A/N: The song for this is Different Stars by Tresspassors William.
This is the real, true, last attempt at the second installment of The Supernova Series. By, none other than your's truly.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy my lovelies. There's not really any warnings that I can remember except tension and bad words. -gasp- Oh, and it's kind of long. If that's a warning.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Stan Lee or his beautiful characters. But, I will give anything to anybody to purchase my very own Stan Lee and Stan Lee characters.
It's been ten years.
Ten years is a very long time.
A lot can happen in ten years.
Loki found that out the hard way as he strode through the terminal, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his eyes trailing the windows that lay stacked beside him. Long legs took him out into the pissing rain, where he should have had a big, hulking blond brother awaiting him. His coffee warmed his hand despite the chill that crawled through his coat, under his shirt, pierced his skin, and took up residence in his bone marrow. Frost curled up his windpipe, turning his breath an arctic shade in the chilly air. His hair stuck to his face in near-frozen wisps, conforming to his jaw and the crook of his throat, down to where his long, white neck met strong, angular shoulders.
A silver Audi swung up to the curb, and a tanned man with long blond hair and beaming sapphire eyes jumped out of the driver's seat. Loki stared at him, caught in the change age had wrought on the beautiful smile and twinkling eyes that had never looked at him with anything but love and distraught confusion. A handful of times, there had even been a hint of anger. But he preferred not to think of those times, it was brought to mind enough when he stared at his face in the mirror and saw the damaged scars twisting delicately around his lips.
"Brother!" Ah, the customary greeting.
Loki scowled in response, ducking away from the bear-like hug and throwing his backpack into the backseat of the pretty, shining car. "I need cigarettes, so we're gonna have to stop at a gas station or something." He growled, his voice deepened by the husky desire to get far, far away from the pit-stop called Emotion. And yeah, something by that name was huddling in his throat, desperate to get away from the coldness building in his soul.
Thor stared at him, raindrops glittering on his eyelashes, shielding that damned blue-tinted confusion from the rain. "Okay. Um, hi." Thor shrugged, obviously conflicted about whether he should just pull the wintry man into a hug- whether he liked it or not, and yes, Thor has tried this tactic multiple times (it never worked very well)- or get into the car and pretend like Loki's normal acrimony hasn't put him off- even though everyone and their mother can see he's hurt by it all the same.
Loki sighed, glaring at him like he might rip him to shreds right there in front of the airport. "You are insufferable, you know that?" He quickly wrapped his arms around the bigger man, intending to pull away within seconds. Instead, he got caught in a tight, crushing hug that depleted him of oxygen for a good ten seconds.
"I have missed you, brother." Thor used that same damn moniker he had been hearing for the past thirty years, and really, Loki was so beyond tired of it that he was very close to screaming.
Fun Fact #1: Up until about eleven years ago, Loki had been hesitant, but willing, to allow Thor to call him 'brother' every other sentence. All of that changed when Loki found out he was adopted and the pet name became a painful reminder of everything he wasn't. Because, deep down, Loki really desired nothing more than to be Thor's flesh and blood- even if it meant being related to Odin Odinson.
A strange gaggle of goosebumps flitted across Loki's face when Thor's hot breath hit the side of his neck, right under his ear. "Yeah, yeah. Let me go, please." He bitched, moaning because really his ribcage is too fragile for Thor's absolutely unnecessarily forceful hugs, powerful arms squeezing him like a stress ball. He was set back on his feet gently, and Thor's hands were gripping his shoulders. "Look, Thor," He sighed, glancing at the traffic backing up behind Thor's car- which was in the middle of the road, mind you. "We need to go. Don't worry, I'm back. For good."
And this particular statement becomes a dagger down his throat, because he wants to swallow the words the instant they vomit from his mouth. He wants them to go back to wherever they came from because when the fuck did Loki decide this was a good idea? How the hell did he get into this mess, and why the fucking hell did he allow himself to be talked into this preposterous idea? Moving back to New York City was the prime example of bad decision-making on his part. And since when did Loki ever want to come back here, where there were ghosts and specters and horrors he didn't have the iron spine to handle. There were people here he couldn't handle, terrors he couldn't face, and memories he didn't care to reminisce.
But as they drove down the highway, snaking between taxis and narrowly avoiding a fiery car crash in the middle of the fucking road, Loki finds the memories flashing through his mind like a streaker in Central Park- laughing and screaming and freezing. Because in this moment, with all of this emotional backlog broiling in the forefront of his mind, Loki's temperature has dropped to a subzero degree. And it's a really good thing that Thor stays silent, merely sending him an elated grin now and then, and irritably grumbling to himself about Loki's choice of music. Honestly, if the man had said so much as 'boo', Loki would've ripped his head off and eaten it for breakfast.
It was here, that his life fell apart for what must have been the thousandth time. It was here, where, ten years ago, he felt his heart fissure and tear apart- never to fully heal or repair. It was here, where he lost the one man he had ever truly loved. It was here where tragedy dealt her devastating hand, throwing Loki out of the game and turning him into an emotional pauper. He had bet his all on that gamble, put all his eggs in one basket, allowed himself to fall in love.
My, how stupid we humans are.
