This fic seems to have sprang fully formed from my forehead like Athena from Zeus. Or something like that. Anyway, the title is taken from another Black Sabbath song...and the lyrics, well, they basically read like Loki's hate letter to the Avengers, but the title itself actually works to. You'll see.
Oh and in case you missed the note outside, HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. If you haven't seen the movie, well, what the hell are you waiting for, seriously? Go. GO NOW.
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The first thing Tony Stark was aware of was a fucking headache of oceanic magnitude.
Of course, when one was Tony Stark, that was hardly unusual. Between late night parties or fundraisers, excesses of alcohol, arguments with Pepper, and oh right, the occasional demigod headbutting you through a tree, headaches sort of came with the territory. That didn't make them any more pleasant, but it was a familiar devil, so easily dealt with. A count of ten, a slow opening of an eye to test the ambient light levels and determine whether or not it was safe to fully open both, and slow movements until equilibrium was well-balanced, and things were perfectly manageable.
Well, it wasn't very bright, so he went ahead and opened his eyes, but he didn't recognize where he was, either. Actually...to be fair, it didn't look like he was anywhere. He was laying sort of crossways on a comfortable bed, face down in a fluffy pillow, but he wasn't sure he was in a room, per se. He couldn't see any walls, though admittedly he couldn't see very far. The only illumination seemed to be coming from around him, and beyond was just pitch blackness.
"This is definitely not my room," he grumbled to himself, slowly pushing into an upright position, rubbing his head. Aside from the fact that there were apparently no walls, floor, or ceiling, he also almost never actually slept in his own room. Tony was far more used to waking up sprawled across a work table or on the floor with papers and design ideas spread everywhere. Even on those rare occasions that he did wake up in his bedroom, Pepper was there, and here she was clearly not. Yet more evidence that this was not a familiar place.
What the hell had even happened? He tried to place it. The fight with the Chitauri. Okay, yes. Confronting Loki at his apartment, out the window, new armor worked like a charm, aliens everywhere, a fucking ton of fighting, crawling down some alien worm's throat, the nuke...ugh, the nuke. He didn't completely remember what had happened there, one second he was in space, watching the most amazing explosion, the next he was getting bellowed at on the street while Hulk, Captain Boyscout and Thunderdome were standing over him. Clint and Natasha had found them on their way up to his penthouse, where apparently Hulk and Loki had been redecorating at some point. Then what?
...ah, yes. Loki. That son of a bitch had pulled his little switcheroo stunt. As soon as Steve and Thor had reached out to grab him, he'd gone disappearing into thin air. Natasha had royally flipped out because the Tesseract was still on the roof. He'd jumped out the window to go up there after Loki because flying was a hell of a lot faster than running up the stairs or waiting for Hulk to claw his way up. Didn't have his helmet on because apparently half of it had gotten torn off and it was too awkward to leave the shattered bits on, so of course the lanky bastard had aimed right for his head...he had some vague recollection of hitting the roof, Loki standing over him, Thor bellowing at him from the edge of the roof...and then...then...
...here. Crap. That was probably a bad sign. If the other Avengers had ended up with him, he'd be in his bedroom...assuming his bedroom was still intact...or at least somewhere recognizable as a room. So by that process of elimination, he had to assume that Loki had done something. Shit. Shit shit shit.
Okay, assess the situation. He wasn't wearing his armor, he could tell that. Felt like it was still his T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Strange pressure on his forearms, though, and a glance revealed what looked like bizarre green metal gauntlets. Didn't have an explanation for those just yet, move on to the next thing. Not having a heart attack, so arc reactor is intact. Area is cool, so probably not in Hell. No impendent noise, which is...weird. Ears ringingly silent. Not even the sound of wind.
So that's the situation. Reactions. Fear? Well, yes, but he didn't really care to deal with that. Move it aside. Anger? Maybe, depending on what happened next. Confusion, check. Alarm, check. Desire to leave? Abso-fucking-lutely check. That was a good emotion. He'd work with that one.
