"I told you, that was threatening," Stark said gamely. "Trust me, handsome, when I flirt you'll know it."

Handsome? Despite himself, Loki preened. Internally, of course, as the Norns intended.

"Why are we flying? Use the cube, we could be there already," he snapped, before his foolish simpering got the better of him.

The mortal continued their ascent. Loki's head turned sharply to the expressionless helm.

"No-"

"About that... "

"You left it on Asgard?!" he balked.

"There was a maid coming, and I thought we needed to hide, and-"

"And so you left it there?"

"In a safe place! It's fine, it's in one of your plants, nobody will find it."

"Nobody, except the very maid you hid it from when she comes to water my plants."

Although he could not see it, Loki could feel Stark's sheepish smile.

"Okay, so you got me there, but check out this scenic view."

"You are very fortunate that I can survive in open space," Loki growled. "Or it would be up to you to save that scenic view from certain annihilation."

"Keep glaring at me like that and I might decide I'm safer doing it myself."

"Oh, Stark, we passed that point a good half a minute ago," Loki grumbled, grinding his teeth as his hair began to float and frost gathered on his skin. If he had air left to yell, he would have threatened Stark into silence over what he was about to see. As it was, Loki could only gulp down a last, unsatisfying gasp and grip the suit's frigid shoulders as his fingers started to color themselves deep, disgusting blue.

For better or worse the other side of the portal bore many more pressing concerns than the shade of his skin. No matter how preoccupying he found the ill-fitting Jotun hide, in that instance he could not spare much concern for it when faced with the enemies' sprawling armada.

The Chitauri vessels were numerous, more swarms of smaller transports than a proper formation. Before them, in a line, portals began to open. Loki had never seen so many cast at one time.

Stark directed them toward the center of the fleet, where a darksteel monolith with wings in the shape of slowly revolving helixes oversaw the assault. Just underneath sat the familiar, organic skeleton of the Chitauri mothership.

Though oppressive and damp on the inside, from afar it had an unsettling grace. The craggy, irregular gangways wove themselves around a pulsing, luminescent center which made the natural facets of the stone hull glimmer. Dark matter engines glowed deep indigo, as all Chitauri technology did, powered as one by the central core of the ship.

Loki shuddered at the memory of approaching it for the first time, overconfident and oblivious, when he'd remarked sincerely on the beauty of the vessel. Now he saw only the ugliness of the creatures within. It would please him greatly to silence their maddening shrieks permanently, in one single, vengeful blow.

Without ceremony, Stark carved an entrance into the stone using a laser on his wrist, and sealed it just as easily behind them. Alarms blared from all sides, and Loki supposed that entering undetected would have been an unreasonable hope.

The mortal's helmet receded for the first time since their arrival, and the concern Loki saw there irritated him. He batted away his supporting reach and stabilized himself on the wall, shaking himself until the majority of the ice fell away.

"Not a word," he hissed. “Ever.”

Stark frowned. "What’s wrong with being-"

Loki raised him to the nearest wall with a grip to his neck. "Do you mistake this for a jest?"

With the strength of his invention, he managed to pry Loki's fingers open just enough, his face ruddy and pulled into a scowl. He wiggled to the floor and put several feet of distance between them.

"If that's what I get for calling you handsome, I'd hate to see what a real compliment gets me," Stark spat, rubbing at his neck.

"There is nothing to compliment about that form. Keep your opinions to yourself," Loki snarled.

He brushed past the mortal with a rough collision of shoulders, and refused to look behind even when a displeased reply hit him squarely in the back.

"Number one, objectively untrue. Number two, if you choke me like that one more goddamn time I am going to start retaliating."

"I don't know why you’ve restrained yourself this long."

"Oh, that's how it's going to be? We'll just slug each other, back and forth, all the way across the galaxy? Great, sounds fun."

"Well," Loki spun on his heel. "If you truly wished to avoid such an event, there is a simple method which could have saved you such an experience. Do you know what it is?"

Stark crossed his arms with a defiant look, and stubbornly did not answer. Loki stomped toward him, looming into his personal space.

"You could have remembered not to leave the blasted Tesseract in a Norns-forsaken pot plant!” 

Stark snorted. A short, despicable passing of air through his nose, which then gave way to childish giggles.

"What?!" Loki exploded. "Why must you always laugh when I am earnestly furious? I swear I could kill you, I could wring your infuriating neck and feel nothing but satisfaction!"

"Potted, potted plant, Loki, it's-" Stark put his hand over his eyes. "Trust me, there's a difference. I'm sorry, okay. You have to admit it's a little funny. The first time we really need it, and I left it somewhere dumb? Come on, this is classic comedy."

Loki stared at him, wrong footed. Searching for malice and finding none.

"It is not a laughing matter to me. That form."

Stark looked back at him. A close look, the kind that a person might only receive once or twice a century.

"I have never once laughed at you."

Warm breath puffed against his face, where frost was rapidly melting to dots of cold water. His glamour had not returned, and so the heat of the mortal's body felt intense and strange, delivered second-hand by the expulsion of air from his lungs.

"I laugh at what you say, or what you do. Heck, sometimes I don't even know why I'm laughing, but the point is—it's never you. I respect you. You're tough as bricks and you don't take shit from anybody, and I like that. So maybe cut me a little slack and humor me every once in a while, because if I don't find some kind of levity in this situation, I'm gonna lose it."

Stark stepped around him, and a creeping, distasteful tightness gripped Loki's stomach. How this cranky old mortal could make him feel so many foreign, unwelcome things he did not understand, nor could he control it. He disliked it, even as a small, mangled part of him hoped inexplicably for more.

He bit his cheek, swallowing the pathetic apology that had given itself life in his throat, and which now sought to perform a mutiny against his lips. Shame heated his face, and was it not the greatest insult that that should be the warmth which returned him to his paler, more comfortable skin?

Blowing his useless emotions out through his nose, he urged his stiff legs to turn around and start walking. This was no time to be dawdling, let alone quarreling about something so inconsequential as a poorly-timed chuckle.

They followed the narrow halls toward the center of the ship. It was far simpler than before, with fewer persons moving between the decks and no patrols whatsoever. The Chitauri were spread thin during the attack.

Ascending one of the looping staircases, they arrived at the uppermost level, from which transparent windows gave a view of the outside. Stark stopped short, his head raised to the expanse through the glass.

"Did you see that?"

Loki drew his brows together. "See what?"

A brilliant orange something flashed past. They both jumped.

"That! Did you see that?"

"Obviously," Loki followed the arc of the light, uncomprehending. "It's coming closer."

"No way, no damn way-"

A crash came from below, and they both nearly fell, clutching each other and the walls.

No sooner had the shaking stopped then a woman covered in raw, untamed energy exploded from the floor.

Her eyes were pure gold, and her yellow hair fanned out around her face. Her blue, gold, and red suit bore the design of a Kree operative, but the colors were all wrong. Loki brandished his sword with a snarl.

"Go ahead, Stark. Find the core. This one wears the armor of our enemy."

"Stark?" the woman repeated, the light in her eyes receded. The energy bursting from her quieted, and she lowered herself to the ground.

"Carol Danvers," Tony sputtered.

The mortal put his armored hand over Loki's blade and pushed it out of attack position. Loki glanced between the two, possibly more confused than he had been before.

"How do you know me?" Carol's eyes narrowed.

Stark visibly fumbled for an excuse, with less grace than usual. His tense demeanor unsettled Loki, the movement of his limbs uncharacteristically jerky and his eyes flickering around the area as if on high alert.

"Stark?" he prompted.

"Uh—Fury. I'm an Avenger. Big fan. After you were gone a couple decades, he decided it was time to recruit."

Carol crossed her arms, and let out a fast sigh. "That does sound like him. I got a distress call, and as you can imagine he doesn't ring me for just anything. What's the situation?"

"The short version is that these guys are trying to blow up Earth and we have about... negative five minutes to remove them from existence. If one of these missiles flies-" Stark said.

"Yeah, I've dealt with Ronan's murder toys before. The bombs have uru casings, even I have trouble breaking them."

"Moreover, if Ronan is here then we can assume The Other has been in contact with Thanos, and the Titan has put his full force behind this attack. There are likely more of his Children on board," Loki said.

Stark looked a bit green, which reassured Loki that at least one of their impromptu raiding party appreciated the severity of the threat. The woman, on the other hand...

"Thanos?" she scoffed. "That's your stake in this fight? A backwater warlord with a nonsense grudge? The Kree expand further and further every year; swallowing up galaxies, murdering innocents, and you're worried about a purple moron with a god complex?"

Stark's small frame puffed up like an adder. "That 'purple moron' will wipe out half of all life in the galaxy. How dare you-"

"Tony," Loki found himself holding the mortal off of her, surprised by his sudden rage. "We are all allies here, and presently we are wasting time we do not have. Carol, was it? Are you able to stall the missiles while we attempt to shut down the Chitauri hive mind?"

"Literally could have already done it," Carol smirked, her fists once more glowing as she carved a hole through the center of the mothership and streaked across the horizon, hurling herself bodily through everything in her path.

"I am not a fan of Carol Danvers," Stark huffed.

"Why not? You're the same person except she's younger and more attractive."

"Exactly."

Stark stepped over the hole in the floor, following the rough hewn steps before them toward a near-blinding brightness.

Loki followed. "There is more you are not telling me."

"Yeah," the mortal answered.

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"No."

Loki took the stairs two at a time while Stark hovered beside him.

"What if I continued asking, repeatedly, for the rest of the journey?"

"Then I'll tell you, repeatedly, no."

"Marvelous," he rolled his eyes. "I do so love a double standard."

Stark growled. Loki smiled. He was becoming adept at pushing the old man's buttons.

"After the snap. I was... stranded. Almost died. She saved me. Then I realized she could have saved all of us before any of this even started, but she didn't. Because she thinks he's a purple moron. There, I told you. Are you happy?"

"I'm never happy. But thank you," Loki climbed the last few steps. "I can understand how that would be upsetting."

"Upsetting doesn't even begin to cover it. Upsetting is when Thor drinks all the cherry vodka. Ignoring a universal threat when you have her kind of power? I don't even have a word for-"

Stark landed beside him.

Two figures cut dark silhouettes out of the flickering Chitauri core. Two women, barely more than girls.

"Shit," he muttered.

Loki readied an attack. "They are the Children. Gamora and-"

"Nebula, yeah. I know the Blue Meanie. Let me try something."

Over their heads, small explosions rocked Ronan's ship, soundless in the void but large and vivid orange like supernovas.

Stark approached the sisters with his helmet still retracted, which gave Loki no small measure of stress. One good cut to the neck would kill a human, and neither of these wretches would hesitate to swing.

"The Daughters of Thanos, I’ve heard of you. They say Thanos stole you from your home worlds and pitted you against each other like dogs. They say you hate him more than his worst enemies. Why do you fight for him?"

Testing their loyalties, that was Stark's plan? Pointless, Loki knew better than anyone the impossibility of turning on one's own parents, however hateful the relationship may be.

"He is our father. He spared us as Children and raised us to be strong," Nebula declared.

"Is that why half your body is gears and servos while she's over there in one piece? Is that fair? You really think that makes you strong?"

"Nebula, mind your emotions. The human is trying to trick us." Gamora stepped backward into a fighting stance.

"And your 'father' isn't? Why do you have to beat her up, huh? What's the point of that?" Stark turned on the green woman. "It's so he can control you with each other. It's straight from the dictator's handbook. When you have key supporters you keep them strong, but never strong enough to beat you."

"Liar!" Nebula shouted.

Her front leg tensed, and Loki shadow walked to catch the fall of her blade before it reached Stark's skull.

Nebula was physically strong, an even match for Loki, and so their blades stalled against each other, wavering up and down in a lock.

A swing of the green one's scimitar forced Stark to duck, and Loki shot a blind arcane bolt backwards over his crouch.

"Switch me," Stark muttered. "I can take her circuits apart."

Gathering his strength, Loki shoved at the blue one's blade with a strong push and traded places with Stark. From there he lost track of everything but the need to block Gamora's relentless, dual bladed strikes.

She fought like a valkyrie, a seamless combination of speed and tremendous force which Loki could only match with the help of trickery. More than once he traded places with a clone at the last possible moment before a dagger sliced him to ribbons, and his combat spells were so shamefully underpowered that they were good only for meek distractions.

Still barely recovered from weeks of starvation, his body tired quickly. Within a minute he was already panting and sweaty, his lip smeared with sharp tasting blood and his head pounding from the jerking thrusts of swordplay.

Gamora chose the wrong copy of him to attack next, and so Loki took the opportunity to counterstrike while he still had the strength. Raising his claymore above his shoulder, he shadow stepped to Gamora's flank and swept down with all his strength.

For a splintered second he thought he might have won, but then her back leg rose up behind her and caught his blade between the sole and the heel of her shoe. She twisted, spun, and the handle was ripped from his palms, the heavy sword tumbling across the floor with a clatter.

Loki breathed deep to gather his remaining seiðr, either to fetch another weapon from his pocket dimension or to retrieve his first. He got the chance to do neither, because his casting arm was quickly snapped up in a firm grip, which she then used to fling him over her shoulder and hard into the floor. Her foot came to his chest and pushed.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Loki grunted, not at all in the mood for introductions.

"No one. A snake and a deserter who saw the foolishness in his plans. Or does the Titan not speak the name 'Loki' in polite company anymore?"

Her weight on his chest lessened as she appraised him anew.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

A terrible wail came from across the platform, followed by a low grunt from Stark. Gamora checked her sister with blank apathy, and returned her cool gaze to him.

"Escape."

Loki wrinkled his nose, and gave her a look like he thought her very daft.

"There is no escape. Only honorable death and a speedy delivery to Valhalla. One must think of achievable goals when facing the Void."

"Honorable? There is no such thing. Death is an end, nothing more."

"Then I would like to end having done something worthwhile."

Seizing her ankle, he rolled, aiming to pull her to the ground but instead earning himself a bony knee to the back of his neck. Annoying as it was to admit, she was an exemplary duelist. He'd have won easily with his magic, of course, but if he was to die here then he could at least give his murderer her due.

"We are doing something worthwhile. We are balancing the universe," she said.

"You are doing nothing. You delude yourself with fantasies of purpose while he uses your power for his own ends."

"Do not speak as if you know me." The point of her dagger threatened his ribs, and he felt a keen satisfaction at having denied her some piece of mind. If he could do nothing else, he could be content with that bitter reward.

He wondered without passion whether Stark would notice his distress, or if this was to be his inglorious demise. It would be fitting, dying just as the pieces of his life finally aligned in his head, a sober clarity dawning too late to be acted upon. They were the same, him and these sisters. Thor too, in his own way.

The Other had been right. They were, all of them, enthralled from birth to this inscrutable master known as Destiny. Or perhaps they were wicked and brought it upon themselves. Who could say. Either way, he thought it terribly unfair. To be offered redemption only after his ledger bore too much red to expunge.

A distant rumble shook him from his thoughts, and the dagger sunk a painful inch into the gap between two ribs as she swayed with the impacted ship.

"Nebula... " she called in warning.

Darkness overtook the hall.

The light of the collective Chitauri mind dimmed to nothing.

A blur of golden light came crashing through the windows of the deck, and a nasty, metallic crunch cut through the noise. Nebula screamed.

Though he could not see it from his position, he heard Gamora take a brutal, smacking punch, and her weight disappeared from his back. The sword gratefully fell from his flesh.

He lurched to his feet, squinting around the pain in his head and coughing at the overpowering odor of his own blood in his nose. By the glow of his chest device, he saw Stark standing unarmed nearby. The blue daughter lay hunched at his feet, her right arm a frayed stump of wires and the base of her skull exposed and sparking.

The deck gave an unsettling lurch.

"I took out a whole Kree warship, half the Chitauri fleet, and destroyed the heart of the mothership, and you two can't even beat a couple of aliens with swords?" the human asteroid demanded.

Loki was beginning to agree with Stark's opinion of Danvers.

"My associate, as usual, made the mistake of appealing to their humanity."

"Oh, not this again," Stark sighed. "Where's the cube?"

"I found their commander on the Kree flagship, but when I engaged him he ported away. He could be anywhere."

"He won't run," Loki huffed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He must look a riot.

"You think The Other would stick around, after the whole fleet goes down?" Stark asked.

"He has his telepathic abilities, and I would be surprised if your Avengers have overpowered Ronan alone. At the least The Other will attempt a rescue, and if he is wise then he will make a bid for the scepter. He believes I still have it, and my presence was undoubtedly noticed. If he returns unsuccessful the Titan shall kill him, so his only option is to defeat me and deliver two stones to Thanos."

"I won't let them take the Tesseract, but my first priority is Ronan," Danvers said. "If the cube were to fall into his hands, then there won't be any space in the galaxy the Kree couldn't conquer."

The hull of the vessel groaned underneath them, and Stark rushed to Loki's side.

"Whatever we're doing we can't stay here. This ship is toast."

Danvers flew without another word, and Stark grabbed Loki's belt.

"This day just gets better and better, huh Frosty?"

"Do not ever call me that again," Loki sniffed.

Stark chuckled. "See, that's what I'm talking about. Hilarious."

"I will never understand you."

They left in the hole Danvers created, and they returned swiftly to the still-open portal.

Taking one final glance backward to the now lifeless, skeletal mothership, he saw two escape pods lurch out into the black.

The human city was buried in collapsed Chitauri, their aircraft and plated beasts crumpled and crashed into buildings and parking lots. Nevertheless, the battle raged on.

Atop Stark's tower stood a circle of beings locked in combat, and on a balcony several floors below the Captain traded blows with the Accuser.

They touched down on the edge of the roof, and if not for Stark's grip on Loki's belt he might have fallen to the lower level. He was lightheaded, his newly pale skin still damp from melted frost and the fringes of his mind shrinking inward at the touch of a familiar, cloying energy.

"The Other is mine," he whispered.

"Fair enough. But I'll have your back," Stark replied, and the confidence of his tone shored up Loki's tattered resolve. His body was not fit for another battle, but his spirit smoldered with rage.

This villain had sought to destroy him from the inside out, had raped his very consciousness and used the spoils of that conquest to break his psyche. It was different from other battles. Critical, personal. Come what may, Loki would not allow his tormentor to leave this planet alive.

The Other grinned when Loki stumbled from the raised edge onto the coarse, black tar of the rooftop. He held the Tesseract in his overlong fingers.

Dragging his claymore behind him, he leveled a flat stare at the monster.

Thor stood at The Other's side, his hammer raised in his fist. Stark the Younger stood in opposition, with Fury and the Hawk covering from behind the wrecked carcass of their aircraft.

"Do not cross me, brother. I am not here for you," Loki murmured.

"You never learn, do you? Why must you oppose me, when your rightful place is at my back?"

Loki clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head.

"Oh, you simple fool. It must have been child's play for you," he said to The Other. "His eagerness, his ego."

The fanged mouth behind the cage leered.

"Not as easy as it will be to reclaim you."

Stabbing arcane fingers pierced his patchwork mental shields, and Loki winced. Cold sweat dripped down his brow, but he only held his sword tighter and kept advancing.

"I was not yours to take," he snapped. Green energy exploded from his free hand, and a reciprocal pain pulsed deep within his skull.

It was more than a physical injury, he realized, the draw of his magic doubly damaging because it was his spirit itself which The Other had punctured. His faith in himself, whose foundation had already been fractured when he came to the dias.

Psychic fingers pried at his shields, pulling the cracks wider and stopping him dead with the pain. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pulled his head to the side in a hopeless bid to distance himself from the agony.

He did not notice Thor leap until after Stark lunged to block it, too overwhelmed by The Other once more entering his mind.

He yelled, and in the absence of physical awareness his surroundings were reduced to the trembling wisps of his seiðr senses. At his front was Stark, a comforting, constant hum of steel blue. Beyond him was Thor and his proud, saccharine gold that smelled of ozone after rain. And finally, far away, the roiling, toxic green of The Other, who's reaching, vine-like tendrils corrupted all that they touched.

Loki swiped at them, but his magic was weak, he was weak, and the strike bounced from the ropes like a cat batting a feather.

He needed to beat him or he would never put it behind him. He needed it more than air or water or rest. He yelled, trying again to no avail, and a despair as black as Hel seeped up his legs. He clutched his screaming head, and like a wind on the back of his neck he felt Stark's mind turn to him.

Warmth hit him like an ocean wave, a spell of protection though he doubted Stark knew. A wish was a powerful force when done with strong enough intention, a magic even a mortal could perform with sufficient motivation. It wrapped around him in a layer of crystal blue, and he could breathe again. The mortal raised his right hand, and a stone of brilliant yellow cut through The Other's vines in one cauterizing strike.

Sight returned to him, along with taste and smell and hope. His body had not moved but an entire war had been waged in that endless second.

Thor lowered his hammer, and Stark fired a repulsor at him anyway, perhaps not trusting that the mind stone had done its job.

Renewed by bleak purpose and covered head to toe by Stark's restless, untrained spell, Loki rushed past them both and conjured a dagger in his off-hand. His foot met The Other squarely in the solar plexus and the cracking of bones filled him with grim satisfaction.

The cube flew from his grasp in a slow arc, but Loki ignored it. 

Victory could wait. Revenge could not.

The grey-skinned scum crashed through a series of pipes which broke against his body and filled the air with hissing steam. He rolled upon impact with the roof, and Loki stalked to his crumpled form.

"You do not deserve a quick death. But I will not allow you to live," Loki said. Reeling back his leg, he kicked him once more in the side with all his strength.

Tar coated concrete cracked when The Other collided with the raised edge of the roof, wheezing and clutching his chest. On the brink of exhaustion himself, Loki stumbled over the distance, his sword screeching and scratching on the roof as he dragged it.

"A pawn and a trophy, I may be," he rasped, standing tall above him and squeezing white-knuckled grips into both of his blades. He raised them over his head and stabbed The Other in the gut. "But I have not, and I will never be, a slave."

Ripping them out, he plunged his sword upward through the creature's ribcage and slashed his throat with his dagger for good measure. He considered further mutilating the corpse, but a blast of energy from below shook him from his rageful fugue. His legs shook when he stood, the seiðr expended on his spellcraft catching up to him in the aftermath.

When he stumbled Stark was there, as if supernaturally summoned. Rather than sliding under his shoulder, he gripped Loki's elbow to spare his pride in front of the audience.

And there was an audience.

Fury clapped at a slow rhythm, and Barton whooped from his perch on the jet.

"Well done, Avengers. Looks like today, the earth spins on,” the director said.

Carol arose from the other end of the roof, holding an unconscious Ronan in one arm.

"Where should I dump this trash?" she asked.

Fury strolled to the steaming pipes and retrieved the forgotten Tesseract from the debris, holding it in front of his face and admiring the motion of its interior.

"Oh, I can think of a few places designed to hold someone way stronger than him," he said archly.

Stark the Younger withdrew his helmet, and Loki saw his face for the first time that day. He was a being of youth and vivacity, a quality which had not interested Loki when they first crossed paths. Having traveled with his aged replica, he looked upon the luminous creature with new eyes.

He was buoyant. A keen mind and uncluttered spirit floating freely outside the normal bounds. The resonance of his seiðr was overwhelming to behold, and though mortals could not see it they were all drawn to it subconsciously, like little moons in orbit.

It pulled Loki too, though the sensation troubled him. The elder Stark had no such resonance. His energy was like a lake, deep and placid, which could reflect or ripple when prodded, but who’s depths remained stoically hidden.

When he shut his eyes he could feel them, like a sun and moon opposing each other. The mystery of what could change a man so profoundly was too intriguing to completely disregard, although he had no time for it at present. He followed the beaming signature as Stark the Younger took to the air.

The exuberant man spread his arms in invitation.

"Yay, we won. Who wants a drink? Don’t be shy, I’m having one."

In the spare moments they had taken to catch their breaths, Fury had already stowed the cube in a matte-finished silver briefcase, which he then locked to his wrist with a pair of handcuffs.

Loki did not wish to stay longer than necessary, but he also lacked the stamina to take on the Avengers. They would have to dally, at least until they could wrest the cube from Fury peacefully.

Licking the rapidly drying blood from his lips, he raised his free hand with his forefinger up.

"I’ll not speak for anyone but myself, but if it’s all the same to you I’ll have that drink.”

Chapter Text

Tony watched himself slide a Dorset whiskey glass down his bygone bartop into Loki's waiting hand, and wondered if it was possible to cringe with one's whole body. For better or worse, he would probably know the answer soon.

Keeping his mask up to conceal his identity, he waited for his double to inevitably embarrass him. It was practically on a countdown clock, the only question was when.

Sure he'd been with Pepper at the time, but he hadn't grown up yet. Hadn't lost her enough times to finally get it through his skull that relationships weren't built on neglect and intermittent obsession.

He'd ignored her too much. Scared her too much. Denied her access to his real heart. And yeah, he'd slept around. Not something he's proud of. But it happened.

The fact that he couldn't stop himself pulling Loki's pigtails after five years of faithfulness made his younger self's odds of hitting on the god roughly ninety nine percent. The other one percent was him being too preoccupied sucking up to the other Avengers to find time for it.

Clint and Natasha had installed themselves near the elevator, and were currently using their considerable charms to explain to Thor why he had to be in handcuffs until he passed a psych evaluation. Point Break wasn't really grasping the problem; probably because Asgard lacked the concept of mental health, let alone words to describe the examination of one’s acuity.

Steve had cornered Carol into a conversation about her military issue bomber jacket which she was bravely tolerating while they each detained one half of Ronan's unconscious form. That looked painful, which felt a little vindicating.

They were all awaiting the arrival of SHIELD's backup, though it would be a few minutes by the look of it. 

Whatever poor sap had the misfortune of answering Fury's call was currently about one third of the way through a very thorough dressing down about protocols, procedures, or some equally uninteresting 'p' word. This Fury wasn't messing around with the nukes, and that was mildly reassuring.

"How about you, Tin Man? What's your poison?" his younger self asked.

It took a lot of grit not to rip the decanter out of the guy's hand and lecture him on the state of his liver. Wasted effort, he knew he wouldn't listen.

"Sober five years.”

"No kidding," his double said with a nod. "I can't make it a week. What's your secret?"

"Motivation and willpower," Tony said honestly.

"Sounds exhausting."

“Not really, not when you’re doing it for someone else. For the right person, it’s worth every bad day.”

“I guess I can see that.”

No, no he really couldn’t. Without the nuke and the anxiety maybe he never would. It was hard to say. The deeper Tony got into this mess the more he worried that he was hurting more people than he was saving. 

Time and memory made it so difficult to be impartial, and even harder to predict the outcome of an unknown, different future. It made him queasy to think about.

Leaning on the bar, he turned his head so he didn't have to look at himself and his HUD fell on Loki, which was arguably worse.

He was perched like a Renaissance painting on a barstool with his coat off, and the way he put his lips to the rim of the glass ought to qualify as erotic art. The sleeves of his dusty silk tunic were pushed up to the elbows, giving an ample view of strong-looking forearms and deft fingers.

When he drank his first sip of whiskey Loki's brows lowered in consideration, followed by a pucker of his lips at the burn, and then a small, creeping smile as the aftertaste bloomed. 

Oh dear, time to look away. He didn't.

"You know, your devotion to the Wizard of Oz is cute, but you're wasted as a side kick. I saw you take down that whale single handed. You should go it alone. Spread your wings," his younger self gestured with his already half-empty glass.

Loki took a larger pull, his chin raised to accommodate and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. A drop of sweat helpfully drew Tony's attention to every curve of his stupid, elegant neck and he bit the inside of his lip.

His younger self flicked a glance between him and Loki, and then a look of revelation warped his face into a dirty grin.

"Oh, you're doing the white knight thing," he said with a concerning level of enthusiasm. His wrinkle-free face gave the demigod an appreciative scan. "Can't say I blame you, but a word of advice; I wouldn't break out the fuzzy handcuffs with that one. He looks like a runner."

Ah, the full body cringe. There it was. Heat flushed his face, and he crossed his arms.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

If he was passing for Asgardian then he could play the godly ignorance card, it was only fair.

"I'll tell you when you're older," his younger self snorted.

Fury slapped his flip phone closed, and Tony's doppelganger got distracted poking the lion. He took the opportunity to slide down the bar and check on Genghis. Aside from the blood and the concrete dust he looked remarkably put together for an animated corpse.

"I hope you know that's some of the best whiskey on Earth. They don't have that in 2023. The market crashed after the snap and the company shut down. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Loki sniffed, swirling the liquid impassively and gazing into the ripples.

"Ephemerality is the nature of life. As an immortal one learns to let go, at least when it comes to impermanent things."

He took another small sip and savored it, licking his upper lip.

"I can steal a bottle if you'd like. No one would be the wiser," Loki said.

Sighing, Tony leaned on his elbows.

"I have to be strict. Self control isn't my forte."

Loki hummed, nodding. "To business, then. Will they take the cube as they took the scepter?"

"Most likely."

"How did you get it last time? You said it was Rogers."

"Right," Tony rolled his bad wrist and stretched his tendons, wondering how elementary this explanation would need to be. "Have you ever heard of the Nazis?"

"No."

"O—kay, we’ll skip the explanation then. Eightieth floor, he and a bunch of double agents got on an elevator. He claimed he was in charge of the scepter, and when they went to call their boss he whispered 'Hail Hydra' in the bald one's ear. They gave it right to him. And I would need literally hours to explain why."

"Bully for you then, that's all I'll need,” Loki said.

The elevator opened and uniformed agents took over. Loki tipped his barstool back on two legs as Nick Fury handed over the briefcase to the Hydra thugs. In a flash the case was gone, Rumlow and friends scurrying off like the cockroaches they were.

Thor chose that moment to stage his mutiny. He protested his incarceration loudly, his godly strength easily dragging Clint and Natasha around by his manacles. Drawn by the commotion, Steve strode across the penthouse to meddle while Carol dragged Ronan's dead weight to the elevator.

Loki drained the last of his drink and shattered the glass on the floor. 

When he stood Tony caught a brief flash of emerald magic sealing up the back of a clone. The real Loki appeared by the back staircase, shimmering lines changing his shape into red, white, and blue spandex.

With a wink and a jaunty salute, he walked backward through the access door and turned to descend the stairs in rapid steps.

Damn, but that was America's ass.

"You coming, Tanto?" his younger self called from the elevator.

Tony sighed. His self-esteem might never recover from this.

"I'll catch up," he called, and jumped through the busted window.

————

Scanning the side of the building, he found the elevator in question and tracked it until it stopped on the forty-second. One heat signature got out, the others stayed in. It didn't get much better than that, did it?

Cruising unabashedly through the glass wall of the tower, he flew through the open atrium and touched down on a suspended walkway just as 'Steve Rogers' turned the corner with the briefcase in hand.

They met in the middle, and Loki dropped the illusion with a hissing laugh.

"Hail Hydra," he chuckled, wiggling his fingers like a carnival magician. "Imbeciles."

Banishing his helmet, Tony grabbed the case and opened the lid like he was in Pulp Fiction.

They shared a victorious grin as blue bathed their faces.

"Well done, junior," Tony said with a playful elbow in Loki's side. “That’s the reason I need you, that was slick as hell.”

A slight pause made Loki’s surprise at the compliment readily apparent, and that felt just as risky as the sweat and the liquor. He never could resist the insecure artist type. They were so damn thirsty for compliments, and he loved buttering people up.

Unaware of the damage he’d just done to Tony's resolve, Loki lifted the cube from the case and executed a somewhat awkward imitation of a back pat. It sent sparks down his spine he wished he didn’t feel.

"You’re not so bad yourself, old man,” Loki said, uncharacteristically unsarcastic.

His hand gripped Tony more firmly on the shoulder, and a dark portal opened up underneath them.

They fell through slowly, and Loki cocked his head to the side with a pinched expression.

"Do we have to take Thor back with us?"

Tony rolled his eyes. 

——-

Their arrival in Asgard felt anti-climactic.

The sunbeams still streamed through the lines of aged columns, and the hushed whispers of unseen servants still permeated the palace walls. The Realm Eternal persisted, exactly as they left it.

Similarly unmoved was Odin, still straight-backed on his throne like he had a stick all the way up his ass.

Tony rolled one stiff shoulder as they stepped from polished concrete to time-worn limestone. Thor snapped the handcuffs off his wrists like they were one of Morgan’s glue and construction paper “art” projects.

"You could have said something, Loki, I can't believe you allowed the mortals to humble me so.”

"Oh please, were I in such a state you would have taken great amusement in my distress."

Tapping the fingers of his gauntlets together, Tony took the lead down the unreasonably long procession, their steps echoing in the cavernous hall. Carelessly, he took the Tesseract from Loki's palm and held it in the air.

Odin stood and Thor bowed, looking to him and Loki as if they were out of line for not following suit. Ha.

"Your price, Odin Allfather," Tony said without a lick of reverence. "Where's the aether?"

"Give me the Tesseract first, I've no reason to trust you won't leave with it the moment I reveal the aether's location."

"Oh for fuck's sake-"

The mind stone was warm on the back of his hand, but Loki stepped forward sharply. The width of his stance and the squaring of his shoulders made Tony wait.

"We have made good on our word, Father. Midgard remains free and we have brought you the Tesseract. It is the crown's turn to fulfill its promise."

"And what will you do with it? Conquer and destroy?"

Thor rose from his kneel with a troubled frown. 

"Loki and the prince were instrumental in our victory. When even I was overcome by The Other's mental prowess, they fought bravely and restored me to rights. The gates of Hel ring with the cries of their victims. Have they not earned their just rewards? It would tarnish the good name of Asgard to deny them."

"Silence. This matter goes beyond the dealings of men. We are discussing the fate of many worlds. Swear to me, Prince of Alfheim, that the stone will not be used. Say it upon your honor as a warrior, and I will tell you where it can be found."

"I can't promise that," Tony's lips thinned to a line. "Besides, that wasn't part of our deal. I'm tired of you stalling."

Brandishing palm, he took two steps toward the throne. Odin stood.

"This is your last warning. Give up the stone, or I'll take the information from you by force. I've been more than reasonable."

"Thor,” Odin said.

Tony felt a shift in the air behind him as Thor started swinging Mjolnir. Groaning internally, he readied himself for a fight.

"I told you he wouldn't pay up," he said to Loki.

"This is absurd! You agreed. You looked me in the eye and accepted our deal. Have you no integrity?"

"Do not speak to me of integrity, imposter," Odin said forcefully.

Loki's stance loosened, surprise smoothing his features.

"What?"

"Frigga sensed something suspicious about your return. At first I did not believe her, but I now see the veracity of her insight. You are not my son, and he is not your enemy. You are here to defraud me of one of the most powerful relics in the universe. I will not allow it."

Tony's stomach dropped. Son of a bitch, all the fuss at the ball. Her pleas to Odin during the negotiations. All an act. She'd played them. 

Numbly, he checked Loki and found his face tense but not surprised, unmoved by the revelation.

"You knew?"

"I suspected."

"Father, I cannot," Thor said even as he prepared to swing. "He is my brother, please do not make me harm him."

"You will do as the crown commands," Odin raised his spear. "Seize the Tesseract."

Static charged the area as Thor lifted his hammer, and Tony decided he'd let Point Break figure out how machines interacted with electricity first hand. Instead he focused his attention on infiltrating Odin's well-defended mind.

It was difficult, though from the strength of his magic or from his own inexperience Tony couldn't say.

