He'd never liked hospitals. They always smelled sterile and severe, and they reminded him of death. Even though this wasn't that kind of a hospital, it still brought those things to mind, and Tony shuddered as he checked in at the front desk.
He was fastening the visitor's pass to his chest when the smiling nurse spoke to him.
"Sorry?"
"I said it's nice that someone's finally coming to visit him," the young woman repeated. "His brother used to come every day, but that stopped awhile ago. He almost never gets visitors anymore."
"Yeah, well, if you knew him like we did, you probably wouldn't visit either."
The nurse blinked and frowned, clearly upset by his answer, but Tony brushed her off and headed for the rec room.
Everything inside was white, from the walls to the floor to the patients' suits. Some of the worse ones were being guarded by orderlies; others were engaged with each other, either in conversation or game. His eyes quickly swept the room and then he found him.
He looked like he hadn't aged a day, which Tony knew was impossible because it'd been five years since he'd come by, but his skin was still smooth and youthful, his hair still black as jet. With a preparatory sigh, Tony walked over to the solitary man and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey." He circled around to sit, so he could look on the person that had once been his friend, the person who was convinced he was a god, that he was Loki.
"Tony." Loki smiled and inclined his head, and Tony responded with his own nervous grin. "This is a surprise. I have not had many visitors as of late."
"Yeah, so I've been told."
For a moment, they were both quiet, until Loki spoke again. "Why have you come?"
Tony sighed. "I came because you killed ten of your fellow patients. They're talking about sending you to prison. Maximum security."
"Ah, yes. The nonbelievers. Only death awaits those who doubt me."
"This again?" Tony pressed a hand to his forehead and began to rub. "Those guys weren't nonbelievers – they were sick, like you."
"I am not ill," Loki said with a frown, "nor have I ever been."
"Yeah, you are. You think you're a Norse god."
"I am a god."
"No, you're not, Walt."
Loki froze. "What did you call me?"
"I called you by your name," Tony responded, glaring daggers. "Your real name. Walter Lawson."
Loki waved the words away. "I do not know to whom you are referring."
"Yes, you damn well do." Tony's patience had never been great, but now it was wearing desperately thin. "You are Walter Lawson, age thiry-eight. You were born on Long Island in the house next door to mine and we were friends until…" He trailed off.
"Until what, Tony?"
Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Until you killed eighty people."
"They were also nonbelievers and could not be tolerated."
He lost it then and slammed his hand down on the chair's arm, the resulting noise loud enough to draw attention from the orderlies. "Damn it, Walt, stop! Stop it with the routine! You've been saying the same thing for ten years and it's not anymore true now than it was then! Just stop!"
Loki watched Tony carefully, eyes narrowed to slits, and his hands tightened in his lap.
"You have never believed me," he finally said. "Not you nor my brother, who is a god in his own right, nor anyone else I have ever known."
Tony heaved a frustrated sigh. "We never believed you because you're clearly insane."
"And that is where you are wrong," came the quiet reply. "My mind has never been clouded, my identity never in doubt. Can you say the same, Tony Stark? With your alcoholic binges and your marathon of women, can you truly tell me that you are sure of who you are?"
Tony stared at Loki, openmouthed and shocked, before he slowly rose from his chair.
"Yeah, yeah, alright, alright." He moved back toward the rec room's door and clapped a hand on Loki's shoulder once more, leaning down to impart a bit of advice that only he could hear.
"Enjoy Sing Sing."