Tony glared sourly at the television screen. The pictures of his past flashed up in slow succession, reminding him of everything he had ever done in the past thirty-one years. The news anchor even felt the need to comment about the picture of him and Loki locked in a passionate kiss upon his arrival home from Afghanistan. But, oh, how that moment had turned everything in the news or on the tabloids into something small and finite and insignificant, whereas the boy in his arm was infinitely beautiful and eternally passionate and something Tony needed like he needed air or blood or a heartbeat.
"Damn." He breathes, watching the last taken pictures of he and his father light up the screen.
There was a twinge of regret in his chest, not for the lack of respect or the estrangement between he and his father, but merely for how he had reacted to it all. Time after time, he had flown out of control, retaliating to his father's abuse with equal or greater malice. Sure, he had never had the audacity to strike his father, or blame the man for his beautiful, young wife's death- but he had certainly done his all to make the man suffer along with him. Maybe it had been called for, to some degree, but in the end, Tony had gone overboard- striking back like a pissy cobra.
They had always been like that, two coiled snakes, hissing and spiting venom at each other. They were predators- Howard by nature, and Tony by nurture- but it didn't excuse their relationship, or lack thereof. It didn't explain why Tony had nearly driven his father's company to ruin, or why Howard had allowed Stane to organize Tony's abduction. And yes, Tony felt justified in hating his father for the arc reactor he had to wear, day-in day-out. It was slowly killing him. Palladium slid through his veins like sludge, poisoning him, digging a grave for him.
He sighed, leaning against the window, letting his forehead fall to rest against the glass. The city was laid out below, glimmering in the deepening darkness and ever-present rain. There was something comforting, knowing that the city was still there, his simmering mistress. The rain fell quietly, barely thrumming against the roof audibly, hardly distracting his ear drums- which strained to catch every word from the news.
Life hadn't been kind to him the past decade, and the limelight had seemed ever harsher. But things were starting to look up for the business, quickly turning him into the City's darling. Coming out as Iron Man had only increased his popularity and the Stark Expo had turned Stark Industries into the pride of New York City. The mayor wanted to shake his hand, when he had previously referred to the spiraling out of control playboy as toxic and a sinful influence on the nation's children. To which, Stark had snorted and retorted that if children were looking for a hero, they needn't look his way. He wasn't out to be a hero.
No, Tony was no hero. And just because he was now Iron Man didn't mean he was suddenly going to become a shining example, or a beacon of hope for morality- like Steve Rogers. Steve had the full weight of that responsibility on his shoulders, and Tony wasn't looking for another cross to bear. He had enough weighing him down. Merely powering the Iron Man suit was killing him.
Was he a martyr?
Or just destroying himself in every possible way?
Tony had been self-destructive since the day his mother died, quickly taking a fiery nosedive into full-on addictions and working himself to an early grave. Maybe it was just the one coping mechanism he had ever seen modeled before him- in Howard- or, maybe it was just his nature, to destroy something blossoming and beautiful. Either way, Tony didn't see himself changing. At least, not before it was too late.
Really, there was but one person in the world who could change his mind, or make him turn his life around. But that person wasn't there, and he never would be.
Loki Laufeyson was long gone.
He wasn't coming back.
Thor had thrown a coming-home party. How quaint. Honestly, if Loki wasn't a completely sane, civilized person, he would've let out a banshee yell and killed Thor in a gory, but creative, way. Civilized. He was civilized. And, in the eyes of every person in this ridiculously extravagant home, Loki knew he looked refined and civil and even charming. But inside, he wanted to scream and cry and go sit in a dark corner somewhere because he didn't know a soul in this house and all there was to numb the discomfort and slight reappearance of social anxiety was alcohol. Surely, getting drunk to numb the world was not something he had learned from an inventor who was just shy of five miles away.
He played with the snowflake necklace around his throat, looking around at his surroundings.
The house in and of itself was purely obnoxious. It was gargantuan, an intense display of all the success and leadership Thor had achieved and all he had attained since he had entered the political world a little over eight years ago- a time during which Loki was struggling through the last two years of his college in a completely different continent. And really, it just reminded Loki of all the fights they had had across the phone, when Loki had been just shy of screaming and Thor's grammar had crashed and burned into something resembling a Neanderthal's linguistics. It made Loki want to go back home to his quiet, small flat in smoggy London, where everything was cold and he had loads of hot tea and books piled to the ceiling. It sounded like heaven, and Loki was frankly wondering why on earth he had ever left.
"Loki!" A slightly-accented female voice calls out through the din of music and chattering and laughter and just plain humanity. He spun, quick to search out the fire-engine red bob and the pretty white face it framed perfectly. Natasha. And, by her side- as always- Clint.
"Nat!" He enveloped her in a tight hug, breathing in her peppermint spice perfume and throwing a grin at Clint. "How have you been, my dear?" He allowed her to tightly clasp his hands, holding him close to her so that there faces were mere inches apart.
It had always been this way with them. She was a Russian warrior, up in your face and loudly in love with everyone she allowed into her heart. Loki had been the first, and Clint had quickly followed. They were tight, keeping each other close and holding them to their heart like they were each other's lifelines. Loki knew everything about Natasha, and she knew everything about Loki- down to his deepest secrets. In her beautiful eyes, he could see worry, but at the same time, an overwhelming love that warmed his cold soul down to the core.