"It's not true." Loki swiped his hand through the air. "I only wished to return home. To have a home to return to. Will you not grant me that?"

"Loki, stop, there's no point," Tony warned.

Thor shot a beam of lightning at his back, and his suit promptly had more power than he knew what to do with. He turned around and shot a super-charged chest beam at him for old time's sake.

Loki seemed to have forgotten this was a con. His face was screwed up in tense pain.

"I have done nothing but strive to be a perfect son. I did as you taught me, I took the throne as Thor was unready to do, and still you blame me and accuse me of ingratitude. What must I do to have you look upon me with approval? What more could I do?"

"What more?" Odin sneered. "I saved you from certain death on a frozen rock. I raised you as a prince with every luxury at your feet. The finest clothes, the best tutors, and free reign over all the realms. You knew no pain, no hunger, no suffering. By rights I am entitled to every beat of your Jotun heart, and you repay me with lies, betrayal, and treason. Know that I love you, son, for any other being who besmirched me so would be dead where you stand."

Thor’s counter attack halted as Odin spoke, the Thunderer seemingly shaken by the harshness of his father's speech. Tony didn't wait for another opportunity, he drew the nanobots into a battering ram and smashed Thor into the wall with it.

Extending his hand again, he drove through the barrier around Odin's mind and sifted through his memories like sand. Images, sights, and emotions that weren't his flickered like projector slides. He pushed himself to go quickly, before he was overpowered or Loki lost his shit.

The stone guided his search, like a homing beacon zeroing in on a far-away destination. It pulsed with passion and a cutting intelligence as they plunged deeper and deeper, and finally the torrent of information lurched to a standstill.

He stared, absorbed in the pressing need to remember every detail.

He saw a massive, ominous cavern. Black, storm-beaten towers of stone stood sentinel over a charred plain. Lightning crashed in the distance, and in the space between two halves of an altar glowed a brilliant red sludge. It pulsed, reaching, like the force of Tony's life was an irresistible siren's call.

Darkness, dust, a total lack of sentient life. 

Svartalfheim.

He'd never heard of it before, but in an instant he knew everything about it. Everything Odin knew about it, anyway. The battles, the death, the endless, endless trenches of milky-white bodies burning to ash. He choked as the taste filled his mouth and seared his nose. He stumbled, and a cool grip circled his wrist.

Disoriented and dizzy, his eyes struggled to focus. There was a blur of green and black, and after several tries they sharpened into Loki's tense face.

"Stark! Stark-" He shook him by the shoulders, and it was touching how worried he looked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't turn his thoughts into words. Too much information swam in his head to parse.

"Tony, can you hear me? Give me a sign if you understand."

He blinked twice, as much from the shock of Loki using his first name as from a desire to communicate.

Loki let out a relieved exhale, and dragged him further down a raised walkway. The aisle of his chambers. When had they gotten there?

"That was trippy," he said. Loki threw him into a too-big chair and Tony could only stare up at him faintly. "Your dad is... old."

"He's not my father," Loki growled.

There was a flurry in his too-full skull, but the answer rose through the chaos. He shook his head, his forehead pulsing with a building headache.

"No, he is. I can see it. A crappy father, but-" He rubbed at his temples. "Whatever. Either way he was out of line talking to you like that."

"You saw? What, what were you shown?"

Tony wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "I've got it, the aether. It just came with a lot of baggage. A thousand years is a lot to hold in your head."

Loki's anger wilted at that, like a fire deprived of fuel.

"Six thousand. Odin is ancient, even by our standards. He uses cursed magic to extend his life, whenever he ought to pass he instead restores himself in Odinsleep. It is taboo for others, but for our glorious Allfather it is a triumph of seiðr," Loki bared his teeth as he huffed out his frustration. "Stay here, there are things I wish to take with me when we go."

Staring at the light in his hands, Tony realized he was clutching the Tesseract. Stomping footsteps carried Loki around the room, various objects disappearing with small rotations of his hands and books piling up on the sofa beside him.

"In your time, all of this is gone?" Loki asked, comparing two scrolls and looking between them as if conflicted on which to keep.

"The whole realm, yeah," Tony said, miming an explosion with his hands. "Apparently it was the lesser of two evils."

"I should like to meet the greater."

"You really wouldn't. Not the way Thor talks about it."

Loki sighed, and put both scrolls into whatever mystical suitcase he was packing. He looked mournfully at the massive, overloaded shelves.

"Even at my full power I could not store all I wish to maintain."

"You could come back later? We'll get the time stone, we could do anything then."

"No, no I... once I leave I do not think I could ever return. I've only been here a short while and already I feel I cannot distinguish what is real from what is not. We must depart, before I slip further into its pernicious comforts."

"Yeah, it really does suck, doesn't it?" Tony said, taking in the gilded walls with a new distaste. "Sorry I doubted you. Your family are assholes. I don’t blame you one bit for wanting out."

Loki's lips thinned, and at first Tony thought he pissed him off. Then he started breathing funny, and the next thing he knew Loki was turning away and leaning against a bookcase with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shit, had he said something wrong? He took a step closer, but Loki only drew tighter into himself. 

“F-Forgive me, I-I am n-not usually so-”

Tony came around to his front, unease bubbling in his chest. Loki descended into quiet sobs.

“Oh god, okay, you’re crying.”

The big guy hid his face in his hand and Tony felt like an ass.

”And I’m making it worse...”

“Don’t look. P-Please, I sh-shame myself-” Loki choked, shaking his head.

“Hey, hey, none of that. Look at me.” He pulled the hand down and met Loki’s glassy eyes. “You’re losing your whole family here, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“I hate them, I should revel in my… my escape.”

That hit Tony right in his own parental grief, forty years after they’d died. He sighed.

“It’s—sometimes it’s not that simple. You still love them, even though they hurt you so badly. They get their hooks into you.”

“Yes,” Loki’s eyes lit, and the tears poured harder than ever. He grabbed Tony’s wrists a little frantically, and he felt trapped by the intensity of that gaze. “Yes, that is it. Like fish hooks. Like they can drag you about as they please and nothing you say could stop them. And then they speak of love -”

Loki’s face crumbled, and Tony thought his heart might have crunched along with it, like a soda can in a trash compactor. He banished his suit and pulled Loki into his arms without really thinking. It felt like the only right thing to do.

“It’s not love. Doesn’t matter how many times they say it. It’s bullshit and you deserve better. I can’t imagine talking to Morgan like that.”

Loki’s tears fell freely and his breathing turned into tortured sniffling. His head rested on Tony’s shoulder, and all he could think to do was pat his back and be there. 

It was odd. Loki’s pain was a kind of mirror of his own past, of a time when Howard and Maria’s deaths had torn him up inside. He hadn’t known what to do with it, with the warring factions of grief and repressed rage. 

Because no matter how tragic their deaths, they had still been terrible parents. They had still made him feel like a failure and a burden, and shoved him off on other people to raise. Death did not absolve them of their neglect, it only preserved it as a forever wound that could never, would never be closed.

At least Loki had the choice to resolve his, if he wanted to. Not now though. Too soon.

Like he’d said at the bar, immortal life was long. He knew that now, from Odin. 

A year was like a moment to them, and the period of time in which Loki’s life had fallen apart must have felt like seconds. Like the stilted too-much-too-soon slow motion between hitting the car breaks and the deafening, neck-whipping crash.

Loki’s arms crept around his waist and he knew he was in too deep. He tightened his hold.

“When you're young everything feels like the end of the world, but I promise it gets better. You’re gonna get older and have new experiences, and all this will feel like ancient history. You just gotta hang in there.”

“And what if I can’t?”

Tony worked his jaw, searching his own life for an answer. What got him through?

Bad shit. Drugs, alcohol, sex, ego.

But also purpose. The Mission. A better world. A cleaner Earth. An end to violence. His family.

“Then you find someone to do it with you,” he said, bringing his hands to Loki’s arms and pushing him out far enough to read his face.

He looked a mess, no denying it. Pale cheeks blotchy, hair a tangled, helmet-matted mess, his coat lost forever to an overpriced New York penthouse. 

His brows creased, like he was really listening and Tony found he didn’t have to force a smile. It felt good to give someone hope like that, to be there when they most needed the help.

“It’s a big bad universe out there, Lokes. There’s a place for you somewhere, it’s mathematically impossible for there not to be. Picture it,” he gestured at the middle distance as if seeing something that wasn’t there.

“A remote, crime-infested planet in need of saving, a merry band of misfit anti-heroes. We’ll install you as their reluctant leader, the captain with a dark past but a heart of gold, and get you a bangin’ immortal side piece to keep you company through the eons. It’ll be great.”

Loki sputtered, his splotchy, tear-stained face turning over in unexpected amusement.

“And what would I do to deserve such a reward?”

“Save the world, of course,” Tony grinned, relieved that the mostly-not-a-joke joke had landed. “What, you thought we were doing this out of the goodness of our hearts? We’re gonna demand all the groveling.”

Loki offered a weak, watery smile. “I do like the sound of that.”

“‘Course you do,” Tony patted his cheek with a smile that was only ten percent patronizing instead of his usual fifty. “Now hurry up and pack your shit, we’ve got a date with some world-destroying space snot and I’m hungry.”

Chapter Text

The plains of Svartalfheim rang with the silent wails of a hundred thousand deaths. The cool air whistled between eternal pillars as mysterious rattles and groans seemed to hiss out of the very ground. Loki shivered, and wished he'd donned a new coat.

Remnants of the planet's unkind history persisted as if in defiance of time itself, standing in solemn memory of tragedies long ago concluded.

The towers were of dwarven construction; ugly, cadaverous fingers reaching up into the sky like stony metaphors for the devergr's ambition.

The Aesir wrote reams of the dark elves' violence, but few recalled the dwarven encroachment which drove the once peaceful elves to war. Such was the nature of erosion, of tales told and retold until they were nothing but bundles of biases inherited from bygone generations.

Few tales about the Aether survived to the present. It was not beneficial for the Aesir to tell them.

Loki stowed his Tesseract and observed Tony do the same for the duplicate, tucking it safely into his satchel and then throwing it over his shoulder.

As one they approached the altar, the glowing substance coloring their faces a brilliant crimson.

The looping mark of the Bifrost discolored the mezzanine, and Tony wisely kept his distance. Transgressing the symbolic perimeter, Loki opened himself experimentally to the pulsing, chaotic energy.

It was alive, that much was palpable. Though lacking in consciousness, it had an animal sort of intelligence, anchored to a clear intent and purpose. It was angry but also curious, hungry from the lonely internment.

Loki reached for it, but a firm hand came to his shoulder.

"That thing will kill whoever takes it. In the future we had a device for it, but I wasn't able to make a duplicate."

"For such an ambitious endeavor, you are astoundingly underprepared," Loki said.

The mortal scowled, which Loki found rather endearing. Among the full range of character flaws, he considered pride the most excusable. It could be channeled into a number of productive outlets, and in Tony's case it could even be considered well-deserved.

Shifting the weight of his pack from one side to the other, Tony massaged one of his wrists.

"Okay, genius, how about you plan not one, but two time heists, while also troubleshooting time travel, and being constantly watched by thirteen enhanced or otherwise preternaturally observant people? By all means, I would love to see you do better."

"What manner of device is it? As it happens I am acquainted with a colony of dwarves, one of the few to survive the fall of their civilization. They possess a forge, and large stores of resources."

"By any chance do they live somewhere called Niðavellir?" Tony asked.

Loki cocked his head, frowning. "How have you come to know of the Low Fields?”

"At some point Thanos attacks them and forces them to forge his Infinity Gauntlet. If we're not already too late, maybe they could build us an extractor? Hell, with their help we could probably make a weapon out of it. Thor came back from there with a seriously sick axe."

Smoothing the gooseflesh from his arms, Loki approached the narrow gap between the stones and bent to gaze into the mass of roiling tendrils. Tony followed a few paces behind, understandably wary.

As a Jotun, he could hold the Aether for some time unharmed, far longer than a human. As a seiðrmaster, he could potentially elongate that even further by finding external energies to feed the entity in place of his own.

Tapping on his familiar's spine, he urged it into its avian form and deposited it onto Tony's shoulder.

"I can carry it until a permanent solution is found. I do not believe it will do me harm. Barring the dwarves, we can also return to Midgard and locate a suitable facility for you to forge your own design."

"Alternatively—and this isn't a critique, I'm just saying—it's been safe here for a thousand years. Look around, it's a ghost town. We could also leave it here and come back with the gizmo and take it without draining anybody's go-go juice."

Loki pursed his lips. "You say the dark elves rose in 2013. We are already in late 2012. Time moves differently in different realms, perhaps we have already passed more than we know. Do you truly think it wise to risk total loss, when we could take it at minimal risk right now?"

The mortal tapped his fingers on his chest plate and swept his gaze over the desolate plains.

"Point taken. Letting the Aether mindfuck you, it is."

"Let us hope this will be the last time," Loki sighed, sliding his right hand between the slabs. "The frequency of my mental invasions is already a worrying pattern."

He was spared from hearing whatever Tony said in response. The roar of the Aether boring into his ears and eyes and mouth and nose overpowered all other stimulus.

"Junior? Can you hear me, Lokes? Open your eyes."

Loki woke with Tony kneeling over him, at least he thought it was Tony. It was difficult to discern, because fanning out around him were translucent effigies in his image. They were all recognizably him and yet different in various ways. He sat, and to his eyes the scenery flickered between barren ruin and lush, teeming life.

The stone was affecting his sight, sharing with him the potentialities of his surroundings. A disquieting prickle of unruly energy poked at his skin from the inside, as if trying to escape through his pores. With a deep breath he drew it into his core.

"I am well," he said, knowing Tony would be quietly disturbed.

The mortal's firm touch returned to Loki's shoulder and he allowed himself to draw strength from the gesture. Exhaustion dogged his body, but he knew he could not rest yet. Soon. Hopefully very soon.

Blinking slowly, he willed the alternate visions to cease and concentrated on the weight of his body pressing into the stone mezzanine.

It would be easy to slip into another dimension without meaning to, or even to alter this one into something unrecognizable. He would need to be vigilant.

Turning his wrist in a small rotation, he tugged on his listless and depleted seiðr to open his pocket and discovered that the Aether was very eager to be of use. Bending reality was its specialty, after all. With relief he drew upon the stone's power instead, and the Tesseract appeared easily in his hand.

"Hmm, very well, in fact," Loki said with more certainty, offering Tony a small upturning of his lips. "The stone can compensate for my lack of energy, provided I maintain control of it. Put your worries to rest."

Tony's answering smile gave off an air of reluctance.

"If I knew how to do that, I'd be in my living room eating fruit pops right now." The hand on Loki's shoulder turned into a lifting support on his neck. "Come on, up you go. That's it."

With Tony's help he sat, and grit his teeth around the persistent aches and pains. A cold wind made him shiver, and he realized he no longer needed to conserve energy.

Glancing at his bare forearms, he called forth an ensemble more suited to inconspicuous travel. A spacer's garb he'd observed in a Centaurian clothier's window some centuries ago, when Odin had taken him and Thor to learn of the galactic civilizations.

Forest green and black leather covered his body and cloaked him in blessed warmth. A simple belt wound around his waist and chunky, angular vambraces guarded his hands.

"Oh, damn," Tony blurted, his eyes roving in obvious approval.

Loki smirked. "It will be helpful, where we are going, for me to be less conspicuous. I have traveled the outer galaxies before and met some of their leaders. We should hope that I am not recognized."

"You don't have to defend your fashion decisions to me, bud. So long as your junk is covered and you're comfortable wearing it, it's none of my business."

"Duly noted." Loki snorted, because Tony was a dreadful liar.

They stood, and he offered the Tesseract on his upward facing palm. Tony laid his hand over the top, and Loki willed the stone to pass their bodies through the fabric of the cosmos, through stars and distant planets, to the well-hidden refuge of the dwarves.

The edifice materializing around them shook dormant memories from the depths of Loki's mind like arrows arcing over a battlefield.

The last time he stood on these vast metal rings he was but a boy amusing himself with mischief. The worst offense on his record had been a harmless spell to Sif's hair, and even that he had sought to correct with his tongue very firmly in his cheek. 

The hair-shaped helmet of unmoving metal had been an amusing subversion of Odin's orders to replace Sif's locks, and though he'd been peeved at the time he now knew the forging of Mjolnir to be one of his greater achievements.

Returning in such dire circumstances put a rather fine point on his life's recent decline.

Tony had no such associations, so Loki could at least appreciate the grandeur vicariously through him.

The colony was built out of five concentric rings which were bound by a central axis. In the middle of each was a thoroughfare that allowed residents and visitors alike to explore the foundries and peruse the crafters’ studios.

At any time the rings might be rotated to adjust the proximity of the nearby star, and thereby control the heat of the forge. When this happened, large sections of the colony might suddenly become inaccessible. By some good fortune this was not presently the case.

Though the street which they arrived on was deserted, Loki was relieved to hear childish laughter nearby.

He led Tony around the riveted corner of a closed workshop and down the curved lane. Young dwarves taller than most horses kicked a worn leather ball between them, and further down Loki saw adults in jeweler's aprons loading up a ferry.

Motioning for Tony to follow his lead, he approached the youths and offered a polite introduction in the old Alfar tongue.

"What funny, small men!" a young girl remarked.

Two of the boys came up beside her and leaned over to investigate them.

Loki nodded, plastering a beatific smile over his annoyance. They were unaware of their rudeness, and he could find no fault in their innocence.

"Is that so, my young friend? From down here I would say that you are all large, funny children. My goodness, what are they feeding to make you so big and strong?"

The children giggled, and his smile became less strained.

"I am seeking old Ivaldi, does he yet live?"

Unknowing stares passed between the children's rounded, smooth-cheeked faces and Loki waved his hand in dismissal.

"Forgive me, I show my age. What of his son Aitrus, does he now operate the forge?"

"No, sir," the girl answered, her face lighting with recognition. "But my Da works for a son of Aitrus, his second born who is called Eitri."

The name meant nothing to Loki. He cared little for the dwarves he tormented back then, and even less for their sons. Upon closer consideration however, he did recall a rather chubby baby toddling around Aitrus' knees.

"Ah yes, right you are! Eitri, of course it was," he agreed as if they were old acquaintances. "Might you take me to him? I'm afraid my companion and I have gotten ourselves rather lost."

"Visitors always do," the girl agreed readily, and began walking toward the nexus of the rings. "This way, little man. I'll take you to his shoppe, and perhaps my Da will give me candy for helping."

Loki waved for Tony to follow the little blighter, chuckling softly at her scheme.

Bartering altruism for sweets, a lady after his own heart.

Eitri, it turned out, was the gregarious sort. Exactly what they required, and conveniently fascinated by the workings of Tony's suit. The two formed an immediate bond which Loki could only compare to the fast friendships enjoyed by sorcerers of the same discipline.

He bravely tolerated their rapid-fire jargoning for a time, but once Eitri had collected the necessary data from Loki's person he was eager to slip away.

Tony gave him a thoughtful glance as he made his excuses, but it seemed the second Tesseract had eased his fears of abandonment. He allowed the withdrawal without complaint.

Though the individuals populating the streets were all new, it surprised him how little the architecture or industry had changed. He spoke to some of them while inspecting their wares, and it struck him how differently they behaved from their ancestors.

Where Ivaldi and his ilk dedicated themselves passionately to the advancement of technology and the unravelling of life's mysteries, the current generation displayed apathy in abundance and a cloying, cheerful defeatism that Loki did not know how to respond to.

Many times during his brief interactions he found himself completely without words. When he did speak, many of them remarked on the quaintness of him using the old tongues, and told rambling tales about the death of their grandparent's culture.

Whether this loss was a bane to society or a boon none of them seemed to know. Yet they were all content to remark upon the phenomenon as if it were happening to someone else, oscillating unemotionally between praise and disapproval without any clear delineation between the two.

After a dozen or so confounding interactions he concluded that he would never understand, and instead teleported to an abandoned rooftop for a retreat.

Gold, pink, and purple galaxies bled into each other in the Void, dotted by the white specs of far away stars and blushing nebulas. It reminded him of Asgard, of the view from his parlor balcony.

How many times had he observed that stilted sunrise? Thousands, tens of thousands. All of them identical, over and over each day.

Nothing changed in the Realm Eternal. Not even the sunset.

The timelessness chipped away at him, slowly but surely. He had rebelled against it as an adolescent, when the injustice of static existence became too much to bear. At first it felt refreshing, like he'd thrown off a suffocating cowl. Then even that became a cycle.

He would rebel, he would be caught. By the word of Odin he would be punished, and then his mother would appear as a balm. She would ply him with gentle touches and persuade him with her words, and inevitably she would extract an apology no matter how fervently he told himself to refuse.

The next morning he would be home. Sól would rise, unchanged by the tumultuous night. He would be returned to his rooms, and choke as time once again stood still.

What would it be like to die? He'd started to wonder around the time of his first visit to Niðavellir.

Would it really be a death if he had never, in fact, lived? Without change or purpose could one even call his existence a life? Furthermore, if he had never been alive, then would his death even be a death? Perhaps it was merely an end.  A close to an uneventful period of unliving.

He considered it again as a grown man upon a dusty rooftop, gazing dully into the vast emptiness of space.

What would it mean to end? Right now, or perhaps in a hundred years? In a thousand?

Nothing. Not if he accomplished nothing.

But what if he did the impossible? What if he—chaos incarnate, the terminal failure, the cursed Jotun runt who destroyed everything he touched—what if Tony was right and he could do something good, just once?

Would it be worth it then, this static unlife? If he helped Stark to succeed, if he bore fifty percent responsibility for righting an egregious wrong, would that not be equally as declarative as the sudden, poetic defiance of his suicide?

He did not know, but deep in the long-buried chambers of his heart he felt a flicker of desire where for so long he'd known only hollowness and spite.

It felt like hope. It felt like purpose.

Blinking down at his threaded fingers, he felt a quiet understanding bloom.

And then he travelled to Midgard.

Appearing on the roof of the Sanctum Sanctorum, Loki found that it was nighttime in New York.

It had not been terribly long since the invasion, in fact it had only been hours. The streets still rang with sirens, and smoke illuminated by searchlights rose from nearby streets. Would the Ancient One even remember their bargain? By any logic he could fathom, it should not have occurred yet.

Before he could doubt his decision, the sorcerer's erudite voice beckoned him closer. His feet followed the sound.

Near a line of billowing laundry and an unfriendly looking door she sat beside a cracking iron fire pit. Threadbare rugs protected her fine silks from the gravel, and a lush embroidered pillow cushioned her rump.

A matching one lay waiting for him on the other side of a square, lacquered wood tea service. Simple earthenware cups flanked a squat, copper teapot, along with small vessels of sugar and rich spices.

Wrapping her long sleeve around the pot's handle, she poured two draughts of amber tea.

"I see I am expected."

The kindly monk offered a familiar, uncomplicated smile.

"Please be at rest, you've had a dreadfully long journey."

The scent of the tea and the tranquility of her spirit dispelled any impulse he felt to rush. Tony would be distracted for a while yet, he could afford a moment of peace.

Folding his legs underneath him, he accepted the steaming cup with both hands.

"I have come to my decision, Ancient One," he intoned, blowing gently at the surface and allowing a slight cloud of his frost giant cold to unfurl from his lips and cool the tea.

"I can see that," she said, taking a sip of her own. "You have already made impressive strides. More, I must admit, than I expected of you."

Loki sat a bit straighter, the company and calming atmosphere drawing out a teasing smile.

"Many make the mistake of underestimating me. Few make it more than once."

"Indeed, I shall endeavor not to be one of the few. Fear not, I will grant you the stone," she said, warming her small hands on the side of the cup. "But first I wondered if you might indulge an old woman with your company for a time. To share good conversation with a being as long-lived as myself is a rare pleasure."

"It is the least I can do," Loki said politely, finding the atmosphere agreeable and the soft cushion difficult to leave in his weary state. He took up a spoon and tipped a square little cube of sugar into the mug. "How do you know of our bargain? In this time none of that has happened."

The old crone hummed. "Time is not a linear thing, it is an ever-branching tree which grows in all directions. Like blood vessels from a heart. You will find as the proprietor of the time stone that you exist outside of that flow, able to move freely between past, present, and future. From this manner of existence, all moments feel as if they are eternal, coexisting."

"I'm afraid I find that hard to fathom," Loki said honestly, watching the cube dissolve into his tea.

"Most do, but you will learn. Before the forging of the stones, and shortly thereafter the structured universe, the concepts we consider natural laws—gravity, relativity, time, kinesis—were mutable and untamed. One could coexist with its natural opposite, and neither bore the other ill-will. They could even sit down for tea, if they pleased.” 

She rose her glass in winking amusement.

Loki’s eyes were drawn to the dim, atmosphere-cloaked stars above. He thought he understood. 

If a creature was born into an unlit room, only able to see by the light of a distant tunnel, would it not be ignorant to the many paths shrouded in darkness? Such was the mortal understanding of seiðr, and his own understanding of time.

It was not the universe which would be different, but his ability to perceive it in its natural state, unhindered by his material body’s limitations.

Returning momentarily to a different rooftop under a different sky, he worried his lip as he sought to put words to his melancholy, to the burning, unanswerable questions he'd long carried in his heart. 

The Ancient One accepted his silence as readily as his speech, her face serene as she observed the passing of a news helicopter overhead.

"How have you lived and yet preserved such lightness in your spirit?" he finally asked. "As a child I was well. All of life was a grand adventure. But as I grew I noticed how terribly impermanent it all was. 

Happiness fades to contentment, excitement to boredom, pride to complacency. It repeats of course—when one finds a new diversion, a new happiness—but the more I experience the cycle the more weary I become of it. Even in those happy moments I feel sorrow, for I know the feeling will not last."

The more he spoke, the more emotional he became, surprising himself with the clipped syllables and increasing speed. It was like an overfull waterskin had been pricked, and now the contents were being steadily and forcefully lanced out.

His held his cup tightly, his eyes boring pleadingly into hers.

"How can anyone bear such erosion? I am barely grown and already it is so tiresome to go on, to even contemplate cycling on and on forever in this loop of diminishing returns. It feels as if I am dying, very slowly, a little bit every day."

He sensed he could go on forever describing his despair, and so he felt a small flicker of gratitude when she stopped him with a raised hand.

"You speak of self destruction, but I think it more illuminating to consider the outcome rather than the cause."

Setting her cup on the low table, she wrapped her hands in orange sigils and called forth a map of a humanoid body, its network of veins and nerves revealed by flowing tracks of light.

"Consider the hands on a mortal being. They lift, they feel, they touch, they work. Nearly every function of life involves some labor of the hands." She held up her own delicate digits as if in demonstration.

"Let us say that one day the right hand wonders, 'Why must I toil and suffer all the long day? I open doors for the legs, I get burned by the kettle to protect the mouth, I grip so that the arms might lift. What fairness is there in that? I shall do it no more.' And the hand cuts itself off."

Her hovering model's right hand severed from the body, its branching connectors darkening.

"In so doing the hand does indeed spare itself from suffering, but also deprives the body of all the functions which only a hand can do. All of this body's life will now be altered by the hand's choice, forced to adapt to new challenges, tasks which it once could complete with ease."

Loki's shoulders curved inward as he studied the changed model, a small measure of shame coiling in his stomach and making his palms sweat.

He knew he was meant to be the hand, but he could not understand why it must be him that was burdened with such responsibility.

As far as he could fathom there was nothing particularly special about him, other than the convoluted story of his origins, which indeed said more about Odin and the frost giants than about Loki himself.

Raising the cup to his lips, he took a steadying sip.

"Certainly I can understand the consequences of ending one's life. I will not contest this, I cannot. But does that truly justify existence? Living only to perform a function to the benefit of others, while internally suffocating, I do not see that as a life. It is a horrid thing, a joyless thing."

The Ancient One tapped her finger on the side of her mug, her mouth pinching into a sad, small frown.

"Is there no joy in helping others?" she asked.

Loki blinked. "Surely you don’t mean that literally."

"Does is not give you life to share your energies with a worthy person?"

He wanted to deny her simply for the sake of being contrary. How should he know, when he'd never yet met anyone worthy of his time?

Ah, but that wasn't true. Not anymore.

"That is cruel even for you, witch. You know that I cannot contradict you," he snipped.

The old woman grinned, her eyes twinkling.

"If you did, you would have to deny your entire reason for coming to me. Which is to aid Stark."

Loki's skin betrayed him, if the heat of his neck and ears was anything to go by.

"He is an exceptional person. You cannot hang your entire philosophy on a quality which so few possess."

"But I never said you had to live your life in service of many people. It is okay to be selfish, Loki, if one does not then take that selfishness for an excuse to cause unnecessary harm."

"This is your answer? Selfishness and sentiment? You surprise me, elder one," Loki sniffed, and finished the last of his tea.

"Not sentiment," she shook her head, and banished the glittering magic. "It is no illusory thought, it is true. When we spend time with one another... in loving union, in valid discourse, even in righteous conflict, the time we share in those interactions is no ordinary time.

They become moments, like this one, stored in the minds and souls of those who participated. They become little eternities, preserved forever in our hearts."

Lifting the gold-corded necklace over her head, she rose to her knees and held a hand out to him.

"To have touched so many souls and gathered so many eternities, it is a privilege, Loki, not a burden. If you open your heart to others, you will find what you seek. Have faith."

He hesitated before offering up his hand. It did not feel like a privilege just yet. It felt inevitable.

When he did lay it out she was warm and solid underneath, the holder of the stone a bite of cool, heavy metal in his palm.

"Thank you for your wisdom, elder one. I do not take it lightly."

Covering the Eye and his hand with her other one, she squeezed, her face glowing with hope and encouragement.

"And thank you, for giving a lovely eternity. My soul shall cherish it long after I am gone."

Loki swallowed, nervous of her assurance. He was not certain anyone ever had so much faith in him, and this from a being he barely knew.

He withdrew and draped the relic over his neck. It did not feel immediately different, and yet he was not arrogant enough to doubt her warnings. 

With each stone he had begun to feel less restricted by the boundaries of normal existence, and surely the time stone would be no different. He would bear it with honor and humility.

"I believe it is time for me to go," he said softly, and rose to his feet.

"Yes, I feel it too," she nodded, taking up her then cool tea and sipping demurely.

Retrieving the Tesseract from his mystic pocket, he called a portal into existence at his back.

"2015," the Ancient One called.

He glanced over his shoulder, uncertain if he'd heard her correctly.

"Excuse me?"

"Dormammu, 2015. A being of extraordinary power. You'll see to it, won't you?"

"Of course," he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

If she deemed it worth doing, then he would be a fool to argue.

The odd old woman smiled. "Thank you dear, go in peace."

He took out the slumbering beast on his way home, because he then possessed three infinity stones and it seemed a good opportunity to test their limits.

They did not disappoint him.

Upon his return, he found the colony turning down.

Eitri informed him that Stark had been taken to the fifth ring to find a room for the night, and Loki thanked him for his candor.

The mortal was less understanding when Loki found him in a derelict old apartment on the cheap side of town.

When Loki arrived, he was seated at an over-large table which made his adult proportions look like that of a child. Supplies and foodstuffs were dumped over the surface from his overturned rucksack. His familiar seemed to find Tony's fussing entertaining, hopping back and forth between the cans as he moved them. It squawked when he returned, but Loki waved for it to stay as it was.

"Where the fuck were you? I was worried sick," Tony spat.

He held up the Eye of Agamotto as a silent explanation and collapsed into the long but narrow bed. It was soft, and clean, and that was more than he could have hoped for an hour ago.

Tony paused, only for a second, but for a man as quick witted as him that was a rather long stutter.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Loki said simply. Now he was at last allowed to rest his eyelids felt as heavy as anvils.

"How the fuck-"

"It wasn't difficult. I had an... arrangement with the elder one. Since we first went to the Sanctum. I merely needed to come and collect, now that I had fulfilled the task she set for me."

"What task?"

Loki yawned, and rolled onto his side so he could assess Tony's reaction.

It was not so elegant a reveal as he might have planned otherwise, though he doubted in any other circumstance that he would have felt so compelled toward honesty.

To borrow Stark's phrasing, it had been one hell of a day.

The mortal was neutral, not visibly angry or upset. Only curious and relentlessly calm. Loki could have kissed his feet, he was so grateful. He did not have the energy to argue just then, and his soul hungered for more of Tony’s sure-footed understanding. This man was all he had now, his sole anchor in a turbulent world.

Dragging a musty pillow under his head and crossing his arms over his chest, Loki observed the mortal's wrinkled eyes and scraggly hair with undue fondness.

"It is difficult to explain. I feel I do not fully understand myself. But she challenged me to examine my future. Evidently there were many options, which astounded me when she first called my attention to it.

In Asgard we believe everything is predetermined. There are legends and prophecies, godly titles given in recognition of destiny. To say that one's future is undefined... it is a radical notion."

Tony's brows creased, and he shifted his weight to roll one of his ankles in a slow stretch.

"I guess that checks out," he said. A non-answer, yet curiously it gave him strength.

"I have told you many lies and untruths in our short time together."

Tony's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. Loki continued in a rush, before the mortal ventured too far into the caverns of supposition.

"I regret them now, all of them. I wish to clear my conscience, so that we may start anew. You are a man of honor, and I regret not having trusted you from the start."

"You're gonna tell me you were planning on back-stabbing me, aren't you?" Tony asked with a pitch-dark smirk. He returned to sorting the mess on the table, as if he'd decided the conversation no longer required his full attention. As if he was already prepared to forgive Loki of whatever transgressions he confessed, sight unseen.

Loki stared at his freely-offered back, his unprotected neck and helmet-free skull. He felt wholly unworthy of that trust, but that did not stop him hoarding the feeling greedily in his chest.

"Yes," he admitted. It was much easier to say than he expected. “Though I never could settle on when or how. I am not normally so disordered. I think... I think I only considered it because I feared what would become of me if you were cruel."

"I'd call that self-preservation, personally," Tony shrugged, holding up a can to the dim lantern on the wall and squinting to read the label.

"Yes, but still, I did think it. And also... I did not involve you in the decision to kill my past self. Though it played out as I expected and the result was satisfactory, it could have gone very wrong. I should have conferred with you, before taking such a risk."

Tony sighed, scratching the back of his head. With a pinched expression he faced Loki once more, and favored him with a pitying look.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish here, Bambi? I forgive you, okay. This isn't a fucking morality play. I abducted you on the worst day of your life and dragged you through a whole bunch of other shit, and you reacted like anybody on the verge of a psychotic break would. I don't blame you for it, not a bit."

Loki pushed himself upright and folded his legs underneath him.

"I might have killed you, Stark," he protested. "I may yet still mean to, and you've no way of knowing. How can you be so blasé when by your own admission you have everything to lose? I don't understand it, I don't understand you."

A bit deliriously, Tony laughed. He glanced around the room as if begging the wall sconces for support.

"Because, dipshit, you’re not a fucking traitor! The only people you ever turned on maimed and abused you first. That's not betrayal, that's justice. In the eleven years that I knew your brother, he probably told me every story about the two of you. We're close, okay? We're like family. And while I'll concede that you get up to a lot of shit stirring, I never once heard a story about you doing something crappy to somebody that didn't deserve it."

Loki cast his eyes down at his lap, unable to conjure a coherent response. His fingers picked anxiously at the dirt caked under his nails.

The room swayed as Tony sat beside him, the mortal's weight changing the topography of the mattress.

