"Dominoes of indiscretions down,
Falling all around,
In cycles, in circles
Constantly consuming,
Conquer and devour.
Cause it's time to bring the fire down,
Bridle all this indiscretion,
Long enough to edify,
And permanently fill this hollow."
-The Hollow by A Perfect Circle
-o-o-o-
Le Corbusier once said, "A hundred times have I thought New York is a catastrophe, and fifty times: it is a beautiful catastrophe." For the first week they spent in the Tower, it was beautiful. Not in the scenic way—the city was still speckled with construction lots and damaged buildings, remnants of Doom's last terror spree—but it was the vacation Tony hadn't realized he desperately needed. Technically he was in New York under an official capacity, signing patents and overseeing a few reactor projects, but that did nothing to ruin his exultant mood. Tony couldn't remember ever being this relaxed before, not without drinking to near-toxic levels.
When they arrived in New York, it had been a bit tense as Loki adjusted to the new surroundings. Tony worried that maybe he should have taken more precautions, but those fears ended up being unfounded. Whatever peace Loki had found wasn't so easily shattered, and that little upturn of his lips remained.
They hadn't gone down to the development floors that day, because unlike Tony's Malibu estate the Tower's labs were not his personal property. They belonged to Stark Industries, and Tony didn't want to mingle with strangers just yet. Instead, they spent day one in Tony's penthouse, doing those little things that they normally couldn't, whether it be because Tony didn't have the time or Loki just got too anxious. They had a chess tournament (that really couldn't be considered that, seeing as all but one win had gone to Loki). Loki indulged Tony's curiosity and had explained the finer aspects of shape-shifting, but when asked to transform into a woman the mischievous god became a crocodile instead, startling Tony into dropping his wine glass. (The stained carpet and wasted drink had been more than worth it to hear Loki's amused chuckling.)
They also made (not) progress on the whole Thanos thing by going on a shopping spree for random junk that could pass as ingredients for a spell (including, but not limited to, that corpse flower, a fulgurite, water from Japan's 'blood pond', and some grass from the inside of Stonehenge). After they had accumulated a hefty bill, Pepper stopped by and joined them for dinner. She brought pasta with her, and all three of them sat around the table to enjoy a proper meal. It was nice, with the only problem being a minor annoyance: Coro decided he wanted some food as well and leapt onto the table. Of course the clumsy cat had to slip onto Tony's plate, seasoning his pasta primavera with fur. The other two found it hilarious, and the rest of the conversation was conducted at Tony's expense. Coro meanwhile retreated to beneath Loki's chair, futilely trying to get the globs of red sauce off.
When it started getting late and Pep finally had to leave, Loki and Tony had retired to the living room to watch a movie. Honestly, Tony had no idea what it was about—neither of them paid much attention to the events on the screen—but he greatly enjoyed the moment anyway. It was the picturesque lazy evening, and somewhere in there Tony actually managed to fall asleep on the couch. He woke up naturally, not hastened by a nightmare, to find Loki and Coro curled up together on the cushion next to him.
Their fun didn't stop there, either. The rest of the week followed the same trend, each day passing like there wasn't a care in the world. For the first time since Loki fell—since before that, really—all those pesky little worries were pushed aide.
Tony gave Loki a tour of the eighty-eight percent of Stark Tower that wasn't Pepper's (he just called the crowded parts her portion and let them be. They could be overwhelming to the average Joe, and Tony had no interest in seeing just what it took to break Loki's control. Small steps this time). He showed Loki his pride and joy, the gorgeous reactor that powered the entire building and then some. The god was suitably intrigued, which sparked a whole discussion on Tony's arc reactor, Vibranium, and Yggdrasil. And even though they were proficient in different fields and sometimes had to slow down to explain a concept, it was clearly a conversation between geniuses. Their talk continued while browsing the development levels, gaining them an audience of awe-struck engineers. To make it even more enjoyable, Loki and Tony took to using as much jargon as they could. Some of the noobies looked like they were going to cry.
After the tour, they took over one of the secluded labs and tinkered around with the more abstract projects they normally couldn't budget the time for. Tony exercised his interest in alien technology, like the acclaimed teleportation machine, and while they didn't have the technology (let alone knowledge) to actually make one, they played around with a few theories and designs anyway. There was no real goal in mind, no limitations. It was just them and whatever they wanted to create.