With a grunt, Tony pushed himself onto his hands and knees, then sat back, kneeling on the bed, glancing around again. Yep, place was still dark and creepy from this position. He really couldn't figure out where the light around him was coming from, seeing as how there wasn't a ceiling above him to support a light. And for that matter, as he scooted to the edge of the bed and looked down, he found himself not entirely convinced there was a floor. Clearly the bed had to be on something, logically, but if he were dealing with a situation of Loki's doing, logic had to be patted on the head and sent on it's way. He eyeballed the darkness below him with a fair bit of trepidation, then reached over, picking up one of the pillows, then casually dropped it. It landed next to the bed and stayed, as though landing on a floor. Good sign. He carefully eased a foot down, tapping at where the floor should be with a toe, and was satisfied to feel one. So carefully to his feet, next to the bed, and looking around.
The place was still inordinately creepy. Places that didn't obey the laws of science had a tendency towards that. Was everything just black? If that was the case...Tony crouched down, pulling his shirt up to expose the supposed floor to the light from the reactor. If there was a floor, even painted black, it would illuminate. Which it did not. So. That was weird. He tucked his shirt back down, rising to his feet and looking around again.
Well, what to do. For some reason, he didn't want to call out, to bring any attention to himself. So, the only other option would be to walk. So he did that. Hesitantly, feeling around with cautious steps to try and avoid stepping off into any horrible voids that might be hiding in the blackness, Tony moved forward, occasionally glancing backwards at the bed, which...didn't really seem to be getting any further away. At one point he simply turned his back to it and walked for a count of 100, but upon turning around, the bed was still there, less than five feet away.
This required testing. He moved back to the bed, crawling back onto it and kneeling again, before scooching off, walking around it. He could move around the bed at all sides, gaining a distance of about five feet in any direction, but then it stayed with him.
Normally, he'd be more puzzled about this, but since he'd just about accepted that this was the work of ye olde God of Mischief himself, it just irritated him. Tony stood and stared at the bed for a bit, sort of idly rubbing at his chin, running through a few dozens different scenarios in his mind. None of them offered any resolution he liked, so for the moment, he just had to wait. Not his favorite thing in the world. He shook his head, grumbling, but moved to sit on the bed, turning his attention instead to the bizarre metal bands on his forearms.
His initial assessment had been that they were green metal, which still held up to closer scrutiny, but that had been a woefully simplistic appraisal. They were tipped with gold strips on both ends, and fit snugly, but not painfully tight, with no apparent seam to show him how they went on or came off. An elaborate pattern was embossed on the surface, swirls and and angles that implied meaning, though he could make no sense of it. Both seemed identical if mirrored, at least on a side-by-side comparison.
Well, whatever they were, he didn't want them on. If they weren't his tech, he wanted no part of it. He gripped the left one in his right hand, starting to tug at it, trying to figure out how to remove it. Surely there had to be a button, or a catch, or something he just couldn't see...if he couldn't get them off, then how in the hell would anyone have gotten them on in the first place?
Well, it's magic, Tony, isn't that sort of the problem?
Shut up, you, you don't know what you're talking about.
Of course I do, I'm a genius, you self-absorbed douchebag. If you're here because of Loki, then pretty much all of this has to be magic.
You're calling me a self-absorbed douchebag, you're just me in my own head, so you're only insulting yourself. Real genius there, buddy.
Well, now you're doing it too, stupid, so what does that mean?
It means the god-awful horrible silence and desolation in this room has gotten to me and I'm going insane rather quickly, obviously.
Good discernment. So what do I do about it?
First I get this stupid piece of magic crap off me, then...then...it's not coming off.
No shit, Sherlock. Keep it up much longer and you're gonna rip your skin off.
Tony grunted, finally giving up on pulling the gauntlet off, wincing at the pain left over from the wrenching. He half-heartedly probed at the one on his right arm, but it was just like the other, so there was no help to be had there.
Okay, one more idea. He raised his arms up, shifting them a bit, then with as much force as he could muster, slammed the two bands together. There was a loud, dull clang, which was kind of expected, but far more alarming, the designs on them began to glow with a disgusting, lime green light, and the bizarre illumination that surrounded this area gained the same hue, casting everything over.