"Great!" She bounced in place, and he felt the ring on her finger pushing against his skin. He narrowed his eyes.
"Natasha, I think you have something to tell me." He cocked his head, a teasing smile spreading across his lips. Although, deep down, Loki was having a hard time just reminding himself that breathing was a good thing. Depression, like a sea was swallowing him whole, just like it had in the years when he had lived here before, when he had been going to college and his boyfriend had been loving and a constant in his life- very different from the occasional quick fuck he had nowadays. Love was a luxury Loki's heart could no longer afford.
She frowned, glaring at him with thinly veiled ecstasy. "You always know." She released one of his hands to punch him in the shoulder. Ignoring his laughter, she yanked him out onto one of Thor's balconies while Clint ran to get some champagne. She still had him under her thumb, the loyal puppy who would do anything to please it's master. "What tipped you off?" She asked, once the music had been stifled by glass doors and the din of the street below took it's place.
He shrugged, holding up her hand and allowing the ring to glisten a reply for him. It was beautiful but simple and elegant. Clint had done well. Loki couldn't have found a better engagement ring for Natasha himself.
"Oh." She stared at it, a smile lighting up her face again. "Isn't it beautiful?" The intense bliss in her voice was starting to turn Loki into a romantic ball of happiness and smiles. If this continues, it'll fuck up his cynicism and pure misanthropic reputation. The people inside might actually attempt to approach the sullen, dark-haired young man who couldn't work up a smile if his life depended on it.
"It really is." He murmured, waiting for her to look back at him. "I'm very happy for you, Natasha." And he was, he had been waiting for this announcement to come for years. Clint and Nat were made for each other. Such a match was only made in heaven.
Clint burst out into their haven, handing Loki and Nat their respective glasses. "Thor asked me where you were." He smirked, sidling up to Loki. They had gotten close over the past decade, their mutual adoration for Ms. Romanoff pulling them together and bonding them into the best of friends quickly. But Clint was still friends with Stark. And that made some subjects unapproachable between them, tearing a chasm between them that wouldn't be bridged until Loki and Stark made up- when hell freezes over- or when Clint and Stark stop talking- maybe when pigs fly.
Loki arched an eyebrow, eyeing the prettily grinning blue-eyed archer. "And did you tell him where I was?" He asked, his tone dry, but his eyes knowing. Clint would sooner cut off his right hand, because Natasha would kill him or throw his pretty ring in his face if he betrayed her Loki.
Clint snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course not; have a little faith, Loki. I ain't no double agent." He winked at his Russian maven, obviously lit up by the season and the recent engagement, and everything that was suddenly beautiful and glittering and yeah, Clint's world must have been just short of heaven right now.
Loki was almost envious. Almost because there wasn't a soul on earth he was even remotely interested in like that, right now. And envious because he had come close to the zenith of pure tender harmony that his two friends were enjoying before him. Because ten years ago, he and Anthony had been on the cusp of this, of melding their two lives together eternally. But, apparently, he hadn't known the man as well as he thought.
Clint's phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket as Loki cast his eyes out over the view sprawled before them. New York City at midnight was unlike any other sight in the world. It was a meandering, cluttered, glimmering metropolis, covering miles of the United States and taking place as an international darling- loved by all but truly known by few. At one time, Loki had been one of the few. And in the last few days he had spent here, before he left once and for all- only to come back now, which was such a horrifically ill conceived idea- he had tracked this City's every square inch, walking and walking and walking. He had visited every little boutique- most of which had long since closed down- every cafe that served coffee. He had run through every park, ingrained the map of the City into his bones. If it didn't morph and writhe and change every single day in the ten years since then, Loki would've been able to find his way to anywhere he wanted to go to this day.
"Tony? What...No, I...I don't know if that's such a good idea, man." Loki stiffened at Clint's words, hearing a husky, slurred voice squawking from the phone's speakers. His heart started burning and his fingers were shaking the champagne in his grasp that Natasha took it from him with a knowing and anxious glance. "I'm with Nat, at...well, I'm at Thor's place, bud." Clint's tone was placating, and Loki rolled his eyes, Tony was already drunk. "Whoa, no. You can't drive right now...I don't care if you're motherfucking Captain god damn America. You can't...Tony!" Loki was frowning, taking in Clint's tense body language, gripping the phone so tightly his fingers were turning white. "Well, I don't know, Tony. Are you god, now?" The pure sarcasm dripping off Clint's lips had Loki's eyebrows arching into his messy hair. Natasha rubbed his back, soothing circles round and round the vertebra that stood out against his pale, starkly white skin. "No, please...Because it's a bad idea...I can't tell you that." Loki got the distinct impression that Stark had absolutely no clue that Loki was back in town.
Loki stood straight, gripping Clint's shoulder comfortingly. "He can come, Clint." A noise erupted from the phone that sounded like Stark screaming. He was guessing he had heard his voice. No doubt his reaction would be vicious fury towards pretty much every poor soul who had been aware of Loki's return. "Tell him I said to get a taxi, or to keep his pint-sized ass away from my brother's home." He snarled, knowing he was close enough to the phone that Stark could clearly hear every word he said.