His broad, callused hand came over Loki's fidgeting digits and separated them, pressing the captured hand into the quilted sheets.

A prickling tightness spread out from where they touched and Loki's heart started beating very fast.

Startled, he met Tony's intent gaze and without meaning to his eyes darted to where the man's tongue was unconsciously wetting the line of his lips. 

"Eitri and I found a way to remove the Aether," Tony said.

Loki tore his attention from the softly moving lips, focusing forcefully on Tony's dark eyes instead.

His vision tunneled around the soft creases of his crow’s feet, the greying stubble on his chin. Loki wanted something, an unnamable thing, heavy and yearning in his chest. Gravity pulled him to close the distance and shut his eyes.

Tony let go of his hand. He patted Loki’s back twice, and pushed him gently onto the pillows. "Get some sleep, kid, you look beat."

Kid, a uniquely soft rejection. A reminder of their disparate origins.

He could not to resent it, no matter how it stung. It was said with too much care, too much unguarded affection.

He let himself be nudged into relaxation, and fell asleep to the comforting sound of Tony's puttering.

He dreamed of rocky beaches and sweeping sunlight. Thor's booming laughter as he captured the fin of a monstrously large fish and rode it around the tides like a skiff.

Loki hated the water, and the gulls, but laid out on the shore he was content. There was heat at his back, the great, pressing heat of sunbaked sand. A lukewarm breeze tickled his hair and skin.

Gratitude overwhelmed him, flooding from his core like a tidal wave of emotion. He did not know why, but he was drowning in it, pouring it from his mouth and hands and chest like an offering to the Norns.

In the pleasant embrace of the dream he cried for what felt like years and years but the sun never set, and his brother kept riding his wild, captured fish.

The warmth wrapped itself around him as the skies clouded over and crashing thunder rolled. He did not feel any raindrops.

The warmth took the brunt of the storm.

It covered him. It kept him safe.

Chapter Text

Tony stood in the dark apartment sorting cans long after Loki flopped over and shuffled under the sheets. 

Mostly he tried to keep himself from watching the guy like a creep. It wasn't really working.

Even from across the room he could feel Loki's consciousness tumbling with the Mind Stone, and the falcon was getting upset. A nightmare was brewing from the looming dark, but he hadn't quite made peace with what he wanted to do about it.

Frigga had warned him about the dangers of messing with people's minds, and yet it felt wrong to leave Loki twitching and whimpering.  He knew what those nightmares could do to a person, and anybody could see that Loki needed a good night's sleep.

When the sensation of falling turned very sharply into the trembling cold of nakedness, he leaned heavily on the table and squeezed his eyes shut.

He should ignore it. He should try not to encourage the growing infatuation he saw so clearly in Loki’s eyes just fifteen minutes ago… 

The falcon's talons clicked softly on the table as it hopped toward him and tugged on his sleeve. The mattress squeaked as Loki jerked in his sleep, and Tony took a steadying breath.

Petting the mechanical bird, he strode quickly to the side of the bed. His palm felt sweaty under the heat of the Mind Stone, and he traced the line of the Pimm Pal's strap with his fingers. 

Loki eyes moved rapidly behind his closed lids, and his lips parted in a quiet hiss.

Tony sat on the edge, and laid his hand over Loki's forehead. Flashes of fear and violence assaulted him and he willed the dark, haunting dais away. 

Loki shuddered, his breath catching and his eyes threatening to open.

"Shh, sleep," Tony whispered, pulling his hand through tangled, dark hair and shifting closer until his leg was resting along Loki's back.

The big guy settled, so he kept going, turning aside the dark memories that arose until something peaceful and harmless finally bobbed up to the surface. He peeked inside without meaning to, when he only meant to cradle it and block out any corrupting negativity.

Smelling sea air on a cool breeze he pictured carefree summers in Malibu, and it was a relief to know that somewhere, buried under all that pain and muck, Loki did have good memories.

He sat there a long time with the stone glowing, filtering out the darkness and feeling cautiously at the ugly cracks in Loki's perimeter. It was astounding, the damage he'd sustained without breaking. Far more than most could take, the stone blithely informed him, as if that was just a fact, not alarming news at all.

There was a strong temptation to heal them completely, with the stone he could. Like marks on a white board he could pass his fingers right over, and it would be as if they never existed. But healing was its own kind of growth, and it didn't sit well with him to make that decision without Loki's input. 

He settled for covering them in gauzy, temporary barriers, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

A bubble of emotion rose up in Loki's mind when he did that, like a big, fluffy hot air balloon. It passed right into him, like Loki wanted him to have it, and he shook his head with a sigh.

"You're gonna ruin me, kid, I swear to god." 

As if in answer, the young god curled up, and pressed his back more firmly against Tony's knee.

It was like a boulder rolling downhill, this knot of inappropriate feelings. It took every fiber of his being just to stand five feet away and keep his hands to himself and think of what Pepper would say.

He knew, of course. Pepper was nothing if not consistent.

Oh Tony, she'd whisper. He wouldn't even have to admit it, she'd just know. She'd pull him into her arms and he'd feel like the scum of the Earth. Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out.

He wasn't built for monogamy, but he loved her more than life itself. He wanted her to be enough, and for him to be good enough to deserve her. For the most part he was good. He tried.

This wasn't one of those times.

Rubbing the tension and the threat of moisture from his eyes, he shut off the lanterns and drew back the covers of the bed. There was only one, of course, because the world hated him more than usual lately.

Apparently housing was short on the colony, with three generations living in the space originally built for one. The dingy single bedroom was the best Eitri could find on short notice, and Tony hadn't bothered to look any further. He probably should have, but what was the point? He'd end up staring at Loki all of the next day anyway. It wouldn't halt the inevitable crash.

Once it was dark it was easier to slip under, to feel Loki relax against the line of his back and the barely-there touch of his cold feet on the back of his calves.

If he blocked everything else out he could almost convince himself it was Pepper, although they always slept facing the same direction. She had cold feet too, and a narrow, elegant back. She also had long hair that itched his nose in the mornings, and a fast, fluttery heartbeat like the wings of a baby bird. 

He could hear it if he snuggled close enough, could count the beats and calculate her resting pulse if he was too manic to sleep. He'd done it hundreds of times, maybe even thousands, on some of the best and worst days of his life.

No matter how badly he fucked up she'd stood by him, and greeted him with frustrated patience.

He hoped she could do it one more time, just one more.

It was a big ask, though. Bigger than the others.

He hadn't cared like this before. Not once.

The falcon fluttered onto the headboard and found an uneasy perch, where it tucked its head under its wing.

As sleep evaded him he didn't count Loki's heartbeats, but he couldn't stop himself listening to his breathing.

Slow and raspy. In and out.

Soothing, rich, sonorously deep.

He woke up with hair tickling his nose, and his forehead pressed into a warm back. It must have been early, because the house was dark and dead silent, not even the clucking of the hens breaking up the morning.

There was no low hum of the living room TV creeping under their door, so Maguma must have actually slept through the night. That, in turn, meant mom and dad might get some alone time, which had him smiling softly and shuffling closer.

Throwing his arm over her waist, he rubbed his nose into her back and laid a kiss between her shoulder blades.

A deep rumble answered, and his eyes shot open.

There wasn't much to see in the dark, but the smell of musty sheets and leather was more than enough to confirm his fears.

Worse, Loki's back arched into the touch, and his snoring quieted like he might be waking up.

Tony snatched his hand away and threw himself out of bed like it had caught fire, stumbling in the windowless dark for a lantern and stubbing his toe on a chair.

Cursing, he bent over to feel the injury and hit his head on the table, which made him shout even louder.

Sheets rustled behind him, and then Loki was sitting up with a ball of flames in his hand. The falcon shrieked out Loki's alarm, and flew a fast circuit of the room.

"...Tony? What's happened?" he said in an unfairly gravelly voice that did uncomfortable things to Tony's gut.

"Nothing. Had to piss, stubbed my toe. Go back to sleep."

Loki groaned, and stuck his hand out for the bird. His brows lowered, a look of concentration turning his drowsy face stern. The green stone flickered from it's holder on his chest and he grimaced.

"We've already slept well past the waking hour, and I fear no amount of rest would truly be enough. We should rise and go."

Finally catching his composure after the triple shock of his waking, Tony nodded and turned on the nearest lanterns.

"Maybe I should get some blackouts for the master bedroom at home, I had no idea it was that late."

"Hmm, I slept well too," Loki said lowly, rolling his neck and stretching out his arms. Tony stepped into the attached bathroom if only because that was his excuse and he needed to give credence to it. Blinking scornfully at his reflection, he splashed water on his face.

The truth was he felt great. With the exception of the guilt and the blooming headache.

When he emerged from the bathroom a mostly composed human, he found Loki heating up a can of chili with his bare hands. The falcon was grooming him, which Tony thought was an odd bit of realism to include in an artificial pet.

The fond smile was impossible to hold back. It could have broken out of the RAFT if it wanted to.

"That's meat. Did you check the expiration date?" he asked, because he'd learned not to expect modern survival skills out of any member of the Asgardian royalty.

Loki rotated the can so the other side could have a turn over the flame in his palm.

"If it's spoiled I can simply unspoil it," with a short huff, he cocked his head to the side and smirked. "If I so desired I could turn it back into a cow, I suppose. Or a very small portion of one."

"You're making some very bold assumptions about the honesty of that product label," Tony snorted.

Setting the lukewarm can down, Loki traded it for another open one, this time vegetable soup.

"We need to get some quality grub soon, this shit makes me hate life."

"I wouldn't be opposed, you've seen what I'm accustomed to. Grateful though I am for your preparedness, I'm afraid this is rather a step down."

"No kidding, I’m used to fresh, organic everything," Tony said, picking up the can and shaking a bit into his mouth, too lazy to find a spoon.

"On our property Pepper and I grow our own produce, and just last summer we got some chickens. We meant to eat them, but then Morgan went and gave them names, the traitor. I couldn't break it to her that we were eating Tadpole Willy for dinner, so they're just cute egg layers now."

"She is a benevolent leader, your Lady Morgan," Loki hummed, and Tony nodded, flopping into the other too-large chair.

"Say that again once you've met her. I dare you."

Loki snuffed the fire with a closing of his fist and tipped the can back. Chewing and swallowing, he licked his lip clean and gazed thoughtfully into the brown sludgy mess. It turned it into something frothy and green.

"I daresay I am equipped to handle a strong-willed child. I've minded Thor for nearly nine hundred years."

"Fair enough," Tony said, holding up his can in a toast. With an obliging sort of sneer, Loki met it with a clack of his own sawed-off can.

"Soon," he said meaningfully. "Have faith, my friend. We've already four out of six. Victory is at hand."

"Yeah... " Tony said, surprised to find that he'd needed that bit of reassurance.

Not for the Infinity Quest, but for his own self control. Loki was right, they were already over half way. He could do this. He could keep his head on straight for a few more days, and then he'd be back home with his rock and his kite and he'd be comfortably strung up between them just like always.

Loki would run along to wherever he decided to go, and things would go back to normal. It would be fine. It would.

"Yeah, we got this. Just a little polishing on that reality stone and we'll be on our way."

As if in agreement the falcon chirped, and transformed of its own volition into a shoulder guard.

Eitri's workshop was a place after Tony's own heart, a cluttered yet orderly Candyland of magical gizmos and doo-dads. If he wasn't actively courting a mental breakdown with how sorely he missed his family, he might have stayed for a couple years just to play.

As it stood, he worried that he'd already wasted too much time on this detour. Loki didn't seem to mind the Aether, truth be told, and they really were ridiculously close to a sweet, swift victory.

But promises were promises, and Eitri was good company at least. He was surly but smart, and refreshingly direct in his speech. As far as work buddies went, Tony didn't have any complaints.

By the time they arrived the giant dwarf was already engaged in final preparations, and Tony fit himself into the workflow as seamlessly as he could, given that he didn't know what most of the machinery did.

As before, Loki seemed profoundly uninterested in their effort to save his life. He'd stood around long enough to ascertain that the device wasn't totally ready, and then fucked off to prank the neighborhood children.

Tony watched him through the open wall of the workshop, daring the children to catch him and then casting two or three illusions for them to chase.

The real Loki always hid behind the same crate, and Tony wondered how long it would take the kids to work out the trick.

Maybe it was parental bias, but he felt like Morgan wouldn't fall for that shit more than twice. She was clever like that. Good with patterns. She even caught most of his references now that she was old enough to watch grown up movies without declaring them 'boring' and wandering off to build cities out of blocks.

He wondered how long it would take her to wrap Loki around her finger, and that was a forbidden thought if he'd ever heard one.

But since he'd already had it, he calculated the over-under at around five minutes. They didn't call her the alpha female for nothing.

Behind him a shrill humming started, and Tony turned to see the extractor machine powering itself up.

"We are ready, Stark. Or... as ready as we could ever be."

"Wow, what a ringing endorsement. You really have that bedside manner down pat."

"One doesn't get a reputation by overpromising and under-delivering," the dwarf said grimly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Now that's quitter talk. Where I come from we overpromise and overdeliver. That's how you get branded a genius."

"And what good is a reputation if you exhaust yourself maintaining it?"

Touche, Tony thought, and called out for Loki instead of answering. The god went for one last trick—unclipping a line of laundry from a nearby roof onto the children's heads—and then teleported at Tony's side, clapping dust off his hands.

"You seem better today," Tony said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Loki gave him a knowing sort of glance, and laid down on the worktable where Eitri had examined him the day before.

"I seem to have developed a new defense around my mind, which I did not install myself. Most curious."

Tony pulled a stool to Loki's side, and started adjusting the electrodes on the edge of the table.

"How mysterious," he said, keeping his face set in concentration. "Any suspects? I hear there are elves out there that like to come during the night and fix things."

"I've one, though I'm hesitant to confront him about it."

Tony stiffened his lip, and kept his eyes unnecessarily focused on the technology.

"Confront? I hope you're not upset with him. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

"No... No, not upset, though perhaps I well should be." Loki laced his hands over his waist and tapped his index fingers on the backs of his palms. "I suppose I've noticed that he's skittish about my appreciation, and I'm afraid if I bring it up that he might stop."

"Do you not want him to stop?" he found himself asking, his motions becoming jerky with nervousness. He'd known it was an imposition, but he hadn't expected Loki to notice, or at least not so immediately.

Reaching over the center of the table, he adjusted an articulated arm over Loki's core, and stopped abruptly when a cool hand covered his own. His eyes met Loki's in a shock of eye contact, his face relaxed and his eyes a dull green in the orange light.

"I actually wanted to thank him this morning, but for some mad reason I couldn't find the words," Loki said, with that glassy-eyed sincere look he always seemed to have on when Tony was most unprepared for it.

"Must have been the terrible food. Canned meat will make anyone speechless. The horror of it defies description."

"That's not a bad idea for a gift. My thanks, kind sir, for the inspiration."

"For the what, now?"

"Are you ready, Stark?" Eitri called, as the buzzing got progressively louder. Tony shook himself, and Loki withdrew his hand. In a hurry, he finished calibrating the table, and gave Eitri a thumbs up over his shoulder.

"Ready."

"For my gesture of thanks," Loki said as if they hadn’t been interrupted, seemingly unbothered by the glowing of the electrodes as the device kicked on. Small tendrils of red and black began exiting his body in a slow trickle, which he eyed with bored disinterest.

"I feel we could both use a satisfying meal, and it would be appropriate to give him something precious from his past. He once provided such a meal for me, in a trying time."

"Oh," Tony said, finally catching up with Loki's meaning. Hooking his foot on the crossbar of the stool, he dragged it closer and sat with his arms crossed on his knees.

"Well I have been craving this one thing. Back in 2012, there was this killer pizza joint in the alley behind the tower. Alberto's, a real hole in the wall. 

Must have been a mob cover, 'cause it used to close every few months and then open up under a different name. But I swear they had the best damn pizza in New York. I'd forgotten all about it until I was back in 2012, and since then all I've wanted was to slip out the back door and grab a slice."

Loki smiled, a refreshingly simple one with no sass or ulterior motives.

"That can certainly be arranged. As for myself, I think I should like some Vanir rum, or perhaps Alfwine. And the confections of Vanaheim are famous, we must have some of those. You'll like them, I think. They're rich, and famously relaxing."

"I've never had much of a sweet tooth," Tony shrugged.

Loki clicked his tongue and shook his head minutely. "By the Norns, no wonder your seiðr is so morose. No liquor, no sweets, no time for leisure. You've sucked all the merriment from your life, Stark."

"That's ridiculous," Tony waved his hand dismissively. "I have fun. What the hell do you think-"

A loud explosion sounded behind him. Tony jumped off of his stool and turned to see a big cloud of red and black energy roiling in the air.

"What the hell?"

"Blast it-" Eitri yelled, turning knobs and hissing wheels on the wall to no avail. "The condenser's lost pressure, it's escaping."

"But that's the part that's supposed to turn it into a stone,” Tony said, watching as the cloud got bigger and bigger.

It started looking a bit menacing, and then it started reaching.

"I suppose we can label this attempt a failure." Loki kicked away the electrodes and arms, sliding off the table urgently and shoving Tony aside.

Extending his arm, he shut his eyes and called the Aether back to him. It wreathed around his head and wormed its way back into his body like a ghost in a horror movie, and this time Tony was ready to catch him when he passed out.

Checking his pulse, he felt a steady beat and let out the breath he'd been holding.

Eitri kicked the ruined condenser across the floor and threw a hammer at it.

"Damn unstable elven magicks-" the dwarf grumbled, turning back the various dials and knobs until the machine's noise died down to nothing.

Tony propped Loki up against the wall and sighed, studying the mess of conduits and vials with disappointment. A big hand nudged him away.

"The extraction worked perfectly, I think we had a leak in our system. You look exhausted. Both of you. Go get some rest and come see me in the morning. I'll get this hunk of scrap rebuilt."

Taking in the mess Eitri had made of their contraption, Tony decided he didn't feel all that guilty about skipping out on the repairs.

Picking up Loki's bulk, he ported them back to the apartment with a sigh and laid Loki back out on the bed.

"Good news for you, Junior. Looks like you get your 'thank you' feast at an actual table.”

Kicking off his boots, he reminded himself that they at least had a bathroom with a working shower. Compared to the Chitauri vessel and the subway station, it wasn't a bad place to land.

He passed the time while Loki was asleep scrubbing the muck off of his body and picking at his teeth in the mirror.

Inspecting his reflection, he winced at what he saw. Though he'd become accustomed to confronting age in his wrinkles, he wasn't used to seeing weariness there as well. It had been a few years since broken bones and mottled bruises were his life, and Nebula had clocked him one pretty good on his right shoulder.

His beard was a travesty, and without his usual products his hair was even worse.

Glaring at the tired old bastard in the mirror, he wondered if Loki was right.

Rubbing a rough, moldy-smelling towel over his head one more time, he shoved himself back into his clothes.

For now, he just needed to focus on getting home. He'd get to the R&R eventually. 

Someday.

Until the next bad guy came.

The main room of the apartment smelled like pizza when he came back into it. Loki had evidently woken up while he was showering, because the table had been cleared of the cans and shrunk to roughly human size.

Weighing down its surface was a stack of pizza boxes, a cask of something presumably very strong, and a checked game board that looked like a literal interpretation of the idiom '4D chess.'

Damn, Loki really had a bug up his ass about this didn't he?

"You remember that I can't drink any of that, right?" Tony said, pointing at the stoppered barrel with mild annoyance.

Loki shot him an offended look in return.

"You must think me terribly dense," he sniffed. Then he rotated his hands and a new bottle appeared in his hand. "The elves are also known for their blended teas and nectar. This one I think should please you, if you used to like that whiskey. It's very sharp, but woody and rich. And completely non-alcoholic."

Tony crossed his arms, maybe a little chagrined. "How did you even pay for all this? Please tell me you didn't steal it."

Loki picked up a piece from the game board, turning it into a handful of gold coins and back.

"As far as I'm aware it is valid currency. It's crafted from the same reality, at least."

Shaking his head, Tony opened the lid of the pizza box and the nostalgic smell of movie night in Avengers tower hit him squarely in the face. At first he was disappointed to find a boring old cheese in there, but then Loki clapped and half of it turned to sausage. Then margarita. Then supreme.

"Stop! That one, I want that one," he said quickly, and Loki gave him a smug sort of stare.

"Have I won you over yet?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Are you really trying to 'join the dark side, we have cookies' me?"

The big guy's face pinched as he worked that one out, and Tony took the opportunity to fold a slice in half and take a bite.

"Oh my god, it's perfect. Holy shit-"

He flopped into the chair nearest to him and pulled the whole box over.

"This is mine now, I hope you weren't expecting me to share."

"Naturally," Loki tutted, and slid into his own chair with a lot more class. He put a pewter goblet under the spout of the barrel and poured himself a drink.

"What's the game?"

"A war game, I'm afraid. Best I could manage on short notice. But a civilized one. A battle of wits and memorization, which I expect you'll quite enjoy. It difficult to find opponents for it, since most can't keep up with the rules."

"A feature which I'm sure plays no part in your interest," Tony smirked.

"Of course not," Loki agreed lightly, but with sarcastic eyes. "I would never dream of winning through deception and subterfuge. I am, as you know, a man of imminent honor and moral stature."

"Imminent," Tony agreed, with his mouth full. "Are you going to explain the rules, or is that part of the 'fun' of the evening?"

"Would you really allow me to do that?" Loki asked with interest.

Though it was low hanging fruit, Tony snickered anyway. "God help me, but yeah, I probably would. For some reason I can't seem to tell you no."

Loki's eyes skipped away at that, like he hadn't been expecting it. Like maybe it rang truer than it should have.

Deciding to break the tension before it could sour the whole evening, Tony poked a random peace a random number of spaces forward, and watched as two other pieces on two other checkered boards moved themselves automatically.

"Oh geez, this is gonna be a riot," Tony rested his head on his hand and committed the chain reaction to memory as he chewed another bite of pizza. "Will you at least tell me what the legal moves are?"

That drew Loki back like a kid to a cake pop, and Tony found himself relaxing into an actually pretty thorough explanation. Maybe he'd stepped on a nerve.

Ultimately it didn't help him that much, since he still had to figure out which pieces connected to which other pieces himself. The boards were arranged like three faces of a cube, with two edges meeting to form a corner. It seemed the figures were able to transverse onto other boards, and the object of the game was the murder or entrap the opponents three generals.

He check-mated himself in two moves the first time, which was how he realized he could kill his own units.

"This game is psychotic," he laughed, and Loki snorted into his goblet too.

"Oh, that reminds me," Loki sat up, and did his little swish-and-flick maneuver again. A small gold box appeared in his hands, long and rectangular. He set it on the table and opened the lid on a hinge. "I brought you a little something, since you can't indulge in alcohol."

Inside was a line of wafer-like discs with ornate swirling designs on them, each garnished with a tiny, five petalled flower. Tony inspected them with morbid curiosity.

"Is this poison or drugs?" he asked, with only a little irony. He supposed it could be an overpriced dessert like it appeared, but in his experience nobody expended that kind of energy decorating ordinary food.

Loki's face really said it all.

"They have a mild easing charm, nothing more. And totally non-addictive, I swear on my life. I'd be shocked if you could stomach more than one even if you wanted to. They're horrifically saccharine, by design."

Tony eyed the silk lined box with undeniable interest. It was true he hadn't cut loose in a long time. A long, long time.

"Oh fine, in the spirit of the evening," he said, selecting a nice-looking Celtic knot from the middle row. Sniffing it suspiciously, he squinted at the flaky crust and the saffron colored dust coating his fingers. "But if I say some weird shit, you have to promise not to squeal on me."

"On my honor as a sorcerer," Loki swore solemnly, with his hand over his heart.

"Bottom's up," Tony said, and ate the whole crisp in one big bite.

It was as disgustingly sweet as advertised, though the texture was nice and crumbly. A pleasant tingling started in his fingertips, but nothing else. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together curiously.

"It builds slowly, hence the discouraging flavour. They had a rash of unclever youths overdosing some centuries ago, and they've since learned the error of their ways."

"A story I'm sure you weren't present for, and had nothing to do with," Tony said knowingly.

Loki pursed his lips, and reset the game board with a wave of his hand and a flash of red energy.

"Oh yes, I'm perfectly innocent," he agreed. "The rumor mill spins ever so quickly on Asgard. One hears tales of all manner of mischief."

"I'm gonna regret dealing with you one of these days," Tony teased, making a slightly better opening move.

"You mean you don't already? Heavens, what have I been doing wrong?" Loki raised his goblet and sipped, then carelessly knocked a pawn one space forward. A lancer on another board threatened Tony's second frontline.

"Must be the thrilling heroics," Tony said, thinking a minute before moving his second armada. To his horror his third general traded places with a pawn. "Oh that is bullshit! What the hell kind of move is that?"

Loki threw his head back and laughed with all his teeth.

"A useful misdirect later in the match. Now, though?"

Long fingers guided Loki's second lancer in a snappy advance, which simultaneously put Tony's second general in check and threatened his armada on a different board.

"Now it is a grievous miscalculation."

"There was no way I could have calculated that and you know it." Tony crossed his arms.

"Why yes, that is what makes it amusing," Loki grinned.

Tony rolled his eyes, his frustration quickly filtering into a keen desire to learn the game and rub it in Loki's face with a resounding victory later in the night.

They took rapid turns for the rest of that match, and the next, since Tony didn't see much value in strategic thought. He was just moving things around to get a better understanding of how the pieces were connected, and all the while Loki's mannerisms got steadily looser and sillier.

Though it didn't seem to affect his awareness, Tony definitely started to lose control of his limbs. And his lips.

He was most of the way through an absolutely ancient story about him and Rhodey booby trapping the bathrooms at MIT when Loki pushed the game board aside and laid half of his torso on the formerly occupied tablespace.

"Hey, what gives? We're still playing," Tony protested.

Loki blinked slowly and shook his head. "I don't want to, the room is too spinny."

"Bullshit, you're just losing. Come on," he said, pushing at Loki's forearms. "Sit up, it's your turn."

"I'm not trying to get out of it, I'm trying to see you, Tony," Loki pouted. Full lipped, with his brows pushed low. Tony wanted to put his fingers on Loki's face and squish it back how it should be; smiley, evil, and unreasonably pretty.

"You can already see me, you're looking right at me," he mumbled. "Sit up, I want you to see me beat you at this stupid game."

"No, I'm sleepy, I don't want to." Loki pouted harder. Tony wound up with his finger pressed to the flat space between Loki's eyes, though he couldn't remember what he'd planned to do with it then. He ended up running it down the line of his nose just because it was there.

Loki wrinkled it cutely, and giggled. Tony grinned at the sound.

"See, there, it's so pretty," Loki said with open adoration, his head tipping to the side on his crossed arms. "Your seiðr, it's like a full moon. The most beautiful, brilliant blue. I don't know why you hide it, Tony, it's so special."

"I don't know what you're babbling about." He blinked slowly. "You must have me confused with someone else."

"No!" Loki sat up suddenly, his eyes bright. "No, absolutely not! I saw it on your younger self, I could never mistake it. At first I thought you might have been cursed, but you're not, you're just so very dour that it's like you've forgotten how to be you."

"Okay, you lost me with the hippy-dippy shit," Tony shook himself, and noticed there was sweat dripping down his neck. "Look if you want to forfeit, that's fine, but you're not getting out of this humiliating defeat, alright? Even if you call me pretty. Especially if you call me pretty. Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

"I'm a frost giant, I'm always hot," Loki rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you are," Tony agreed, and almost suffocated himself getting his sircoat over his head. When it finally came off he was dizzy, and his fingers felt like big meat sausages. He nearly forgot what he'd been doing, but then he saw the game board and grit his teeth in grim determination.

That damn trickster, he almost did it. He almost made Tony forget about the game. Dragging the board back over, Tony picked up Loki's hand and put it by his pieces.

"Come on, Junior, make your move. I'm winning this. It's happening."

"I don't care anymore. I just wanted you to be shiny again, and you are."

Loki flicked a lancer peevishly, and two other pieces shimmied into place. Then Loki's last general fell over.

Tony squinted at the board, trying to figure out what happened. Then he cackled.

"Loki, Loki, you just killed your own dude!" He laughed, tipping his chair back on two legs and crossing his arms behind his head. "You did exactly what I did the first time!"

"Oh, stop it!" Loki giggled, and that only set Tony off more. Seeing the effect he had, Loki doubled down, putting on a face of mock affront that was betrayed by the twinkling in his eyes. He pointed lazily at Tony and spoke in an imperious tone.

"You are truly horrible, Stark. Look at you mocking my shame! Atrocious."

Tony laughed, and laughed, and when he continued even Loki couldn't help but snort in the middle of his rant.

"Were you raised by wolves, you ignoble cretin? I've—aha—I've never seen such poor sportsmanship in all the Nine Realms. Your ancestors spit on your name."

Tony imagined the late Howard Stark spitting up at him from Hell, and the saliva drying up on the way. He laughed so hard he lost his balance and the chair fell to the floor with him still in it.

"Stars, are you alright?" Loki stumbled out of his chair, looking down at him. "You didn't break anything did you? Mortals are so fragile, it's like you're made of paper and pocket lint, I swear. Hello? Can you see me, Stark?"

Loki waved his hand in front of Tony's nose, but he was too busy staring at the god's handsome face haloed in the flickering torchlight. He looked like some kind of angel. One of the fallen ones with six wings and a tragic backstory.

"Of course I can, I'm right here," he said, even though his eyes were struggling to focus.

He didn't think it was from the fall. Loki was just too handsome to look at directly.

A cool hand came to his wrist and dragged him across the floor like a hunk of scrap metal. Given the ample view of Loki's ass, it wasn't a bad place to be.

The next thing he knew the world was spinning, and they'd both fallen onto the bed in a heap.

At least it was soft. Like... ridiculously soft. He didn't think his muscles had been this loose since he was in his twenties. His skin was tingly, and hot, and there was a big, giggly alien crushing his right side.

"Get off, you're heavy," he kicked weakly.

"Oh, you’re very warm," Loki said with surprise. “I can fix that. I can... ”

Loki’s skin turned blue and his hands cut right through Tony’s shirt, refreshingly cold. He rubbed his face against his chest, and pleasant shivers ran down his back. He pushed stubbornly at the the giant’s bulk and got approximately nowhere.

“Are all humans so warm?" Loki demanded.

"I think it's the elven pot brownie, but yeah," he said. "I bet most species are warmer than ice incarnate."

"I've never thought it was good to be one until now," Loki said quietly. “Is it useful to be cold-natured on Earth? I think I shall want to stay there a while when we’re through. A good, long while.”

"It would be pretty handy in the summer, I guess." Tony shrugged, imagining mojitos by the pool. Not that he could have any, but... well, it was a nice image. Morgan swimming between Pepper and Loki in her little water wings.

“I want to be helpful,” Loki said, rolling onto his back. His hair was a tangled mess on Tony’s shoulder, and he wanted to run his fingers through it. Unfortunately they were numb and clumsy, so the best he could do was to shove it into a chaotic pile.

“The Ancient One made it sound nice. To be good and help people. I want to help people.”

“You are helping people, you’re saving the fucking universe right now.”

“Not like that, you dolt,” Loki huffed, and pushed up onto his arms to loom over Tony again. He needed to stop doing that. It gave his hind brain bad ideas.

"Why are you so scarred here?" Loki asked, his hand resting on the nanobot reservoir.

Tony frowned down at it, struggling to focus on the dark shadow of Loki's blue hand on his red tunic.

"I had my old night light there, you know that."

"No, no, on the inside. You've scars all over your spirit. Here, and here, and here."

"How should I know?" he huffed.

"I could heal you, like you did me. Would you let me?"

"Sometimes the scars are what makes us ourselves. Without the cave? I dunno who I’d be now,” Tony said. “Why do you think I left the cracks for you to heal on your own?"

"Then may I heal your body, at least? I must do something. You are in such pain all the time, and you’ve done so much for me."

Petting his hair, Tony sighed. "I’d be stupid to say no. Though maybe not when you’re this drunk."

"Oh, yes," Loki chuckled. “Dear me, that would end horribly.” 

“I’d have an extra lung or something.”

“Or two spleens.”

“Twelve toes!” Tony threw his arms out and grinned, feeling stupid and sleepy.

Loki tucked himself once more into his side, and this time he didn’t kick him. He plowed careful lines through Loki’s hair and shook his fingers loose when he inevitably hit tangles.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, turning his face so he could see Loki’s sloping cheeks and ridiculous eyelashes. “I’m married, Loki, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

The Jotun worked his jaw, his lips turning in a heartbreaking frown. He grazed an icy, tingly finger from the reservoir up to Tony’s throat, poking tantalizingly through the open V of his tunic.

Tony shut his eyes, a tumult of emotions turning the tender motion into an assault.

A flare of prickling, hungry interest pooled in his groin. 

“Then why does your seiðr glow when I touch you?” Loki whispered.

He shivered, his body alive and wanting.

“Because I’m not as good a man as you think I am.”

Loki shook his head against Tony’s side, and turned himself back into an Asgardian.

“You are good, Tony. So very kind. It is only me corrupting you.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Loki’s hand came to cover his jaw.

“You are happy. I am happy. It is only us here.”

Loki’s head angled upward, his Aesir eyes striking. Alpine blue and sincere.

“I will not betray you, I will do no more than this. Let us give each other comfort. Please. No one needs to know.”

Fighting down the pangs of desire and yearning, and gritting his teeth through the sharp stab of guilt, he buried his nose into Loki’s hair and breathed. He rolled onto his side and thrilled at the solidity of the younger man in his arms. Not a dream or a memory, but a real, solid support.

Large, careful hands slid under his shirt and fanned out over his back. A wonderful, lighthearted buzzing filled his head, and Loki pulled until they were chest to chest.

“Just for tonight,” Tony made himself whisper, although it felt like a point of no return. Like a seal that, once broken, could never be closed.

“Nothing untoward,” Loki swore, his breath warm and liquor-sharp in Tony’s nose. “Let me help you, please, I want to help.”

“Okay,” Tony relented. "Okay, Loki... okay."

Chapter Text

Loki floated between sleep and wakefulness, his head full of clouds and his body swaying like the sea. 

His mortal was sprawled beneath him, peaceful and warm as sand on the beach but smelling much nicer—laundry perfume and linen, rather than reef salt and brine.

With each of Tony's breaths Loki’s torso rose, and the steadiness of the rhythm lulled him into a serenity he had rarely known. He wanted to stay there forever.

As if from a divine vision, a notion arose in his quieted mind. 

He could stay forever, if he wanted. With the Eye of Agamotto he would never have a shortage of time. He reached for it with his mind, calling on the world to stop. 

Disconcertingly, it froze Tony's breathing along with it. 

In a flash of panic Loki let time flow, and the mortal’s metronomic rhythm returned. With more confidence than before he willed the world to freeze, and settled fully into the smaller man’s warmth. 

It was selfish, he knew, but so very good. Like his bubbled, sunny dream made real.

This privilege was not meant for him, Tony had made that clear, but it was the early hours of the morning and he convinced himself that such timing meant his allowance was still in effect. It was not yet ‘tomorrow’ by the metric of last night.

His companion's tunic was unbuttoned, his unusual body heat having compelled him to bare his skin as they had embraced. 

With the benefit of privacy Loki admired it now, his fingers timid at first, only daring to slip under the buttoned edge. Very quickly he came to want more, and the notion that he could not be caught emboldened him.