Science wasn't the only thing they had time to indulge in. Some of the other Avengers trickled into the Tower as their work allowed, and generally at least one of them was around at any given time. Tony dragged Loki—though really the god didn't need much prodding—to spend time with whoever was around. 'Team building' had turned into an easy friendship, and, for the most part, everyone got along. Loki, unlike Tony, really hit it off with Rogers, and they spent plenty of time sparring while Tony hunkered down on the sidelines. Despite how unimposing the two looked in sweats, they had no qualms with tossing the other across the entire room. It made Tony sad for whoever usually sparred with the supercharged Captain (Loki came from an entire country of muscled freaks, Tony wasn't too worried about them). Natasha was another favorite, though how it was fun to try and pick each other apart verbally, Tony didn't know. She and Loki danced around with veiled taunts and carefully sculpted inquiries, the reward of information only slightly better than the triumph of outwitting the other. Most of their attempts ended in ties, which just made them even more determined the next round.
Near the end of the week Barton showed up, and he too joined in (he also used the socializing as an excuse to steal more of Tony's scotch, much to the billionaire's displeasure. Some of that stuff was one of a kind, damn it). They duked it out at the archery range, though Loki proved to be far better at throwing knives than shooting a bow. Not that he was bad at archery, but there was something to be said about the ability to throw a small dagger through both the bull's eye and the wall behind it. Bruce was the only one they didn't get to hang out with (much to Tony's displeasure. Putting all three geniuses together would have been intellectual ecstasy) but that was because SHIELD was busy utilizing his knowledge of radiation to do... something. Tony didn't bother hacking the system to find out.
Over the course of the week, there were still inevitable blips, but they were manageable. During those times Loki would slink, pale and jittery, back to Tony's floor. What he did then depended on just how strongly the void in his mind was calling. When he was really anxious, he exercised his habit of desecrating the insides of books. Otherwise, he'd indulge in his new found pleasure of being a feline, either sleeping with Coro or joining the little menace in tearing through the penthouse.
While Tony wasn't totally sold on the pet idea—Coro had been deceptively calm at the shelter. In reality, if there was something to knock over or claw up, the cat was more than happy to do so—he couldn't deny that the little bugger was wonderful for Loki. Despite that initial dislike, the god took to the cat like a duck to water. Watching them chase each other around the couch, you would think they'd had Coro for years (you'd also think that Loki was just a normal cat, and not someone who was once commonly worshiped as a god, but that was another matter). From the very beginning it had been clear that Loki desired to be around others. In those early days, when the god was empty-eyed and automated, he would still gravitate towards Tony. No matter what Loki tried to pretend, he thrived on interaction. Getting a cat that could be there whenever Loki needed someone was the right choice to make, and Tony was glad to personally make a donation to the LA Regional Shelter.
Really, Tony could spend hours reflecting on just how perfect that week in New York was. Everything went right, and it painted such a bright picture for the future. It was one of, if not the, best weeks of Tony's life.
But then that beauty burned, and all that remained was the catastrophe.
On the eighth day, Tony jolted awake to a blaring whine. It thrummed through the room and screeched in his ears. He was stumbling out of his bed before he even realized what he was doing, sleep-clouded mind rapidly searching for an explanation. Briefly, he entertained the notion that Jarvis was messing with him again, but that idea was crushed when he saw Loki slip out from beneath a startled Coro and jump to the floor. The god wasted no time in changing back into regular form, instantly alert. That's when it clicked: it was the alarm reserved for when the Tower was under attack.
"What's going on?" Loki asked, composed except for the involuntary wince whenever the pitch of the alarm rose sharply.
"I'm not quite sure," Tony replied over the clamor, voice lost in the wailing tones. "Jarvis!" He shouted, "Knock it off!" The siren abruptly dropped into silence, and Jarvis's voice rose to fill the gap.
"My apologies, sir. Stark Tower has entered a level three emergency."
"Yeah, I got that. I want to know why." Tony had been having a lovely dream with some busty, raven-haired beauties (and not sand-chafed men with foreign tongues and purloined guns). If this was a false alarm or something, he'd be pissed.