It wasn't an idle threat. And neither was his heart's precautionary speeds, taking a flying sprint against his ribcage, and remind him of every moment he had spent weeping or beating the living shit out of something because he missed the damned billionaire. He had avoided the news from day one, not wanting to see that perfect face thrown in front of him again and again- because gods know, Anthony can't keep himself out of the limelight for very long. He had scars running all up and down his arms, portraying the misery and pure agony he had gone through after he left America.
And if Loki was being honest with himself- which he makes a point to never really be completely pellucid with himself these days- he knew that he didn't really want Stark here. He didn't want to deal with him. Not really. But there was some part of his heart that wanted to see and touch and hear him again. He wanted those warm arms around him again, the same way they were in his brightest nightmares and darkest day dreams. It was the lovechild of asperity and hope. Reminding him he couldn't have what he wanted so badly, even his subconscious yearned for it.
Asperity told him that love was cruel.
Hope told him it didn't have to be.
Stark proved both right.
He was about to have a panic attack and Natasha had more on her hands than she could handle. Clint was getting as drunk as a skunk and pressuring Loki into drinking more and more of the toxic depressant, and really it was a fucking ingenious idea for him to get drunk when he's in such a volatile state because absolutely anything could set him off like a trip-wire right now. He knew it, he knew this was bad and that it was fated to end disastrously because everything that happens to Loki can either be a castastrophe or a miraculously blessed event.
It's never the latter, frankly.
"You know, Loki, I'm glad you and Tony are finally facing each other." Clint leans against Loki, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Loki felt his fingers tapping his chest, in beat with the music. "I mean, he wanted so badly to apologize. Ya know? He kept telling me that you had to know, that if you just watched the news, you'd figure it out and come back to him. Butcha never did." He murmured, gazing up at Loki with heady, hazy eyes. "He wanted you to come back."
Loki's muscles recoil, snatching him out of Clint's reach. "What are you talking about? He wanted me to come back? What was I supposed to find out?" His mind is spinning furiously, rage building up in his pores because he had told Thor to let him know if anything happened that might change his mind. God damn it.
Clint squinted at him. "Hey, man, calm down. You're talking too fast, little buddy." He reached out to place a placating hand on Loki's trembling shoulders- his entire body was shaking with the force of the roiling emotions inside him. And really, this was a fuckload of backlog from years of bottling up every little emotion he had felt. After years of mourning Stark's absence in his life, he had decided to shove it all under the rug, pretend like he didn't feel a thing. Loki became numb.
Now, a levee had broken within him.
May gods have mercy on Thor's soul, because Loki's gonna rip him to shreds.
Thor had always known his brother was a little more volatile than most men his age. He's always been explosive and quick to turn into a furious, violent little ball of rage. Thor had always blamed it on the kid's short-circuited nerves, frayed till they simply stopped working right. He had been that way since Thor could remember- and Thor could remember it all. Those years when Loki had simply stopped handling things, when he had stopped coping. Thor had come home from work to find Loki and Odin in a knock-down (sometimes, literally) drag-out (also, literally, on occasion) fight. And it wasn't a vocal fight, not always. He had seen his father strike his little brother until it felt like Thor's heart was the one taking the beating. He had cleaned up the blood, which had been ripped from his brother's veins by both Odin's harsh hand and Loki's gleaming blades. He had held him down when he was yelling and fighting, trying to get back to something that would only hurt him. Self-harm had scarred him deep enough that he was surprised it hadn't started to show up on his skin, too.
Those years had been the hardest.
Or so he had thought, five years ago.
Everything had been getting better, when Odin showed up and broke through Thor's icy walls. He had convinced Thor that something had to be done to stop Loki's sinful ways- and it was true, the young man had spiraled downward after Tony and he had broken up. Loki had stumbled upon a numbed, carnal path in life, finding it easier to handle than simply hurting day-after-day. And Thor knew this, he could see the falling sensation in the way Loki walked, the way he talked- so silent and laconic- the way he looked at Thor. And it broke his heart because he knew he could never change it, he could never save Loki, not even from himself.
But Odin had breezed in like a hero out to save the day. Surely, Thor was smart enough to see the ruse.
He wasn't.
There was blood everywhere. On his hands, on his clothes, on Loki's face, on Loki's clothes, on his trembling fingers. Verdant eyes looked at him, filled with tears and astonishment and the beginnings of odium. He touched the wounds, the tears running faster down his face.
"Oh, gods, Loki." Thor looked down at him, reaching out to touch him. But Loki flinched away. He might as well have slapped Thor- and really, he wished he had because it was the passionate Loki way, but this...it was just fear. Loki feared him.
Thor moved away from his brother, leaning over and heaving up his last meal- and possibly his guts along with it. It was violent and made his entire body shake. What had he done. He could hear Loki getting up, stumbling, a muffled cry escaping his lips when he hit the ground again. So, Thor did all he could.
He stood straight, looking down at the blood on his hands. "You'll never forgive me, will you." It wasn't really a question. They both knew the answer was far too clear. But Loki, ever dramatic and slightly histrionic, answered nonetheless.