Rising up on his elbow, he lit the nearest torch with the Aether. Dim orange caught the hills and valleys of Tony’s chest, or at least what little of it peeked through the tunic.

His body hummed with excitement as he dared to push the fabric aside, the forbidden nature of the act propelling him beyond where he probably ought to stop. Taking in the expanse with an intent gaze, he spread his fingers over the foreign texture of aging skin and sparse, wiry hair.

Tony’s chest was mottled with scars. Some were awful, cavernous trenches, but most were faint and edged in white. The shining device covered the largest and deepest, but the points of the vertical incision still peeked from the top and bottom. 

Loki felt the dip with his index finger, and his consciousness shrunk away from the gut wrenching pain. It shrieked within Tony’s seiðr, a memory preserved in his flesh like carvings in a runestone. He felt like he was drowning. Like he was shouting and no one cared.

He retracted his hand and held it to his chest, to his own well-beating heart and strong lungs. He breathed until the screaming went away, and then with grim resolve he returned to Tony’s chest and pressed his seiðr carefully inside.

As his friend had told him before, there remained a ghastly, hollow cylinder where his ribs ought to have connected. He could not imagine breathing around such a thing, let alone lifting, running, fighting... all the daring acts Tony pushed himself to do.

Without further hesitation Loki restored his sternum, all of it, and took the oppressive metal out. Once he started he could not stop. 

Each area he touched told a story, a life composed of little else but pain. The left arm was barely functional, every joint from shoulder to wrist gnarled and locked up from repeated reinjury.

The heart and lungs were strangled by ugly cords, the remnants of channels dug out by shrapnel, slowly over years like ants burrowing into silt.

They whispered strange nothings when Loki bent his head—fourteen, sixteen, thirty three. Straight ahead then a door, fork right and pray, thirty three steps to freedom and Yinsen, Yinsen, Yinsen—he shuddered.

So much pain.

One by one he wiped them out, and realized the marks on Tony’s seiðr were one and the same. The memories were so vivid, so entrenched into his flesh that he could not fully leave them behind. Loki hoped the man would not resent him for taking them away.

He wanted to cooperate with Tony’s wishes, but he would not leave the wounds.

The knees and ankles brought him much needed hope. Nothing horrific or distressed, just a body prematurely worn. Tendons and joints pushed perpetually to their limit and not given time to rest.

That Loki would change, if he was given the chance. He would make Tony rest, and failing that he would trick him into it. Such a rare person should not be allowed to burn themself into oblivion.

Once more disquieted by Tony’s stillness, Loki released his hold on time and watched gratefully as his body reanimated. Already his energy had lightened, and it could only improve with time.

Content with his work, Loki nestled back where he had woken, tucked between Tony's chest and outstretched arm.

The swaying motion returned as he rested his head on Tony's chest and heard no torment captured inside. 

Retracing the path of his earlier exploration, he smiled to himself. He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a few more hours before dawn, when something all-together unexpected happened.

Still asleep, his mind elsewhere entirely, the mortal parted his full lips and let out a guttural, whisper-soft groan.

Loki froze, abruptly on high alert. The body beneath him shifted, and let out a second, equally suggestive sound. A new sensation made itself known to Loki, one he ought to have noticed sooner.

Tony was having a… potentially rather scandalous dream. And his body was responding. Loki wondered if he ought to leave, but then Tony might wake from his exit and then where would he be?

Lost in dreams, unaware of his distress, Tony moved against Loki’s body.

His face burned like the fires of Muspelheim.

Not daring to move, he scanned the line of the mortal’s ribs and navel until he arrived at a rather baffling bulge.

Loki had dabbled in such matters before, but only long enough to learn that his freakishness extended beyond a willowy frame and a talent in magecraft. Despite all preliminary signs of attraction, when it came time to share in another's body the hearthfire of his desire ran stubbornly cold.

He had only needed a handful of false starts and humiliating failures to proclaim romance a lost cause, and to sate the occasional urges himself.

Which perhaps was why the sight of Tony's fire flaring so effortlessly—while he was asleep, by the Norns, asleep!—captivated him. Might it be enjoyable to give pleasure, if he had no need to perform himself?

He’d never considered that before. He’d been too absorbed in hiding his deficiencies from his bedmates.

For Tony he would do it. Readily. More and more he felt that he would do anything to make his mortal smile and relax.

Touching him intimately was not unappealing in itself, only the prospect of being touched in return. Of facing Tony’s hurt and tarnished pride when Loki’s body failed to reciprocate the compliment.

Even so it couldn’t hurt to look, could it? Just a peek of what he was missing, for the sake of visualization. Mental preparations for a possible but unlikely future.

Loki gave himself a very stern reprimand after that thought, and...

And Tony groaned again. His hips twitched, which made his muscled chest flex, and Loki's hand wandered of its own accord to pull up the loose waist of the slacks.

He snapped it back immediately, slapping it tensely over his foolishly grinning mouth.

It was a penis. Of course it was, what else would it be? He rolled onto his other side and stared at the wall, flushed to his ears.

It was nice enough, he supposed. Tan and well shaped. Not so large it would be troublesome if he had to… 

Stars, what was he thinking? It was not even a far off possibility, he should not have looked.

Yet he did, and so he had it in his mind’s eye. It was not so intimidating. A part of Tony’s body, functioning as intended. It was only intriguing because Loki’s bits were such layabouts. What if Tony woke in such a state? Blast it, he was not equipped for these sorts of liaisons, and even less prepared to find the lonelier fragments of his spirit wanting them.

What should he do if Tony woke? Ignore the interloper? Excuse it? …Match it?

It would take some coaxing but he could persuade his body to respond if he tried hard enough. Did he want to? Heavens, what a thought.

Certainly Tony could not mistake his interest if he did, but he had discouraged Loki from touching. Perhaps he would prefer Loki not to respond, perhaps he might assume Loki was controlling himself, and would that not inspire more confidence in him?

His nerves smothered the lone torch as he twisted his mind into knots, draping the bed once more in darkness.

In the end Tony did not stir until long after his body had calmed, and Loki’s midnight frittering was for not.

The moment Tony came up from the depths of an unusually good sleep, he knew something was off.

Nothing hurt, which was wrong. Very wrong.

Sitting up, he stared at his chest and marveled at how easy it was to breathe. In and out with no stiffness or strain. No dull, constant pain that he’d gotten used to ignoring.

It felt like he'd lived with a coffee filter taped to his mouth and now it was gone. His body felt brand new.

Throwing himself onto all fours, he crawled to the wall where Loki was snoring face down and shook him. Violently.

"Loki! Wake up you tricky son of a bitch, wake up-"

The god startled, his right arm swinging in his usual backhand, and Tony dodged it neatly.

"What?! What is it… Tony? Are you well, why are you staring at me?”

Rolling the god the rest of the way onto his back, Tony grabbed his shoulders and stared into his drowsy, slowly blinking eyes.

"You healed me, didn’t you? I can feel it, I can—Look at this, just look!"

Tony took in a long, exaggerated inhale and pointed at his expanding and contracting ribs, at the natural movement of cartilage attached to his sternum.

Loki's mouth fell open for a beat, and then quirked in a relieved grin.

"Oh, yes, yes, I took out that horrid tube. And repaired your shoulder as well, and small touches to your knees."

Turning sharply to check his lower joints, Tony rolled them and marveled at the lack of stretch or strain.

"The ankle too? The right one?" he asked.

"Naturally," Loki murmured. "Does it feel well? I had only a vague inkling of what I was doing, but the stone fixed it easily."

Fumbling his way to the edge of the mattress, Tony stood and felt the difference immediately. He did three squats in rapid succession and stared at his own knees.

"No clicking," Loki agreed. He threw his messy hair over one shoulder and crossed his arms over his bent legs. "I'm sorry to surprise you. I woke in the night and... felt an impulse, I suppose. It was done almost before I realized."

"Beats surgery by a mile," Tony said, rolling his left shoulder and staring at the bathroom mirror as he reached all the way over his head.

"Having seen the extent of your damages, I must confess that you were correct. I am amazed you survived. Amazed and regretful that I made such complaints about my life, when yours has given you much greater hardship."

"It's not a competition, though I do win those, usually," Tony smirked.

Flexing his hand slowly, he turned his wrist in circles and stared at it in disbelief.

The twinging stabs, the pins and needles, the screaming nerve pain, it had all disappeared like a bad dream. Years of physiotherapy and surgery, ice packs and Tiger Balm... suddenly gone.

Striding across the room in beating steps, he took Loki's rumpled head in both hands and laid a big, smacking kiss on his temple.

"You beautiful, brilliant bastard, you actually did it. I can't believe it."

Loki's lip pursed and his neck flushed, like he was having a lot of emotions and trying to be a man about it.

Grinning, Tony clapped him on the back. "Thank you, Loki. Really. Bottom of my heart, all the way up."

A nimble, pink tongue darted out to wet Loki's lip, and he hit him with those lethal love me eyes.

"You are most welcome,” he said.

All Tony heard was the static zap of his brain rebooting. He smiled though it, probably flushed too.

In that moment it didn’t matter, he was immune to shame.

”Get up, I can’t wait to take this new me out for a spin.”

Back in Eitri's shop, the extractor machine rumbled louder than ever.

The rebuilt condenser had slats of hand forged uru coiled around every inch of conduit, and Tony was doubly grateful that he hadn't been around for all that hammering. His newly healthy left arm was thankful too.

This time everything went as planned. The Aether pumped through the winding tubes without leaking, and the red mist slowly separated from the dark energy as the machine revved up.

The room heated like a volcano as the little machine whirred, and with a crackle of vermillion energy everything suddenly went still.

Eitri unhinged the latch on the lid, and steam hissed through the opening of the rectangular condenser tank.

With gloved hands the dwarf lifted the tiny crimson stone from its cradle, and Tony snatched it before the industrious inventor got any ideas.

It was warm but not blistering, and every bit as dangerous as the Aether.

Possibilities spread out before him like a hand of poker cards, and he had to brace himself against the torrent of information.

The fact that objects this powerful existed, that they could be found and transformed and manipulated with no oversight at all... it made him twitchy. It made him want to run through every dimension and timeline in existence and blow them up one by one.

That kind of power shouldn't be this easy to find, and it shouldn't come at the low cost of free.

Gritting his teeth, he walked to the tooling bench where he'd left his work the first day. It was a throwback to his beginnings, when a weapon was just a weapon and not a cosmic reality bomb.

He’d shaped it like an old flintlock pistol, one with an unusually long, curved handle and a darksteel perforated barrel. The weight of it was solid but not too heavy, the trigger smooth and clicky when he tested it.

On the butt of the handle was a vessel waiting for the stone, and when he held it close the little gem sucked itself into place like it wanted to be there. The ventilation slots along the handle glowed blood red, and cast ominous shadows on his hand.

"It is done," Loki said over his shoulder. Tony took aim at the far wall.

Cocking the hammer, he curled his finger over the trigger and fired.

A big rack of wrenches and hammers exploded into a rain of dime-sized emeralds.

“What did we owe you, again?” Tony held the gun up by his face and admired the stylish maroon smoke coming from the tip of the barrel.

Eitri stared, and ran to examine the gem-covered corner. Holding one between his fingers, he brought it right up to his eye.

“By the stars, these are cut like a dream, these are,” Eitri said. “Perfect for enchanting.”

Tony elbowed Loki in the ribs with a smirk, and the kid actually threw his arm over him in a hug that felt like progress.

"There's your payment, ser!" The god called, shaking Tony with a crooked grin of his own. Eitri threw a handful of crystals in the air and chuckled.

"Are you certain? This far too much."

"And it's all yours," Tony shot him a thumbs up. "Just don't tell anyone we were here."

Grabbing the neat leather holster from the bench, he ducked out of the god's hold and wrestled it onto his belt.

"Wait, why should you have it?" Loki asked.

Tony led the way to the street.

"Why not? You've already got two."

"The Tesseracts are copies, they do not count." Loki crossed his arms.

"Okay, then we both have one," he shrugged. "It's an odd number, one of us is going to be short."

"I have experience using the Aether, so I should have it now." Loki snatched the gun from Tony's hand while he was distracted with the holster.

"Hey, careful with that. Do you have any idea about gun safety? That could have blasted my nuts off."

"I'd put them back right away," Loki said a little too seriously for comfort, and took aim at a nearby shipping crate.

"Woah, easy, that thing shoots pure reality! It makes whatever you're thinking of when you shoot, so don't-"

Loki was already pulling the trigger. 

With a high pitched whine the gun emitted a bolt of crackling red energy, and the crate spontaneously grew a face.

Tony's face.

He and the face yelped in unison. 

"What the fuck, put it back, put it back-" He moved to grab the gun, but Loki was already firing again, while yelling at Tony to stop reaching. The second shot went wild and collided with a streetlight.

Both of them and the face watched in horror as the metal pole became a massive, snarling beast. Scaly, sharp teeth, huge antlers.

"Is that a motherfucking bilgesnipe?!"

"Why yes, Stark, it is. I wonder how that could possibly have entered my thoughts?” Loki shouted, fighting Tony's reaching hands. "Perhaps it was you snarling and pawing at me like a bilgepup looking for snacks?"

The beast roared, rearing its ugly head back and then lunging fast toward them. It opened its mouth to reveal hundreds of machete-like teeth, and blew their hair back with its spit-spraying breath.

Unable to overpower Loki's stupid godly strength, Tony wormed his finger over his and pulled the trigger, seeking something small and harmless.

The blast hit the monster right in the dangling uvula and it shrunk, instantly, to house cat size. Falling from midair, he caught the changed creature on reflex. 

It was an adorable, downy soft bunny with fluffy white fur. 

And scales. And horns. And bilgesnipe feet.

Yelling again, he tossed it in the direction of the alley and watched it hop disconcertingly away.

"What the hell, Loki? Were you still thinking of a goddamn bidgesnipe?!" Tony's second face demanded.

He was out of line with the yelling, but he was right.

Loki sniffed. "It was dripping putrid saliva on my cheek, how could I not?"

"Because it was trying to eat us! ” Tony threw his arms out. "Okay, now I'm really sure that I want the reality beam. Gimme. No gunslinging for you, kid."

Pouting, Loki gave it to him. "Fine, I didn't want to murder the other you anyway."

"What?"

"Oh no. No no no, not the face-" Tony’s other face yelled.

Oh geez. 

He shot the head back into a shipping crate before he could think too hard about it.

Jogging to catch up with Loki, he clicked the safety on and spun the gun around his finger.

"So you've never seen Star Wars, right?"

"I've witnessed many space conflicts," Loki said indignantly. "As a prince I was called upon to serve as a general in a number of campaigns."

"Okay," Tony nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"And the words Final Fantasy mean nothing to you?"

Loki set his hand on his hip. "No. Is this a sex joke, Stark? I’m not a child, I can discern that I am being mocked.”

Keeping pace with the taller guy, he held the reality gun aloft and rotated the barrel ninety degrees to the right. He took off the safety.

"Alright, then I need you to solve an age old nerd debate for me. Don't think, just react. Can you do that?"

Loki wrinkled his nose. "You are mocking me. This is a jest."

"No, really, I just want your honest opinion. As a space prince. And a general, I guess."

"... Very well?"

Pressing the actuator on the side of the handle, Tony watched with glee as a glowing red blade extended from the gun's barrel. A slight humming came from the weapon, which turned into a rhythmic whom-whom-whom as he swung it around.

"Glowing light sword, cool or lame?"

"It is... somewhat ostentatious. Does it not pose a dire risk to your limbs?"

"I'll take that as a vote of no confidence, next question," Tony pointed the sword toward a pile of garbage in an alley and concentrated on shooting a modest fireball when he pulled the trigger. The garbage burned. 

"Gun sword that shoots magic, cool or lame?"

"That is hardly sedir mastery," Loki scoffed. “Do you even know how to use a blade?”

“I did fencing club in boarding school?” Tony said. “It’s not that complicated you just block and… stab,” Tony trailed off, his attention snagged by an odd spec in the sky.

Loki continued walking until he was several paces ahead. Only when Tony failed to catch up did he turn, his mouth opening to speak, and Tony held up a hand.

Flattening that hand along his brows to block the starlight, he squinted up at the dotted miasma of space dust and planets.

The spec grew closer with alarming speed, it's color shifting and morphing to match the dark of the sky. Then it passed into the light of the star, and the entire right side came out of stealth.

“Oh crap,” he muttered. Loki's face fell in matching dread.

It was a four winged craft with a pyramid-like body, gargantuan and imposing. 

Tony knew it on sight, would never forget it for the rest of his life. Not after Titan, after taking a goddamn moon to the face.

It came to a stop overhead and at least twenty long range turret guns armed themselves along the wings.

Whether by coincidence or vengeful purpose Tony couldn’t even begin to guess, but Thanos and his army had arrived.

Chapter Text

A beam of white light connected the ship and the colony, and a heavy sense of foreboding froze Tony to the spot.

Men and women of different sizes and shapes fell slowly through it, their hair and clothes floating around them until their feet touched solid ground. Although some were unfamiliar, most were bad memories brought distressingly back to life.

Squidward, for one. 

The Hulk wannabe for another, whose fist-shaped trenches still marred Central Park in Tony's day. 

The Blue Meanie and Cover Girl. 

And at the front, ole thumb head himself, all nine of his purple chins cutting a crisp profile under the streetlights.

The Children made up a neat formation on either side, and as a unit the group stomped into Eitri's shop.

"Guess we're staying a little longer," Tony muttered. "Are you good for a brawl?"

"I prefer an orderly skirmish," Loki said lightly.

"Would it kill you to just answer 'yes' or 'no' every once in a while?"

The kid gave him a dagger grin. "Possibly."

Tony snorted, and took off at a run. It was easier than it used to be, with good lungs and healthy knees.

Several of the Children clocked them when they came around the bend, and drew their weapons in preparation.

Thanos held a double ended blade to Eitri's throat.

"If you refuse to cooperate, I will have no choice but to force you. Heed my warning dwarf, or many lives will be lost today."

"My skills were not cultivated to destroy worlds," Eitri said, though his hands rose above his head in surrender.

Loki kept pace, his cape billowing behind him.

"He will attack the city if he does not get his way. We must be ready," he said.

The murder grape turned his head at the sound, frowning as they skidded into the courtyard of the workshop.

"Maw, tell the helmsman to send in our forces," Thanos ordered. "It seems wisdom and reason will not prevail today."

The grey telepath closed his eyes momentarily.

"It is done, my lord."

A crack of yellow energy flashed in the courtyard, and two magically charged maces appeared in Eitri's fists.

"You may search every household in this colony. You will find no craftsman but me who can forge what you seek. And I will never yield to the threats of a madman."

"Very well. You leave me no choice."

Thanos punched Eitri in the gut with an infinity-powered fist. The giant crashed bodily through the wall of the courtyard, and through three other buildings behind it. 

The Titan stepped through the hole in the wall, and took a lightning bolt dead on. Though it didn't pierce his invulnerable skin, it did cause him to stumble and take a step back.

Tapping at his chest, Tony brought out Iron Man and got himself ready to rumble.

"I think Eitri can handle him for a bit. Our priority should be the civilians, and taking down the ship."

Loki summoned his daggers with a flash of green magic. "The Power Stone-"

"Is the easiest to get now that we have time on our side," Tony interrupted. "Hero Work 101, kid. Innocent lives always come first. These people need our help. We won't let them down."

The god's eyes shined, and he nodded grimly.

"I will follow your lead."

Tony smiled tensely, and brought his helmet down with a click.

Dozens of white beams appeared across the colony, the dark shapes of men and monsters flowing through them.

Gasps of alarm and bellowed war cries echoed down the streets, as the citizens of Niðavellir became aware of their peril. 

Women with picks and shovels ran out of a nearby foundry, followed closely by men in heavy leather aprons with hammers. 

The shrieks of dwarves, beasts, and grey skinned aliens echoed from all directions as chaos descended on the settlement.

At first it seemed the size and number of the dwarves would give them the advantage, but then the turrets on the wings of Thanos' ship opened fire.

The ground Tony's feet gave an unsettling shake.

"Hit the ship first. We need those guns down," he pointed.

"Behind you!" Loki threw a bolt of green over Tony's shoulder. He spun in time to see all six children advancing.

It would have been an unwinnable fight two weeks ago, but he had the stones supporting him now. If he used them well it would be amateur hour.

"I can take them, you disarm the turrets."

Loki threw a dagger at Gamora, and shot Tony a look that almost passed for condescending.

"I'll be fine, go on," he smirked, nudging Loki with a fist to his upper arm. "Worrywart."

"I'm not worried. I'm preparing my speech to mock your arrogance."

The god strutted through a dark portal.

"Keep telling yourself that, Junior." Tony shook his head, and scanned the line of looming threats with the Mind Stone.

By far the least defended was the big one, who went by the laughable moniker ‘Cull Obsidian.’

It was easily overheard because the goliath spoke to himself in third person like a cartoon wrestler. Cull Obsidian not like location. Cull Obsidian punch through the floor.

With minimal effort Tony punched through his mind's perimeter and declared himself the boss.

"Cull, attack," he ordered, pointing at Nebula and Gamora. The big lug obeyed. 

The shouts of surprise were pretty gratifying, after the mess Nebula made of his shoulder two days ago.

With the two daughters occupied, only Maw and two unknowns remained. One was a man, tall and narrow with a glaive in his hand. The other looked to be a woman, the upper half of her face protected by curly, ridged horns.

“Is anyone else getting deja vu, or is it just me?” Tony taunted.

Brandishing his gun, he shot an orb of red at the man and hit him square in the chest. He fell, paralyzed, and dropped his weapon with clatter.

"Corvus!" the woman shouted, and suddenly Tony had a flying spear coming for his face.

Activating his Reality blade, he blocked vertically in front of him and watched it carve the spear in half. With a spinning flourish he deactivated the beam and fired again.

The second bullet hit her off target, but that hardly mattered with the stone powering the impact. She fell in a boneless heap all the same.

Unfortunately that was all the free hits he could get from the element of surprise, before Ebony Maw attacked with ruthless efficiency.

Gathering garbage from a nearby alley, he disintegrated it with a wiggle of his fingers and formed a barrage of iron daggers. They charged silently, and even when Tony juked through the air they adjusted their trajectory to follow.

Extending his sword, he sliced around in looping arcs and cut down as many as he could. His free hand fired repulsor blasts at random, but some of the spikes still got through. 

They pierced painfully through the chinks in his armor and he had to rip them out one by one. In the time it took him to do it, Maw had already thrown a dumpster at his head. 

Tony threw himself to the ground and latched his feet into the metal roadway, calling his spare nanobots into a tall shield at his front.

“Throwing trash, really? That's a cheap shot,” he spat, but Maw just leered silently.

In the heat of the moment time felt sluggish and strange. He scanned his surroundings, trying to gauge if they were winning or losing.

A cluster of dwarves were taking on an alien creature to his right. On his left Gamora and Nebula had dogpiled on Obsidian, and the juggernaut’s self-narrated thoughts became distracting in their terror. 

Tony let his mind go, just so he could hear himself think. The guy was done for anyway.

After what felt like a minute but was really only seconds, the dumpster collided with his shield. Even with the armor's strength he had to grunt and strain. 

Cripes, that was a rough one. If not for the shield he might have needed to apologize to Loki for breaking what he’d only just fixed.

Speaking of the devil, an acrobatic figure far, far away caught his eye. 

Loki's gold-winged form flitted along the spacecraft wings, dancing from turret to turret in a sequence of flips and popping explosions. 

Tony’s nerves settled at the sight. 

It was nice to have good help for a change.

Snapping back to his own problems, he deconstructed his shield and turned the leftover bots into extra thrusters for his boots. 

Flying at maximum speed, he aimed a wide kick at Maw's ugly face. His armor froze in midair.

"You'll have to try harder than that," the alien murmured, and the silver-laced tone gave Tony the creeps.

"No such thing," he spat, and lashed out as hard as he could with the Mind Stone.

He hit an impenetrable wall.

"What-"

"I am familiar with the powers of the Mind," Ebony whispered, mirthful eyes alight on his otherwise expressionless face. "You could not hope to overpower me so inelegantly."

Maw had sway over all things matter, a telekinetic the Nebula of the future had explained. 

He could manipulate objects with his mind. Not living matter, not people, just things.

Taking a risk, Tony opened up the back of his suit and let himself fall through. It wasn't his most graceful disengage, but he managed to land in a roll and not break anything. 

The Reality gun remained in his grasp, and he urged his shaking hands to aim. Just one more second, just long enough to pull the trigger and he'd be safe, he'd be—

A shadow darkened his crouched form, and on gut instinct he lit the blade and swung.

The gleaming tip of Gamora's short sword fell uselessly to the roadway, and Tony noticed Obsidian's lifeless body two seconds too late. Nebula stabbed him twice more for good measure, and shouted out her victory as she pulled her dagger loose.

The split-second distraction was all it took for Maw to turn the fight. The next thing Tony knew, his pistol was wrenched violently from his hand. Real fear gripped him for the first time that day.

"Ah, the Reality Gem. A terrible waste of its power. We shall put it to better use."

Sheets of riveted darksteel separated from the wall of a nearby building, and wrapped themselves uncomfortably around Tony's unprotected body at Maw's command.

With a painful crash, the metal cocoon threw him backwards into a wall. It squeezed tighter, and he yelled.

Maw lowered his hands, his delicate footsteps carrying him serenely to the hovering gun.

The threat of failure pressed in on Tony almost as heavily as the steel. It was just like the first time. The unwarranted ambush, the overwhelming numbers, Maw's ugly, guileless face as he used his bullshit powers to earn victories he didn't deserve.

Exposed and immobile, he only had one avenue left.

It hadn't gone well the last time, but he had to try.

"Nebula," he yelled.

The sisters stared at him like he'd spoken in tongues.

"You will attempt your persuasion again?" the Blue Meanie scoffed.

"Don't you want to be free of all this? Look around, I already beat half your team. We can do this, we can beat him and it all stops. No more duels, no more unwanted upgrades. You can go wherever you want and not have to feel afraid."

Nebula bared her teeth, and the little hope left in Tony died.

"Step aside, girl," Maw ordered, and angled the gun at Tony's head.

"Please-"

His friend from another life growled, and swung a dagger straight for his face. He ducked, eyes squeezed shut and bracing for the impact, but it never came.

Gamora stood between them, holding off Nebula's stride with the edge of her off-hand blade. Huh. He hadn't seen that coming.

"Traitor! I knew it. I knew something was not right with you," Nebula spat, her teeth clenching as she struggled against Gamora's strength.

"The man is right. I do not want this, any of it. And I will fight for my freedom."

“He'll kill you! I will win and he will sever your skull from your spine.”

The sisters descended into a flurry of slashes and kicks, and in the commotion they both forgot about Ebony Maw.

Tony struggled against his restraints, a new wave of dread making cold sweat bead on his brow.

"Alright, Crypt Keeper, let's talk about this," he babbled, scrambling to think of anything that could stall the inevitable.

Maw dragged out the moment, walking until the barrel was flush against Tony's forehead.

Heavy, shaking breaths shook Tony's frame, and his pulse roared in his ears.

And then Loki appeared behind Maw with a murderous look on his face.

Drops of slimy indigo alien blood splattered on his face as a gold stiletto erupted out of Ebony's neck. 

Even as he slumped in relief, Tony winced at the brutality.

" Go on , he says. I'll be fine, he says." Loki rolled his eyes, his lip curling at the stench of blood. Tony's nose wasn't fond of it either.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. What are you waiting for, get me out of here."

Loki shot the metal sheets holding Tony captive, and the next thing he knew he was buried to the knees in a pile of colorful, glossy shelled candies. 

The god popped one into his mouth and chewed, watching the daughters' on-going scuffle with mild interest.

Rolling with the absurdity, Tony ate one too. It was alright. Weirdly meaty. Holding out his open palm, he wiggled his fingers.

"Oh no, it's mine now," Loki tsked. "You nearly gave it to our enemies."

Shaking his head, Tony snatched it from the god's loose grip and slipped it in the holster.

By the time he extracted himself from the pile, Gamora had more or less won the slap fight. With one more unpleasant looking blow to the head she floored Nebula, and stood up as gracefully as a Vegas go go dancer.

Wiping sweat from her brow, she put her sword in its sheath and eyed the crater where her father and Eitri were locked in an increasingly one-sided duel. 

Though he'd only known him a few days, Eitri's sluggish blocks and weak counterstrikes worried Tony.

"Our friend needs help with Thanos, but if we don't stop those transporters we're going to be overrun soon," Tony said.

"I can try," Gamora said, though her face looked wary and grey.

"Don't fight him head on, just keep him busy," Tony warned. "Once the ship is down we'll take him out some other way."

The green girl set her shoulders back and stepped easily over the bodies of her former allies.

"I will buy as much time as I can."

"We won't leave you hanging. Come on, Loki," Tony said, and fired his thrusters.

The wings of Loki's familiar spread out and flapped, and he took to the air as well.

"What do you require of me?"

Tony climbed higher, and studied the arrangement of the colony.

In all honesty, he could probably just shoot Thanos with the gun and erase him from existence. Same with the ship. It would be fast, clean. By all accounts that’s what he should do.

But this overgrown purple jelly bean single handedly ruined his life, and the truth of the matter was that he didn’t want it to be clean. He wanted to make the Titan suffer, to avenge.

At the sight of the star and the colony, a plan formed in his mind that felt right, poetic even.

The five rings were all connected by a central axis, where a thick blackiron gate held a massive crystal prism. Light from the star passed through the gate and came out the other side a concentrated beam of pure energy. 

The doors of the gate were the only thing stopping it from melting the entire town, and they could only be opened by the pulling of two levers. 

Aimed at something other than the forge, the star beam would be a weapon unlike any other. Capable of incredible heat and destructive energy. 

It was a wild idea, but it could work.

Flying closer to his companion, he pointed to the gate with the prism.

"The ship is too big for normal weaponry, we're going to need something bigger. Much bigger. I need you there, to open the dam."

Loki's brows pinched. "How does that help us? It merely lights the forge."

"Just do it, I'm handling the math."

He didn't bother checking to see if Loki listened, he was already on his way. With the benefit of height he was able to work out the geometry of what he wanted to do, and flew to the outermost ring.

Setting his hands flat on the edge, he remade the feet of his suit into one large thruster, and added extra support to his arms and back. With all of his power he pushed, and the ring gave a stubborn groan.

Counting out the seconds, he pushed until he'd moved it thirty degrees. He separated his feet and flew to the gate, where the falcon cape had just finished delivering Loki.

Platforms were built on either side of the gate, with one lever attached to each. Tony stood opposite his companion, and leaned to check the view of the beam.

Thanos' ship lay dead ahead.

"Okay, on my mark we pull, and blast that sucker out of the sky," he said.

Loki looked at him like he was nuts. Or maybe just dumb.

"Stark, this device is useless. The star is up there."

Loki pointed, correctly, above their heads. Tony feigned forgetfulness.

"Oh, right. Silly me."

Whipping out the pistol, he sent a careless bullet toward the star and repositioned its massive body so it was once again behind the gate.

"Alright, on three."

"Did you just throw an entire galaxy out of alignment so you could weaponize its star?" Loki sputtered.

He raised his brows in what he hoped was a decent impression of Loki's own 'um, yes?' face.

"I'll put it right back," he quoted, deadpan. "Now enough talking, on my mark. Three, two, one... Pull!"

With both arms and the help of his thrusters, he got his lever down. The weight was intense, built for giants and not for puny old mortals like him, but he held it valiantly as blinding, scorching light passed between them. 

Even to the side of the beam it was almost unbearable, and so bright he had to turn his head away and squint.

From the other side he heard Loki shout, and when he looked up he saw the great ship burning. First at the center, but then wider and wider as the internal parts caught fire. Letting out a whoop to match Loki's howling, he doubled down on the pressure and held until the ship was a charred husk.

Burning debris fell from the crumbling hull, and as he finally let up both lower wings snapped all the way off.

Looking over the gap in the platform, he saw Loki slumped and exuberant.

"You are utterly mad, and that was brilliant," the god panted.

Tony slid his face plate up and wiped at his sweat streaked forehead.

"No kidding. But buck up, we're gonna do it again. Gimme the Tesseract."

"Where in Freya's tits is yours?" Loki balked.

"In my bag in the apartment.. Come on, just give it here."

"You left it AGAIN?!"

"It's really inconvenient! I don't have magic pockets, and my bag is heavy as shit." Tony crossed his arms.

Loki stared.

"I am beginning to understand why you feel you need two of everything," he sniffed. "You can't be arsed to keep track of anything, can you?"

"Why do you think it's in my bag? So I don't lose it.”

Loki cursed and grumbled, but he did pull out his Tesseract. Then he shot a pointy dagger of energy into it and cracked it right down the middle.

"Woah, woah–" Tony jumped over the void to intervene.

With a face of supreme annoyance Loki fished a gem out of the ruined Tesseract and stuck it front and center on the nanobot reservoir. A layer of shiny, transparent material covered the surface, setting it in place.

"There, now you've no excuse. It is literally attached to you," the god said petulantly.

Tony followed the motion with his eyes, and tried to smother his shit-eating grin. 

The black portal made re-aiming the rings much faster the second time, and when he returned Loki was tense and eager, poised for the kill. Fair enough, Tony felt the same.

You think it’s fun to throw a moon at me, asshole? He thought darkly. Get ready to take the full power of a star.

"On three," he repeated.

"Three," Loki said immediately, and threw the latch on his side of the gate. Tony followed along, silently agreeing.

Two less seconds of Thanos living was a prize worth having.

The prism collected the star's energy into a raging, caustic beam, and all the way on the other side of the colony Eitri and Gamora fought.

Cornering Thanos between them, they drove the Titan into the light.

His body writhed and blackened before their eyes, and when Tony finally let up there was nothing but a pitchy, ashen smear.

Tension left him in waves, and he shot the sun back into its rightful place. Loki straightened his hair and clothes, as if preparing for others to see. 

The fact that he wasn’t counted among the potentially judgmental others made something tight and hungry loosen in Tony’s chest. If only to himself he could admit that he wanted that. To be special to Loki. To be trusted implicitly.

From their vantage point at the edge of the colony, they could see the battle winding down. Beasts clawing and falling, soldiers crying out in death or dropping their weapons in surrender.

A round of cheering echoed down the walled streets of the five rings, and from some distant point he could just barely make out a lively drinking song.

Retracting the nanobots and scrubbing his hair out of his face, Tony met Loki's pale, battle-manic eyes.

"You know, kid, more and more I'm starting to think we actually might win this."

"If that is how you feel after a victory, then I am terrified to ask what you expected when we began."

Maybe it was the impromptu celestial rearrangement, or maybe it was just a normal post-battle high, but something muted Tony's judgement in that jubilant, light-headed moment.

Straddling the gap with a leg on either side, he put his hand to the back of Loki's neck and pulled until their foreheads collided. 

Loki's breathing became a choked startle, and Tony smiled wide.

"You helped a lot of people just now, including me. Good job."

Before he could regret the decision, and before Loki could say anything too pointed, he used the Space Stone to take them to the forge.

A party was already starting in the wreckage, and it was easy to get lost in the noise.

Just in front of a massive crucible, he found a pile of ash and charcoaled bones. Kicking through the dust with his boot, he found a pulsing, purple stone.