"Oh, shit." Tony immediately began clawing at the gauntlets, trying to figure out if maybe there was some sort of off button. "There is no chance this is going to end any way but badly."
Abruptly, the illumination was gone around him, leaving nothing but the faint glow of the bands and his arc reactor. Tony was on his feet in a second, looking around, the feel of any metal against his skin causing him to instinctively raise his arms and use his repulsors, although, clearly, that wasn't going to happen. He'd have felt stupid if he weren't too busy being freaked out.
Suddenly, the bands on his arms yanked him backwards with a force that surprisingly did not tear his arms right out of their sockets, as though something had grabbed them, and it was with a loud thud that he found himself flung into a large chair, practically a throne, that had definitely not been there a moment ago. His head cracked against the back of it, and for just a moment he saw stars...but he was still aware of the feel of the bracers on his arms yanking themselves against those of the chair, slamming down into them and holding firm. He began struggling immediately, trying to pry himself loose, but despite his efforts, he couldn't so much as budge the glowing metal.
Within just a second, he became aware of something that brought an end to his struggles, even though it really should have made him even more desperate to get away.
"And here you are, the great Tony Stark." He was aware of a sweep of movement just past him, a fluttering dark green and gold form, which confirmed all his worst fears about where he was and how he'd gotten here.
The supposed God of Mischief, such as he was, that ridiculous helmet gleaming in the faint light from the arc reactor, moved to stand in front of Tony, swirling about with the drama that Tony had come to expect from him...but Loki's face belied his melodramatic tendencies. His face was tight, bruised and battered (likely the result of what Hulk had done to him, and Tony couldn't keep the slight grin off his face at the thought), and his nostrils were flared; he was visibly seething. The trickster looked as though he were out of control of himself, a rabid dog that had chewed through it's chain, and Tony was the postman with a steak tied to his belt. He should have been scared...more scared, at least...but as always, his mouth was going before he could stop it.
"Well, don't you look like shit. I suppose that's what happens when the Hulk uses you to dig a kiddie pool in my sitting room. How's your back?"
Loki glared down at him, his hair wild and matted, his clothing tattered and filthy, looking as though he'd just been drug backwards through a bush on fire, still frothing with barely contained rage. Despite the obvious stupidity of the action, Tony felt compelled to keep needling him. "Well, I hope you've learned your lesson, young man. You should have just taken the drink, sat down, and waited for your brother to come pick you up, like a good boy, and none of this-,"
Gods were inhumanly fast, turned out. Before he could finish his jeering, Loki had lashed out, and with a hard crack, backhanded Tony hard enough that the man was sure he'd have been knocked completely out of the giant chair if not for the metal gauntlets apparently fastening him down. Again with the starry vision. He was going to be a master of knocked-the-fuck-out astronomy at this rate. It was too easy to forget that despite looking like a slimy little prick, Loki was still an Asgardian or at least something more than human, and he could punch holes in rock if he wanted to.
That had never stopped Tony before though. "Okay...well yeah, that was a mature response. Jesus, are you a toddler back in your world or-,"
Oh God.Tony had just enough time to start to wince before another ridiculously hard slap hit the other side of his face, knocking his upper body sideways yet again. This time, though, Loki didn't stop with just the one hit...he lashed out, grabbing a handful of Tony's hair impossibly tightly, making the man feel as though he were going to be scalped, and began to rain down further smacks, forehand and backhand, indiscriminately striking out, faster with each, as though the very act of venting his fury also fueled it, a snarl just barely audible over the sound of the hits.
Tony wasn't entirely aware of that, though, at the moment the pain was enough of a distraction. Sure, he'd been slapped plenty of his times in his day, probably more than most, but they were single blows from scorned women after he'd said or done something stupid or insulting. This, this was different. This was like someone had managed to drop a couple pieces of neutron star into a glove and hit him in the head with it. To Loki, this beating was nothing more than a way to take out his frustrations on something smaller and weaker than himself, but Tony knew he already had a split lip and probably at least one black eye from it, and only the fact that he knew to clench his jaw shut against blows to the face was keeping it from getting knocked right off his head. That and the fact that he wouldn't give Loki the satisfaction were all that stopped him from crying out in pain, but he couldn't hold back the grunts and groans that slipped away unbidden.