But he programmed Jarvis better than that, and the AI elaborated, "It appears that Doom has finally resurfaced, sir. His robots are attacking the city, your egotistical building included." Without the howling alarm covering everything up, Tony could actually hear the faint rumble of explosions outside, and a quick glance out the nearest window revealed fresh plumes of smoke. Shit.
If Doom wanted to bring this fight to Tony's door, fine. He could take it. But it wasn't just himself he had to worry about anymore. Long used to this routine, Iron Man snapped to action. First things first, he needed Doom's worst nightmare. "Loki, can you go get the-" He glanced to where the god had been, but no one was there. "...Right, he's already on it." That just left the suit. "Jarvis, get me Mark Sixteen," Tony ordered as he spun on his heel, heading to the small work station within the penthouse. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueled with each slight tremor of the building as a battle commenced outside. Not for a second did he forget that Pepper was in New York. More than that, she was in this very building, conveniently labeled with a flamboyant 'Stark' just so Doom had no problem figuring out what to unleash his frustrations on.
Frustrations that would only be added to once Loki and Tony shut down his little toys again. Which... it didn't make any sense for Shock-fest to come here with that being the case. Maybe he thought that Tony was back in Malibu, and planned to pull back before the Dragon Slayer was brought into play? Because with it, Doom's robots were as good as cement fodder.
Whatever. Tony would worry about it later. Right now, the suit was waiting for him. As the metal wrapped around his limbs, encasing him in red and gold, Loki teleported into the room in a flurry of green mist. In his hands, he held the misleadingly small DS, and he waited for the final pieces of the suit to slide into place so he could attach it to the armor. The god didn't waste a second, stepping forwards just as Jarvis pulled back. He slid in behind Tony, deftly hooking the small box up to the base of Tony's neck. It latched on tightly, sinking into the seams until it blended in perfectly. Once he double checked that it was secure, Loki stepped back.
"You got it?" Tony asked, twisting his head slightly to appraise Loki's work (not that he really needed to, but it was a hard habit to break after just having Jarvis for a copilot). The Dragon Slayer was set up perfectly. "Sweet. Alright, time to gank some robots. Jarvis, open her up."
"My pleasure, sir," the AI replied as a portion of the ceiling began to shift, opening up a circular portal to the sky.
Before rocketing into the air, Tony turned to Loki. "Talk to you in a bit, darling." He gave the god a cheeky salute, then he tilted his head to face the sky. "Show time."
Iron Man blasted through the hole in the roof, instantly jumping into the fray. It only took a second before the nearest Doombot caught sight of him and switched modes from demolition to man-slaughter. It fired at him with gusto, but Tony just dived out of the way before returning the favor. His magic-enhanced repulsors had a much shorter prep time, and the Doombot spiraled into a parked SUV. He wasn't without a dance partner for long, and two other robots blipped onto his screen. He threw himself at them, and while they tangoed, Jarvis reported, "Sir, I am connecting you to the Avengers communication line."
"Got it..." Three more little red dots appeared on Tony's HUD, and he cursed. "Aw, crap. Vicky just doesn't know when to quit, does he? Alright fellas, let's settle this." He distanced himself from Stark Tower, unwilling to let it become collateral damage. He busied himself with not getting electrocuted while he waited for Jarvis to do his thing.
It was only a moment later that Romanov spoke up, getting straight to business. "Stark, we have about two dozen Doombots—exact number still unknown—concentrated in the Manhattan area."
"Well that's just perfect." Like there wasn't enough to fight already. "Who else are we working with?"
"I'm here," Rogers piped up, voice accompanied by the crackle of static.
"Yes, thank you Captain Obvious," Tony muttered as Cap's garbled voice said, "One second..."
There was some shifting on the other end, a few loud bangs, then Rogers again, this time crystal clear. "I hate these headsets."
"They wouldn't give you so much trouble if you just used them properly," Tony retorted before continuing, "Is anyone else here?" Two dozen was a bit much for three people, even with the Dragon Slayer. It's not like they could pull the same stunt as last time. That was a one-trick show pony.
"We're the only ones in the immediate area." Romanov said, sounding just as peeved about that as he did. "Further reinforcements are pending."