Power flowed off of it in waves, the surface of the ashes rippling like a pond. It felt corrupt and untamable, just standing near it, and Tony didn't even think of picking it up.

“On second thought I suppose you will have to carry the gunblade,” Loki said. “No mortal could touch that and live.”

"We're going to need a holder too. Unless you're a lot more powerful than even you know."

Loki stood shoulder to shoulder with him, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, I should think so,” the big guy agreed. "I don't much fancy burning myself alive."

Chapter Text

Ever since his personal reformation and the closing of his weapons division, Tony had prided himself on his green initiatives.

He wasn't perfect. He was still a billionaire with all the property and carbon emitting vehicles that came with that title, but for a man of his holdings his footprint was relatively small.

Despite that, the solid carbon vambrace he forged out of Thanos' ashes was his proudest achievement in zero-waste engineering so far. It fit Loki's forearm like a glove, and the iridescent black color complimented the beaming indigo of the Power Stone magnificently.

When he slipped it on, Loki's eyes slid closed and he sucked in a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

Tony watched, nervous, as the pulse on the giant's throat tremored and his hands cracked with purple sparks.

"Okay?"

Loki swallowed. His knobby fingers clenched and closed.

"It is exuberant," he said. "A bit wild."

"That's not a yes..."

Blinking quickly, the kid met his eye and frowned in a condescending sort of way.

"Would you rather I lie?"

"No, obviously," Tony huffed, but his tension leaked away. Sketchy and defensive was a good sign with Loki, it meant he was well enough to snark.

"Then know that it is strange and it makes me want to raise hell," Loki quipped. "I can handle it, for a time, and that is all you need to know."

Translation; he didn't like it, but there was no other way for them to carry and use it. So he would persevere. Fair enough.

Using his handy new Space Stone reservoir, he brought them both back to the apartment and gathered up his scattered supplies. His complaints during the battle must have hit a chord, because Loki stepped up beside him and grabbed the strap of his bag.

Tony put his hand on his hip and watched Loki open a larger magic pocket than usual.

"You are really hung up on this misplacing thing, aren't you?"

The rucksack disappeared into the compartment with a quiet voop and Loki circled his hands to close it.

"If a man demonstrates himself to be forgetful, do not expect him to remember," Loki replied with his chin high.

Tony sighed. "You won't have to worry long... only one stone more."

"Soul," Loki hummed. "Vormir, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"I've never heard of such a place."

"Apparently it's near some place called Knowhere?" Tony crossed his arms.

"Ah... " Loki worried his lip.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"You fucked someone over there, didn't you?"

"Not precisely -"

"Oh here we go," Tony shook his head, but the words came out fond. "Is this another one of those mythic things, or—"

A strange noise sounded behind them, like a dinging of an elevator. Tony glanced over his shoulder just fast enough to see a thin gold rectangle appear out of thin air. It widened rapidly into a shape roughly reminiscent of a door.

"Oh for the love of Höðr," Loki muttered. "Not the-"

"TVA, put your hands where I can see them!"

"Who are these clowns? Cops?" Tony asked, dropping the protein bars in his hands and raising them.

"Worse," Loki growled, his right eye twitching as his brows fell into a flat line. "Bureaucrats."

The small room quickly crowded with bodies, at least twelve or fifteen fully armored guys with domed helmets and assault rifles. The guns had blinding flashlights mounted on them, and from the back of the group someone threw a smoke bomb.

"Now let's be reasonable about this-" Tony started.

He did not get a chance to finish.

From behind him another golden door opened and ten more goons piled in. In the confusion and the fog, he hadn't even had time to get his suit on before there were handcuffs on his wrists and some kind of heavy, constricting collar slapped around his neck. 

Gloved hands shoved him through a portal and though his instincts were screaming at him to resist, Loki's form beside his was compliant and calm.

"Reasonable is not the way of the Timekeepers, I’m afraid. Remain calm, it would do us well not to give them additional charges to try us for."

"Charges?!"

"Shhh!" Loki hissed. "Play along."

Tony shut his mouth.

The other side of the glittering door was a drab, stifling office space. Everything was orange, and grey, and sad, putrid green. Darkly lit, like too much brightness might dissolve the all-important  atmosphere of mystery.

Hatred for the place rose up almost instantly. It reminded Tony of suffocating afternoons at SHIELD headquarters, waiting hours and hours after school for his dad to finish up work and take him home.

A disorienting series of events took place very, very quickly.

First they were shoved through a pair of metal detectors and all of their clothes and weapons disappeared. Tony panicked a little—well, okay, a lot —but a withering glare from Loki silenced any complaints.

Next, two intimidating ladies in riot gear led them through the winding maze of a waiting room queue. At the end was a glass service desk with a line of unsmiling clerks.

"Name?" one of them asked.

Tony opened his mouth to answer and a blinding flashbulb caught him unaware.

"Gotcha," the clerk snorted.

Two plastic ID cards popped out of a printer that would have looked at home in the early parts of a Steve Jobs biopic. One after the other, like flat, white robot turds.

"Okay lady, I am this close to-"

"Stark..." Loki drawled, accepting the cards and lanyards the clerk shoved through a slot in the glass.

His eyes were closed in his picture. Loki looked like a deer in headlights.

Tony snatched his and clipped it to his belt.

"Who died and made you the voice of reason?" he growled.

Loki smiled blandly, and followed their Amazonian escort through a turnstile.

"Where are they taking us anyway?" Tony asked.

"To be killed, I suspect," Loki said under his breath. “Or, possibly, unmade. ”

The hallway opened up into a vast atrium, hundreds and hundreds of kaleidoscopic balconies stretching seemingly forever over their heads, with a pair of elevators moving between them. Three solemn statues guarded the base with their hands in a strange salute.

Loki nodded to them. "The Timekeepers were granted this Nul-Time Zone to keep the dimensions orderly. I did not realize it had become such a circus."

"Quiet, variant," one of their guards said, and Tony didn't like the tone of that .

"Why do I get the sense that 'variant' is a dirty word around here?"

"Because it is," Loki quipped. He looked almost proud of it, though, which calmed Tony's nerves a bit. Whatever was going on, Loki at least had an inkling of what they were up against.

"It means he should not exist," the other guard said.

"Oh my god, you both talk." Tony feigned surprise.

"I'm no less real than you Minutemen," Loki muttered. After a pause, he added, "And women."

"Minute people ?" Tony shook his head. "Mmm, no. Doesn't work."

"Not very snappy," Loki agreed.

"Silence!" The first Minute-madam said.

Unnaturally strong arms shoved him toward a closed elevator door and he passed right through the shiny gold barrier. A few seconds of freefall later his feet slammed onto a piss yellow tile floor.

A motionless man in spectacles stared at them.

He and Loki startled as one, taking in the cramped room and the competing odors of printer ink and cat litter. Tony gagged from the stench.

The clerk slid two stacks of paper across the shoulder-height desk. One was about four times thicker than the other.

"Please sign to verify this is everything you've ever said."

Tony reached for the taller of the two and Loki cleared his throat.

"What?"

The shrill whine of an old laser printer pierced Tony's ears.

"Sign this too."

"This is absurd."

The printer shot out another sheet.

"Sign this too."

"Is it going to do that every time?"

"Of course it will, fool, it is 'everything we've ever said.' Now stuff your ego before you sign the wrong stack."

"You stuff your everything, this is mine. Look, it has our names at the top."

"I've been alive one thousand and forty-seven years, it is absolutely impossible for you to-"

The reel of paper from the ceiling lowered quickly as the machine struggled to keep up. The pencil pusher looked mildly concerned as sheets began to spit rapidly from the tray.

Noticing his distress, Tony smirked.

"Hey, shower thought; if you make it to 2023, would that make you one thousand and fifty-eight?"

"No," Loki wrinkled his nose. "I would not have the lived experience or the physical wear of the intervening years. Am I eleven years older for having travelled with you for two weeks?"

The clerk slapped sheets down as fast as he could, struggling to keep up with the pace of their speech. The printer started to smoke.

"Anyway, it's right here in black and white, Variant L1130. This one says Accused S1632. When I gave you the Tesseract you diverged from where Loki should have been, making you a variation of him. I'm from the original line so I'm just a normal criminal, I guess. Assuming that's what's happening. It sure feels like it."

"That is what's happening," a new voice said behind them. “Very astute, Stark.”

The hair on Tony's neck prickled and stood up. He looked over his shoulder.

A badge was flashed in his face, a brief flash of dirty blond hair and bored eyes.

"Mobius M. Mobius, I'll be your case officer."

"Finally, someone reasonable. Please, Officer Mobius, inform my compatriot that it is physically impossible for him to have spoken more words in his brief mortal lifespan than I have in over a millennium."

"Ah... no can do, my friend, that would be a lie. Your little buddy is right."

"Little?!"

Loki snorted, the bastard. "That is unbelievable."

Tony flipped through the massive stack, a little impressed with himself.

"It's mostly me talking to bots. That's... okay, so that's a little sad."

"Agreed, and can I just say that you dictating every single light switch, door opening, and elevator floor makes for very dense reading?" Mobius quipped. "And I do this for a living."

The printer started to make an alarming high-pitched squeal. The clerk did something similar.

The officer took a sip from his coffee mug and sighed.

"Never mind the red tape. Follow me." He tapped one of the mysteriously labeled floor buttons with his elbow and the room rang with a metallic ding . The doors opened onto a modest reception area surrounded by desks.

Tony gasped at the sweet return of normal recycled air instead of overwhelming cat dander.

Loki clapped him on the back with a crooked smile.

"I suppose we've caused quite the ruckus. Traipsing about the timelines without a care."

"That would be an understatement," Mobius said mildly. He had a strut like a cowboy and an unflappable demeanor, and despite himself Tony kind of liked him. He hurried his steps to keep up with the brisk pace, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"We're going to put it all back. That's the plan, anyway. Is that taken into account by the time lords... the time court... the—the time thingy?"

"It might get you a lesser sentence, but I plan to argue for rehabilitation and community service," Mobius waved his coffee mug dismissively. "Anyway, we'll get into that. First, let's go over your crimes."

Lifting his card from a retractable lanyard at his belt, the officer scanned it on a door labeled Time Theater Twenty-Five. He pushed it open and tipped his head in an invitation that felt more like an order.

The room had a small conference table with exactly three chairs.

"Take a seat."

Tony met Loki's eyes for a beat, wondering when exactly they were going to break out. Loki shrugged. Wonderful.

Settling into the middle chair, Tony watched Mobius walk to a credenza in the back of the room.

A tangerine globe was centered on the table, and when Tony reached out to touch it the officer scolded him without looking. A tinny crack and a hiss caught his ear.

"Soda?" Mobius asked.

"Sure, make my day," Tony shrugged.

An orange can beaded with moisture clinked on the glass-top table.

"La Croix. For real? What kind of burning hellscape is this?"

Unperturbed, Mobius returned to the credenza and uncorked a decanter.

"Well you don't drink, so I thought it would be impolite. Loki?" he asked, raising the glass container and sloshing the russet colored contents around.

"Yes, yes, you know everything about us. This is not our first capture. Cease this tedious posturing and get to the point," the god droned.

"Suit yourself."

Mobius tipped a finger or two into his coffee and swirled it with a spoon. Picking up a remote from the countertop, he activated the device on the table.

A colorful hologram appeared of the lobby in Stark Tower, and of the Tesseract sliding across the floor to Loki's feet.

"I was preemptively assigned to Loki's case as soon as you and your 'Avengers' used your little toys to jump back and do some time muckery." 

Mobius nodded at Tony's hologram self and leaned his hip on the credenza. 

"But as I prepared for the assignment a bunch of anomalies started appearing, and before I knew it there was a whole new timeline that wasn't there before."

"In my defense, that wasn't part of the plan, and I honestly had very little to do with it." Tony leaned on his elbows.

“Oh how quickly you turn, Tony. You wound me.”

“It’s the truth!” he sputtered.

"Ha! You keep tellin' yourself that, little buddy,” Mobius said.

"Say 'little' again and I'll uncrook that jacked-up nose of yours, pal. "

"Touchy, touchy!" Mobius smiled, and clicked the remote again. A sequence of images passed by quickly as he spoke.

"I don't make the rules, I just know that you two have a lot of explaining to do. Look at this timeline you made, just look. No invasion of New York, no real Avengers. Bruce Banner is wandering around India instead of wrecking face in Sakaar.

Barton was never mind controlled at all—that's a huge change. Coulson, never died. There was no nuke for your other self to catch, so now the entire Ultron era is a big question mark. Without Ultron there's no Wanda, no Sokovia Accords, no Vision . Because of no Sokovia, you have no Zemo, no breakdown of the Avengers."

Mobius spread his arms with a blank look on his boyish face. "It's a mess! It's so far out of compliance I might have to retcon the whole dimension."

"I'm going to level with you here, Moby Dick," Tony said, running his pointer finger along his lip. "I thought about... uh, exactly none of that. When I was doing it. But I don't stand by you murdering a trillion people all casual like that."

"Oh I don't relish the idea, but I've got quotas to keep. You're a businessman, you understand. It gets worse on his side, though," Mobius continued, flicking his eyes to Loki. "No Aether means no dark elves, no Malekith. Frigga doesn't die, so Thor doesn't get cold feet about taking the throne.

You straight up killed Ronan, so there goes an entire war in the Nova Corps and all those people who were supposed to die. Do you know how pissy Death gets when we don't deliver her souls on time? And that's not even counting all the deaths you just delayed by bug zapping Thanos eleven years too early."

"So what you are saying, if I properly grasp your meaning," Loki said slowly. "Is that we saved many lives, and prevented much tragedy... and this is a bad thing?"

"Of course it's bad, it's different . It's not how things are supposed to be. And around here people get really hung up on that. It's kind of our entire job."

"I mean, I hoped we were making improvements but I didn't even know we were doing that good," Tony smothered a smile at the projected images of happy, living people.

"It's not good, it's illegal! It's maybe the most disruptive time crime ever committed," Mobius sputtered.

Time crime. Delightful.

Yeah, they definitely weren't walking out of this place peacefully. They'd probably be lucky to walk out instead of running. A surreptitious glance to his right confirmed that Loki was thinking along the same lines.

Flicking the still full can of La Croix, Tony sighed.

"Do they serve anything other than piss water around here, or is that only for the good little convicts?"

"Our standards for inmate care are unmatched, thank you very much," Mobius huffed.

He opened the wet bar again and bent over to look into the back.

"We've got water, tea, juice boxes..."

Tony tapped his finger on his cheek, and then two.

Loki sat up from his slouch.

"How about sparkling?"

Mobius squatted to get a better angle. The third finger tapped on Tony's cheek.

With a blur of motion and the scraping of metal chair legs, they both bolted for the door.

Loki got there first, throwing it open and gut punching the guard on the other side. Sliding past the scuffle, Tony spotted a second armored minuteman and nimbly ducked behind him.

The guard swung an elbow at him and Tony used the momentum to throw the big guy over his back. A rustle of tan jumpsuit announced Loki's departure, and he took that as his cue.

Their feet pounded on the concrete floors, and at his back Tony could hear Mobius yelling. A secretary with chestnut skin and tight ringed curls came around a corner and Loki nearly knocked her to the ground.

Tony sputtered out a rushed apology as he picked her up off the floor and kept running.

"Where the hell are we going?!" he yelled.

"Our seized property. It must be stored somewhere," Loki answered manically.

Another hall, another corner, and then they were back at the reception desk. A whole squadron in riot gear was waiting for them. Loki clenched his hand as if to cast, and the collar on his neck sparked loudly. The big guy twitched and grunted, and Tony put his hands in the air.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"You've absolutely no faith, my friend," Loki tsked.

And then he ran, like a madman, right at the guys with the guns. For a second Tony thought he was a dead man, but then Loki stuck his arm out and swatted about ten huge stacks of paper into the air.

Guns fired and office workers shouted. Everything was white and madness as the giant spun and ripped open the zipper of Tony's jumpsuit.

For a hot second he thought the kid had lost his mind. Then Loki smiled a dagger grin at his chest.

The reservoir was still there, and the Space Stone attached to it.

"Ah."

"Imbeciles," Loki purred.

He placed his hand over the pulsing surface, and they both disappeared in a fog of black and blue.

The room on the other side was quiet, unnaturally so. Insulated by a total lack of sentient life and a solid half-mile of books.

Rows and rows of archival shelves stretched in every direction, regimented into stern, orderly rows.

On his left was a floor to ceiling window, through which Tony could see an entire floating city. Networks of roads, bridges, and flying vehicles criss-crossed between massive plates, suspended from their centers by vertical beams.

Gazing over the vista, he saw no visible signs of alarm. Evidently the Null-Time Space had evolved beyond flashing lights and bullhorns. Or maybe they just hadn't reached this sector yet. 

They probably hadn't been expecting teleportation, not with the collar dampening Loki's magic.

Even keeping his voice down to a breath, it felt like he was shattering some preternatural barrier with his volume.

"Where are we?"

Loki had goosebumps on his arm, still gripping the edge of the reservoir.

"I’m not sure. I simply asked the stone to place us where our possessions are being kept," Loki whispered.

"Well, first things first, let's get these damn collars off."

Pulling the nanobots from his center, he coated his hands and forearms and wormed his fingers carefully under the edge of Loki's band. It sparked and crackled, but the big guy gritted his teeth and held still.

"Alright?" Tony asked.

"Just do it."

He pulled, straining. It didn't budge.

"Shit, these are intense."

"Hurry-" Loki hissed.

Nerves tingled Tony's neck and back, and he added small jets to his forearms. With the aid of the repulsor tech, he pulled strongly, and the band finally snapped. The red light blinked, and then went out.

They stood perfectly still for a handful of panted breaths. Nothing happened.

Granted, this place didn't believe in alarms so that was no guarantee.

"Ok, I think we're good. Do me."

After a little grunting and complaining, Tony's came off as well.

He rubbed at the sweaty, chafed skin and rolled his neck.

"How do we keep getting into these situations?" he huffed.

Loki rolled his eyes. "One stone left, take heart."

"Assuming we get them back. This place is a maze."

"Yes, but you forget," his partner said gamely, weaving emerald wisps between his fingers. "We now have my powers to guide us."

Tapping on his shoulder, Loki called the falcon into her avian shape. Gears ticking energetically, she ruffled up her feathers and shook out her wings. With a nip to her master’s nose she leaped to Tony’s shoulder and chittered happily in his ear.

“Why does my own familiar prefer you?” Loki grumbled.

Tony laughed, both from Loki’s peak and because the bird’s usual grooming tickled. Mindful of the knife-like edges of her plumage, he petted her head and marvelled at the tingle of pink that appeared on Loki’s neck.

“I’ve been told I have a certain magnetism.”

“Well, she is made of metal,” Loki sniffed. “I shall tell myself she is positively charged, if only for the sake of my ego.”

"You do that,” Tony chuckled. “We absolutely must protect your ego at all costs.”

The spell Loki had cast took root in the falcon’s eyes, and with a hop she took flight. Blazing a zigzag trail ahead of them, she led the way down the stacks.

The rows of bookcases had labels on the side—Manascus, Nebraska, Cicero’s Fourteenth Address, Keanu Reeves. The lack of context only made them more intriguing, but there wasn’t any time to get diverted by curiosity.

Eventually they arrived at a corridor, puke green carpet with lines of brown wood doors. A flickering overhead sign declared the area 'Evidence and Contraband' in an appropriately apathetic font.

"Have I told you lately that I love your bird?" Tony asked wryly. 

"Only with your eyes, darling," Loki clicked his tongue, his joking tone only barely covering his matching fondness.

Their spirited guide sped up at the praise, and all was silent except the soft thumps of their shoes and the rustling of their jumpsuits as they barrelled down the hall. 

Doors passed by at dizzying speed, all with interchangeable brass plaques and handles.

About fifteen paces ahead the falcon chirped and swooped, flying a large circle around an unremarkable door.

Celestials / Infinity Stones, it was labeled in spindly, serif hatched letters.

"Well done, pet," Loki said with pride, and placed her back on his shoulder. “Now you rest, this next part ought not be overly challenging.”

Cooing, the bird changed back into armor, and Loki pushed the door open. 

Tony groaned.

The room was far larger than it should have been; practically a garage, even though the spacing of the doors indicated it should be more of a closet. Wide, multi-shelf racks were covered in paper sacks and file boxes, all of them dusty and disorganized.

It was pitch black except for a series of harsh, overly yellow dome lights hanging over the aisles. It looked straight out of an old gumshoe detective movie.

"You had to jinx it, didn't you?" he sighed. "Oh ho ho, this shouldn't prove challenging , I'm Loki, I love tempting fate because I'm so damn whimsical—have you never heard of Murphy's Law?"

"Oh shut up." Loki stalked inside, squinting in the dimness. "Start on the right, I'll take the left."

"If you see a Soul Stone, shout," Tony said, only half joking.

Opening his first box, he found an oversized plastic cartridge with a thin, metallic tape spooled inside.

"Eight-track? They use eight-track. That is physically painful for me to contemplate."

"Hush, idiot. Search."

"Do you know how many of these it would take to store my music collection? Hell, just my work playlist would be a hundred of them."

Loki pulled a similar tape out of his file box, and frowned.

"They are not what they appear. This smells faintly of seiðr."

"Huh... "

Tony checked the front of his file box, where 'Earth-199999' was written in scribbled black marker. The same number from his intake paperwork. A timeline identifier.

At the end of his aisle under one of the spotlights he saw a small desk with one of the orange projector screens on it. The base had a rectangular slot and a series of buttons.

He slid the tape inside and a gloomy, petrified landscape appeared. Lifeless, whistling wind swept through two stone spires. 

A pair of figures stood hand and hand on the crest of a vicious, craggy cliff. A woman and a man, robin-red hair and a questionable buzz cut.

"If we don't get that stone, billions of people stay dead," Natasha said.

On the other side of the room Loki was making a racket out of searching, file folders slapping on the floor and paper sacks crinkling.

"Quiet! I'm trying to hear," Tony shouted, leaning in.

"I guess we both know who its gotta be," Clint said.

“What are they talking about? ‘Who its got to be’ for what?” Tony gripped the edge of the table.

Loki quieted, his eyes darting across an open file in his hands.

"It says here that the stone demands a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?" Tony asked with alarm. The pieces rapidly fell into place, as he remembered which stone Clint and Natasha were sent for.

The Soul Stone.

The murmured voices of his friends continued on the tape as Loki stepped in and out of the pillars of light, coming around the shelves to stand beside him.

The pitying look on his face did not at all help. An unwelcome realization crept up Tony’s neck like skittering spiders.

"That bitch Nebula, she never said anything-" he said shakily, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

"She might not have known."

"That's not fair, they're both—I gave them that assignment because it was supposed to be safe! They weren't supposed to be in combat, it was just some forgotten moon way out in the middle of-"

A harsh, brittle crack came from the player.

Tony's voice died in his throat as his friends started beating the shit out of each other, both trying to save the other's life. 

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All he could do was watch and wince and clench nail-shaped indents into his palm as they scraped bitterly towards the edge.

Loki moved his hand over the player's controls and Tony gripped his wrist in warning.

"You don't need to harm yourself with this, they may not even be your friends. They may be from any number of dimensions."

"It is," he said tightly, his throat closed up with horror. "The numbers match, this is my world. This is real. I have to-"

"That doesn't mean you need to watch."

Both figures threw themselves over the edge, held on by nothing but a wire tether and Tony was riveted, incapable of looking away.

“Tony, please,” Loki whispered.

"Those idiots, they can't—god, why didn’t we send someone else? This isn’t fair."

"Tony!" Loki said harshly, and this time the hand reached for his face. He couldn't fight it, not against a Jotun's strength. "Listen to me. We must find our stones. All can be corrected with them. Whatever is on this tape shall not come to pass, but we must search. Quickly."

"Let me go," Natasha said.

Tony blinked rapidly, and very suddenly the paralysis turned to nausea.

“I can’t,” Clint yelled, and begged.

"It's okay."

Numbly, he tore away from Loki and threw lids off every box in reach. 

Blind to everything but an infinity stone, his ears roaring with his hot, coursing blood, he took out his rage on the uncaring stacks of files, folders, and envelopes.

"It will be okay," Loki said a bit frailly.

A tense, coiling anger made Tony's answer acidic and cold.

"The stones. Now. Hurry." He shook his head and banished the afterimages from his mind. Focus, focus on fixing it. Crying never solved anything, not when there were reasonable actions to take.

Loki passed wordlessly behind him, but for a moment there was the pressure of a hand on his back.

"It will be okay,” his companion repeated.

Tony stopped, staring uncomprehendingly at the box in his hands. Loki hugged him. Only briefly. A winding of long arms around his shoulders and a steadying presence at his back.

No sooner had it come then it was gone, but he felt like he could breathe. He could actually pull the papers apart because his hands weren’t shaking as badly.

Minutes passed like seconds, and they overturned the storage room from one end to the other. Hidden, barely visible on the highest shelf, Loki extracted a spotless box that stank of fresh permanent marker. The label read 'Variant L1130.'

Inside were two outfits of linen and leather, two devices of Tony's own invention, and a stiff, yellow envelope with every color of the rainbow inside.

They dressed like soldiers, efficiently and without speech. Both of them bracing for whatever came next. A friend to save, and shadowy agency that was apparently working to undo all that they did.

Tony would face it, like he’d faced everything else in life. Head on, no hesitation. Worry about the feelings later.

Loki’s hand came to his back again, and this time he let himself feel the relief.

“I shouldn't have snapped."

"Do not apologize,” Loki murmured.

The big guy turned to face him, and rested his hands on Tony's shoulders.

"You have lost much in life. You will lose nothing more today, I swear it."

A deep, centering inhale helped him believe it, and then he nodded, glaring up at Loki.

"I don't know how the hell we get that stone, but I'm not sacrificing anyone to do it."

The giant nodded, a mirrored decision on his fine-boned features.

"No, my friend, you shall not."

Calling on both the Reality and Space stones at once, he saw the Time Stone around Loki’s neck light up as well. The energy twined between them, and folded itself into a gate.

Gripping Loki's hand, he swallowed down his fear and stepped through.

Chapter Text

Stagnant water and decay stung Loki's nose as the Stones' collective magic faded. A piercing wind blew his hair every direction, and in the craggy expanse before him two figures dove over the edge.

Tony darted for the cliff as fast as Loki had ever seen him, so fast he feared the suit would not cover him in time. The last bits were still stitching over his very breakable skull as he dropped, and although the mortal surely could survive with his Space Stone it still made his heart stutter.

A woman's grunt followed the fastening of a wire, and then a frenzied conversation happened that Loki could only partially hear. He was preoccupied with the chorus of bells ringing all around him.

Dimension doors opened at his left and right.

"Blast it—Tony, we have company!"

His energy surged and sparked with the Power Stone returned to his arm, so strong he could taste it on his teeth. If he were to touch it directly he would surely be consumed, but with it attuned to his bracer it felt like a well of boiling seiðr.

Two weeks ago he would have reveled in the force and security of it. Now he stays his hand, wary of Tony's judgement.

Variant, they called him. Unreal. The simulacrum of a real person.

So easily he had stuck his blade through his own chest thinking that man lesser, and yet he was just the same. Down to the blood, the bone, the scribbled markings in his childhood books. 

To kill these men would be a denial of the truth Tony showed him, and a slap in the face of his forgiveness. Rolling his eyes, he realized the mortal had given him a conscience, and at the most inconvenient time. It would be easy to kill them all, much harder to merely subdue them.

The first of the soldiers surged through the doors just as Tony landed with the two mortals in his arms. There was a cacophony of yelling.

"What are you doing here? Where's Steve and Scott?!" the woman yelled.

Barton’s voice overlapped hers. "What are you doing with all those stones?"

"Long story,” Tony answered. “Listen-"

The guards opened fire, forcing Stark into silence as he concentrated on summoning a blue shield from his arm. It blocked the soldier's bullets, but did nothing to stop their advance. Loki sought cover behind the nearest pillar and the mortals ogled him like a travelling circus.

"Is that... ?"

Barton threw himself to the ground, rolling to where he'd dropped his bow and drawing an arrow back. "Get down, he's brainwashed Stark. Something must have gone tits up in 2012."

"That's your hot take? I'm brainwashed?" Tony said.

The Widow assessed him, poised to react. "He sounds like himself."

"I’m not taking any chances," Barton growled and loosed his arrow. “Once is more than enough for me.”

At such a short distance Loki nearly failed to catch it, his hand snagging it mere inches from his forehead. He snapped it peevishly and threw the splintered ends back at the mortal.

"Woah, woah, cut it out. I've got the Mind Stone." Tony offered a waggly fingered wave, showing the orb on his palm, and if anything the spies appeared more alarmed.

"Then what the hell is he doing here?" Barton demanded, knocking another arrow with distaste.

The TVA’s bullets battered Tony's energy shield and chipped away at the crumbling spire behind Loki's back, and he lost his patience with the chatter. Calling on the Time Stone, he froze the guards with a wave of his hands and stalked into the open.

"Enough, Stark! Send them away before we are captured once more. These brigands will not allow us to escape so easily a second time."

"What does he mean, send us back?" Widow said.

Tony closed his fists, and that was the only answer the woman required. She took two slow steps back.

"We're not leaving without that stone," Barton said.

"And I'm not letting either of you die for it."

"That's not your choice to make," Widow murmured. She ran for the edge once more, and Tony pursued with a breathless curse.

The archer drew his bowstring, and Loki didn't care which he aimed for, he wouldn't allow him to fire.

Faster than blinking he teleported behind the mortal and froze him in time. He'd seen Stark operate the strange strapped devices when they jumped backward to steal the Mind Stone, he knew what to lift and press. Two efficient motions and the man disappeared before his eyes.

"Simpleton," he sneered, and ran for the cliff where Tony and the other spy were locked in a cat-and-mouse chase.

Tony kept pace with the help of his repulsors, but his limited flexibility made it impossible for him to hold her. Each time he got a hand near her device she would escape, and the process began anew.

Running down the line of the plateau, Loki resigned himself to his usual task of cleaning Stark's messes. Why the fool hadn't simply taken her mind and forced her retreat he didn't understand, but—pain stole the thoughts from his head. White hot, sharp, biting deep into his shoulder.

His vision swam, his entire right side locking up and making him stumble. The ground greeted him harshly, like a morning alarm. He gasped, and found the presence of mind to reach for the Time Stone.

The world blurred as he dragged himself and everything else backward. His body returned to vertical, his feet unwalked four wobbly steps. The bullet dislodged itself. He went several more seconds back to ensure he wasn’t hit a second time, and then let the timestream flow.

With his eyes trained the proper direction, he saw what had happened behind his back. A new squadron of Minutemen had arrived from the doors with crystals around their necks, small and sea green. They unfroze their compatriots one by one, who proceeded to open fire as they had been ordered.

Loki reversed again, and prepared to take down the new arrivals. However ineffectively Tony was fighting the Widow, he certainly would do better without bullets cutting the air.

Rushing between the incoming soldiers, he tossed and bludgeoned them against each other as they came through the doorways, all the while listening to Tony and the Widow's heated back-and-forth.

It was a messy, brutish fight, punctuated by kicks, repulsor fire, and the electric whine of the Widow's bite.

"I wondered why you changed your mind," she said, her voice strained by the arm Tony had around her neck. "Back at your house, you sound so sure. You say no. Two days later there you are."

Bending her legs over their heads, she pulled a knife from her boot and stabbed between the plates of Tony's wrist. He shouted, only letting up for a moment, but that was enough.

"Should have known. Tony Stark always has a backup plan." She threw him over her back and ran, loose gravel scraping under her shoes.

Tony fired his jets, stabilizing above the ground and flying after her. "Oh that's rich. That’s real rich coming from you. Back during the Accords, remember that? When you stabbed me in the back? Was that not a backup plan?"

"That was me trusting Steve." The Widow ducked as Tony came in fast from behind. He skidded and sparked on the craggy shale, now standing in her way with both arms out.

"Oh don't you start with the trust crap," Tony said. "Trust is sticking by someone, it's being accountable when you screw up. Which Steve demonstrated, unequivocally, that he's allergic to."

"That wasn't his fault. He never intended-"

"You think I intended to make Ultron and blow up Sokovia? It doesn't work like that, sugar. You don't get to forgive him and his perfect hair and his good intentions, and then put this all on me. I'm here, losing sleep and risking my ass because I can't trust you. Or Steve Rogers. Or anybody else. But for some damn reason I still don't wanna live in a world without you."

Tony's helmet disappeared, and his sallow, scraggly face pinched in a look of open pleading.

"Trust me, for once. Go home. Don't waste your life."

Loki couldn't see what her reaction was. Her face was turned away, and he had his own enemies to contend with. What he did hear was Tony yelping, and the crack of skin meeting skin.

He whipped his head around in time to see his friend recoil, and to track the arc of her leap. Tony flew, he caught her. He took her slaps and blows to his face and struggled to catch hold of her wrist.

It pained Loki to see his distress, to feel the weight of their history powering her blows.

He could not follow their insults, could not parse their vernacular, only the pain and love they shared. Like he and Thor. 

It spoke of comradery, of lives lived in parallel. Lives Loki had no part in and knew nothing about.

He watched them scuffle from afar, and saw himself for the interloper he was.

"I won't leave empty handed," Natasha swore.

Some hateful part of Loki wished it to be true, that she might have some final trick up her sleeve to stop Tony's tireless, indomitable forward motion.

But she didn't. He got her wrist in his hand, flipped open the cover of her device, and sent her home in a pillar of white. Loki's heart sank, even as his friend flashed the sign for victory.

Though he’d known it would end all along, he’d nevertheless become complacent living in the fantasy. Soon it would be at a close.

He stretched his face in the most belabored smile he'd ever given.

"You see, silly fool? All was amended. Nothing to worry about."

"Tell that to my face." Tony touched a bleeding wound and looked at the smear on his finger. "Should have called her the Black Cat instead. Look at these claw marks."

Taking out the Reality Blade, the mortal shot himself in the face. The cuts disappeared.

"Could you perhaps warn me before firing on yourself?" Loki sputtered.

"What? It's safe," Tony shrugged. "If it can make me a second face, why not use it to fix this one? I want to look good for our reunion tour."

"You looked fine with your wounds." Loki crossed his arms, knowing his short temper had nothing to do with Tony's face. "On Asgard such things are worn with pride."

"Explains the gold eye patches, I guess," Tony said. "Uh oh, incoming."

A new form did indeed come through a golden door, the hateful agent from before. Loki frowned.

Mobius wasn't armed, or even protected by plates. He held only a notepad and a bland look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, and Loki came to a number of conclusions very quickly.

First, that he did not care to hear a word that man had to say. Second, that he had the reality gun in easy reach. Third, that without the woman's sacrifice they were still in need of an infinity stone. And fourth, that there was no point in stalling the inevitable any longer.

They had searched the TVA's storage and found no spares. He'd promised Tony they would sacrifice nothing, and yet he knew no other way. One plus one made for simple math, as his mortal would sometimes say.

He took the gun from Tony's loose grip, and shot Mobius full in the chest.

Love was not an emotion Loki felt overly familiar with. They were like estranged friends, disconnected until one caught the other's eye across a banquet hall and then quickly averted his gaze. He did not need to consider whom he’d loved most.

Mobius became Tony Stark; embarrassingly disheveled with his hair tousled from sleep, his skin flushed from an elvish charm and his tunic spread for Loki's secret prodding. Loki's heart quickened, and he teleported behind the man before he could doublethink.

