Well, here's my first published foray into Avengers fanfiction. I'm rather pleased with it, and I hope you guys are too. This particular story was inspired by the numerous pictures I've seen of Loki with his mouth stitched shut, though also borne of some angsty emotions a few days ago. I wanted to write something a little horrifying, a little terrible, a little painful to read.
No pairings; or, if you like, pre-Frostiron. But this is not a story of romance or seduction.
Disclaimer: Still not mine. I claim only the words.
There were times for sarcastic and witty one-liners.
This was not one of those times.
Loki flickered into view like a ghost out of one of those horror movies, though with a smell of ozone and a flash of green light and sickly smoke pouring off of him. Tony dropped his tools and instinctively double-checked the bracelets, and JARVIS chimed an alarm and primed the suit to shoot out and fold over Tony's body, but then Loki's back arched and he crumpled from his knees all the way to the floor. He made a sound like a dying thing, low and pained and wordless.
Tony gestured his overprotective AI to stand down, approaching Loki warily. Everybody knows that even an injured animal, if cornered, can still snap, and Tony liked having all ten fingers. But Loki remained an unmoving puddle of leather in a growing puddle of blood, even when Tony reached out to flip him onto his back.
He reeled back a few steps, eyes wide with horror and swallowing down a wave of nausea. Thor had said Loki's punishment was severe, but he hadn't said just how severe. The god looked like a corpse, all hollow cheeks and dead eyes and limp, straggly hair. That wasn't the worst, though. They'd stitched his mouth shut, thick rough twine threaded in raw, bloody holes. Loki coughed, pale hand twitching on his chest, and blood leaked out from between his lips.
From a few feet away, Tony could better assess the situation without his dinner making a repeat performance. The blood was coming from somewhere, though for the life of him, Tony couldn't figure out where. Loki's armor was shredded beyond repair, and there were metal bits sticking out of him. Loki's fingers moved restlessly, fluttering over one that was stuck in his gut before wrapping around it and tugging it free. There was a fresh spurt of brackish blood, and Loki made another dying-thing noise, shuddering before going still.
"Shit," Tony muttered to himself, swallowing bile and inching closer again. Once more, Loki just stayed where he was, ragged breath whistling through his nose (or maybe that stitched mouth, oh god). Working quickly and trying not to look at the broken ruin of Loki's body, he began pulling the debris from the god's limbs. The blood that oozed over his hands was nearly black and lukewarm, like it had been sitting in room temperature too long. He had no idea if he was helping or hurting, but at the very least Loki wouldn't be a pincushion as he was bleeding out over the workshop floor.
Oh god, Loki was going to die. And it would be in his workshop.
"I've gotta call Thor," he grunted, wiping blood on his pants and reaching for his phone, only to have Loki's hand shoot out and wrap with iron strength around his wrist. If his eyes had been dead before, they were alive now with fire, promising pain and death if Tony completed the call. With his free hand, Loki made a complex gesture over the length of his ruined body before falling back. His body arched sharply in a way that looked painful and impossible, and a high pitched sound came out of his nose. Tony skittered back again, certain that Loki was in his death throes.
The whistling breath came to a stuttering stop, and Tony was sure Loki was dead, and was just reaching for his phone when Loki drew a rattling, liquidy breath through his nose, fingers twitching to life. To Tony's immense surprise, Loki pushed himself to a seated position, trying uselessly to wipe blood off of himself and drawing the tattered remains of his cloak about him. There was still blood everywhere, but that didn't prevent Loki from continuing to lever himself up, one hand clasping a table tightly and pulling until he was upright, if wobbly and breathing hard.
The glare he sent Tony could have curdled milk. As it was, Tony felt the irrational need to run and hide, flight response overriding most other thoughts. He managed to stand his ground, though he wasn't entirely certain that wasn't because his knees were locked in place. An upright Loki had the potential to be very dangerous.
Still supporting himself with one hand on the table, Loki lifted his other hand, pausing his fingers barely a centimeter away from the bloody stitches. His focus seemed to turn inward, for which Tony was grateful. The god made a pulling motion, grunting with frustration when nothing seemed to happen. He copied the movement, then snapped his fingers, a few pitiful-looking green sparks falling from the gesture.
Without warning, Loki struck out, swiping and arm's length-worth of incredibly expensive and delicate electronics off the table before making a pained sound, curled fingers clawing at the stitches. Tony winced at the wanton destruction of his gadgets, but he inched closer all the same, one hand out like he was trying to calm a savage dog. Not a bad analogy, actually, considering the animal snarling sounds Loki was making behind his sealed lips.
"Hey," Tony said, trying for soothing. "Hey, it's okay. I have scissors. I could … um." He gestured, a snipping motion across his own lips.
Loki's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he backed up again, still wobbly until he hit the corner of the room and sank down, a low growling sound coming out of his chest. Despite the warning and his better instincts, Tony reached for his scissors, keeping both hands out in front of him as he came closer. It seemed like Loki's magic was a little kaput, but appearances could be deceiving, and he didn't want to be turned into a fly out of spite.
Loki continued to growl, but he didn't lash out when Tony knelt beside him. His nostrils flared, though, and his head jerked back when the scissors came close to his mouth. He was wild-eyed, breathing hard through his nose, eyeing the scissors like they could turn against him.