Meaning they had to make do with what they got. "Alright, well Loki should be online in a moment. Then you can give us the lowdown on the situation."
"I'm already here," aforementioned god cut in. "What's the situation?"
"Victor is being pissy," Tony unhelpfully replied, scowling as he fired at one of the Doombots and missed.
"That tends to be the theme with people who blow up cities," Loki replied amusedly before bringing them back on topic with a quick, "Romanov?"
"SHIELD has confirmed twenty-six robots in the city, traveling in groups no larger than four. Main targets appear to be Stark Tower-"
"Taking care of that." Tony cut in, finally scoring a hit against one of the varmints that was loitering around his beloved building. Loki and Pepper (as well as a lot of other random people he didn't know the names of) were inside. No way was he letting volatile robots have a go at it.
"-Wall Street," Romanov continued, ignoring his interruption, "the United Nations Headquarters, and Fort Hamilton. Attacks however are not limited to these areas." Of course not, that'd be too easy. Super villains aren't content unless they are overly obnoxious. "The police have already arrived at the scene, and the first SHIELD squad will arrive in about ten minutes. Priority is the removal of all hostiles. Capture is not required."
"So blow 'em up or knock them down. I can do that." That was the easy kind of mission. No politics, no tactics, no reservations- just the brutal efficiency of science. (There was a reason Tony had loved his old job so much, before one nerdy man and a cave changed everything.)
"What's our plan on using the Dragon Slayer?" Loki asked.
"He already knows we have it, so no point not taking advantage of his stupidity." But that statement didn't make a lot of sense, because Doom wasn't that stupid. Far from it, in fact. So why the blonde act?
"There's a high possibility that Doom has something else planned." Loki said, sharing Tony's doubts. "But we'll use the Dragon Slayer while it works."
"Fine with me." Tony banked to the left, leaving his defeated quandary to pursue another small group that was approaching the Tower. When they noticed Iron Man the robots started to split up, but they weren't fast enough; when Loki switched on the Dragon Slayer, all three went down, even the one that Tony had thought was out of range. He wrote the discrepancy off as a fluke, something caused by variations in the DS's magic, and turned to go find more things to take down.
As far as mini bosses went, this battle was surprisingly easy. Suspiciously so, actually. As more and more robots were mowed down without Doom pulling any type of tactical retreat, Tony started getting cautious. It was obvious Doom was losing, so why did he continue wasting robots like this? Already the ground was littered with his fallen tools, and more were coming to join them. Between the badass DS and Tony's equally badass suit, only a few robots remained. And as he took down two of the remaining four with relative ease, there was no longer any doubt in Tony's mind that Doom was up to something. But what? Was this just a diversion for something bigger, or was there something he wasn't seeing?
"Be careful," Loki cautioned, sounding just as on edge as Tony was getting. Neither knew what was going on, but something wasn't right.
"Aren't I always?" Tony joked, but he was on the proverbial edge of his seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But then the last two robots went down, and Romanov gave the all clear.
"...That was it?" Tony asked, bewildered. That couldn't be it.
"All Doombots have been accounted for. SHIELD's picking them up now." Romanov said, her tone clearly saying, 'If we're done, then great. If not, we'll deal with it'.
"It's clear where I am, too. I'm not seeing any trap." Rogers contributed, but Tony wasn't convinced. This didn't make sense.
"Something is wrong." Loki stated, not a trace of doubt in his voice.
"Yeah, but what?" Tony hovered high in the air, scanning the horizon intently. He half expected to see a miniature army blotting out the skyline, but nothing was there. "We used the Dragon Slayer, they fell, so what are we missing? It just doesn't-"
And then the other shoe dropped. In one split second, things went from under control to absolute bedlam. The com screeched to life with Romanov shouting something about a bot getting back up, and her desperate warning was followed by people screaming. Rogers was also shouting something, jarbled sentences about an ambush and something not working. Tony's com became an indistinct mess, with only bits getting through: "-just got back up-" Someone cried out. There was an explosion. "-look out, they are still-" "-was just an act-" More explosions. "-need help over here!" Lots of screeching and panicked shouting.
And then, louder than all of that, was Loki's urgent cry. "Tony, behind you!"
