Chapter 1:

The first time it happened, it was a few weeks after the alien invasion.

Tony figured he should have been more responsive than he was, but really, besides all the damage the city took and Coulson being fucking ALIVE (yeah, whatever little trust he had in Fury was gone), Tony didn't really have anything to be angry about. And he wasn't. That at least should have surprised him, maybe a little, but no.

There was hardly a time he could remember being speechless, but as it was, all he could do was stare. Also to note, Tony Stark did not panic, so this wasn't panicking, but he was frozen where he stood, heart hammering in his chest.

Standing in front of him was Loki.

Loki.

Not in Asgard, free, and full of magic Loki.

A blue Loki. A struggling blue Loki.

He was just standing there and Tony wondered what was going to happen next. The part of his mind that was always online, observing, calculating, assessing, noticed that he was clearly not okay and Tony didn't know what to do with that piece of intel.

He made an effort to breathe when his lungs started burning, and it was then that Loki looked at him.

Red eyes.

Heart rate calming slightly, he got his brain back in enough order to perceive that blue Loki was clutching at his clothes. The leather material was slashed in every place Tony could put his eyes to and it looked like it shouldn't have even been possible for them to still be on his body and not on the floor.

Right. Why he's grasping at the shreds. Literally. And was that really what his mind chose to focus on right now?

Tony opened his mouth to…what? Call JARVIS? He was pretty damn sure he wouldn't be given the chance. It didn't even matter as his vocal chords seemed to be on vacation. Loki took the time to grip his clothes tighter and whimper.

What?

Tony was so far from a relatively normal situation that he deserved a goddamn medal for handling this with some dignity. Ignoring the blood he could still hear rushing through his head, he was almost serene. Downright peaceful. Or something.

Whatever. He'll fucking take it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder at his bitch of a luck. He didn't recall anyone else picking up a stray piece of metal in their workshop, only to be greeted with the sight of Loki, of all people, when they stood up.

Bruce would have panicked already, Tony childishly thought. But Tony Stark was not panicking, not one bit.

A sharp inhale from the god ten feet in front of him broke Tony away from talking to himself, and Fuck, Stark, do something.

He shifted, slowly placing the piece of metal on his work table and wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans. No sudden movements because he was acutely aware that he wasn't in his suit; he was one hundred percent fragile human and in front of him was all Magical God.

Loki didn't seem to be moving, his crazed stare boring into the inventor's, and Tony couldn't even begin to tell what he was thinking. Hopefully something painless.

Hesitantly, Fuck he never read What To Do When Distressed Evil Villains Appear In Your Workshop, "..Loki…"

Oh words. Remember those things Stark? Use them. He almost scowled. There was no need for his mind to sass him right now.

When he didn't die, he repeated, more confidently, "Loki." At that the god, why is he blue, blinked rapidly, whimpered again and shit, Tony didn't know what to do. This was more that slightly awkward, and then he disappeared.

Well, no. Apparently.

All he saw was a disappearing god, but not even a blink later felt arms wrapping around his back, hands grabbing at his t-shirt, a weight on his chest, and what felt like a face in his neck.

Okay, Tony Stark did not panic, but there were always exceptions to rules.

And apparently, when he panicked this much, there was Nothing in his head. His upstairs processors were blank. He harshly let the air out of his body when he felt his lungs burning again. He could feel Loki, is this really the same Loki that tried to kill them, moving against him.

A few forceful (fearful?) breaths later and he realized that he was still alive; there was no knife in his side and that no. Not moving. Shivering. And that wasn't right either.

Trembling.

Tony looked down. There was a trembling God of Mischief hanging onto him for what looked like dear life. He didn't know what did it, desperation, but all of a sudden his brain was kicked into full processing capacity and he could barely focus, all the things flying through his mind, and shit.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

Slowly, because for all the overtime his brain was doing right now, he knew this had to be done carefully, he moved his hands from where they were hanging at his sides and brought them around the trembling body against his.

And how the fuck is this Loki? He let out a breath as, Fuck, is this still Loki? How the hell is this Loki? What the, Loki pressed in closer, looked like he was trying to see if he could breathe skin instead of air.

Keeping contact with the god's back, he moved one hand up to gently hold the head that was trying to make a home in his neck. And isn't Loki taller? How is it possible for him to have his…and what happened that could…what the fuck's…who the hel…what do I do with…how the fuck is…SIELD?...what would…is he really that…how should I…why am I...

Breathe Stark. Yeah. He can do that. And blink. Slightly delirious, Look at that. Multitasking with the best of them. His thoughts were all over the place, and too many to focus on one.