"Suck it up, you big baby. You can curse me after I get those things out," Tony muttered, taking a chance and reaching to hold Loki's chin steady. Loki made an indignant huffing sound and yanked his chin free, eyes still on the scissors. Tony sat back on his heels to wait, and they had a silent stare-off, Tony content to let Loki make the decision and Loki resisting the indignity, until after a few moments Loki gave a reluctant nod.
Tony took a deep breath, reaching in once more and carefully, oh-so-carefully, began to cut the twine. Loki's eyes slid shut, white lines drawn on either side of his mouth with what had to be pain. After five stitches had been cut, he made a small sound, mouth trying to open in a normal fashion, to suck in one real breath, though it only resulted in another wince when half his mouth remained stubbornly and painfully shut.
"It's okay, we'll be done soon," Tony promised, trying not to show how sick the entire process was making him. Up close Loki smelled like blood, old and fresh, and faintly of vomit. And they'd stitched his mouth shut. What kind of barbarian would do something like that? To pass the needle in and out between Loki's lips … it would have to be a thick, cruel needle to accommodate the thick twine, in order to make the holes big enough. He swallowed another round of bile burning the back of his throat.
At last, the stitches had been cut, and Loki sat there, panting quietly through his now-open mouth. The ends of the twine were still lodged in his lips, but he looked disinclined to move, and Tony wasn't about to put his fingers anywhere near biting range. At long last, the god opened his eyes, licking his lips experimentally.
"That feels better," he said, and his voice sounded just as ruined as his body, harsh and raspy from disuse, the words a little slurred because it was painful to move his lips much.
"Well … good," Tony said, backing up once more. "And now you're all better, so you can just beam out of here."
"That would be the preferred action, yes. I'd like nothing more than to leave. Unfortunately, I can't."
Tony stared at him, not believing it. "You're shitting me."
"I'm completely drained. It almost killed me to get here. I used the last dredges of my magic to heal the worst of my wounds. I think … if I were to attempt to walk out of here … I would be knocked over by a stiff breeze." He coughed, making a face, and spat some blood. "In fact … I think I'm..."
Loki's voice trailed off, his face went a few shades paler (which could not be healthy), and his eyes rolled back as he fell into a dead faint. Tony stared, then went to poke him. When poking elicited no response, he felt for a pulse, finding it faint but even. "Figures," he grunted. "Fine. You want to chill out here? Brilliant choice. Just nest right where your enemies live when you're at your most vulnerable. And they called you the smart brother." He moved to pick Loki up under the armpits, expecting to drag him off to one of the unused guest rooms, but as he gave a heave he felt something pop in his back. It would seem Loki was damned heavy for someone so painfully thin.
With the help of Dummy and You, he rigged a stretcher that could haul Loki around. He left the heavy lifting to the robots this time, leading them along to the room. It was far from the rest of the Avengers, so hopefully they wouldn't even know he was there, and Tony wouldn't have to worry about the imminent destruction of his tower (again) if Loki woke up cranky.
Once Loki was safely in the bed, Tony checked to make sure he was still out cold, then began undressing him. He figured Loki wouldn't like it much if he woke up to a hand down his pants … alright, bad mental image. He couldn't even think any sexy thoughts, not with the way the cloth and leather had been soaked with blood, which had then dried crusty and tight to Loki's skin. Not with the way his bones jutted like he was a skeleton just barely covered with skin. Not with the twine still in his lips. Tony saved that for last, using tweezers to pick it out until only the raw holes remained.
He left the room quickly once it was over, locking the door behind him. Rushing back to his room, Tony opened the toilet and was promptly sick. He flushed it a few times, the smell of vomit and stale blood stinging his nostrils, then climbed in the shower, clothes and all, and turned it on as hot as it would go. He didn't even consider leaving the shower, and didn't bother to strip out of his ruined clothes, until he was certain that the blood was out from under his fingernails and he couldn't smell it anymore. Then he scrubbed for a good half hour before at last exiting the shower, fluffing himself dry, and going to bed.
He had nightmares about snakes and blood and Frankenstein's monster. All those goddamn stitches.
Tony didn't return to Loki's room the next day, or the day after. He felt just fine with ignoring the situation; JARVIS gave him regular updates with visual. As long as Loki was asleep in the bed and not wreaking havoc through the tower, Tony was fine with it. The other Avengers didn't even notice anything off, once the blood had been cleaned up. They only saw that Tony seemed a bit subdued and jumpy, and they attributed that to too much caffeine and too little sleep. Banner gave him sleeping pills and a sympathetic pat on the back.
The third day since Loki's bizarre appearance, Tony decided to man up and visit the room. JARVIS had picked up good vitals, so he wasn't worried about having a dead god on his hands … he was more worried about a comatose god, or one preparing another massive strike against New York with Stark Tower as his headquarters.
But when he opened the door, the illusion of Loki in the bed glimmered and disappeared. The room was empty. The bed was made. The only sign of any other presence was a short, forgotten piece of twine on the bedside table.
Tony pocketed the twine and left the room, locking the door behind him. So that was that. And life could go back to normal. The nightmares would probably fade.