Iron Man reacted instantly, flinging an arm out as he tried to whip around, but even then he was too late. Something sharp and agonizing—like nails from a forge, molten hot and merciless—slid through his armor and deep into his back. He gave a strangled cry, adding to the mayhem, and instinctively tried to twist away from his attacker. Uncoordinated and with the entire world a blinding stretch of excruciating pain, he only served to twist the blade in deeper, tearing muscle and flesh alike.
He screamed.
Then there was a gravelly voice in his ear, low and malicious. "I win," Doom gloated, and then Tony's world erupted into an electric haze.
"Tony! To-" The suit shorted, and Loki's horrified voice disappeared along with the repulsors keeping Tony aloft.
Gravity took over just as the darkness killed the light.
-o-o-o-
Tony fell.
Illuminated by the midday sun, he fell.
Spitted upon a blade, blood oozing to varnish cold metal, he fell.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, limp and tumbling, unable to escape, he fell.
He fell, so Loki did the only thing there was to do; he caught Tony so they could fall together.
One second he was watching the screen, his suspicion turning into terror as everything slipped into place, and the next he was in the air, arms clutching tight at metal while they plummeted. There was no time to think. No need to think. Tony was in danger, and Loki needed to help him. It was as simple as that. He went to Tony without a moment of hesitation, warping into the air alongside him. Then it was more chaos than anything, with just one goal: Tony wasn't allowed to die.
The Iron Man suit crashed into him, jarring Loki's bones and sending them both down together. He struggled to get a secure hold, Tony's momentum sending him careening. Finally he managed to latch on, and he struggled to stop their sickening spinning. The world was whipping by far too quickly, and panic clouded Loki's thoughts. He wanted to teleport them away, get them out of the sky, but he could barely tell where he was let alone get them somewhere safely. There was nowhere to go but down, and the ground rushed up to meet them.
Loki hit first, using his body to cushion Tony's. He barely even registered the pain, the crushing weight of three hundred pounds smashing his body deep into the pavement. All he was aware of was Tony, and the sharp, constant thought of 'Tony can't die'. Iron Man's momentum sent him rolling off of Loki and skidding across the pavement, leaving puddles and splatters of blood in his wake. Despite his harsh landing, Tony didn't even make a sound. 'He can't be dead.'
The very moment Loki's bones sunk back into his flesh and knitted back together, he was on his feet, rushing to Tony to fall to his knees beside him. Bruise mottled arms hesitated in the air, and then Loki made his decision and flipped the man onto his stomach so he could get at the gushing wound. Twisted sheets of titanium and exposed wires marred the edges of the jagged slash in the back of the armor. It stretched from the base of Tony's neck (the Dragon Slayer was just scrap metal now, but Loki didn't care. Their creation was useless. Next time, Loki wouldn't just satisfy himself with killing Doom's creations; he was going to kill the man himself) across to his right shoulder, and it refused to stop oozing scarlet. Underneath the armor was an even greater wound, but Loki couldn't see it clearly. It was just a mess of red metal and red blood. He needed to get the armor out of the way.
Just as he reached up to flip Tony over, to try and get Jarvis to release the suit, something rammed heavily into Loki's back. The sudden attack sent bolts of agony down his spin, and he nearly collapsed onto Tony's prone body. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he whipped his head around, one arm slung protectively over Tony. There was a Doombot behind Loki, hovering in the air with its outreached hand still smoking. Erratic blue light collected as it prepared to fire again, glaring down at him with artificial eyes.
Loki never gave it the chance. His magic, already gnashing at the bit in his terror, blasted from his raised palm to obliterate the robot that even dared to harm Tony. Chunks of metal tore away from the machine's frame, and it flung in mangled shreds at the ground, never to rise again. This time when Loki turned his attention back to Tony, he kept his senses extended. No one was going to get at the man again, not while Loki was there to protect him.
Part of the god—a large, seething part—wanted to utterly destroy everything of Doom's right then. He wanted to go to where this elusive Victor was and kill the man with his own hands, rip him apart bit by bit and make him scream. But he forced that urge down, forced it to listen to reason. Loki couldn't leave Tony's side, not until he knew the man would live. He didn't want to be a part of a world that didn't have this one arrogant, intelligent, caring mortal in it. 'Tony's not allowed to die.'