A vase hit the wall, shattering in front of Thor.
Thor nodded, not turning to look at his baby brother- the love of his life.
And he walked away.
He had done enough damage.
The look in Loki's eyes that day haunted his dreams. The pure terror in them, the disbelief, the prayer that it was merely another horrific nightmare. And Thor had said the same prayer, wanting to wake up and call the man, tell him what had happened, listen to Loki's even, sleep-heavy breathing on the other end of the line. But no matter how hard Thor pinched himself, he didn't wake up.
And now, he could see that loathing that had started five years ago in his brother's eyes stronger than ever as he strode towards Thor like a man on a mission. Thor had seen that before, seen Loki turn into a predator, something to be feared and awed. Loki was a hurricane, and unless you knew how to find the eye of the storm, you would be caught in the carnage. The green eyed man marched up to him, bunching Thor's shirt in his long, shaking hands and shoving him backward.
People scattered, and Thor's back slammed against a wall. "You asshole!" Loki growled, his voice rumbling and striking like a storm in his throat. "You told me- no, you fucking swore- that you would tell me if anything changed." His skeletal knuckles were digging in under Thor's collarbone. It hurt.
And he knew exactly what was about to happen. Because he knew the man like the back of his hand, even after all their ups and downs, all the time they had spent estranged or hurt because of the other. No matter what, Thor loved Loki like his very existence revolved around the man, he loved him like he was the only soul on this earth, because they were connected by something invisible and stronger than pain, torture, love, death, loss. They were bound to each other by the Universe, their fates intertwined. But both of them had the power to break the bond, to sever the threads betwixt them , keeping them close to each other even with an ocean between them.
He was planning on murdering him.
Fun Fact #2: Homicidal is a near-constant state of emotion for Loki. It has been since he learned the meaning of rage.
"You asshole!" He yelled, shoving the man back. To be perfectly honest, Loki hasn't hit a decibel of volume like that since he was sixteen and neck-deep in a fight he couldn't handle. "You told me you would let me know anything that would change my mind. You promised. You swore on the fucking Bible. You told me, Thor! You swore." He gripped his shirt, pulling them eyeball-to-eyeball, sea green against ocean blue. The fucking emotion cracking his voice was almost too much to ignore, but somehow, Loki found the balls of steel necessary to go through with this in a room where every pair of eyes was now focused on one person. Him.
"Loki, I-" Thor started, his eyes wide and his hands cautiously gripping Loki's wrists. But Loki detected a sense of knowing within the bigger man. Thor wasn't stupid, just uneducated.
"No!" He shoved the bigger man back a few more steps. Fury and a low, simmering ache started to heat up within him. "I trusted you." His voice was liquid, spat in the face of a man who had unleashed his fury on him one too many times. "You said, if anything might change your mind, brother," He said the word like it was a dirty oath. "I'll let you know." He was snarling, his voice gravel and ground up glass and chewed up magma. He sounded like a demon.
Fun Fact #3: Nothing gives away Loki's mental, emotional, and physical state like his voice. It changes from moment to moment, cluing in any observant person as to how he feels at any given moment. Like right now, you could hear in his voice that he was about .05 seconds away from ripping Thor's head off and eating it for breakfast- because it's almost 3 a.m. and he's famished and exhausted and shaking so hard it is truly astonishing to him that he's still got a hold of Thor.
"Loki, please. I...I was looking out for you." And at this point, Thor should really be careful what he says because Loki's fingernails are digging into his collar so sharply, it's nearly torn.
Really, this moment is like a catalyst for Loki. He's stood up to Thor before, but not in five years. In the past five years, Loki had learned to hold his silver tongue, keeping his sharp comments to himself and tamping down his cynicism and hatred for his family. He's kept the peace, but this? This was the straw that broke the camel's back.
"I don't need you to look out for me, Thor! I don't need you to protect me anymore! I've had enough of that, thank you." His voice is venom. His voice is a spreading poison. His voice is dripping acid. "I'm fairly sure I have enough scars thanks to your protection." He snarled.
He can see Thor's cerulean eyes tracing the scars around his mouth, following the curvature of his lips. "I'm sorry, Loki. How many times must I apologize before you'll stop tormenting me for it?" He's whispering, their eyes still locked together.
Loki steps back like he's been hit. And maybe he has. He can't remember, because those words were like a brick to the head. "Apologize?" He shook his head. "Thor, I don't want your apologies. A few words can't take away what you've done." He laughs, breathy and filled with the full extent of his despise. "You broke me like it was your sole goal in life. You've made a living of taking me apart, piece by piece. You have literally torn me to pieces." He wrapped his arms around his ribs. "And you think a few words can make all that just, poof." He snickered, shaking his head again. "You should be on your knees, begging me to do so little as to just torment you." He sounds like a thunderstorm, like a building earthquake. "You should wish that I would have enough mercy, as to listen to your pathetic apologies." By now, they're the entertainment of the party. Even the music had fallen silent. But Loki wasn't finished. "You think you can just waltz through life, riding on your pretty looks and your sweet ignorance. But it's not enough with me, Thor. For once in my life, I entrusted you with something closer to my heart than even you were! I entrusted you with him. I gave him to you, to watch, and to let me know if I had somehow gotten it all wrong- against all odds. And when you realized I had, not only did you neglect to tell me, but did everything in your fucking might, to make sure I never found out." Loki has become a maelstrom. His voice could kill.