He met the original Tony's eyes over his doppelganger's shoulder, his face blanked with shock.

Tony's wide eyes felt like a stab to his own heart when he pushed the crimson blade through. A thrust and an upward cut, like he’d done to so many others, but this time it was excruciating to do.

The body fell forward, and Loki wished he still felt as he did on the Chitauri ship. He wished he could regard the double as a figment or a lesser being, but he and it were the same. The original Loki had died in Thanos' meaty grip, and he was but a copy stolen from an earlier time. If he could dream and think and feel, then he was real, and so was this other Tony who he created only to kill.

The naked horror on his friend's face coupled with the sudden, acrid scent of blood made his eyes well up, and the next thing he knew he was falling. The world spun and his ears filled with a hollow, far off buzzing. Like a skiff engine purring. Like waves trapped in a seashell.

It was for the best really, Tony seeing him for the monster he was. They both fell too deeply into this shared fantasy which could never be true. A fantasy where Loki was good and Tony held him close at night.

Such things were only excusable because of their circumstances, because of secrecy and seclusion. In the heat of many moments they lost themselves, but soon their feet must return to ground. Tony would push him away and return to his wife—or worse, he wouldn't, and Loki's presence would poison the good in his life.

This was the best ending. A clean cut.

Vision and gravity returned to him suddenly, the sky pink overhead and water lapping lazily against his limbs. He sat, and in his palm he held the smallest, most precious thing. The artifact of his undoing.

It held all the joy and pain of existence, compact and indescribable. He cried, clutching it, sensing the many souls who had been lost. Many billions of billions. 

He did not wish to hold it any longer than he must. It screamed, silently, endlessly, of every thought and memory and emotion ever known.

It had no individual function, he realized numbly. No purpose but to hold, to witness. He wanted to toss it into the abyss.

Instead he gazed up at the cliff, at Tony's vibrant armor glinting in the pale light of an eternal eclipse. He blinked and he was once more at the mortal's side, though he dared not meet his searching eyes.

He was a being of pure force and wickedness now, only half aware. Surely Tony would see the threat he posed and terminate him. He’d expected that in the beginning, when had everything changed?

The Reality Blade rested in Tony's armored hands, it must have fallen to the ground when Loki did. He could end Loki with that, even with three stones and Jotun's strength. Anything could be unmade.

Instead Tony looked at him, just as carefully and attentively as he'd ever done.

"Alright?" he asked. So light, so blasé.

Loki stared at him, and stopped everything one more time.

He replayed the moment, listening perpetually to that bittersweet sound. Alright? Alright? Alright?

"No," he said, tears streaming down his face. Because he could not fixate on his despicableness anymore, and thus he could not hide from the other, symmetrical truth.

He had the Soul Stone because he loved the man he'd killed.

He loved Tony Stark. In that emotion lay his doom.

"Alright?" Tony asked a final time, and Loki scrubbed his face furiously.

"Yes," he said too sharply, and held out his right hand like it hurt. "Yes, fool, now take this bloody thing, I can't hear myself think."

The Minutemen had reanimated in Loki's absence, and with the power of three stones he saw as few material beings could.

Time, matter, and spirit separated before him, each a note in a chord he could strike if he so pleased. He could erase those soldiers, or change them, or pummel them into the nearest moon.

What most puzzled him was the lack of souls. Not truly alive. Fabrications of the Timekeepers' power, conjured to manage the monotony. He dropped the saffron stone into Tony's waiting hand, and knew the mortal knew it too.

"Loki," he said quietly, unconcerned with the bullets and the advancing threats.

"Yes, Tony?" Loki answered, hanging on his every word. Flayed to the bone by his calm, by his unflinching acceptance.

"I'm about to tell you something, and I’ll probably never say it again. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Tony.”

"Okay," his mortal nodded, and raised the pulsing blade of his energy sword. "When I say go, I want you to blast these time policing, mass murdering motherfuckers to kingdom come. And then I want you to follow me to their headquarters, and burn that place to the ground. Capiche?"

"Yes, Tony."

"Okay. Go."

The next hour was a rush of ash and combusting seiðr. A scale of destruction even Loki had never before known.

It was wild, and reckless, and he poured every ounce of frustration into it because this was the end of their road. The end of the path Tony started them on. 

After this he would be adrift with no home, the anchor he'd lashed himself to once again belonging to someone else. So he channeled his rage, grief, and jealousy into tearing the Null-Time Zone apart. 

When the last sector of the suspended city plummeted into the nearest sun, he laughed loud and free. Because Tony wanted him to. Because this was a gift for him, meant to be fun, and he didn’t want to disappoint.

When they finished all that remained was an endless central elevator and a lone, silver-haired operator inside. The figment tipped his conductor’s hat when they entered, as if nothing unusual had occurred.

“What floor, messers?” he asked.

Tony answered with dignity and poise, as if he wasn’t panting and covered in ash.

"Earth-199999. October 8th, 2023. Avenger's Compound, Buffalo, New York."

Gravity pressed down on their shoulders and feet as the little room rose, and the doors opened with a ding.

Wide, bright windows showed a vast open lawn. Hundreds of peculiar blue honeycomb shapes hovered overhead. 

Tony led the way onto the silver platform, where a dozen figures circled the hunched forms of the Widow and Barton. The Avengers startled when Loki walked through.

Every weapon within arm's reach turned upon them.

He put his hands over his head, well accustomed to the usual threats.

"Miss me?" Tony asked gamely.

The surrounding Avengers did not appear to be amused.

Chapter Text

The white-clad warriors brandished their weapons, and Loki could do little but glare. This was their illustrious return? Suspicion and threats of violence, after all they had done to aid the cause?

If he were more familiar with them he might have issued a complaint, but for some unfathomable reason Tony cared for these people and so he sealed his lips. His friend answered for him, by way of tossing the small, glittering Soul Stone at Steve Roger's chest.

The Captain caught it, surprise clear on his face.

"Your welcome, by the way," Tony muttered, wiping soot from his face. "Not that I expected a thank you, but, you know, not being held up at gunpoint would have been nice."

"Brother?" a hulking ape of a man said, and Loki only recognized him after a long moment of study.

He blinked, mildly horrified by the state of him.

"Odin's beard, Thor, you shame your ancestors. What is this beast that attached itself to your face? And your hair, disgusting."

"It is you!" The Thunderer cried, rushing to gather him in an ale-soaked hug that nearly turned his stomach.

"Good graces, you reek-" Loki wrinkled his nose, struggling to get away but unable to throw off the man's bulk.

Over the now sobbing Aesir’s shoulder, he saw an armored knight and the Titan's daughter lower their guns.

Loki glared at them. "I am no less dangerous simply because this boar embraces me.”

The two raised their guns again.

"Okay, Junior, not helping-" Tony said, banishing his suit. "We got the stones, okay? We won, so will everybody just chill for a second?"

The knight and Nebula lowered their guns halfway.

"I do not trust them," Nebula’s robotic voice rasped.

"Me neither," Barton said. Loki counted it a blessing that he at least kept his weapon undrawn.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Tony said.

Rogers took a calming breath. "You went rogue, Tony. Sabotaged the mission, no communication. What are we supposed to think?"

"I did the mission! What part of me being lit up like a Christmas tree makes you think I abandoned the mission?"

"Well you sure did abandon the team. Do you know how hard we looked for you? Weren't you the one that lectured me about that? About not being there when you needed me?" Steve said.

"Yeah, and if you recall, the next thing I said was that there was no team anymore. Only the mission, which I did."

"While manipulating us into helping you."

"And saving Natasha's life!"

"Tony," Loki said quietly, wary of the wide eyed faces around them. His friend seethed, and he offered a placating smile.

"Perhaps we should... get some air. Before regrettable words are said."

A talking rodent with a striped tail and a rather smart backpack spoke harshly from below. "Finally, somebody makes sense. Who the hell is this guy?"

"Loki." Several people answered at once, in varying tones of distaste. He gave the room a cavalier smirk at odds with the tense atmosphere. "Well, at least there won't be any need for introductions."

The lower level of the Avengers facility was as austere as the hanger upstairs. A wall of windows opened onto an unornamented field. No gardens, no statuary or landmarks. Merely an open space with miles upon miles of concrete and grass. 

A curious way to cultivate nature. Lush but restrained. Comfort and relaxation offered, but only within rigid and oppressive boundaries.

Inside was much the same. Grey walls and floors with deep burgundy settees and tables which would be better described as bare wood planks with legs. 

A workstation sat some twenty paces away from him, a glass enclosed pedestal with brittle, insect-like arms. Tony puppeted the machine from a stool, his hand manipulating the arms with a stylus, his brow creased in concentration.

The rat and the Hulk stood on either side watching, while Loki's not-brother loomed from the back wall.

The others were in repose along the settees, eating, drinking, awaiting their fates. If Loki knew they would join him, he'd have sat somewhere else. By the time he realized his mistake it was too late, and a conversation had begun.

Loki wished he could abstain from it, but the more they spoke the more he found the topic rather vital. The snap. Or rather, the undoing of it.

"Resetting the world would effectively erase the last five years. The bad yes, but the good along with it. Children who were born, advances in science, the environment," Rogers said.

"What about all the people that didn't die in the snap? Crashed cars and planes without pilots, starvation? And think of the lost time. My daughter's fifteen now, when I left she was nine!" the man called Scott slouched, his arms tight over his chest. "The only way to give everyone a clean slate is to go all the way back."

"Not gonna happen," Tony said without looking up from his work, his tongue stuck out between his lips as he concentrated on setting the stones.

"Most of us didn’t get to retire to a fancy lake house, man. Some of us actually lost something. Or everything." Barton spat, his back turned to the group as he gazed out the sunlit windows. He bit a plastic tube between his teeth, the one he'd used to drink his juice.

“You had a safehouse. No one made you go on a murder spree.”

The spy rose in a flash, but Natasha stopped him with a hand at his elbow.

"If one thinks along such lines, where does it stop?" Loki thought aloud, and felt the weight of many eyes turn upon him.

Frowning, he tipped his chin defensively. "I mean to say, everyone has a past. Everyone wishes to undo certain acts. Set it five, ten, fifteen years back, none of these is inherently better to the whole. Some will win and some will lose, and the divisions between such outcomes are as arbitrary as luck and chance. Just as there is no consensus within this room, there will be no universal good out there. So why set it back at all?"

"Sorry, did Loki just agree with Steve, or do I need to get my hearing checked?" Rhodey said.

Romanov sighed, her face unreadable. "We can't just bring everyone back here. The world adjusted. There will be food shortages. Houses that belong to other people. Half the planet unemployed. It would be a nightmare."

"You all truly embarked on a universe altering quest without discussing what you would do if you succeeded?" Loki blinked at them.

That earned in still harsher glares, which he found inordinately unfair. He was only pointing out the obvious.

"Enough," Thor growled. Leaning on the glass enclosure where Tony worked, he stared at the stones within. "Give it to me. I will fix it."

"How?!" The rodent threw his arms out in frustration. "Look around pal, if all of us can't figure out a way to save everybody what the hell can you do?!"

Thor's nostrils flared, and his brows set in a line. "I do not know. All I know is that I can handle the power better than anyone here. I will snap until all is well, I do not need a plan."

"O—kay, maybe you sit this one out." Tony shook out his hands and wiped sweat from his forehead. When Thor didn't back away, he stood and put his hand on the Thunderer's chest. "There's no rush, buddy. Relax."

"Do not condescend..."

"I'm not condescending-"

"If that's the plan then let me do it." The Hulk said, a grim expression on his green face. "It's mostly gamma radiation. I'll have more time if it goes wrong."

Loki eyed him skeptically. The monster had clearly evolved since their last meeting, but he doubted such a beast could truly comprehend the complexities of the situation.

"And do what with it?" Tony demanded, stepping between Hulk and the case, his calm demeanor only partially masking how his hand hovered over the hilt of his gunblade. "Listen, I get it. I want Peter back, but I'm not losing Morgan to do it. Not on my life. I didn't help you steal these so you could turn around and-"

"No one's asking you to, Tony."

"Bullshit they aren't! They were literally just talking about it."

A bow-string tension corded around the inhabitants of the room, and Loki shadow stepped to stand at Tony's back.

Though his friend told him at the outset what was at stake, he hadn't truly realized what a threat Tony's friends posed.

These wastrels were prepared to sacrifice five years of life—to unmake Tony's firstborn—to reclaim a past which offered no guarantee of prosperity.

Certainly their loved ones would return, as well as the creature comforts of their lost society, but what of tomorrow and the next? What sorts of threats lurked not five or ten years away? 

This was no promise of prosperity, only regression. Short sighted at best.

Thor stood from his slouch at Loki's advance, eyeing the heroes and holding out his arm for Mjolnir. An utterly ghastly, compensatory axe came to him instead.

At Loki's horrified expression his lip quirked. "It is called Stormbreaker. Eitri made it for me with the arm of a Groot! Do you like it?"

"It's very large," Loki said flatly. "Would you like to see mine?"

Reaching behind himself, he drew the Reality gun from Tony’s hip and extended the blade.

Thor's brows creased. “I have just gotten you back, let us not fight-"

"Um... guys,” the man called Scott said.

Thor dropped Loki’s gaze and stared at him, as did most of the other inhabitants of the room. The brown haired mortal pointed, taking several steps back and covering his face with his helmet.

Loki took his turn to look, and groaned. A monstrous ship darkened the sky. Narrow-bodied and black, with four protruding wings dotted by turrets.

"How many times must we kill this nuisance?" Loki hissed.

The ship fired with a shuddering boom, and the bullet dove rapidly towards the building. He called upon the Time Stone to reverse its path, returning it to the cannon barrel and then firing two shots from the Reality Gun in rapid succession.

Though the craft was far away, the energy of the Power Stone extended the pistol's range and the bolt reached its target easily.

Loki wished the cursed thing and every being on it a very pleasant non-existence and watched in satisfaction as it disappeared. A long, pregnant silence followed.

"Well then, where were we?" he asked, glancing around at the widened eyes and slack jaws.

Tony snorted, the usual combination of pride and amusement wrinkling his eyes.

"Bickering over who gets to melt under the energy of a thousand suns in the name of un-fucking the world," he said.

"Ah yes, that.”

Freezing everyone in the room he smashed the glass face with the butt of the Reality gun and shucked the extraneous stones from his person.

The gauntlet awaited, balanced on three spindles like a crown jewel. The five stones of the Avengers shimmered from the knuckles, with Loki's Soul Stone on the back of the palm.

The light of them discolored his skin, and lit the dark of his leather a riot of hues. He could feel the force, the gravity of it, pressing against the pads of his fingertips. It promised him eternity, anything he could ever want.

Of course he considered selfishness. Any being would.

He considered life without struggle, he considered a peaceful end. He considered a muddy planet with an abundance of goats, where he and an undying Tony Stark could slowly and obscurely grow old.

Then he recalled how it had felt, to be under another's thumb. To be broken and powerless, with a tyrant’s thoughts rewriting all he’d known.

He slid the crimson carapace over the arm previously covered by the remains of Thanos' charred bones, and felt Tony's creation resized to fit him.

Power unlike anything he'd ever known consumed him, from his fingertips to his crown. He must have lost his hold on Time in the rush, because motion returned to the room.

He struggled to breath around the pressure in his chest, around the pain cutting all the way into his soul. Baring his teeth, he forced a smile as Tony turned and looked upon him in horror for the second time that day.

Let no one call the God of Chaos a coward anymore, or a selfish, cold-hearted boy. Here was his chance to show everyone his true heart, the one even he hadn't believed existed until Tony ripped it out of his chest with an endless procession of patient smiles.

"For you, my friend," he gritted, struggling to speak as the power whited out his eyes.

Screaming, he lifted his arm. He set his thumb to his forefinger and pictured his perfect world, the one which brought happiness to everyone but him. He pressed the digits together with the precision of a trained sorcerer, and cast his life's most devastating spell.

He snapped.

Loki stood at the center of a miasma, a quiet pocket in a place outside time.

Meteors and asteroids fell all around him, whole galaxies ripping themselves in twain.

A child’s doll floated by, its yarn hair strung out like weedy kelp. It passed in a slow arc, swirling lazily until its smile turned upside down. A melody never fully written pricked his ears, a forgotten artist’s dying sound.

Got any other bright ideas? Tony’s voice echoed from nowhere, and Loki followed it like a finger on a string.

On Alfheim they tied them to trees, so travelers wouldn’t lose their way. From above they looked like little constellations, like secret messages scrawled in the landscape. Thor had flown him up there against his will, insistent that he see.

It is shaped like an axe in a tree, don’t you think?

No, Loki had snapped. Put me down, you oaf, it’s just a string.

On the other side he found a wooden house by a lake. Tony’s call led him there, and so he felt no hesitation in entering.

It was a humble place full of luxury, of simplistic, Midgardian design. A little girl sat in a window with her knees drawn up under her chin.

Mommy, how many stars are there in the sky?

A red haired woman dried dishes by a sink, with a resigned tiredness in her eyes.

We don’t know that yet, Morgan. That’s why NASA makes satellites.

The child stuck her lip out in dissatisfaction and the glass fogged up from her sigh.

Daddy would know, Daddy knows everything.

Not everything, the mother said meaningfully, and sent the small one up to bed.

Loki watched them climb the stairs in sadness and wonder. A snapshot of Tony’s happy life.

Tears blurred his vision and he swiped at them like he was banishing flies. 

Paranoid old mortal, you don’t even need to ask. Of course I’ll protect them, of course.

It was not the time for jealousy, or for fabricating elaborate lies. It was time for mending, for healing, for doing just one thing right.

Incense and elderwood filled his nose, and in an instant he knew he was home. Not the other world, or Tony’s world, but his one true original home. A soul never forgot where it was grown.

Stop this blathering, boy, you shame yourself, Odin said.

Loki fell to his knees and moaned. 

How many beings are there in the universe? He asked. How many of them did Asgard kill?

With six Infinity Stones in his head, Loki knows. He knows the names and hopes and fears of every single one.

How many were Dökkálfar? Jotun? Dwarves? Humans? Do you know how many of our own we killed because Bor desired a throne?

His adopted father opened his stalwart mouth, and Loki burned him alive with the Power Stone. First the marrow in his bones, then the tendons and muscles, a blistering, purple heat that turned his skin black before it burned.

He watched and waited to feel something; grief, relief, happiness, shame.

When his father was nothing but cinders Loki breathed, and found that he felt nothing at all.

You were right about me, Father. About the result, but not the cause. I am cold because you burned me. I am numb because you hurt me until my heart hardened from the pain.

It felt hollow to say without an audience, and without the feeling of victory, the killing felt pointless and crude. He undid it with a wrinkle of time, and sunk silently into the darkness of Space.

There used to be a pond in his mother’s garden. A small, oblong thing where one could look down and see all of Yggdrasil. He remembered gazing through it as a boy.

One day I’ll travel all the Nine, he’d sworn. A good king knows his subjects, so I must know them all!

Having fallen and climbed and bisected the World Tree, he looked again with wiser eyes. He touched the surface and the whole universe rippled, or maybe that was from the tears falling from his eyes.

Shh, my son, it will pass, his mother said. He shivered, wavering between longing and bitterness.

The sensation of a kiss tickled his temple. It felt empty without the accompanying scratch of Tony’s beard, without his sarcastic smile and chamomile eyes.

Why didn’t you protect me? Loki demanded, angry with her as he’d never, ever been. Why didn’t you ever stop him? Why were you complicit in the lie?

Is it not kinder to shield a troubled child from the truth?

Not this, he choked. Not from you.

The perfume of her flowers became heavy, and he raised his red eyes to the sky.

Whatever I did, you must know that I loved you. From the moment they put you in my arms.

If you did, then you wouldn’t have lied to me, he whispered. I loved you, Mother, goodbye.

His brother was asleep when he found him, in the gaudy, trophy covered chambers of the crown prince. He’d fallen asleep after a hunt without even bathing, his muddy boots spreading dust on the sheets.

Loki tipped his head and quirked his lip, erasing the muck with a flash of aether red.

Oh, brother, what am I to do with you?

Thor’s beastial snores were his only reply.

Stepping into the recessed well of the nest, Loki knelt with his back to the side.

Where should I go, do you think? To the roots of the World Tree? To Hel? There’s no place in the universe where I won't think of him.

His brother radiated body heat and sunshine, and just for a moment Loki remembered that he loved him. In his wakefulness he was impossible. Overbearing and stupid and brash. Awake Loki could scarcely stand to be near him, but asleep he was innocent and blithe.

You never meant any harm, did you? Loki murmured. You’d have done better if they taught you how. Are you the same as him? The ‘you’ from the future I saw? Are we unique, or are we all slivered pieces of the same shattered being?

His sleeping brother had no answers, but The Stones told him no and that made his smile wilt. 

It really is goodbye, then. For now. Until our souls reunite in the Void.

He smoothed the covers over Thor’s broad chest, and brushed away the hair tickling his nose.

I should be nicer to the other you. He cried when he saw me, you know. How come you never did that? I’d have liked it. I’d have teased you mercilessly, but I’d also treasure it for all my days.

The fur of Thor’s blanket was soft on his fingers, and his imminent departure made even the musky smell of game mounted on the walls nostalgic. He laid his head back, and shut his eyes to the warm light of a sunbeam.

Letting out a shaky exhale, he drew the power of Infinity into his chest and felt the pin-prick tingle of seiðr scorching his far-off body’s flesh.

Well then, brother, if you’ve nothing else to add... I suppose this is goodnight.

Chapter Text

"For you, my friend," Loki said, and then Tony’s world went white.

Energy buffeted him like a shockwave, like a ripple in the fabric of the universe.

Right in front of him, Steve Rogers grew a second head. And then shoulders and arms and torso and legs. The duplicate had a beard.

Clint fell off the couch in surprise, and shouted as Bruce's big, green body also split into two.

The walls around them flickered like television static, and Tony's mind froze as Loki's eyes rolled back and his quivering, glowing body fell to its knees.

Tony caught him before he hit the floor.

"You idiot, what did you do?!"

His eyes were moving rapidly behind his closed lids, his mouth whispering words he couldn't understand. Tony shook him, the familiar rush of adrenaline sending his heart and mind into overdrive.

"Loki, goddamn you-"

Flashes of memory darkened his vision, and everything else around him faded away. Was it a panic attack, the imagined horrors of a PTSD flashback? 

The muttering lips became Yinsen, and then Rhodey, and Peter disappearing in his arms. How many times would he be cursed with surviving? How many goddamn motherfucking times?

Harsh, foreign words rang in his ears, and he choked on a smell like gun oil and death. 

It wasn't real, none of it was real, he was panicking—

But wait, that didn’t make sense. The gauntlet was glowing. It was on Loki’s arm. The world around them was fading.

"Tony!"

Air returned to his lungs like a subway train speeding into a station. A gust, a gasp, all at once.

Pepper.

Struggling to see straight, to sort ghosts and nightmares from crumbling reality, he stared at his shaking hands where they gripped Loki's collar, at the beads of water dripping on the backs.

"Daddy?"

Waves of terror and relief tore his eyes up and away, and he had his little girl in his lap.

"M-Mor—" he panted, hugging her, bawling like a kid himself.

Pepper ran through the world of white, her face drawn and eyes wide.

"Tony, thank god. What—is that the Infinity thing?"

"Give me a second, I'm kinda freakin' out right now," Tony squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

Morgan's little arms fell around his shoulders, and if he hadn't already been crying that would have broken him.

He held her close. Though the angry shouting still fogged his hearing, he set his jaw and focused forcefully on the here and now. He couldn’t endanger his family just because his brain picked the worst time to revisit past mistakes.

“How did you get here?” he asked. Pepper’s hair was uncharacteristically tangled around her tense face.

"We were at home,” she said. “Everything was normal. Then a bright light and... this."

Loki muttered louder. Tony's heart skipped as the energy made the skin of his arm crack and redden.

"We have to get it off him, it will kill him if-"

Two marble arches rose out of the floor, pristine white speckled and with grey. The tower penthouse could be seen through one, and past the other, their house by the lake.

Reality is at a breaking point now, Loki's voice said from nowhere. Loud and echoing, like a sports announcer.

Morgan shrieked and hunched down.

Too many souls have been displaced, and there is no one world which can hold them. This timeline will become two, and each of you will have to choose. You may reclaim what was lost at the expense of your present, or you may remain in a world only moderately changed.

I have brought your loved ones to you, so you may decide together.

Tony shook Loki furiously, his face hot and his limbs unsteady.

"I'm hallucinating, this is crazy. Wake up, damn it, wake up and tell me what was going through your scrambled up, crackpot brain you little-"

The redness spread all the way to Loki’s chin, and the biting stench of burning hair assaulted his nose.

Morgan gasped, and he hid her face in his tunic. "Don't look. Close your eyes."

He couldn't take his own advice, his eyes glued to the horror creeping up Loki's face.

"Tony," Pepper knelt in front of him. Her soft hands cupped his face. "Tony, look at me. We have to go."

"I can't do it again, I can't lose another one." She lifted Morgan from his side, and guilt tightened around his chest.

She knew, she had to. Finding him kneeling on the floor and crying over someone who should have been a grudging ally. He couldn't have made it more transparent if he tried.

"It’s not how it looks," he blurted. “He’s good, he’s got no one else.”

The love of his life just sighed. "Pick him up, let's go."

Numbly, he tapped his reservoir, and felt an echo of Loki touching it earlier that day. Earlier when he was a confident, decisive, healthy—when had it gone so wrong? 

All day he’d been acting irrationally, running off on his own and leaving Tony to stumble behind. Why hadn't they talked about it first? Loki had promised, that second night in Niðavellir. He'd promised no more snap decisions.

The suit wrapped itself over his body and he lifted the giant with hands that didn't feel like his own.

Pepper guided his unfocused mind home, their daughter staring over her shoulder, afraid.

Which world wasn’t a decision for them. Not even close.

Following his girls through the marble arch, he nearly fainted at the cedar-crisp smell of home.

Loki's voice cracked, his head hung loose over Tony's arm.

"Hang on, kid, I've got you, stay with me." He ran straight for the picnic table by Morgan's tent, and swept off the pots and gardening tools.

Loki's body must have been in crisis because in the intervening moments it had turned deep blue. His figure was so long that even with his head on the very edge his feet hung off the other end.

Tony stared, nauseous with worry, as the magic scorched Loki's flesh. 

The gauntlet glowed, his hand a stiff, reaching claw. Tony barely restrained himself from ripping it off. The snap wasn't finished, who knew what might happen if he disturbed the connection too early? 

Pepper sent Morgan into the house with a whispered instruction, and came closer like he was a wild animal that might retaliate.

"Tony... "

"Don't." He pulled away and started pacing. The world felt like it was rocking, and the sunlight was far too bright. He could feel her eyes following him. "I'm sorry, Pep. It just happened, I couldn’t help it and— and I'm sorry, okay? I’m sorry."

"For what?" she snapped. "You're in shock, please just sit down."

He sat with his back to Loki, hands crossed over his mouth. He couldn't look, couldn't watch him burn. It hurt just to be this close, to hear him whimper and hiss like it was another round of torture with Tony hiding uselessly under the stairs.

"Thanos did it instantly. Why is it taking so long?"

“People might be slow to move. It’s not an easy choice to make."

Scrubbing his hair back, Tony tried to get a grip.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he demanded. "You see what it is, aren’t you upset?"

"Maybe I'm just glad I haven't lost you." Pepper snapped. "Look at him, that could have been you!"

"Can you not-"

"No, I can't. I really can't. You're hooking up with super villains now? Is that what I’m supposed to be upset about right now?"

"We didn't—no, you're not supposed to—I said sorry! Besides, he's dying right in front of me so-" he choked, covering his face. He slumped forward, his throat closed up and face burning.

With his eyes covered he couldn't see her face, he just heard her blow out a forceful exhale.

She pulled his hung head into her stomach and pushed her fingers through his matted hair.

"This is... really, really, really, surprising. But you're home, and you're safe. That’s all that matters to me, right now."

Tony nodded, working hard to believe her. He dug his feet into the ground. 

"How is he?"

"Alive so far." She kneaded his neck. "What is he? He didn't look like that in New York."

A dry, unhumored laugh shook out of him. "Frost giant. That's the least of his weirdness, believe it or not. He sees energy, Pep. With his eyes. And his magic, it’s incredible."

Her hands clenched in the short hairs of his neck, and she pulled away abruptly.

"The glowing, it—it stopped."

Tony was on the table in seconds. He was glad to have the suit protecting his hands when the gauntlet came away smoking. 

All six stones were cracked and lifeless, and for the time being Tony couldn't care less. He threw the useless hunk of metal to the ground and stared at Loki's now two-tone body. 

His entire right side was burned black, with deep, craggy gashes splitting the ruined skin. The hair from his neck to his crown was gone on one side, and his ear was a shriveled, heat-warped husk. 

"I don't know what to do," he said. "It's so bad."

"We'll call a doctor, or ten. Hospitals will be crazy right now, and even if they weren't... would anyone know what to do with a space alien?"

"They're immune to bacteria. He heals incredibly fast." Tony said, remembering. "He got beat bloody so many times, and he always got up the next day."

"Let's get him upstairs. See what the doctors say." 

Lifting him like cracked glass, Tony pushed his way through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. 

His own home felt like a fever dream, the placement of things slightly shifted from dusting, the messes he remembered long since cleaned up. The spare room was right beside Morgan's, a plain space decorated in family photos and pricey art he never got around to giving away.

The bedsheets were pure white, never used, and Loki had them smudged the moment he touched down. Even on death's door he made an impression, and the thought made Tony's heart ache.

Giving in to the never ending pull, he sat on the edge and cupped the undamaged side of Loki's face.

"Would it kill you to talk something through? You're taking years off my life. I don't have years to lose. I'm a mortal, like you're always pointing out. I'm.. what was it? Tissue paper and shoestrings?"

Tony shook his head and looked away, "The point is, you can't do this to me, you ass. My old heart can't take it."

A cracked, dry throated groan escaped Loki's lips, one of pain, of suffering. It was worse than anything they'd faced by orders of magnitude. He felt lightheaded, and he thought he might puke.

Footsteps creaked up the stairway, and he snatched his hand away. Pepper carried their largest mixing bowl down the hall, filled with water and clinking ice cubes.

"Cho says to keep the wounds cool," Pepper said without preamble. "The black parts have to be cut off, but the hospitals are overcrowded. Dead people are returning wherever they disappeared from. Whole buildings are duplicating or relocating. Some roads travel between... dimensions? It's—he broke the universe, Tony, it's insane. Unless he has trouble breathing or relieving himself, we shouldn't leave the house. The roads aren't safe."

"We can fly to the compound if we have to." Tony rubbed his hands together, to get the feeling back in his fingers. "And I can make something, to take off the skin. I'll get to it."

He stood, and had to catch himself on the dresser.

Pepper put the bowl on the bedside table in a hurry, moving to prop him up. It was ridiculous how weak he felt, he wasn't even the one who got hurt.

"Are you okay?"

He grimaced, and stowed the suit away. "Long week, panic attack, touch of shock. Ordinary Tony Stark day."

Even if the queasiness didn't escalate, he needed to be alone. He made a beeline for the bathroom.

She walked around him, and pierced him with her insistent eyes.

"I'll make the laser, scout’s honor. He’ll be gone soon. I just need to get my head in the game-"

"He stays as long as he needs to."

She kissed him, and all he felt was shame.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he slid all the way to the floor.

There was a half dead chaos god in Pepper's guest bedroom.

Her feelings on that situation were evolving.

Being Tony Stark’s wife came with a surplus of stress and sudden changes. It was a non-negotiable part of the deal. She’d gotten used to handling them, but there were certain improbabilities and unfathomable cosmic events that no amount of journaling or meditation could prepare her for.

She sat on the side of the bed with the cold water in arm's reach, dipping towels and laying them over Loki's injuries.

It was difficult to build a grudge against someone so obviously in need, but Tony's ongoing breakdown over him almost did it.

Jealousy wasn't her tendency. As his assistant, she'd seen people of every race and gender in and out of Tony's bed and never thought any of them a threat to her position. This was different.

The other's hadn't mattered to him this way. She chased them off like a vacuum clearing out dust bunnies. Someone else would feel slighted. Maybe she would monitor him, obsessively reading his text messages any time he left her alone with his phone. Pepper never felt the impulse. She knew the man she married.

Tony had a heart too big to contain. She knew that, she accepted it. She protected it in her own way.

If anything, what most bothered her about the development was how it refused to be neatly categorized in her mind. If he were her ally she could accept him, could maybe even come to like him. If he were harmful to Tony, then she could go about removing him with her usual efficiency.

Currently he was neither friend nor foe. He was an unknown. The worst thing a person could be.

A rotating fan rattled on the side table, keeping the rags cool. Every few minutes she refreshed them, her ears straining for any sign of distress from the bathroom.

Tony preferred to suffer silently, and to do it alone. 

She let him have that for now, and focused on picking up his messes in the interim. That's how they did it as employee and boss, how they did it as CEO and super hero, and so that's how they would do it now.

The hinges on the hallway door creaked. Morgan stuck her in the gap.

"Stay out there, please. Mister Loki's sleeping."

"Why is his skin all blue?"

A dry, cracked voice interrupted her reply.

"Because I am a different species, one much more evolved than you."

Her daughter's face scrunched up, and she pushed the rest of the way inside. 

Pepper stood to intercept her, worried about what else she might do. Loki nearly leveled a city the last time he was on Earth, and four year olds were not known for their diplomacy.

"Alright, how about we go play outside," she said, putting the girl on her hip. "We can open up your tent and-"

"Do you know what a trillion is, child?" Loki croaked.

Her daughter squirmed, until she had to let go. She ran to the side of the bed.

"A trillion is a thousand billion," she recited.

"Morgan, sweetie-"

"There are seventy billion trillion stars in existence," Loki said.

"Really?"

The undamaged corner of his mouth twitched up, and he caught Pepper in a stare. "A birdy told me you wanted to know, and as it happens I’ve just seen them all."

She counted to ten as she held her breath steady. The girl asked her that last night, how could he know? How could he know? Gods. Of course. Swords and sorcery.

It was one thing to know that intellectually, another to witness it first hand.

"Morgan, can you get Mister Loki a water from the pantry?"

It took some cajoling back and forth, and a bribe of gummy snacks.

"I did not intend to be here." Loki coughed, a wheezing, painful sound that made him wince when it shook his chest.

Torn between discomfort and sympathy, she turned to the side of the bed. Fishing a cloth from the bowl, she wrung it halfway and squeezed the rest into Loki's mouth.

"You were at Tony's feet when—well, I suppose when you brought me and Morgan to him. That was you?"

"I don't... it is foggy." Loki said after swallowing.

She wiped the dust and sweat from his brow.

"He wouldn't have left without you," she said simply. No reason to hide from the truth. The sooner she found a label for him, the sooner she would know what to do.

Loki's red eyes softened, and his mouth set in a grim, flat line.

"I apologize. I will be gone by morning, you have my word."

"That’s exactly what Tony said. I told him you were welcome, and now I’m telling you."

"I've stayed long enough in places I'm not wanted." His gaze wandered to the ceiling, and she felt inexplicably angry.

"First rule, if you're going to remain here," she said, with more superiority than she'd intended. "Don't put words in my mouth."

Loki blinked, the unburned parts of his face slacking in surprise.