As Loki rolled Tony over onto his back, the man's head lolling lifelessly, he could finally hear the world clamoring around him. It was still pandemonium, everyone fighting to gain ground against the revived robots. Among the explosions and reports were people yelling and screaming. One shout rang clearer to Loki than all the others. "Stark is down! I repeat, Stark is down!"
It had been months since Loki had so keenly felt the pull of the fog- of that insatiable pit inside of his mind- but as his fear of losing Tony sent his heart racing, that odious feeling was quick to reacquaint itself. Just as unrelenting as he remembered, it clung to him, tearing his mind as it tried to drag him down.
But Loki didn't have time to blank out—Tony didn't have time for him to blank out—so he shoved it down and fought back to the surface. He had to stay tethered or Tony would bleed out. Would still bleed out, if he couldn't get the man out of the suit and staunch the blood flow.
Loki ripped the suits mask off with one harsh yank, revealing the man inside. The sight made the god's inside freeze, and he felt ill. Everything had been going so perfect. Why did this have to happen now?
Tony's skin was pale and clammy, his breath was harsh and stilted. Despite Loki's efforts the man didn't escape their impromptu landing unscathed, and blood from the gash in his temple flowed over purpling skin. "Tony..." Loki pleaded. "Tony, you need to wake up. You need to get this armor off." He shook the man's shoulder, but if crashing into the road didn't wake Tony, a soft shake wasn't going to either. Realizing the futility of that effort, Loki desperately tried the other inhabitant of the suit. "Jarvis, you need to unlatch the suit." But the AI was also silent, and the prison of metal remained.
Forcing down another wave of fear and clambering black, Loki tried to focus long enough to remember how to manually disengage the armor. There was no other choice, and while he feared that some of the metal was lodged in Tony's skin it was riskier to not move the armor at all. He dug his fingers into the weak spots between plates, prying the gleaming sheets apart. Starting at Tony's chest and moving carefully towards the back, it took over a minute for Loki to finally ease the last section from where it was melding to the man's skin; it was one of the longest minutes in Loki's life. He dropped the mass to the ground and carefully rotated Tony on his stomach again—all Tony did was pant shallowly, unable to do anything more than fight to keep breathing—and pried blood drenched cotton away from the wound.
There was nothing pretty or skilled about the cut; it was deep and wide, with singed edges and split sinew. Beneath the pulverized flesh, little bits of bone shone through. And now without the pressure of the suit weighing on it, the furrow bled even more heavily, coating Loki and the ground.
Loki wanted to scream. Scream, and cry, and yell, and hurt, and go curl up in a corner to make it all go away. But Loki did none of those things. Not as thick, warm blood gushed onto his trembling hands, pushing out beneath his palms as he tried futilely to cover the wound. Tony was just a human, a weak, frail human, and he was dying. Loki didn't want him to die.
He coaxed his magic to his hands, trying to tame the tempest, to guide it to heal instead of destroy. But it bucked under his control, refusing to be used when he needed it the most. There were spells to fix this sort of thing—he had known them, should still know them—but like always, they eluded him. Where there should be words and incantations there was only silence. Green light flooded into his hands, yet he couldn't use the magic; most of it dissipated, vanishing into the air instead of sinking into Tony's skin and mending his flesh. "No, you can't do this to me," Loki whispered to the glowing wisps. "I need to fix him. You have to let me fix him." But his magic didn't not obey, just as his mind did not obey. His own body betrayed him, and even though the magic was eager to be used he could not use it to save Tony.
But there was still something he could use it for, and when he heard another robot slinking towards him—thinking with its feeble brain that it could avoid detection, daring to consider that it was better than Loki—he hurled a mass of writhing energy at it. It went down in smoke, but Loki was not satisfied. He could crush every robot, murder Doom himself, but that would not help the gasping, dying man beneath his fingers.
"I need to fix him," he keened, and more magic pooled into his hands. Desperately Loki raked his mind for anything, anything at all that could help him, but there was nothing. (Unforgivable His weakness, his inability—no longer could it remain that way.) Loki, once a renowned sorcerer, was limited to trying to hold the wound close with his hands. When it kept leaking he tore off a chunk of Tony's shirt and used it as well, but it barely helped. There was so much blood everywhere.