His hands are itching to lash out.
His tongue is slicing through the air like lightning.
"Loki, it's not like that. I didn't want to keep you away from happiness, but you never were!" He reached out, flinching when Loki jerked out of reach. "I tried to help you. I wanted you to start over." Tears- forbidden to fall by the all mighty Allfather- glassed over cobalt eyes. "Father said-"
Loki burst out laughing, every joint in his body aching like smoke had woven into his bones. "Father said! Oh, well, if father said it, it must be true, right?" He shook his head, feeling something in his soul decay and die. Something like the capacity to love, to forgive, to understand. "Silly me." He took a step back.
"Loki, that's not fair! I know I've done some things in the past...you have the right to be upset, but at some point, brother, you must move on. If you stay like this-"
"Like what, Thor?" His voice sounds like a warning, red lights are flashing in his eyes. Thor must know he's on thin ice here. "Do you think me wicked? Do you think me a sinner? Am I wrong to loathe those who've hurt me continuously?" He laughed. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Because Father, oh, Father can do no wrong. Father is a god, isn't he, brother?" His voice is down and dirty, nastier than a marsh, sucking and pulling at their feet, dragging them down.
And this is where Loki found himself every time he came back, every time he went 'home'. He had known better, he had seen it, he had prophesied to a close friend- Natasha- that he would regret coming back. So, why had he? For a chance to make things right? No. For a chance to see the man he loved? Perhaps. To make Thor feel as if everything was 'okay' between them, that they were once again brothers after all that had happened and the estrangement that they had just gotten over?
Ah. Jackpot.
And of course, when Loki has one of these brilliant ideas to help Thor feel better, it undoubtedly comes back to bite him in the ass. Because, Loki is just so easy to stamp down, to kick in the ass, to stab in the back. It's like there's a 'Kick Me' sign on his back. He has lived his entire life getting shoved down by life, and the people who seemed to be bigger and stronger and more beautiful than he was.
Thor rolled his eyes, and really, Thor, you shouldn't do that when Loki's close enough to scratch out your pretty blue eyeballs. "You're ridiculous, you know that? You get all melodramatic over the smallest things! I made a mistake! If getting down on my knees and kissing your feet and begging your forgiveness would make a difference, I would, Loki. But nothing satisfies you! I've done everything I can to redeem myself to you! When will your desire to make me suffer for my sins be sated?" He had gotten in Loki's face, his eyes dark and his voice a low growl, nothing short of the thunder that had started outside.
"Had you considered, brother," Loki spat, nose-to-nose with a man he had leaned on, cried on, and been beaten and broken by. "That perhaps, there is a point when a person can't forgive any longer? When someone has forgiven so much, that he's eventually out of grace? All things have a limit, even clemency. Just ask god." He snarled. "They have a hell for a reason."
Thor stood back, gripping his wrists so tightly, Loki was sure he'd have bruises in the shape of a big, strong hand. There were still callouses from the years of throwing a football and tackling men twice Loki's side. He could feel a scar on the inside of his thumb, from that one time when he had snatched a razor out of Loki's hand, and accidentally sliced himself deep enough that Loki took him to the hospital to get stitches- conveniently coming up with a story about kitchen knives and Loki just happened to be wearing long sleeves. To this day, Loki couldn't look at Thor's wide, tanned hands without remembering the concern in his brother's eyes that night. "I guess I'll see you there, Loki." He shook his head, letting out a pained laugh. "Or maybe you're already there?" His midnight blue eyes pierced deep into Loki's eyes.
Loki growled deep in his throat, shoving his brother back hard. "You tell me. Wasn't it you who put me there?" And no, there aren't tears in his emerald eyes, Loki just has allergies. Allergies to things like emotions and uncontrollable misery and sadness that's been following him around for decades. When he developed this intolerance, he doesn't know, but he's pretty sure it was around the first time his 'father' hit him.
He stepped back, keeping his eyes down. Suddenly, the rest of the world rushes back like when he touched Thor it made everything disappear but them. Like, he and Thor had been the only two people in this world. And Loki finds that that happens to him a lot. It had been that way with Stark. Occasionally, when he and Natasha were talking about something serious- and oh my god, that is a rare occasion- it happened with her, too. But right now, with the world suddenly spinning again, far too fast, Loki realizes every eye in the house is focused on him.
Oh, my, Misanthropy, how Loki has missed you.
Tony had hailed a cab, gotten in, and buckled his seatbelt- whiskey still in hand, mind you- when he realized that this was a stupidly idiotic idea. I mean, sure, Loki told him he could come. He had said it was alright. But was it? Was Tony capable of handling this? Could he take in that perfect, beautiful, wondrous human being that his heart still pined for without losing it? Could he keep himself restrained- the answer is no, in case you were wondering- when he saw him?
