That night in the workshop, he dreamt of the end of the world.
He'd been working on a breastplate, not sure why but willing to indulge his instincts. The lack of sleep was starting to take his toll on his very mortal body, and he should have gone to bed hours ago, but the serenity he experienced doing manual labor (his very own brand of magic, thank you very much) had won over mere reason.
It was no wonder that his body protested and went limp.
Then he smelled blood.
It was the end of the world.
Tony Stark had always felt at home with fire and chaos. It was in the midst of the first and wielding the second that he'd brought his best creations to life. For life. He wanted to make sure Earth had a chance against Thanos. His friends would have the best armors outfitted with the state-of-the art weapons. Thor might claim that the Mad Titan was unkillable, Tony had yet to face a challenge he couldn't overcome. It was in his nature to protect. He was no hero, but he was humanity's best chance to withstand the army en route to Earth.
Tony Stark was at home with fire and chaos, but those tools weren't only meant to help and protect. Too often, in the wrong hands, they were agents of death, and today was one of those days.
The first wave of Chitauri came all too soon.
"Careful, Tones!"
"I'm doing my fucking best here!"
The knife-like appendage at the end of the alien's arm grazed the top of his shoulder. Tony swore loudly. Under normal circumstances, no part of him would be exposed to any kind of alien crap. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have had to give away a part of his suit to Rhodey, who'd given all of his to Pepper, who'd turned over hers to a pregnant Natasha, because Widow had stepped out of hers and arranged for it to explode, thus killing one of the controlling minds of the enemy fleet, and Clint was too far away and throwing a fit and Fury-
Of course, under normal circumstances, Tony wouldn't really fear for his life. But Doomsday had come early this year, and all the Avengers and able-bodied human beings fought teeth and claws against the aliens, taking down as many of them as they could.
Tony thought about his chances of survival as he blasted the damned Chitauri into oblivion. Today? Good enough. Next week, when Thanos himself arrived with his best warriors? Not so good. And neither were Pepper's, and everyone else's he cared about…
Talking about Pepper…
"Pep, watch out!"
"TONES, YOU WATCH OUT!"
Tony ducked under an overpass half a second before a building collapsed. He didn't even have the time to catch his breath as three Chitauris cornered him and tried to take out the other parts of his armor. He kicked one sideways just in time for the blade in another's 'hand' to miss his heart. His freaking heart! Many people accused him of lacking one, or pretending stone could beat and pump blood, but really, Tony knew what love was. Love and fear, compassion and the maddening worry that gripped him in the sight of fire and chaos that wasn't his…
Rhodey was dead-
… sky was dark, full of flames, but the heat didn't reach him-
… he screamed as the blade nicked his throat-
… green eyes flashed-
… mercy wasn't a thing, and neither was hope, or-
… his throat burnt-
… "by my hand only, Stark"-
… hate…
…pain, so much pain, and darkness taking over the world he'd failed to protect-
… "Stark!"-
… he couldn't breathe-
… couldn't… breathe-
… Loki, he'd-
… Lo…ki-
"LOKI!"
He was being lifted off the ground, readied for the slaughter. He reacted on instinct and threw his head back even as he balled his hands into fists.
His enemy grunted in pain. He didn't know who he was fighting, but he knew his life was at stake. If necessary, he would kill the other.
He'd killed before, a little voice told him. He could do it again.
It might not be easy, though; the next thing he knew, he was thrown on a high table. The metal of something dug into his back. He rolled on to his side, narrowly avoiding the open hand coming at him (why not a fist?) and dropped to the floor on the other side of the table.
Enemy, his brain screamed. ENEMY!
Fully aware that his opponent must be strong indeed to throw him with his bare hands, he rushed him.
It was his own back that hit the wall. The hand pinning him to the wall pressed harder. And harder. How could a man wield such strength? He struggled as his enemy trapped his legs between his.
"That's enough, Jarnverr. You're having a nightmare."
The words didn't make a lick of sense, and the eyes he could feel searching his face in the darkness unnerved him. He wanted to fight. Wanted blood to flow. He was… He was fire and chaos, and this man, this being, his enemy, was something to destroy.
"Jarnverr, look at me."
He did look, but he also managed to free one foot and kick at a tibia.
The other's grip loosened, and he landed a punch in his chest. With a snarl, his enemy bellowed that name again, 'Jarnverr', just before kicking him in the chest.
It hurt. He was lifted off his feet for the second time tonight and landed hard on his ass. As he eyed the man closing on him, he started to doubt he could win that fight.
So he stood. And he ran. He might be fast, but the other was faster, and the chase lasted all of five seconds before he was sprawled on the floor with the god straddling him (a god, really?), a steel grip on one of his wrists.
God.
Green eyes that he thought he saw in the darkness.
His mind spun.
"Jarnverr, heel!"
He froze for the span of a heartbeat. Jarnverr. Yes, that was his name. Jarn-veer.
His conscious mind wondered at that, but his body and subconscious returned to the fight. By the time Jarnverr connected all three parts together, the strain on his wrist was almost unbearable.
The bones snapped suddenly, and Jarnverr screamed.
"Lights!"
Loki's face appeared out of the darkness. Right. Loki. The god Loki, prince of this realm. And he... he was a mortal, a Midgardian. Jarnverr. They were in a workshop owned by dwarves, and Jarnverr had been working on a breastplate before falling asleep. Loki had roused him.
By the time he'd processed all that, he'd stopped screaming.
Loki didn't have any right looking as handsome as he did, angry and wild straddling him, and Jarnverr glared up at him. His wrist hurt like hell.