The faint whir of motors preceded another bunch of robots, and Loki rendered them scrapes with a simple flick of his fingers. He was stuck in a limbo: put pressure on the wound, annihilate a robot, listen to Tony's feathery heartbeat, try once again to cast a proper spell, put more pressure on the wound as it soaked his hands, hate that the Doombots couldn't feel pain as he dismembered another one. It repeated constantly, with no end but Tony's death in sight.
There were people speaking in the background along with the wails of sirens and rumbles of explosions. He could hear it, but none of it mattered. There was only Tony, Loki, and the god's fatal inability. Words came to him, but they meant nothing, drowned out by the mantra shouting inside of his head.
'Please, let me help him.'
"Where's Stark? Medics are on their way."
'I need to help him. Tony can't die.'
"Down there, but... I don't think it's safe to get close. Loki showed up out of nowhere to catch Stark, but... There's something really wrong with him. I think this is what Fury was talking about."
'I need to fix him. Tony. Tony. Tony. He can't die.'
"Someone has to. We can't reach Stark, and Jarvis says he's lost all contact with the suit. There's no time to wait for Loki to pull himself together."
'I can't fix this. I don't know what to do. Tony's going to die.'
"I'll go. If he lashes out, I have better chances than anyone else here."
The sticky warmth covering Loki's arms, coupled with his lack of control, reminded the god far too sharply of his latest nightmare. He fought to keep his nausea down. Around him, everything swum in and out of focus, a mess of sensations both real and imagined; there was anger and despair and blank and black and burning and freezing and death and life.
Behind him came the rustle of cloth and the clatter of disturbed stones. It didn't click in his mind that those weren't the sounds of a Doombot, and he reacted immediately to defend Tony. Magic was already on the surface of his skin, just waiting for a definite target. His eyes locked on to something moving towards him and he raised his arm to-
Loki stopped the fatal build-up just in time, barely avoiding attacking Rogers as the superhero walked towards him. One of the Captain's hands was raised in a calming gesture while the other clutched tightly at his shield. "Loki," the hero said slowly, inching closer to him like one would a startled animal. Rogers lowered the spangled shield to the ground to hold both hands in the air, a universal gesture of peace. "There are some medics on their way to help Tony. But you have to let them, okay? They're going to help him."
For a moment it eluded Loki why Rogers was approaching him so tentatively. They knew each other, and Loki clearly had no intention of harming the hero (unless he hurt Tony, then Loki would eradicate him without a second thought). He had a problem with Doom and Doom alone.
But then Loki realized he was absolutely covered with Tony's blood; it was clumped in his hair and smeared all over his skin. His white shirt was rusty brown and ripped open from when his own body had broken against the road. Then there was the fact that he was practically on top of Tony, trying to obscure the man from view. One of Loki's hands remained on Tony's back, glowing a futile green as he held it over the wound that just wouldn't stop bleeding.
"Everything's going to be okay," Rogers placated as he got closer, tensing up everytime Loki so much as twitched. Logically Loki knew he should ease up, pull away from Tony so Rogers could help... but he didn't want to. He felt like if he let go of Tony now, he'd never get him back. With every step Rogers took, Loki pressed down a bit harder on Tony's wound; he could feel the sluggish beating of a heart beneath his fingers, and that faltering thu-thump did nothing to comfort him. No matter how hard Loki's hands pressed against the broken flesh, Tony didn't make a sound; he was deathly silent.
Romanov's voice crackled over Roger's headset, startling the edgy hero. "A quinjet is about a minute from your location. We're doing our best to hold the bots off so they can get Tony away to safety. Is it safe for them to land?"
"I don't know," Rogers replied, keeping his voice quiet in an effort to keep the god from hearing. "He hasn't tried to stop me yet, but I'm worried how he'll react to strangers."
"I'll inform them that he has some mental damage,"—wrong, Loki wanted to protest. Right, the fog in his mind agreed—"and to be careful, but we need to get Tony out of here," Romanov asserted, then the speakers went quiet again.
Rogers returned his attention to Loki, switching back to that soft cadence. "They're almost here, and then Tony will be fine. But you have to let them take him when they show up. Do you understand?"