Moments were sashaying through his head, reminding him of the way Loki smiled, the way his eyes seemed a little off-kilter when he was drunk, how his spine arched when they were making love. All these little moments and personality quirks that Tony had filed away- a file he was never supposed to have opened, for his sanity's sake. Because, the laws of Tony Stark's Sanity are these:
1) No Loki Laufeyson allowed.
2) No memories allowed.
3) When one mentions Loki, Howard, or Thanos, one must be given a death-threat glare and told to shut the fuck up by one Pepper Potts.
4) When Tony is invited to a party where Loki will be present, one Pepper Potts must stop him. If Pepper Potts is not around, anyone bigger than Tony may substitute.
5) Pills are not allowed.
6) Alcohol is not allowed- and yes, this is the most frequently broken rule.
7) Alcohol and pills are not to be mixed, and if they are, one Pepper Potts must call 911 because it is more than likely an attempt at suicide. Suicide is not acceptable according to Tony's Sanity.
Tony's Sanity had only recently added the last rule, about a month ago when Pepper found him in his lab, passed out and almost dead from an overdose. She had also found a few letters that Tony prayed she hadn't read. Of course, knowing Potts there was no doubt that she had. She had almost become his mother over the past ten years, making sure he ate, bathed, and slept, and of course, that he didn't kill himself with caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol.
Tony came back from the past when the cab stopped- ahem, he's in New York City, so they more like screeched to a shaking, shuddering halt that rattled Tony's brain within his skull. He paid the cabbie, stumbling out of the car and staring up at the monstrosity of a house. It was dwarfed by Tony's house, sure, but it was still luxurious by normal standards. It kind of shocked him, because Thor was the type to get down and dirty, to accept the simplest, to take whatever was shoved in his face instead of reaching for higher. Loki was the ambitious one of the Odinson family- if one counted foster children as part of a family, and Tony did because he didn't understand Loki's side of things all the time. Sure, Odin was a dick, but Loki loved his brother more than he loved himself. Anyone with half a brain could see that.
He let his eyes travel upward, towards a balcony, where a person was leaning against the railing. Smoke trailed in front of this person's face, but Tony would know that slim, lithe, powerful figure anywhere. There's a blizzard coming, and Tony still doesn't know if he's ready to face it yet. But good god, he can't wait any longer. It's time.
See, when Tony had fully recovered from, ya know, dying and all, his first thought had been: 'Where the fuck is Loki?' His second thought was a resounding, heartbreaking: 'Oh.' Because, as far as Loki knew, he hadn't died. He hadn't had Palladium poisoning. From Loki's perspective, he was just a royal douche who broke his heart for absolutely no reason. And sure, he had called Thor- getting a royal bitching out- and begged him to tell Loki the real story. He had called Natasha, wheedled information out of Clint, even talked to Frigga. But none of them had been able to tell him what Loki knew, if Loki had heard his side of the story, if Loki fucking knew that he still loved him? And sure, he could've gone to Germany, or London, or Brussels, or wherever the fuck he was. But if Tony knew one thing about Loki, it was that he needed his space.
Perhaps ten years had been enough space for him?
Of course, that was a little too much hope for Tony to successfully swallow. When it came to Hope and silly, foolish things like that, Tony had a killer gag reflex. But sometimes, when Tony's weak, and his walls are shaking, and he's a little too drunk for it to be healthy, he considers Hope and Love and all the things that happy people have and believe in. He thinks that those people are lucky. He wonders if they know how privileged they are? Do they know what they have, and how rare and precious and sumptuous those things are? Do they realize how much he would give to have these things?
No.
Because happy people live in a happy world with other happy people. Rarely do they come across misery like Tony's. Rarely do they spare such people as Tony a second glance. He doesn't fit in their world. He is invisible to their blissful, ignorant view of the world. That's the curse of happiness. Ignorance.
But, ignorance is bliss, no?
Clint had latched onto him the moment he stepped into the building. He babbled relentlessly in Tony's ear, shoving alcohol into his hands. After a minute, Tony located Clint's better half, standing across the room and watching him with serpentine eyes. For a second, he held her gaze, trying to verify his worst fears, or make his wildest dreams come true. But two eyes like hers couldn't do much for him. He needed to find two identical eyes, emerald green and the shape of his heart.
"It was cray-cray, Tony. Loki went all badass and smart motherfucker on him. The whole fucking party just stopped." Tony snapped to attention, tuning in to Clint's rambling. "Like, I've never seen Thor actually scared. But, god damn, the whole crowd thought Loki was gonna go serial killer on his ass." Clint snickered, he'd never been too fond of Thor- and Tony has always thought that was because Thor had threatened to beat him up about twelve years ago when Clint was far too drunk and almost kissed the big blond man.
"Wait, Loki and Thor got in a fight?" He shook Clint's arm off his shoulder and turned to face the hazy blue eyes that were glued to him. Saying Clint is heterosexual, is like calling a right angle a straight line. "When?" He knew what family feuds meant. That Loki was somewhere, falling to pieces on the inside- possibly with the help of a razor. The mere idea shook his spine with a chilled shudder.
"Uh, like five seconds ago." He shrugged, too drunk to understand the mere concept of time.