After a thirty second eternity, Loki finally seemed to grow weary of his activity, and roughly shoved Tony's face away, turning and staring into the black distance, breathing hard, either from the exertion or the anger. Tony just tried to get his bearings back together after the unexpected assault, coughing a bit, hoping to God that wasn't a tooth that was spat out and clattered away, and sincerely planning to figure out how to kill Loki for it if it were...dentists were expensive. He wasn't able to find a missing one at the moment, but considering how badly his head was pounding, he wouldn't have been surprised if he missed it. That didn't feel to be the only damage, as he could already feel his left eye swelling and a few small dots of blood that trickled onto his shirt told him his lip was still bleeding. Probably not the worst beating he'd ever taken, but it was definitely the worst one that had been doled out by a single being.
Even now, panting for breath and slurring his words for a reason that for once had nothing to do with booze, Tony couldn't stop himself. "Feel...better...?" he wheezed out, turning what gaze he had back to the god of chaos. "You should know...I plan to ch-charge...for th-therapy sessions..."
Loki turned his gaze back to his captive, still glaring, still angry. "If I have left you any brains in your miserable excuse for a skull to allow cognitive thoughts, you will silence yourself immediately."
"Haa ha ha ha. Fuck you." Not his most brilliant retort, but at the moment, with his ears still ringing from pain, it was all he had.
Loki spun on him, and with a jerky twitch of his fingers, Tony found the bracers on his arms yanking him forward, as though there were invisible chains tied to them that Loki was manipulating. They raised a bit violently over his head, actually into the air, and left his toes barely scraping the ground, despite his struggles to pull free of them.
"If you will not silence yourself, I will do it for you." Loki moved closer, removing...something small and glowing, from beneath his cloak, holding it forward. "Believe it or not, human, I'm actually not fond of the notion of performing this action against another person."
"Then don't do it, it's really that simple," Tony responded, trying to ignore that his eye was very nearly swollen shut at this point and maintain an air of some control over the situation. "Anything you do at this point is all because you want to, hornhead."
Loki's anger almost seemed to cool at that, and the barest hint of what could have been a smirk turned up at his mouth. "I suppose you are right." He held up his hand, and Tony had just enough time to see that the glow in the god's hand looked the same as the one from the metal gauntlets, before abruptly Loki surged forward, crushing the bizarre metal over Tony's mouth, pressing hard enough to make Tony unwillingly yelp at the contact with his damaged lip. There was a momentary flash of a bizarre cold pain, and Loki pulled away, leaving Tony thrashing and trying to force away the sudden metal mask pressed over his lower face, sealing his mouth closed.
He didn't think that stopped Loki from knowing the string of horrible curses that were being directed at him, but unfortunately none of them came out as anything but angry mumbles. With another simple flick of his fingers, the pressure holding Tony up was released, and he fell to all fours on the ground, immediately reaching up to try and pry away the gag, but finding it flush with his skin, same as the bands on his arms, with no apparent explanation for what was holding it in place.
"Make something very clear to yourself now, human," Loki said, moving to stand just out of easy swipe range, glaring down at Tony. "I am in control here. The only reason you continue to draw breath is because I allow it. At any moment that you displease me, that mask will crawl over your face and leave you to suffocate here between worlds. Though I would prefer it, I do not need you alive for what I have planned. In short...do not...push me."
Tony wanted to do more than push him. Bum-rush him into that tacky ass chair, beat his face in, and tear his eyeballs out, maybe follow that up by snapping all his fingers and toes in succession, and whatever he could figure out to follow that. But the faint glow still apparent on his restraints reminded him that he'd be stopped well before he could...even if he could...the bizarre area he found himself in reminded him he was a long way from home with no idea how to get back, and overall he knew that at the moment, no matter how darkly he hated it, he was at the god's mercy. So he remained crouched warily on the ground, staring up at the bastard, trying not to think about the fact that now he was the enraged one, and Loki had regained his cool, smarmy disposition.
Funny how that worked.