"Your name," the god snapped.
"Jarnverr, but-"
"Wrong answer!"
"I don't know!" Jarnverr lashed out, blinking back tears as he cradled his broken wrist. "And you're a fucking god, it wasn't necessary to-"
"Where do you come from on Midgard?"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
Loki jumped to his feet. In spite of the pain, Jarnverr did the same. How many bones were there in a wrist for it to hurt so much?
"I had a nightmare, ok?" Anger didn't lessen the pain; it was but a drop of 'good' in an ocean of 'bad'. "You didn't need to-"
Loki drew himself to his full height, and Jarnverr couldn't help his instinctive reaction to step back. The rictus on the god's lips was frightening, but at least it helped distract him from the pain.
"You will address this god on another tone, Jarnverr."
Jarnverr shivered. Now was probably not the time to remark that Loki was getting a case of dissociative personalities.
"I don't know," he hissed quietly. "And before you ask, I don't know the first thing about Asgard except what you've shown me so far. I still have no idea what the thing in my chest is for, except that it's possibly linked to my skills as a blacksmith and the fact that I'm alive. And I don't-have-a-fucking-clue-why-I'm-here," he concluded through clenched teeth. "Could you please leave so that I can fix my wrist in peace now?"
He expected Loki to refuse, or to bite his head off for daring speak to him on that sarcastic tone. What he didn't expect was for Loki to back him into his working table and fucking kneel. The look on the god's face, for lack of a better word, was almost regretful.
It was annoying, really, how Jarnverr both wanted to punch him and hug him.
"I am sorry I broke your wrist," the god said quietly. "Let me fix it."
Before Jarnverr could think of a suitable reply that wasn't 'then you shouldn't have broken it in the first place, you asshole', they were teleported into the quarters Jarnverr occupied.
"You could warn a guy," Jarnverr snapped, rolling away on the bed.
Loki rolled him back to his other side with infuriating ease.
"I never apologize, Jarnverr, so stop sulking and let me heal your wrist."
"Right."
"You are one ungrateful mortal, aren't you, pet?"
"And you an aggravating god. Oh, have I said that out loud?"
Jarnverr half-expected Loki to leave him to his misery, but then he felt the god's hand on his wrist. The pain receded to a dull ache. Loki's eyes shone brighter as he worked his magic, whispering words in a sing-song voice. Jarnverr watched the god's face, too caught up in the tense expression etched on those handsome features to remember he was supposed to pout, or protest the manhandling of his mortal person.
When Loki released his wrist, his face was blank. Carefully, Jarnverr tested his articulations. His wrist felt fine. More than fine, actually.
"Is it too much to hope you might remember your nightmare?" Loki asked neutrally.
Jarnverr sighed. "Beside a general sense of foreboding? Nothing. Well... nothing important."
"You're lying."
"I am not lying."
"Tell me, Jarnverr."
The god's voice had dropped an octave, and his gaze burnt. To his utter dismay, Jarnverr found himself hardening. Danger, right. Reminding his body that it could be broken in two if the mood struck Loki did the trick.
"I just- I remember green eyes. 'might be yours for all I know. After all, you're the person I see the most, and you-" He bit down his tongue hard, willing himself to stop babbling. "As I've said, it was nothing important."
Loki wasn't smiling. "It must be, if it's the only thing you remember before you woke up and attacked me."
"I didn't know it was you." Jarnverr winced. "And I don't know you from before."
"Then why attack me?"
"How the hell should I know? Foreboding, green eyes; that's about what I remember from this dream." he swallowed tickly as one of Loki's knees brushed his. He didn't think Loki would harm him again, but his heart still sped up.
"Green eyes," the god mused aloud.
The intense look Jarnverr had spied on Loki's face earlier returned. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the fact that they were both in his bed.
He didn't think he was the kind of man to blush, but his face still felt a little too warm as he spoke the first thing that went through his mind.
"How can I be afraid of you, and so at ease in your presence? You feel…"
"Natural, familiar, in spite of how little we know of each other?"
Loki was staring so hard at him Jarnverr started to squirm. He didn't think he was the kind of man to squirm either, but the god just had this effect on him. He licked his lips. The god's eyes followed the motion, sending a shiver up his spine.
"Yes, and more… real than everything else in this world. So you feel it too? The a- the connexion?"
Loki nodded, slowly. Jarnverr looked down at his wrist, and the white hand that was now covering it. The contrast was beautiful… and dangerous.
It really would be easy for Loki to kill him.
"Are you cold?" he blurted out. "You feel cold."
"I do?" Loki cocked his head to the side, and covered one of Jarnverrs' hands with his own. "You do feel very warm, pet."
"I'm not a pet," Jarnverr protested, but since he yawned at the same time, it didn't quite convey the right message.
The god laughed and lay on his side. Jarnverr tensed. Loki must have sensed his nervousness, but he didn't move away. He actually went as far as to trail a finger down his exposed arm. The white digit raised goosebumps on the tanned skin.
He had a thousand questions at the tip of his tongue, but the nightmare had drained him. What had it been about? What were they all about? His past, of course, but why couldn't he remember?
Why did it seem so trivial?
And who was that green-eyed person from his dreams, beside the reason he'd woken on the killing edge and attacked his only ally on Asgard?
His eyelids grew heavier. Jarnverr suspected Loki's magic at play, and could only hope in his battered state that the god would make his sleep dreamless.
He was already half-asleep when he thought he heard Loki speak.
"For all your protests, you heel rather nicely, pet."
Jarnverr may or may not have protested in his sleep.