Tony shook his head. "Clint." He put his hands on the man's shoulders, trying to ground him for like .05 seconds because the next words to come out of his mouth are god damn important. "Where is Loki?" He spoke slowly, trying to enunciate- although speaking fast, like he was talking in cursive, had always been his nature.
And we all know how good Tony is at going against his nature.
"Um, he's out there on the balcony. I mean, last time I saw him, anyways." Clint shrugged despite Tony's heavy hands.
"Thank you!" Tony decided against kissing him- although don't we all know how much Clint would love that?- and went to go find his love.
Er, ex-love.
Damn, is life a royal bitch.
"Tony Stark!" An imperial voice cuts through the crowd and slices right into Tony's eardrum. Really, he considers ignoring her, but that would carry some heavy consequences- like castration and Tony really likes his...nether regions as they are.
So, he spun, his face plastered with that plastic smile that Loki had always hated. "Natasha! It's good to see you. Been a while, and while I would just love to talk, I'm kind of in a hurry." He spoke hastily, every cell in his body vibrating with the desperate demand of his motherfucking traitor of a heart to talk to Loki. Yeah, even his body needs Loki. And oh, look. His mind has just plummeted to the gutter while he's with the Ice Queen of the century who really wouldn't blink at the idea of 'fixing' him like he's a street mutt.
"Oh no you're not." She grabbed his arm in a vice grip that was sure to leave bruises. "Come on." She dragged him towards a quiet room. It was at the other side of the house, taking him far, far away from Loki. She shoved him down on a couch and sat on the coffee table opposite him. "I know why you're here. And I know...I've heard the whole story, Tony. But, I need to know..." She looked down at her clasped hands. "I need to know the real, true, private reason why you left him before I can let you anywhere near him." There was a tremor in her voice, and Tony knew that she really cared for her friend, that it wasn't just a best friendship, it was something far stronger. Love comes in so many forms.
Natasha loved Loki.
He sat back, feeling tension seep into his every limb. It was palpable in the air, this precarious line they were walking between understanding and Natasha clawing his eyes out like a vindictive tiger. Mother Russia had spawned a truly powerful woman when she gave the world Natasha Romanoff. "I didn't want him to have to watch me die. I felt like it would be easier for him to be...away when I, y'know, croaked." He shrugged. "I thought that it would come out on the news, and that it would kind of explain for me. I thought breaking up with him might give him some closure in my death. He had been through so much, and I knew that the last days would be really painful. He didn't need to go through that with me." He explained in a quiet voice, feeling the throbbing music vibrate through the closed door. The alcohol in him kept him warm despite the frigid temperature radiating from Natasha's eyes.
"He was a big boy, Stark. Shouldn't he have decided for himself? It's not like he needs another father." Her voice was colder than Siberia.
He cocked an eyebrow. "I wasn't being his father. I was being his boyfriend. I just loved him too much to put him through that, Romanoff." Last names? Oh, Tony can play that game too, love. "Contrary to popular belief, there are a few people in this world I am willing to put before myself." Because, yeah, Tony loved Loki more than he loved himself, or alcohol- yeah, that much.
"But you didn't, Tony!" She stood, shaking her head. "What you did was selfish. It was for you, to spare you!" She leaned down, eyeball-to-eyeball. "You didn't want to see him in pain, so you got rid of him. You heartless bastard." Her voice broke, but she forged onward. "He was broken. Have you seen the scars? Huh? Have you seen what you caused? Let me show you." She pulled her phone out, bringing up photos. "Look. See what you did to him." She threw the phone at him.
Tony's hand was shaking as he flipped through photo after photo of crimson lace laying deep and marring against snowy white satin. "I didn't want this to happen, Natasha." He could hear the struggling, teary sound of his own voice, but he didn't care. His dignity was gone, long before he started to cry. It's been long dead, given up for the freedom of killing oneself in plain sight. "I wanted him to heal. To go on. To be...happy."
God damn happiness.
God damn it to hell.
"Fantastic job." She snatched her phone back, her face streaked with tears. "You better make this fucking right, Mr. Stark. I will skin you alive if you hurt him again. Do you understand me?" Her voice was shaking, but there was no doubting the verism in her voice.
He stood, taking her hand. "Natasha, even if you think everything else that falls from my mouth is a lie, believe this: I love Loki. I love him more than myself, even if it's in a twisted, tainted, foolish way. I really do."
Truer words had never been spoken.
Tony stood by the balcony for a few minutes, reminding himself that breathing was kind of essential to living. And in turn, reminding himself that he did, in fact, want to live. His hands were shaking and he was itching for a cigarette and the strongest alcohol Thor's bartender had on hand. He could drink an ocean of the nepenthe right now. But alas, when one is given the choice between Loki Laufeyson or alcohol, one always chooses Loki Laufeyson. At least, if one is Tony Stark.
So, he squares his shoulders and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Trembling fingers turn the doorknob.
A/N: So. It's kinda long. And it ends on a cliffhanger. And there's, um, a little angst. So. Review, maybe? I mean, hell, if you're reading this AN, you read that whole monster. I need your opinion. -gets on knees and begs- Please?
THOR. Ha. So much family shit.
I LOVE ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKERS.
Have a good...um. Weekend, is it? Week?
~xoxox, Rayn.