Focus. He needed something to focus on. He could feel his sanity leaking. Maybe not so much his sanity, but more of something else. Maybe his commonsense. Come on Stark, what's in this damn head of…Steve! Perfect time to wonder what the Capsicle was up to and how his cross-country trip was going.

Maybe Tony should hack a few satellites later and see where he was. Call him curious. Yes, he was curious and not pani—he wondered if the Captain was going to visit all the states. He spent ten minutes visualizing Steve's trip, trying to theorize where he would go, where he would be right now. There was a vague string of thought about what the good Captain thought about the 21st century, but Tony liked to ignore that when it surfaced.

Hate them or love them, Steve Rogers was stuck with them, so it really didn't matter what he thought.

Drawing blanks on Steve, Tony wondered what Bruce was doing. After he moved in Tony had gifted him with his own lab. Sharing had been a disaster and they both agreed to never do it again. They tended to get lost and forget themselves in their work, which meant being in a zone of sorts.

Tony's zone included loud rock music, but Bruce's had soothing James Taylor-like music. After the Hulk had made an appearance and calmly told him it was too loud, Tony decided he wasn't made for sharing. Now, whenever Bruce was in his workshop he was usually accompanied by two-minute conversations and some type of food. This happened every—Loki wasn't moving.

He had stopped trembling. Tony couldn't help but wonder. Was this the part where he died at the hands of a mortified god? He was hoping for a no as the trickster stood still for a few beats before he pushed away.

Tony's hands fell away as red eyes stared at him again. One shuddering breath and blue skin just, kind of bled into familiar pale.

His fingers twitched.

Tony blinked and the God of Mischief was gone.

His fingers twitched again. He could feel that he was alone in his workshop, so he pushed his legs toward the only chair in the workshop, turning to survey the empty room. He was still alive. Why was he still alive? Desper—enoughwith that.

"Maybe I need more sleep." Talking to himself. And not inside his head this time. Excellent.

Didn't someone say that was the first sign of insan…huh.

The air left his body when he saw a black dagger on the floor. Black. Where do you get a black blade from?

He blinked, stared, and whirled around, already thinking a mile a minute. "JARVIS! Pull up the security mechanisms for the workshop. And get me the names of people that have access to it and at what levels. And I need…"

Two days later and the workshop was the most secure room in the world, and he wasn't even kidding, or bragging.

Maybe a little bragging.

And no one, not even Pepper, had access anymore. At any level. SHIELD couldn't even begin hacking or overriding, which seemed to satisfy JARVIS.

Two days and Tony hadn't touched the dagger. Hadn't looked at it, actually. He only glanced at it on his way out of the workshop.

He needed food, and for once he didn't ignore the need.

The elevator ride up to the living spaces pulled him out of his head and back into reality, but not soon enough. He didn't have time to put on his couldn't-care-less face so he didn't know what was showing on his face, but whatever it was, it made Bruce close his mouth and stare at him.

That was fine. He was not in any kind of mind-state to hold a coherent conversation.

His beeline ended at the counter with the pizza on it. He grabbed a slice and shoved it between his teeth, grabbed a second slice and yanked the fridge open for a bottle of water. Moving to the couch, he plopped down next to Bruce, who silently turned the huge TV screen on.

Tony focused on chewing and swallowing and then chugging the water down. Thirty seconds after the water was gone the urge to do something crashed into him, but there was nothing to do. More like, there were over fifty options laid out in front of him and he didn't know which to even look at. So he jumped up, startling Bruce, and made his way to his penthouse suite.

He was ignoring the dampness that was still on his neck. Didn't know what to do with that. Couldn't begin with that.

There were a lot of things he didn't know right now, lots that he did. Coming to terms with what he did know, well, that was going to take at least a night's sleep.

Coming to terms with how he felt about the things he did know, that was going to take a helluva a lot more than a night's rest.

Another beeline, this time to his private bar. He poured himself some of the first thing he grabbed, moved to his ridiculously large bed and stared down into the glass.

There was brown liquid in the tumbler, but all Tony could see is red. Literally. In one move he was up and his arm was swinging the glass of alcohol at the floor-to-ceiling windows. Glass and what smelt like scotch made a destructive sounding splash, but the window wasn't even scratched, which Tony guessed was something.

He stared at the drops sliding down the glass, inhaled a breath that shouldn't have hurt, stripped and got into bed, yanking the covers over his head. He could hide from the world if he wanted to.

It'd be the next morning when he realized that his neck was slightly frostbitten, and that JARVIS hadn't said a word during the time Loki was present in the workshop.