After a long pause he spoke. "I meant no disrespect. Only that I will not come between you. If I linger he will stray. He is single-minded, and foolish at times."

"I can't argue with that." She laced her fingers in her lap, her shoulders tense and square.

It settled her, somehow, to hear him describe the same Tony she knew.

Small feet clopped up the stairs, and she wiped the troubled look from her face. The bathroom door opened just as Morgan reached the landing, and Tony came out with red-rimmed eyes. 

His smile could have fooled anybody, he was so practiced at hiding in plain sight.

"Woah, watch where you're goin' little miss!"

Morgan stomped her foot and shooed him right back, never one to back down or be shy. Pepper felt her smile turn genuine as the girl thrust a bottled water into her lap.

"Daddy ran me over," she declared. "I coulda died!"

"No need to be dramatic," Pepper smiled, the cap cracking loudly when she twisted. She held it to Loki, who seemed determined not to meet Tony's questing eyes.

Rather than accepting the water, he clenched his jaw and turned his left hand in an odd gesture. A swirling vortex of purple and black appeared near his hand, and his voice sounded even more strained when he spoke.

"Tony, your bag. There's still the Tesseract inside. Our extraneous stones remain at the compound. We must reclaim them before they are found."

"Oh," her husband said. The surprise made cracks in his disguise. Doubt, discomfort, and worry peeked through like reflections in a cracked mirror. "Of course. I'll get 'em. You alright?"

Pepper pursed her lip as he stepped near, and pulled a dusty, frayed pack from the magic whirl. The clipped words, the stiff posture, they made her fingers press into her knuckles.

"Nevermind me, hurry," Loki wheezed, straining, and closed the portal the moment Tony's hand retracted. "In the other world your friends fight. Thor will not miss this time, but the Stones are a liability. They must not be seized."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Take it easy." Tony dug through the bag for the cube, and put a hand to Morgan's head when he found it. "While I'm gone, Madam Secretary, you're in charge."

"Roger, roger," Morgan said with a salute. "Come back post-haste!"

"Aye, aye," Tony said fondly. 

A black fog swallowed him up.

Pepper pushed down her worry like the useless emotion that it was. She checked to make sure her mascara hadn’t run.

"I never get used to him disappearing," she said.

"Yes... " Loki murmured, as if uncertain his words were welcome. "Nor, I suspect, would I."

What should have been a quick jaunt felt like a grueling trek. Every step was an advance toward a disaster he wasn't prepared to handle.

Loki returned his feelings. He made an entire universe to keep Tony's family safe. He loved him, goddamn it, and Pepper... now she knew.

Though the vertigo had passed as Tony sat on the toilet and hyperventilated, the nausea and disconnection from his body remained.

When he stepped out of the portal and found a pile of glowing relics at his feet, he could barely remember what he was supposed to do with them.

Distantly he observed the buzz of energy crawling over his skin when he gathered them, but it was secondary, hard to parse. The mirror in his living room showed his hair nearly standing on end.

It was over, he realized. Or was it?

Frayed nerves poked at him, his brain turning easily in the tracks of well-worn loops. The fight never ended, not really. Peace only lasted until the next threat came around the bend.

He leapt through Space before he could lose his nerve, and landed in the middle of his living room. If not for the mental image of the Power Stone burning Morgan to a crisp, he'd have dropped the stones on the coffee table and collapsed. 

Fear drove him up the stairs instead, to the sleeping dragon in his guest bed.

"Special delivery for Loki of Ass Guard," he said, every ounce of remaining energy poured into holding a carefree grin.

Loki's head fell to the side, and the towel over his cheek slid off. The cracked, dead flesh where his hairline should be made Tony's nausea spike. 

"Thank you, my friend,” Loki said.

My friend. Guilt and stifled frustration clogged his throat. That’s what Loki called him when he snapped. During that last hit of eye contact when the god probably thought he was going to die.

You could have talked to me first, he would have said. You could have told me with your words.

But no, it was blood and instinct with Loki. That much he now understood. You didn't adopt a lion and expect to domesticate it like a house cat.

Did he want that? To declaw Loki, to reject him like his family did? No, no, he couldn't. Wouldn't. And what did it matter anyway? He'd known before it even started that these feelings had no healthy outlet. Every single day he lectured himself not to get invested, and nevertheless he did.

"Sorry the kid was all over you. She never met a stranger she didn't like."

"She's darling, Tony. No need to apologize."

He swallowed. He couldn't be here, couldn't do this. Dropping the Infinity wear at the foot of the bed, he grit his teeth and turned away.

"If you need anything, Mind Stone's right there. Gimme a ring."

"I've everything I need. Please rest. You're not well,” Loki said in a pleading tone.

"You think I don't know that?"

Tony winced, even as he said it. The god's eyes burned holes in his back.

He ran away, like the coward he was, and slammed the door to his bedroom behind him.

Minutes passed in claustrophobic silence. No amount of willpower moved his legs.

Pepper came in wearing the face he most hated, the one that meant he'd scared her half to death. He must have opened his mouth and closed it ten times in the minute she spent taking off her jewelry. 

"I'm taking a bath," she said firmly.

He nodded, waiting for them to start fighting.

She turned to him with a nonplussed stare. "You're going to scrub my feet."

It was their bonding ritual, an expression of his caring for her. The invitation stunned him a little, and he froze a bit dumbly.

They were both shallow, vain creatures that didn’t verbalize emotions well. They both preferred a bath to an ‘I love you,’ at least six days out of any given week.

She turned on her heel and walked to the master bathroom, with him trailing after like a freighter latched to a tugboat.

The bathroom was white and chrome, all the rage when they remodeled in 2019. He felt like an oil smudge on a business suit, out of place in his filthy but colorful clothes.

She loosed her buttons with her back to him. The shirt glided off her shoulders and back.

"Pep, stop—I can't pretend nothing’s wrong. I don’t know how to explain, I don't know how to make it up to you-"

"When did I ask for that?"

He tapped his fingers against his thumbs, his overclocked mind picking frantically at her words. Tearing them to bits hoping for a clue as to what she was thinking.

"Well, uh, the whole marriage contract I would assume? In sickness and in health. Be faithful, loyal, and true. Is that ringing any bells?"

"Tony, you're one of the most famous philanderers in history, I would have to be an idiot to marry you and expect monogamy."

Boy, but the truth did hurt.

"I gave that up, I swore an oath to you. I meant it, I really did." He stepped around to face her, earnest fear pumping fast and hot in his veins. "And yes, I fucked up in the past, and I know I said it wouldn't happen again-"

"It was never about cheating, Tony!"

He froze, uncomprehending.

"I don't need to own you and control you, I knew who I was marrying, I accepted that about you—but you never talked to me about it. You lied and you assumed, and then, yes, I did mind! I minded a lot because you clearly weren't mature enough to handle this responsibly, which meant we couldn't do it-"

"Do what?" Tony sputtered.

"This! Swinging, polyamory, whatever the hell it is we're talking about!"

"I can't believe this," Tony shook his head slowly. "You didn't... that's nuts, Pepper. I married you, I cheated on you, how can you not mind?"

"Because it's you! Because I know you can love me and other people at the same time, but every time I tried to talk to you about it you changed the subject or went to work on your suits and-"

"Oh, so it's my fault? A ten year misunderstanding, and it's all on me?"

Pepper pinched her nose. "Let's not get into the blame routine, Tony. Please just get in the bath and-"

"And... what? Discuss my-" His voice cracked as he stumbled over the admission. "M-My unfortunate, unwanted, totally irrational and—and probably stress-related attraction to Loki?"

Saying it out loud felt like uttering a voodoo curse. Like emitting the truth in sound waves had taken something ethereal and transformed it into something inescapably real.

Pepper tipped her head and took a calming breath. She smiled, composed and perfect as always.

"Yes, exactly.”

The space between them closed, and she took the collar of his surcoat. When her lips met his, Tony did his best impression of a guy who wasn't lagging five seconds behind everything and hastily kissed her back.

Delicate hands worked their way down his tunic as her lips unwound him from his anxiety, and he finally started to relax. 

For an awkward moment her hands fumbled with the closures, and she broke away with a perplexed frown.

"I don't know how to take these off of you."

A startled laugh lurched out of him. 

"Honestly, me neither. The last time I showered it was like a Chinese finger trap."

Alone in his borrowed chambers, surrounded by Tony's possessions and photographed memories, Loki watched the wind machine whir.

They were together. His friend and his wife. Loki heard them walk past his door, though he'd done his best to look away. To be invisible and cause no more harm.

The hilt of the gun blade faced his way, the stone on its base cracked and useless. No erasure for this injury, his heart's wish had seen to that.

He'd shattered Reality with his snap, the wish so big even Infinity could not grant it without laying a scar upon the world.

It would not be orderly—in fact it might drive many people mad—but he knew it to be good. A solution both unbiased and fair.

One world could not satisfy everyone, and two would separate half of all life from the other. 

Thus Reality needed to end, the two worlds intermingled like chunks of meat in a cosmic soup. A mess of vibrant life as it was always meant to be, before the Celestials clumsily tried to tame it.

Most would not see his logic, but it was, as Tony would say, alright.

It made sense to Loki. It was fair and it was just.

Tony undressing his lady, him no doubt ravishing her mere steps down the hall? That did not feel just or right. It felt like a betrayal.

As if Loki's cold body could fulfill that need. As if the absence of the woman would make any difference. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

It was doomed six ways over, even with the woman aside.

Tony was a mortal. He was old. He valued family, stability. 

A quiet life with children and animals, those were the long and short of his goals.

Loki fit the mold for absolutely none of it, and he would certainly fail if he were to try. It was the best possible outcome to return the man here, and slip silently out of his life. 

He ought to be happy, to content himself vicariously through Tony's deserved victory. Emotions were rarely logical, however, and thus he laid in bitter discontent.

Where he would go, he wasn't sure. He had no one but the other Loki's brother, the man who did little else but cry. Not an appealing option, but better than impersonating a shadow on this house’s walls.

In the morning he would try to rise, and see about finding the slob. At present he could barely move.

The wind machine rustled his hair again and again, the air abrasive on his chapped lips. He wished he could shut it off, but it was too far away. His seiðr burned when he attempted to call it.

For long minutes he stared at it, contemplating reaching for the Mind Stone as Tony instructed.

The door slivered open before his willpower broke, and to his relief the Lady Morgan appeared.

"Hello, there," he said gently, wary of frightening his unwitting savior.

"Hi."

"Did you wish to speak with me?"

She nodded her head eagerly, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Whatever about?"

The girl rocked on her feet, her eyes darting just like Tony's. Loki frowned at the comparison, loving and hating the reminder in equal measure.

"You're Daddy's friend."

"Yes."

"Daddy said not to trust his friends."

Based on what he'd seen, Loki thought that a reasonable warning. He thought 'friends' to be a generous word.

"I'm not like his other friends," he said simply. "I care very much about him, and by extension you. Might you do me a favor, Lady Morgan?"

A bemused grin dimpled her cheeks. "You talk funny."

"Is that a no?" Loki asked testily.

She jutted out her jaw like his tone offended her.

"You didn't say please. Mommy says you always have to say please."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Very well. Please, my lady, will you turn off this blasted machine? It is well intentioned but highly irritating."

The girl giggled, and fiddled with a knob on the stand. The dreadful thing slowed gradually, and Loki groaned from relief.

"Bless you, child, I shall reward you once I am walking."

"Your eyes are pretty."

"Beg your pardon?"

Morgan stood up on her toes, and crossed her arms on the edge of the bed.

"They're red. My favorite color is red. It's spelled R-E-D."

"Riveting," Loki said flatly, realizing he'd invited in a loiterer and he was now unlikely to be rid of her soon. "Your father told me you're fond of chickens. He said you've given them all names."

Her eyes lit up like comets, and she launched energetically into a saga of epic proportions.

Casanova was the patriarch of the coop, a rake of a rooster who made his rounds through the flock. Morgan went on and on about his many loves. His first affair had been Zilla the black hen, who'd born three children in Mothra, Knifehead, and Kong.

Next came Elsa the White and Dora the Explorer, whom Casanova scandalously courted at the same time.

On and on Morgan rambled through sordid fairy tales, which Loki soon realized had no basis in actual events. One generation had formed a musical band, the next a heroic force. One gaggle managed a zoo in a town called Syracuse, the logic of which Loki did not bother questioning. 

By some twenty minutes into the conversation, the number of names had become dizzying and  he struggled to keep them straight.

There was Newton, Marie Curie, and Niels Bohr. Named for scientists, the girl eventually explained. Mc Nugget, Big Mac, and Chalupa were, as best as he could tell, exotic foods.

Loki finally lost his patience when it came to Daniel Tiger, who was not a male as her name implied, and also not a tiger. He hummed along absently after that, his heavy eyes sliding shut.

"Are you listening?" the girl prodded peevishly, her finger squishing rudely into his cheek.

"Is this how one treats guests on this savage planet?" he mumbled, and smiled despite himself at her laugh.

She had her father's humor, it seemed.

"Morgan?" Pepper called from far away.

“Uh oh,” the girl’s eyes went wide. “I’m not supposed to come in here.”

She ran for the hall, making an absurd amount of noise for such a small being.

“Here, Mommy!”

"There you are. Come down, it's lunchtime."

They carried on loudly, their voices echoing as they walked farther away. He shut himself to the pangs of hurt and jealousy, and reminded himself to be grateful for the bed and the company.

Soon he may not have that. Or worse, he may have it only with Thor and whatever rowdy, foul-smelling wastrels currently called themselves his friends.

For now he had a tepid welcome, and presumably hot food incoming.

He would take his scraps and be grateful. He would be. He would be.

Chapter Text

Tony stuffed his face full of home grown, leafy salad with fresh berries and balsamic dressing. It should have been revelatory, but the churning unease ruined it.

Pepper sat across from him, her damp hair dripping water on her shirt.

"Once we're done eating I was going to make a tray for Loki," she said.

Even after reconciling, Tony’s muscles tensed when she said his name. 

"You think he can eat? Like he is?"

"There's a reason I made chicken noodle soup."

"Because Maguma likes it?" he said, being willfully obtuse.

The girl in question slurped loudly, and whacked herself in the face with a noodle. He debated whether to wipe her off now or later. Now, and she'd mess herself up again. Later, and the salty broth would be sticky and dried to her face.

When Pepper shot him That Look, he decided to do it now. Better than sitting unmoving under her scrutiny.

"Fine, I'll take it to him," she sighed. He was tired of making her sigh.

"Nah, I'll do it, I'll do it-"

"I wasn't trying to reverse psychology you."

"It's fine," Tony stood. "You already cooked and everything, let me get this one."

"Can I come too?" Morgan asked, her mouth still half-full.

"Finish your food." He brushed her hair out of her face as he walked by, back to the island to fix up a TV tray for Loki.

The girl whined and laid her arms out on the table, like being told no was the end of the world.

"I told Dr. Cho we would call after dinner," Pepper reminded him.

Ladling soup into a bowl, he nodded.

"Odds are low that he keeps that arm," he said quietly.

"I'll pull the other car around."

The other car being the Quinjet he kept parked in a hanger under the lake. She never did need him to spell everything out.

"Good thing we got you a license last year."

Pepper smiled dryly, and took a small sip of wine. "It does come in handy."

"Eat your carrots, kiddo," he chided, picking up the tray. The girl groaned.

"Oh, and Tony?"

He paused on his way to the stairs. Turning his head just enough to see her.

"Just do what we discussed, it'll be fine."

He nodded, once, gulping down his nerves. 

The soup forced him to take his time on the stairs, and to get caught up rehearsing his lines.

With both hands full, he had to toe the door open and slide in sideways. The fumbling woke Loki from a doze.

"Chow time, if you can handle it," he said without preamble.

Loki blinked slowly, and gave him a one-sided frown. Every expression was one-sided now, would always be one-sided. The thought sent his eyes flying, bouncing around the walls like a pinball.

"Do you expect me to rise to that weak bait?” Loki asked.

"Worth a shot. How's the pain?"

He set the tray at Loki's side, and noticed that the Infinity gear was gone.

"It is worst in my shoulder, and my head. But the arm... "

Tony sat on the edge, his fingers tapping on his leg.

"Nothing?" he guessed.

Loki's lip stiffened.

"Not good. That means it goes through your nerve endings." Tony rubbed his temples. "Sorry. For earlier."

"Whatever for?"

For snapping. For not even bothering to thank him for his sacrifice. For hiding in the bathroom like an asshole.

For cultivating an infatuation and putting Loki in this situation in the first place.

"Forget about it. I guess it was nothing." He pulled his hand down his face. "My head's all over the place."

Deep red eyes searched his, disbelieving. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"FRIDAY, can we get Cho on the line? I don't think Patient Zero is eating."

A hologram appeared from the bedside table, partially blocked by the fan and the water bowl. He cleared the junk as a telephone tone came from the ceiling.

Helen Cho's face appeared in the floating box.

The examination didn't take long. The damage was plain to see. She'd instructed Tony to poke Loki's arm with a safety pin, and each time he felt nothing.

"It burned from the inside out," Loki eventually admitted, a silent minute after Cho hung up. "This comes as no surprise."

The prescribed treatment hung in the air, though Tony struggled to acknowledge it. Removal of all dead tissue, skin grafts, high risk of infection. Loki couldn't get infections of course, but that didn't make the others less drastic.

He worked his jaw, and wished like hell he could stop being right sometime soon.

"There's a top of the line medical center at the compound. We'll take you there and-"

"I'll not be dismembered by some primitive Midgardian butcher," Loki said.

Tony's hands curled into the sheets.

"We're not ants, Loki. It's science. Your alien biology isn't going to-"

"How should you know? Do not proclaim to be an expert on Jo—on my body. It will regrow, I will be well. It only needs time."

"That's the biggest load of reality-denying bullshit I've ever heard. You heard the doc, if you keep it you'll go into hypovolemic shock. You could lose your other limbs, you could die."

"A mortal would die. Which I am not."

"You're not invincible either!"

"Oh, spare me," Loki rolled his eyes.

"This is not up for debate." Tony stood. The god glared at him mutinously.

"It is my body and life to lose. I'll do nothing that I do not wish to."

"Oh, fuck you," Tony took two steps away, stung. "Fuck you and fuck this lone wolf crap. First you pull that stunt on Vormir, then you snap behind my back, and now you want to play the martyr? I care about you damn it, I'm not going to sit here and watch you die."

"You would force me to comply? Like Odin? Like Thanos?"

The words hit him like a sucker punch.

"Leave me, it is none of your concern." Loki growled.

Tony could be dense about people, it was true, but on the matter of acting tough he knew the signs. The point wasn’t to fight. It was to apologize, to make good. He sat back where he'd been and took Loki's uninjured hand.

"Of course it's my concern. I love you, jackass. How could I not be concerned?"

His eyes were drilling into the still blades of the table fan, but he heard the soft gasp like an alarm. 

Another sniff, another gasp, and then he had to look. Because Loki was crying.

"D-Don't. Do not play. Do not use my feelings to manipulate me."

Tony leaned over him, at a loss for what to say. When words failed he put their foreheads together, as close to the center as he dared.

"I'm not, I'm worried. I can't lose you. Let me take you to people who can help. I'm begging."

Loki's good hand escaped his grip, and shakily crawled up his arm. 

He clung to the neck of Tony's t-shirt and sucked in shuddering, tortured sobs.

"You're horrible, I hate you. Why must you make this difficult?" Loki said.

In retrospect, Tony wished he'd listened more carefully. He wished he'd asked what 'this' referred to.

In the moment he was relieved to hear Loki relent. Spitefully, indirectly, but there. Screaming paranoia insisted that the fight wasn’t over, that he couldn’t relax until they won.

He missed the tell in Loki’s wording, and for that mistake he would berate himself for months.

The craft they forced Loki to ride was a younger, savvier sister of the one Thor ripped him out of during the invasion. The child had been left with a man called Happy, and so it was only the three of them.

The rigid seats still bracketed each side, but the cockpit was more refined. Thin, dark-paned windows gave a view through the fuselage walls. Loki slumped in a passenger seat, his head tipped to stare through. 

Two copies of the same farmhouse coexisted side by side, with a bewildered family wandering around it.

Thousands of vehicles compacted the nearby roadway, where a path from another dimension intersected it. A blockade of tents and barbed fences held back the flow, with mortals in bright jackets patrolling it. 

Population control, already? He grinned without mirth.

They did not see the beauty of his solution. Already they sought to impose order and division. He tore his attention away before it could upset him.

His stomach fluttered in a rapid descent. The austere Avengers base came into view.

Would he truly allow these primitives to cut up his body simply because Tony implored it? Because he sprinkled the breadcrumbs for Loki's desperate longing to feed on?

The thought made him ill. And dizzy. Unpleasantly hot.

It was his heart shriveling and dying, that was the cause. Not some nonsensical mortal diagnosis. What kind of delicate hothouse orchid died of shock? 

Imposing walls swallowed up the blue atmosphere as Tony carried him inside. He was shoved into a chair with wheels and pushed down a blurry series of halls. 

They passed into an all white area. Mortals flitted and buzzed like an insect hive. 

The Widow and Captain America stood out from the uniformed masses, hunched together in deep conversation.

The Widow—Natasha—she'd chosen the past. He'd thought her brave for trying, for taking the chance at a future unknown. He hoped her risk reaped a better reward than his own.

"What's he doing here?" the duplicate asked. A new soul with replicated memories, filling a space a different Natasha had left.

"What do you mean? He arrived this morning with Tony, don't you remember?" Rogers said.

Poor fool, he hadn't worked it out yet. The friend he knew was in another compound, through the portal behind the blockade, down the road to nowhere and living eagerly on the other side.

Tony was waylaid by their questions, but Pepper pushed his chair relentlessly toward a desk.

He opened his mouth to protest, but only managed a wordless, distressed sound.

"He'll find us. We have to hurry. Your good fingers are turning black."

She did not lie, they were darkening. He felt pin pricks and tingles when his thumb and forefinger met.

It could not be. He was immortal, he was Jotun. The mortal doctor had to be wrong.

Pepper spoke briskly to a woman in green, and all Loki could think about was how unbearably warm he felt. Like he was boiling alive from the inside.

They wheeled him to a private room, and no less than four muscled Midgardians struggled to lift him.

Every step of the precession was agonizing, the jostling, invasive questions, and noise. He yelled and kicked when they tried to stick him with needles, but it only earned him a heavy set of restraints.

Pepper's voice urged him to calm himself, her long-nailed fingers reminding him of his mother's cloying but tender care. He wished it was Tony, oh he wished, but he was grateful anyone was there.

He clung to her with his numbing hand, shameless in his overheated delirium.

“Don’t take it from me, please, I can't bear it. I’m no use to anyone without my sword arm.”

A plastic muzzle came over his mouth and nose, and he didn't think to fight it. Pepper claimed it was to help him breathe.

She lied. He roared bitterly. Foreign toxins clouded his mind.

His pain dulled but so did his awareness, and he felt helpless to stop its retreat.

He floated in blank oblivion.

Weightless.

Empty.

Free.

When he woke, he was wrapped like a funeral shroud.

His chest and head split with pain.

His throat felt parched as Muspelheim.

And his entire right arm was gone.

Time tumbled past him like leaves in a funneled breeze.

Fractured moments coalesced into an incomplete memory of a night.

Unknown mortals waking him, shining harsh beams into his eyes.

Insistent questions repeating in his ears until he growled and answered them with blinks.

Pepper's impossibly soft hands gripping his and stroking, assuring him he would be fine.

It took effort to pry up his eyes. To will the smudgy blotches into shapes, and then outlines, and then objects with names.

Above spanned a featureless ceiling. A canopy of tubes and machinery.

Winking stars observed him through a window high on the wall, and a weight pressed down on his shins.

He strained to sit up, and rose higher on one side. The weight—or lack of it—startled him.

Nothing was there to counterbalance his healthy arm. Nothing but a jutting precipice of gauze.

Even old Tyr had a stump and a hook. What was he meant to do with this? 

Fueled by horror and sudden rage, he raised his head to confirm what he feared.

Indeed it was Tony weighing him, sleeping through a vigil upon his legs.

The brazenness of this man, the audacity. Daring to touch him after overriding his will.

Loki shook him off, at last fully sitting, and panted around the beating, all-encompassing pain.

It was worse than before, by the Norns what had they done? How could ‘care’ make a wound feel worse?

Tony startled to consciousness when Loki dislodged him. He thought to rip the tubes from his wrist, and choked at the phantom sensation. He willed a limb to move, he felt a limb move, but there was no hand or fingers there. 

Rattled from the realization, he tore the tubes out with his teeth.

"Woah, Genghis, take it easy, everything's alright-"

Alright, alright, alright.

"It is not, what have you done, what have you done?"

Harried and clumsy, he put his feet to the floor but found he had more tubes in... uncomfortable places. Good graces, what business had they touching him there? Human medicine was truly disgusting.

"Lay down, kid. It's fine—don't touch that. Leave it alone."

"They put a tube up my manhood, how am I meant to be calm?!"

"Keep pulling on it and I promise it gets worse. Deep breaths, come on, lay down."

Tony laid a hand on his arm, and he threw him off much too hard.

“Do not put your vile hands upon me. I trusted you, and look what you’ve done.”

Tony lifted his hands like Loki was a threat to him, and the surrender soothed something cold in his chest.

"I told you I did not want this."

"You were dying for fuck's sake, your body was cutting off circulation to your other limbs."

He bared his teeth and snarled. "I thought you were different, Stark. I did everything for your benefit. This is the thanks that you give?"

"Saving you, you mean?" Tony's expression darkened. The formal name did not go unnoticed by him. "Oh yeah, how dare I. Scandalous."

Concentrating, Loki followed the tube invading him and banished it, the bite of seiðr like acid in his veins. The flow was jerky in his exhaustion, but the hateful device disappeared.

Steeling himself, he touched down once again. The floor was cold against his peachy, Aesir feet. The legs under him wobbled from weakness. 

He pressed on.

Mortals could not be trusted with his vulnerability. Whatever his state, he must leave.

"Loki. Seriously. You're barely out of surgery. I'll make you a new arm. Please, please, lay down."

“I am leaving.”

Tony blocked his exit, a mulish scowl on his face.

If the mortal thought that would contain him, then he hadn't learned anything from their trials.

Ignoring the lancing burn, he called upon his seiðr once more.

Plucking the Tesseract out of his pocket, he reached for his only other port.

An unfamiliar ship materialized before him. He stepped through and left the needles and invading tubes behind. The rodent and the Titan's daughters startled.

He stood before them in a sorry state, his body covered in bandages, bare arsed in a backless robe. Other members of the crew raised weapons down the galley. Rumbling engines sent vibrations into his feet.

"Thor?" he called.

A lump in a blanket stood up from rummaging through food stores.

His clean shaven face spread in a guileless grin, and he spread his arms in greeting.

"Brother! Welcome!"

"Oh cripes," a man in a red coat said.

Thor’s face fell as he inspected Loki's condition. "You are wounded."

"I am well," Loki lied. His seiðr lurched unsteadily like a cat tongue under his skin. Linen pants and a plain tunic restored him, and Thor's crewmates appraised him favorably. "I have proficiencies. I will earn my keep."

"A warrior of magical might! You are most welcome!" A Kylosian man declared.

"Aye, as he says," Thor said.

"Hold on a second, I'm the captain. I get final say in who stays and who goes," the red coat complained.

"You would throw my brother to the Void?"

A disagreement erupted, but Loki was unsteady as a flag in the wind. He stumbled to the seats on the bridge.

"Yo, grumpy, how much for the arm?" the talking rodent asked.

Loki stared vacantly at him.

"I am Groot.”

"Who says he doesn't have it? He's got magic. He could have a pocket or a bag of holding or something."

"I don't," he said numbly. "It is gone."

The lack of energy aided him. It took a certain liveliness to care. Without it he felt empty, and compared to the terror that was a much better.

"Bummer." The rodent shrugged, uncaring, and moved along. 

Loki surrendered to the expanse through the windshield. An unfeeling, boundless nothing.

It looked very much like the sky over Asgard. He felt the old boredom creeping in.

The wooden creature held out a yaro root, its skin smooth and verdant green. Loki had to reach over his chest for it, the motion belated and sad in its inefficiency. 

"I am Groot." the plant repeated.

"Thank you," he sighed. "I am Loki."

He took a bite, hoping to restore himself. He chewed, and grimaced, and spit it out.

Groot's odd face contorted into confusion. 

Loki shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"It's not ripe."

Chapter Text

Processing, for Tony, required busy hands and isolation. Pepper did her best to give him time.

Time in the morning, time in the evening, time all night long when her touch and her words weren't enough to pull him away. It became harder after two months crawled by and he was still 'processing' sixteen hours a day.

Resolved not to pester him until at least midnight, she lit the fireplace and watched the minute hand creep. She drained her pent up anger with journaling and yoga. She bought an ebook about new trends in stock trading.

When both hands aligned on the twelve she keyed in the override code to the elevator. Tony was at the workbench, deep in ‘hardware mode.’ Soldering away.

She pushed a toolbox out of the way with her foot, the scraping granting him a second chance to notice her. He didn't pause, didn't look up.

She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his hair.

"Not done yet," he muttered, flares of a UV gun lighting his safety glasses as he quickly set a drop of glue.

"It's coming along," she said. “You’ll get it soon.”

It paid not to be impatient with him, not to make him feel guilty for doing what worked. 

Pepper had limits, though. She couldn't live with a machine making machine.

"Five more minutes, promise. I just need-"

"Sleep. You need sleep. Come upstairs."

"It's not strong enough, nothing's strong enough." He threw down his tools in frustration. "I've tried every damn element and compound and it's just not enough. It'll snap the second it's under stress. I can't have that. It's gotta be reliable."

She pulled him into a kiss, pushing past her own irritation, trying to make it alive and appealing. With relief, she felt him relax into it.

He spun on his stool to make the angle more comfortable, and slid his hands up the back of her shirt.

Humming, she stepped between his legs and prepared to deliver her finisher—a sliding touch down his chest, a soft smile against his lips, come to bed?

He broke away, face bright and energized. She didn't bother hiding her disappointment.

"Uru! Of course, it’s so obvious. I just need to… right. Bed. I’ll come up in a minute. Need to run a simulation of the weight to strength ratio and-"

"Forget it." She pushed away and thumbed the button of the elevator.

"Pep-"

"Good night, Tony."

"I mean it, I'll be right up! I just need to test a few things."

"Good night, Tony."

The doors closed behind her and she leaned her forehead against the cool metal wall. Gravity pressed down on her feet as the car moved upstairs.

Wrapping her arms around her waist she blew out her frustration, and came to an overdue conclusion.

This had to stop.

There was something to be said for existing in another's shadow. One rarely had to justify their presence when the God of Thunder put his foot down. One did not need to speak when Thor so readily spoke for others.

As a boy Loki resented it, but as a walking corpse it was satisfactory. It allowed him to float over his pain like a buoy. He drifted freely between life and memory, and knew one from the other only by his not-brother’s persistent worrying.

As far as living went, it was not the worst he'd experienced. 

Most days he was content, if unfocused. Vacant.

The crew of the Benatar tolerated him. His brother doted on him. With only his left arm to offer he was spared the tedium of combat and worked only when tricks or subterfuge were required.

Today was one such day. A minor heist on Lamentis II.

Quill had booked the job, some manner of resource finding or other. Loki did not care for the details, he followed the others and did as he was told.

The grey muck of the planet's surface caked his shoes as he and Thor walked the mine's smelting facility. Oppressive heat made it difficult to breathe, but he followed close and dutifully played the mute servant to his brother's wealthy crime lord.

Sweaty clothes weighed heavily upon him, the bad shoulder aching and itchy under the layers of hardened leather shaped specially to protect it.

When the bandages came off he'd been shocked by the exposed metal. A complex fitting of concentric circles wrapped and fused to his flesh at the edges. 

It was ugly and gave him terrible shocks if touched, so he kept it covered even at night.

Though it was tempting to conceal his weakness with illusions, it upset him to imagine how the missing limb ought to move. One couldn’t cast without a clear objective, and so the wound was there for all the see.

Today he counted himself lucky for not receiving any comments. Public appearances usually earned a few.

"And here we have the amaranthine vats, highest concentration in the industry," the salesman boasted. "The product undergoes our proprietary hardening technique, which doubles the ductility while maintaining the same resilience-"

"Yes, most impressive," Thor interrupted, his boredom palpable. "May we see the final product? I am eager to test its suitability."

A drip of sweat rolled down the salesman's magenta face and around his dimpled smile.

"Of course, sir, right this way."

Loki sighed at the pomp, inspecting the many crates and mechanisms. Large, luminous fires burned under each of the massive crucibles.

The furnace of Niðavelir came to mind, that happy evening sharing stories and New York slices. 

With the Time Stone he’d re-lived it many times—done it to death, really—but it was preferable to existing in the present.

Now that he lived with one foot in the past, he wished the campaign had gone longer. The good times he’d played until they were memorized, every blink, smile, and sigh. So much the revisiting was more ritual than balm.

Temptation licked at him all the same, the memory as mesmerizing as the furnace flames.

Perhaps he should walk into them and be done. What life awaited him anyway? More of the same. Deterioration of emotion. Cherished moments turned stale.

"Cooper, why do you linger? We are going to the showroom," his brother called.

Loki snapped to awareness. Thor's strained smile emerged from the haze.

"Keep your wits about you, yes? Dangerous place. Lots of hazards," Thor said, perhaps a bit too anxiously for their cover identities. The salesman gave them a curious stare.

Loki forced his barest attempt at a smile. He nodded.

"Apologies,” Thor called. “My body man is the curious sort. Let us go."

The reminder beneath the words was clear. He was brought for a reason, to work.

Rocket bet Drax fifty credits Loki would forget where he was. Had bet one hundred he would cause the mission to fail. 

Though he cared little for winning, Loki refused to fuel the rodent's lust for coin. He found the goods they sought in a matter of minutes, and whisked them into a pocket with a circle of his hand.

The mission concluded in less than an hour, but it was enough to exhaust him for days.

He laid in bed staring at the featureless metal of the upper bunk, deaf to his brother's chatter of their next destination.

Happy moments were rare, treasured things. A single drink of water clasped between his palms. Gazing into the tiny pond he watched his happiness swirl like lazy pampered koi, the joy weeping through the gaps in his fingers no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

When Thor finally left he lowered his face into it, the preserved emotion splashing over his skin.

Sweat and the perfume of Asgardian clothes met his nose. 

Tony's overgrown beard tickled his hairline, his chest rising and falling like the ocean. He still had hair on the right side to be tickled, and two arms that worked.

Tucked along Tony’s form, his soul resurrected, the corpse feeling alive for a time.

He rocked his hips to hear Tony's lovely, rich groan, and buried his face helplessly in his neck.

It was foolish, taking comfort in the arms that betrayed him. But space was a barren, lonesome place and this man had felt like home, if only for a handful of days.

In the privacy of his reverie he could have fragments of what he wanted.

No one else needed to know.

Drax lowered the gangway onto an unusually green lawn.

The crew walked with clopping steps down the plank. Loki hovered in the cabin fresh from a jaunt through Time, uncertain how long he'd been gone.

Stepping onto the ramp he recognized the white, featureless building. The encircled A logo and regimented grounds.

Pepper Stark waited in a crisp crème business suit, left behind by the dispersing crowd.

Loki turned to go back into the ship. Clicking heels followed him.

"Wait.”

A soft hand circled his wrist. He wanted to throw her off, to stomp after Thor and demand an explanation. He’d stayed away for a reason, Norns damn them all.

"I paid good money to get you back, please give me a chance."

She stepped in front of him, and tipped her chin up. It was odd to find her shorter than him. In his blurry memory she floated like a valkyrie.

"You planned this," he said flatly. "You contrived a job to ensure our meeting."

"Only half true. I really did need the uru."

"For Tony." Loki stared at his shoes. It made sense. Midgardians had few sources for otherworldly materials.

“And for you. To apologize,” she said. “Tony’s not here, he doesn’t even know. It’s just me… trying to fix this somehow.”

“It is done, the Aether is no more. Only Time could fix it, and undoing the damage would also undo the cause. The snap. Leave me, there is nothing to be done and I will not sully your lives further without reason.”

“And what if I want you to?”

Her grip slid from his wrist to his palm. He jerked it away in surprise.

“Then you are even more mad than he is. You’ve a daughter-”

“Who asks about you, who hasn’t seen her father for more than an hour since you left.”

“I can’t help what he does.”

“Will you at least try? One night. You and me.”

His heart skipped, the hopeless optimist. He was daydreaming, he had to be.

”I can’t.”

“We’ll talk through everything, and if you don’t want to proceed you don’t have to. Please, just give me tonight.”

One night… that was all he’d had with Tony. It had changed everything. Loki supposed there wasn’t much harm in tempting fate. Where else would he spend the evening? Wrapped around a phantom of affection no more real than his missing limb? Silent and surly by his not-brother's side?

Not much to lose, when considered like that.

He nodded. "Very well. One night.”

She led him to her waiting vehicle. Thor crawled out from the cargo hold, the crates of stolen goods in his arms.

"Enjoy your visit, brother! Shall I see you when we depart?"

"Aye. You know where to find me?"

"Of course, how could I not? You mutter his name in your sleep."

"Oh bully, let us go. Before he shames me further." Loki covered his face, groaning.

Pepper's laughter was a subdued, melodic sound. She pulled the hand down with a kind smile, and tucked hers into his elbow.

It was a strange thing to be touched casually, to be treated gently by a practical stranger.

As a boy he sometimes escorted foreign girls around court; spoiled, unruly types his parents thought betrothable to a second son. He hated them, every one, but he gave them his arm as he was told to.

It felt like that with Pepper, though she proved a more pleasant adornment. She was a consummate lady, who spent the drive to the hotel educating him amicably about art investments.

Unfamiliar music played as the elevator carried them upward. Parallel mirrors created an endless loop of their reflections. All was gold and gleaming with fresh polish, a mismatch with his battle worn leathers.

With a silent scouring charm he removed the mud from his boots.

"This is a luxury?" he asked, as the floor numbers continued to climb.

"Less than it used to be. After the first snap many of our hotels became homeless shelters. No one was traveling anyway, and a lot of people were struggling. They’re back to being for-profit now."

“I see,” Loki said, not fully understanding. In Asgard businesses toiled solely for the crown.

"Are you a critic, then? Of The Schism."

"I prefer it to the alternative," Pepper said shortly.

Perhaps cataclysms were not his best choice in topic. "And Tony?"

Silence pressed in as the elevator rang. Pepper led them to the end of the hall without answering, and swiped a keycard over the lock of a double door.

"We can worry about him when he decided he wants to participate in life again. Tonight, let’s focus on us."

"Us? What us? I barely know you.”

"Exactly," Pepper said. Opening the door, she tipped her head in invitation. "Shall we?"

Fingers tapping his leg, he stepped inside. Tall windows revealed a view of the city skyline, cloaked in darkness and twinkling from a thousand tiny lights. A couch large enough for eight stretched before an oversized screen, nearby sat an equally egregious bed. Just the one.

Anxiety made his head light, born of other nights in rented rooms that hadn't gone as planned.

Pepper set her purse on the side table and Loki's mind ran. Making the obvious conclusion.

"I don't like sex," he blurted.

"Excuse me?"

He wished he hadn't said it. "Sex. I—I don't have it. It's too close, too many things going on and I don't, uh, do what men are meant to do. This gesture is kind, but there is no point. Even with your approval I could not give Tony what he wants."

"Hot start," Pepper smiled nervously.

Loki felt the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. He did not. He waited for a true answer, and got none.

She pulled a bottle of wine from her purse and strode to the kitchen to uncork it.

Pouring two glasses, she set the bottle aside and took a rather long pull for a lady.

"Okay, now we can talk sex. Go on.”

“Forgive my clumsy speech, I’ve not been myself lately. I only meant to save you the trouble, because your efforts here are fruitless. I can't give him what he wishes-”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

“I don’t know what you expect-”

“How hard is it to answer one question? Do you have feelings for him, yes or no?”

“Yes,” he turned away, his ears prickling with heat.

Loki reached for the second glass, suddenly needing the courage.

“Then we have that in common. Which means we have a good reason to be here.” Pepper tapped the rims of their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Loki drank, following her lead. He caught himself staring at his boots again. 

“What now, then? Where do we go from here?”

“The couch, I think. And comfy clothes.”

She set her glass on the counter and began arranging food on a tray.

It was only after she had them settled on the sofa in their night clothes that he realized her intentions. Perhaps that was daft. In retrospect it was obvious. 

With a friendly air she guided him through the platter of food, urging him to try the fruits and cheese. She sat close even though the couch could have fit a battalion, and dialed the television to some manner of entertainment. 

Her words were too soothing, her manner too obliging. How had he missed it?

“Are you courting me?” he asked, eyeing her loose braid and satin pajamas.

“Is it working?” she replied, bold faced.

In her openness he could see how she fit with Tony, blunt force instruments the both of them. Unabashed in their force and directness.

“My lady-” he stuttered.

Pepper smiled, and leaned close. 

“I’m starting to see what he sees in you. I wouldn’t have guessed you were so easy to fluster. It’s cute.”

Loki cleared his throat, and took a steading drink of wine.

“And where did you learn to be so confident?”

Pepper leaned back into the cushions, spinning her glass thoughtfully. She put her feet on the ottoman, and motioned for him to follow suit.

"My mother was traditional. She didn't want me to go to college, said it would be a waste. Better to go to a trade school and learn to type. Get a job as a secretary, then make yourself a wife."

"You... only married five years ago, correct? But you are middle aged for a mortal." Loki hoped that wasn't rude. Age was difficult to understand.

"Well, you’re welcome to never remind me again," Pepper smiled tightly, which meant that yes, he’d been rude. He felt heat creep up his neck.

"Apologies."

She waved her hand and shrugged. "After Morgan bikinis are dead to me anyway, I might as well accept my fate. Easier said than done. Anyway, where was I?"

"Your training?" Loki said.

"Right. We all want to be the opposite of our parents, so naturally I branded myself a career girl. I didn't think I would ever get married, or even date. I had big dreams. I wanted to be rich, and to have people respect me. But people don’t respect you when you’re nobody, and they respect you even less when you marry your billionaire boss. I learned to make them. With my clothes, my competence, my tone of voice.”

“That I understand,” Loki shifted, opening his posture. “Mortals don’t realize because I seem powerful compared to you, but on Asgard I am a weakling. I had to cultivate an image of power just to be left alone.”

Pepper smiled sadly, and carefully slid closer until her arm touched his side.

“Is this okay?”

He worked his jaw, torn between the calm atmosphere they’d settled into and the very real discomfort of her proximity to his metal shoulder.

“Could you perhaps take the other side?”

Tension he hadn’t noticed growing inside him dissipated as she moved to his left without complaint.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. That was insensitive-”

“No, it twinges, that’s why. It’s not,” he sighed, feeling ridiculous. “I find myself unbothered by you. Strangely.”

“Oh, that’s good. Me too.”

Loki studied her, the closeness highlighting aspects he’d overlooked before. Her fine bones and clearwater eyes, the unusual vibrancy of her red hair streaked with blonde.

Realizing his arm now formed a barrier between them, he put it on the back of the sofa.

“You may… come closer. If you would like. If I understand our purpose?”

She drew in a deep breath, nervous or frightened or both?

“Yes. Yes, that would be the point. If you don’t mind.”

“I am intrigued,” he said truthfully. Intimate liaisons he had tried, but never like this. Never so cautiously, with his partner fully aware of his limitations.

Gingerly, she scooted closer until her shoulder tucked under his. He let his arm lower, the difference in their size oddly appealing.

“You’re very small,” he said without thinking. A petite hand slapped his chest, and he flinched, laughing.

“I would love to hear you say that to Tony.”

“I have,” he smirked gamely. “A pity you missed it. He turned scarlet.”

Quiet chuckles saw them through the next minute, both of them sinking deeper into the embrace as they acclimated to it. Pepper looked up, her head resting on his shoulder.

“It’s weird, being with someone who isn’t Tony, touching like this. Not bad! Just… very weird.”

“I don’t have that experience, but I understand. It is… a peculiar arrangement,” Loki said. “But truly, what hope is there? Even if we do get along. I’m sorry I keep circling back to it but I simply cannot-”

Pepper touched his wrist once more. Like Tony she was unreasonably warm.

"Lets make a promise, then, before we get any more invested. Between the three of us, we’ll have no expectations. If you don't want sex, then we won’t involve you in it. Simple as that. Tony and I can take care of ourselves."

The red pool in his glass trembled like a stone had been thrown in. He drank the rest in one go.

"An affair without sex.” He gazed at the city through the window. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Taking his glass and setting it aside, she wrapped two hands around his one. It felt like an invitation, like drowning.

“The internet is full of fascinating ideas,” she said. “I’d be happy to give you some resources. But a word to the wise, if you don’t want a mountain of porn, search ‘polyamory’ not ‘threesome.’”

Turning his eyes uncomprehendingly to the program they hadn’t been watching on the television, Loki smiled blandly.

“Thank you, my lady, but I haven’t a clue what any of that means.”

Chapter Text

Loki's comm chirped as the car rounded the curve of the lake.

It had been a quiet evening once they settled in, followed by a late morning and 'brunch.' Though the finery and rich food was externally relaxing, the slow pace gave him time to work himself into a froth.

The shrill ring broke the silence, and he checked the screen in a daze.

"Thor?" Pepper asked, turning the wheel with practiced hands and guiding them into a short driveway.

He extracted the phone from his pocket dimension and frowned.

"Wondering if I'll be returning to the Benator today, I imagine."

"Will you?"

Loki watched the blinking lights of the communicator and felt the vibrations on his palm.

The motor powered down and Pepper caught him with a guarded stare.

"If you're not sure, tell me now. I'll take you back. Tony's lost enough people, he doesn't need to lose you a second time."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Loki banished the comm.

He shoved himself through the car door and closed it behind him.

The scent of evergreen and algae met him, crunching needles under his feet. He didn't remember entering the house the first time, only waking upstairs. This time he took it in with fresh eyes and with ears perked to the sound of bristling pines and clucking chickens.

"I would never hurt him intentionally again," he said.

Pepper slid her purse over her shoulder, and approached the front door silently.

"Mommy!"

Morgan caught her mother around the knees, and Pepper bent to kiss her head.

The living room was in disarray, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere with a camping tent erected between the sofa and the fireplace.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Daddy said we could sleep outside, but it rained."

The television displayed a colorful program, with friendly looking characters chatting animatedly.

Loki surmised that humans often spent evenings huddling together in front of such screens, as he and Pepper had done. The optimist in him wondered what it might be like to do that with Tony, or perhaps everyone all together. Could all three of them even fit? It was a surprisingly modest sofa, compared to the one in the hotel.

"That sounds like fun. Do you remember Mister Loki?"

"Daddy's real friend."

Loki nodded, not expecting the swell of hurt and hope that her words inspired.

"That's right. How fair your chickens, my lady? Are they well?"

The girl bounced on her toes. "A-huh. Where'd your arm go?"

"Morgan-"

Loki excused her with a wave. "It died a warrior's death. I imagine it has gone to Valhalla, and become the subject of many practical jokes for my ancestors."

The girl's face scrunched up, and Loki smiled.

"I see I'm speaking funny again. Forgive me. Perhaps I'll tell you some stories of my people later, so that you might understand."

Morgan crossed her arms, as if preparing to interrogate Loki about these 'stories' when Pepper picked her up and strode toward the kitchen.

"I'll tell you later, baby. Let's get started on breakfast."

The blankets emerging from the tent shifted as Pepper distracted Morgan with eggs. A long yawn Loki would know anywhere emanated from the navy parachuting. The bees in Loki's gut swarmed.

He knelt at the entrance and peered inside, the sight of Tony's tousled hair and sleep-hazed eyes familiar but no less enchanting for it. A knit sweater and rucked-up blanket swamped him in fabric as he perched on one elbow and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"May I enter?" Loki murmured.

Tony dragged his hand down his face, and fell back into the pillows with a sigh.

"Are you going to run off and accuse me of mistreating you again? 'Cause if so, I think I'll pass."

Loki braced against the bitterness, against the impulse to leave and shield himself from it.

Pepper warned him over breakfast of what he ought to expect. She'd told him to be strong, to speak his peace. It was much easier to promise than to do.

"I do not wish to. I've regretted my actions every moment of every day. I want only for you to be well, but my attempts seem to have been in vain."

Kicking off the blanket, Tony sat. His face was an unreadable wall. He nodded at Loki's chest, at the cover over his shoulder.

"I guess you found the port. That's why you're here, isn’t it? You want to bitch at me about that too?"

"I don't want to be unkind, and I did not plan to return. Your clever wife arranged it. How she guessed I would be with the Guardians I couldn't say. I left no hint as to my whereabouts."

"Thor's all you've got, where else would you go?" Tony hugged a pillow and slouched on his crossed legs.

"I suppose that isn't such a leap."

"Better get used to using your brain in this house, everyone's quick around here."

He leaned forward at the implication of the words, at the hint of hope.

"You must know I meant no harm to you. I was upset. I felt betrayed. You told me you would not force me, and yet I woke with a changed body."

"Because you were dying."

Loki averted his gaze. The mechanism in his arm twinged, as it often did. His fingers dug into the fuzzy wrinkles of the blanket.

"I feel as if I did die that day," he admitted.

The granite in Tony's face crumbled, and regret shone like sun rays through a storm cloud. 

"Fuck it, get in here. I hate this."

It was difficult to crawl on three limbs, to fit his long body through the opening and under the low ceiling. He managed, swallowing what little pride remained and sitting close at Tony's side.

He wished he could skip over the quarreling and hold him close as he did in dreams. Everything seemed possible with Tony's lungs guiding Loki's breaths and Tony's warmth permeating his skin. Part of his wish came true. Tony's hand came to squeeze his knee, a kneading pressure that quieted the static in his ears.

"I've put a lot of thought into what you did the day of the Schism. The soul stone, the snap. I know you did it so I wouldn't have to, but watching you go through that hurt me a lot. It hurt me just as much to see you in that kind of pain. Do you get that?"

"I did not see a place for myself here. I did not expect to live," Loki stared at the pattern of Tony's sleep pants.

The mortal leaned to catch his eye.

"I know, ass hat, that's why I'm so fucking mad."

Loki flinched at the force of the words. Tony rolled his eyes.

"I have these feelings for you, okay? I want to let you in, but I can't take another heartbreak. I can't open myself up like that to someone who doesn't share their plans with me, and who bolts at the first sign of trouble."

"I don't want to be like that," Loki said in a rush. "All my life I was a shadow, I don't want to continue that legacy. I want to live authentically."

"What's stopping you?"

Loki swallowed, unsure how to explain. Cold sweat beaded his hairline.

"Fear, mostly. That this is all doomed. That I'll have invested my hopes only to lose them."

"Well now you're making me nervous.”

Gazing skyward and finding only the stretched fabric of the tent, Loki hoped his silver tongue did not fail him.

"I know what is said about you, that you are a lothario. A man of sexual appetite. I'm afraid I am the opposite. When we first came of age Thor would drag his friends and I to the public houses. I'd watch them succumb to their hungers, acting fools in the name of stripping a maiden's layers. 

The women were fine to look at, I found many of them beautiful, but I never desired sex. That part of me doesn't function properly, and never has."

Tony shifted, his brows falling and mouth turning down. The walls of the tent felt confining then, as the mortal no doubt realized he'd fallen for someone unfit.

Loki waited to be contradicted. To be told he was simply too selective, or that he'd not yet experienced a good lay and he'd surely change his mind once he did. He readied himself to be so disappointed by a man he thought the world of. 

Instead Tony looked at him with sincerity and confusion.

"So you're like... a virgin?"

"I've been with people. A few. Briefly."

"Okay, wrong word, but-" Tony scratched his beard. "I just mean—you've never had a relationship? Something ongoing and serious."

"I had opportunities, but I chose not to pursue them. I couldn't risk gossip."

"About how you were a gentleman who wanted things other than sex? Girls dream of that shit, you know."

"Not that," Loki huffed. "As I said, that part of me often doesn't respond, not without a good deal of coaxing. A madam could be paid into silence, but if a courtier found me lacking there would be eddas sung of my impotence."

"Oh." Tony's mouth dropped open. "OH! We’re talking about dick stuff. Not just arousal but, like, other issues too.”

"Yes, well, no need to spare my feelings," Loki rolled his eyes. "Now do you see why I prefer not to speak of it?"

A sharp laugh escaped Tony's nose, and Loki nearly pulled the Tesseract from his pocket.

"I don't mean to laugh at you, it's just— one in five." Tony snorted and covered his eyes. "I am so sorry, holy shit."

"There was no way for you to know during the invasion. I assumed it to be a coincidence."

"Still, my bad." Tony pushed his hair back as he thought. "So you're worried I'm going to be put out because your little soldier doesn't like to salute on command. And even if it did you think our sex drives won't line up. Is that right?"

"Essentially.”

"Well let me tell you, that's a huge load off of my shoulders."

"Excuse me?"

Shrugging, Tony indicated his greying hair and crow’s feet.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm every bit the hedonist my reputation suggests, but I had concerns this mortal coil of mine wouldn't keep up with a god in his prime. Assuming you even want to try. I wouldn't enjoy sex if you didn't enjoy it too."

That first night in Niðavelir returned to him, as vividly as if he'd just experienced it. Every detail he’d memorized, from the press of Tony's skin on his palm to the mesmerizing noises he made when Loki rubbed against his hips.

"I am curious." Loki smiled foolishly, his fingers plucking threads from the blanket. "I have imagined, ah, giving you pleasure. Being shown how to touch you, how to ease your need."

"Keep talking like that and I'll have to zip up this tent to protect Morgan's innocence." Tony smirked. 

An answering hum filled Loki's chest. To be looked upon so favorably, to be wanted like that, it was a foreign, tantalizing sensation.

"Is that a wish for me to stop, or to continue?"

The corner of Tony's lip twitched up, a Loki wondered if he was about to be tackled, or kissed, or both. For once the excitement overpowered the undercurrent of fear.

Mysterious though these feelings were, he wanted to learn their names, to take them between his lips and taste the flavors poets wrote about.

Tony rose to his knees and leaned forward, his eyes scanning Loki's face and chest and then ratchetting back to his lips.

Loki's breath caught when Tony pressed his lips to his cheek, much of it new but so much the same. The scent of him, the prickle of his beard, the voice so close and low it gave Loki gooseflesh.

"Neither. I just thought you might like to know that you’re affecting me. What you do with that information is your call." Tony crawled past him, then out through the door. 

A smarmy wink accompanied his smile.

"Want a hand with breakfast, Pep? I'm up now."

"Can you get the plates? My hands are full."

Loki touched his cheek, his mind empty of thought. He waited several moments to leave, willing his heart to settle.

It stubbornly refused.

Breakfast went by like a Lifetime movie for Tony. All chuckles and sunlight and soft focus lenses.

He'd been uncharacteristically quiet, too absorbed in their atmosphere to contribute. They discussed art, and classical music, and other things Tony didn't know shit about.

He didn't mind at all, he listened and cut up Morgan's food and floated a little dopily through the realization that his lovers genuinely got along.

Lovers. Plural. Wow.

Pepper and Loki had apparently already eaten, so it was just Maguuma and him. When he finished his toast and bacon he checked his watch.

"Well, Lokes, I think we're late for our appointment in the garage."

The giant blinked at him, and then sucked down the last of his tea.

"If you say so."

"I surely do," Tony stood. Pepper smiled at him encouragingly.

With any luck he wouldn't need her reassurance, but Miss Fortune didn't often take his side.

Taking Loki's hand, he led him to the elevator under the stairs and waited for the doors to open.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because that's what people do. Come on, at least pretend you don't know what's coming."

A Mona Lisa smile answered him, but in the end Loki obliged. He followed Tony into the elevator, then out, then around all the robots and parked cars.

His automated fabrication suite was built into the back wall, a mess of robotic arms and gears.

Friday had finished the prosthetic overnight, a sculpture of carbon and uru centered on the CNC table. He hoped like hell it worked. Other than one day of "atonement" from Barnes, the design was completely untested. Uru or otherwise.

There was only one way to find out for sure.

He positioned his partner in front of it, and dragged a stool over for him to sit on.

"Okay, open up."

"Oh. Goodness."

Not exactly the response he'd hoped for. Hastily, he called DUM-E forward to help lift it.

"The gold of the uru is a little gaudy, I guess. But we can paint it. Or put latex over it, whatever you want."

"Tony-"

"It's weight tested up to two tons—I took your strength into account—so you don't have to be precious with it! If it works it will read your brainwaves and move just like a natural arm, and I figure the uru ought to channel your magic okay."

Loki looked ready to turn it down so Tony whistled and stuck out his arm.

The falcon glided from the rafters, and pinched at his ear as usual. Morgan had named her Bitey in Loki's absence, and Tony hadn't seen much room to argue. It was pretty much her defining trait. He tapped twice on her beak, and watched her transform in his hand.

Loki stared, his mouth falling open slightly.

"I built a hollow, there at the shoulder do you see? She fits right in. I thought that might help you adjust to it, her and you being connected by magic and all that."

"Did you just... transform her?" Loki sputtered.

"Yeah? She was stuck as armor when you left, I'd have felt bad leaving her like that all this time."

"That shouldn't be possible, she's my familiar. She answers to me."

Ignorant as he was about magic, Tony wasn't entirely sure how to interpret that. Loki looked shocked so he guessed it was pretty noteworthy. He'd have asked further, but DUM-E chose that time to start fumbling at the arm.

"Easy, easy—here, just hold the elbow, geez. Sorry, this thing weighs a ton. You'll have to tell me if it's too much. With prosthetics it's pretty important for it to match your proportions, but estimation only gets you so far."

Loki balked, and at long last spoke.

"You created this for me. Bespoke."

Tony paused in the process of picking up the piece, his brain so far ahead of the conversation that Loki's words felt like a rubber band yanking him backward.

"Of course, what kind of man do you take me for? Only the best for my friends. Which, I guess means lovers get the best-est. Huh, come to think of it, I've never had a lover that needed my battle tech. FRIDAY, can we make a new quality standard above Friend Shit? That's where Loki goes from now on."

"Yes, sir."

"Nice."

A shaky chuckle drew his attention back to Loki, who looked somewhere between charmed and shell shocked.

"Tony... I don't know what to say. I'm speechless. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, I only had human brainwaves to program it with. For all I know it's a really fancy pirate hook."

"I shall endeavor not to get my hopes up. Should I sit?"

"Probably a good idea, yeah. Take that cover off, let's see what we're working with."

The care of Loki's fingers unclipping the straps didn't escape him. The untied nerve cables must have been zapping the guy whenever he touched them the wrong way.

Tony would have more sympathy if it weren't for Loki running away. Had he stayed they could have tied those wires off properly, and probably hooked him up with a prototype arm within two weeks.

Instead, they had this mess of damp gears that showed early signs of rust and smelled sharply of ozone.

Hitting Loki with a glare, he walked to the cleaning supplies and rummaged around.

"For future reference, you need to keep that uncovered at night. The parts need to breathe."

"How was I to know?"

"That's why I said 'in the future.' Here, rub this alcohol on the skin. I need to scrub off this build up."

To his relief Loki did as he was told, and Tony took the opportunity to move the live wires while he was distracted. The god flinched when he touched them, but said nothing. Probably for the best, since Tony was on the edge of a lecture that Loki probably didn't need at that particular moment.

The grime came away with some scrubbing, which Tony performed carefully under Loki's hawk-like gaze. When he was finished he dapped oil in the various joints and checked their motions.

"Well the good news is everything works, and the port seems to have anchored to your bones like it was supposed to. It should be safe to hook you up."

"Alright," Loki said, the word new and novel in his voice. "Let's try it."

"That's the spirit." Tony patted him between the shoulder blades, and helped DUM-E bring the arm into place.

Carefully extracting the wires, he winced along with Loki when the motion visibly stung.

"These were supposed to have ends on them—quick releases so you can take the arm on and off at night—but I couldn't make them until I had the rest of the arm designed. Once we put the ends on it shouldn't hurt anymore. The attaching part won't be fun, though."

Loki pursed his lips, and looked at his feet. "You had such plans for me. I didn't realize."

Tony laughed to keep himself from bitching.

"That's one way of putting it." He picked up the first of the four electrodes and slid it into place.

Loki gasped, his hand clenching on the base of the stool. The metal gave a creak.

"Careful, don't break my seat. Here."

With the wire pinched in one hand, he snagged a wrench from the workbench and pushed it into Loki's palm.

"Destroy that. It's way cheaper." Tony picked up a screwdriver and tightened the end cap so it was firmly attached to the wire. Loki yelped.

"You're quite certain this is how it should be?"

"Yep. That should be the worst. That's for pain. These other three wires? Cold, hot, pressure. You'll get some weird sensations but it shouldn't hurt."

Loki watched him intently as he finished capping the wires, a mix of horror and intrigue coloring his eyes. When he was finished, Tony pinched all four and wiggled them, testing.

"Feel anything?"

"No. Not anymore."

"Good, then we can move on to the main event. You should be proud of yourself, my guinea pig Barnes whined like a baby through that part. Compared to him, you took it like a champ." He flashed Loki a smile, and got a tentative grin in return.

"This is nothing. I have taken much worse."

"I know, buddy. Let's hope it stays that way. DUM-E? What are you doing standing around over there? Come here, get me a good view."

The chiding combined with the bot's lovable clumsiness amused Loki, so Tony played it up as he got the port and the arm aligned and carefully rotated the joint into place.

"Okay, you should start to feel things now. If at any point it gets overwhelming, speak up. I'll stop."

Loki's fingers were white on the wrench handle. "Will it... move?"

"Hopefully. But even if it doesn't, we shouldn't take that as a sign of failure. Our brains run on electricity. They shoot signals through our nerve endings to tell our bodies how to move. This arm will shoot signals back, but it likely won't be in the same 'language' that your brain uses. It will have to learn that language over time, but as it does you should gradually get more control over the prosthetic."

"I see."

"Ready?" Tony arranged the leads near their connection points.

Loki's eyes burned with a determination he'd missed seeing there. It almost felt like they were back in Eitri's lab rather than tucked into Tony's basement. They were both fully present again, and everything almost felt right.

"Ready, Tony."

He started with the easiest to identify. Cold.

It clicked, and Loki shivered. The rush of success flooded through him.

"You felt that."

"Yes," Loki said. "This is incredible. Magic without seiðr."

Taking a steadying breath, Tony slid the next three into place, one by one.

Loki looked giddy by the end, his pulse firing visibly in his neck and his eyes dancing over the planes of the prosthetic.

"Is it done? Can I move?"

"Almost, one sec." Tony squeezed his shoulder, and picked up the falcon armor. It fit over the connected nerve wires, hiding them from sight and making a smooth slope between the prosthetic and what was left of the god's shoulder. "There."

He stepped back, admiring their work. A bit gaudy with the gold and black, but that was kind of Loki's signature. Crossing his arms, he tipped his chin and nodded in approval.

"It suits you."

"I agree," Loki dropped the wrench and cradled his new hand in his lap. His brows knit as he visibly tried to make it move.

Tony watched, hopeful but not expectant. These things tended to take time, and a lot of it. Loki did love shattering norms, though.

"Let me reiterate, it's okay if you can't manipulate it right away. Normal, even."

"Shh! Let me focus. I can feel it, I can send my seiðr through it."

A green spark erupted from the tip of the pointer finger, and Tony just about fell over.

"No way. You ridiculous bastard, no way are you-"

"I said quiet!" Loki squinted, teeth clenched and eyes bright.

The tip of the thumb twitched. Then the index finger, and the pinky.

A manic smile broke out on his face and Tony couldn't help matching it. He walked briskly to stand between Loki's legs and watched him repeat the little movements several times.

"Look at that, holy hell, it works."

"It is odd how this hunk of metal already feels like a part of me. Perhaps the falcon is helping."

The sheer joy in his voice put Tony on the moon. He wanted to touch him, on the arm and everywhere else. Thankfully he had a ready excuse.

"Can you feel this?" Taking the small, pointy end of the screwdriver he poked the tip of Loki's thumb. Reflexively, it curled inward and they both smiled like idiots.

"Yes," Loki whispered.

Gently, he took the metal hand in his and ran a thumb down the center of the palm. "And this?"

Loki blinked rapidly, and nodded.

Raising the hand to his lips Tony placed a soft kiss on the knuckles, smiling when Loki's face flushed and tears clouded his eyes.

"And this?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I feel it, Tony. Thank you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you, thank you-"

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm just glad you're back, I'm glad I can finally give this to you."

The first of several tears escaped, and Tony stepped up on the rung of the stool so their faces were level. Cupping Loki's cheek, he rested their foreheads together.

"I'm going to kiss you, okay?"

"Please-" Loki shook in his hold, his flesh and blood hand gripping the back of Tony's shirt.

Slowly, slowly, he closed the distance between their lips, the touch as light and tentative as a breeze. Loki waited, back ramrod straight as if any movement might break the spell. Smiling to himself, Tony pressed a line up into his hair and went for a second, longer touch.

Like ice melting Loki yielded, his head tipping to bring them closer and his lips mimicking Tony's touch in stilted approximations. It was adorable, that hesitance. Like he had only the vaguest idea what to do.

Charmed, Tony deepened the kiss, and ran a testing lick along the seam. Loki surged under him, groaning and arching so eagerly that he inadvertently pushed Tony off his perch.

They broke apart as he fell, his legs wobbly from inertia and stumbling backward until his ass found a workbench.

Loki stared, halfway to a pinup model with his owlish eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Tony opened his mouth, some stupid half-baked joke forming, but Loki was on him before could say it. A cool hand touched his chest, his neck, his jaw, thin lips pressing and plying and blowing him away with their enthusiasm.

Loki's weight held him a bit too hard into the workbench, so he hopped up to sit on it. Draping his arms over the larger man's shoulders, he hooked his ankles around his legs and accepted Loki's clumsy, heartfelt appreciation.

It was unlike any kiss he'd had in recent years, so pure and full of life. He could get used to it, could see himself tracing its development into the intimate, practiced kisses he and Pepper shared.

With Loki's lips and tongue teasing his, that potential future built itself in his mind brick by brick. He wanted it, wanted to start it right then and there with his legs spread around narrow hips and his mouth slipping open to admit his tentative tongue. 

He wanted to help Loki understand himself, to teach him and encourage him and offer up his body for whatever experiments sparked his curiosity.

Inching closer to the edge of the table, Tony tightened his leg vice and pulled away grinning when Loki went a bit too deep.

"Easy there cowboy, with the tongue less is more."

"Oh, sorry, I-"

"It's alright. I'll show you."

Changing the angle, he kissed him more firmly, darting in just for a moment and then retreating. The gasp Loki made was very gratifying. Groaning, he kept at it, his hands wandering over Loki's back and up into his hair and—

The elevator dinged.

Like lightning they broke apart, panting.

A child's exaggerated gasp broke the silence.

"Daddy's kissing Loki!" Morgan screeched.

"Um," Pepper started, surprise clear on her face. "We were going to swim at the marina pool. I thought you might want to come if you were finished."

Collecting himself, Tony slid off the table, doing his best impression of his thirty year old self who'd been caught in much worse positions almost daily. He strutted over to his wife and daughter, not-so-subtly fixing his hair.

"That's right Maguma, and guess who I'm kissing next?"

Standing on his toes he gave Pepper a somewhat more kid-friendly smooch, and smiled when their daughter yelled and flailed.

"Ewwww!"

His wife's laughter put an end to the kiss, and Tony followed it immediately with a kiss to Morgan's cheek.

"And now I've kissed everyone. How about that?"

"That's weird," Morgan declared.

"You're weird," Tony tickled her side, and enjoyed her wild giggling.

The next thing he knew, the girl was being pushed into his arms as Pepper stepped around the mess of tables and spare parts to where Loki stood frozen near DUM-E.

"Oh no," she said by way of warning, "I think the kissing bug is contagious."

Loki looked to Tony, as if he had any answers. Smirking, he made a 'go on' wave with his hand. He'd never get tired of Loki's serious face flushing.

"I'd hate to perish for want of a kiss, after all my daring escapes," the god said eventually.

Pepper stood on her toes, and gave him a short but sweet peck. Their first, as far as Tony knew.

Her hand trailed from his neck to his shoulder and down the sleek line of the prosthetic's plates. Loki's eyes followed the motion, as entranced by the new feeling as Tony was by the look.

"I take it this worked out. I like it. It's sexy."

"Hey now, there are children in the room." Tony pressed the button for the elevator.

"I wanna go swimming," Morgan declared. "Daddy can we go to the pool?"

"No pressure, I'd understand if you wanted to, ah, finish up your work," Pepper said with mirthful eyes.

As if Tony was going to miss seeing her and Loki in bathing suits. Pshhh.

Tony stretched out on a lounger at the marina pool in swim shorts and a Panama hat, Pepper reclining in the chair beside him.

They both had books on their laps, but neither of them were reading. There were more entertaining things on display.

Namely, Morgan splashing in the kiddie pool in orange water wings, yelling at Loki to 'quit being a baby' and get in.

"I think I see why you called him a kid," Pepper mused, tipping her sunglasses down for a better look. "One minute he's blowing your mind with philosophy, and the next..."

The god inspected the glorified bathtub dubiously.

"The next, he says he doesn't know how to swim, I know," Tony shook his head. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. He's adorable."

"You're adorable too. Fawning over him. But you ought to give him a break on the worldliness. I recall a certain billionaire not knowing what food stamps were until he was forty."

"Low blow," Tony shut his eyes and slid down in his chair, letting the hat tip over his face. "What about you? Getting any tingly feelings yet?"

Pepper hummed, thinking it over with a sip of her margarita.

"Not yet, but I like having him around."

"Is that okay? You not feeling the same, I mean. I can't help feeling like I'm doing something wrong, double dipping."

She lifted the brim of his hat with a finger, and gave him a mildly annoyed stare.

"Tony."

He raised his brows, waiting.

"Relax. Everything's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Stop thinking. You can rest."

She kissed him on the cheek, his nose full of fruity drinks and tanning oil.

A few yards away Morgan insulted Loki's cowardice again, and the giant finally stepped into the pool with a tense face.

The water barely reached his hips. Children screamed and splashed all around him.

Letting the hat cover his face again, Tony chased the paranoia, batting at old fear. Sinking into the plush pool cushion, he shut his eyes again and listened to the rowdy kids laugh and play.

Rest. Rest and peace. Finally.