Somewhere beneath the rolling seas of turmoil, Loki knew he should feel insulted with the way Rogers was treating him. There was something wrong with his brain, sure, but he wasn't an invalid. He was far smarter than the soldier, even when his mind rotted inside the void. That was another reason why he wanted Tony, who always respected him even when he was empty inside. Tony, who was in danger; Loki didn't want him to die.
"I know, so when the medics get here you need to let them do their job," Rogers was saying, and Loki was unaware that his own lips had moved. Everything was moving too fast, leaving him behind. Yet it felt like time was at a crawl, with things falling apart and no end in sight. The distant roar of a motor was slowly getting louder, and the beating of the heart beneath his palm was slowly getting quieter.
Rogers, having finally reached Loki, crouched down beside him. He put a gentle hand on Loki's shoulder and watched Tony- beautiful Tony, who gave Loki everything and asked for nothing in return, going above and beyond the call of duty. Tony, who was the pinnacle of Loki's new world, bleeding out under his hands -with sorrow, yet for some reason that sadness intensified when Captain America looked at Loki, unharmed but just as damaged.
"He'll be fine," Rogers assured one last time before rising to his feet. He stood guard over the two as the quinjet bore down on their position, bringing with it people who could actually save Tony's life.
Loki felt his control sipping as the quinjet's engine roared in his ears. Ironically, it was his terror that kept him from the blankness that same anxiety birthed. He grounded himself with the chant of 'I can't let Tony die.'
After what seemed like a lifetime the quinjet finally landed amongst the rubble, and when the cargo door slid open a team of medics came rushing out. They rolled a gurney between them, skillfully guiding it around the cracks and strewn rubble. Loki studied every nuance of their body language, ready to strike out if they showed any sign of being a threat. "Loki, they're just going to do their job," Rogers soothed as the faceless medics crowded closer. But they were mortals; they couldn't be trusted with Tony's life.
(And Loki was broken; he could be trusted even less.)
One of the medics tried to cajole Loki into removing his hands, but even though he wanted to let them help Tony, he couldn't move. It wasn't until Rogers intervened, his super strength enough to pry Loki away, that crimson gloved hands were removed from Tony's wounds. The medics immediately descended upon Tony, filling Loki's vacated spot. They buzzed around the fallen man like vultures to carrion, grabbing at his limbs and pressing fresh bandages against his back. When they lifted the limp body up on to the gurney and begin to wheel it towards the jet, Loki resisted the irrational urge to hurt them. Tony was his, and they were taking him away.
As the distance between Loki and Tony grew, the god could no longer resist the intense desire to follow. He yanked free of Roger's hold and rose to his feet, lurching in Tony's direction. Even if he wanted to stay, to make Doom and his pathetic creations rue the day they touched what belonged to Loki, God of Chaos, he had to be with Tony.
"Loki-" Rogers began to protest, but the god cut him off.
"I am going with him. If you do not trust me, then come with. But you will not keep me from him." It was the clearest Loki's thoughts had been since Tony fell, and he glared down at Rogers. Then he headed towards the quinjet with a single-minded determination. The Captain let him go, choosing to neither stop him nor follow. No one stopped him as he boarded the aircraft, either, though they gave him a wide berth as they worked. That was more than fine with him, and Loki ignored them in return. He only had eyes for Tony, pale and motionless amidst all the chaotic red. An oxygen mask was strapped to the man's face—Iron Man's helmet was chucked thoughtlessly into a corner—and an IV fed fresh blood into parched veins. People were in the process of prying and cutting the remaining armor from Tony's hands and legs, the useless pieces joining the mask.
Against the wall, Loki observed all of this. He never looked away, not even as the plane roared to life and they rose into the air. Each muscle was coiled beneath his skin, ready to spring but without a target. Around him the medics conversed in hurried voices, saying things that Loki didn't want to hear: 'Severe blood loss.' 'Possible spinal cord damage.' 'Muscle trauma.' 'Electric burns.'
It was all wrong. He wanted them to say that Tony would be okay, that life could go back to how it was just yesterday, but no one did. It was all complications and the possibility of lifelong impairment—if Tony even lived in the first place.
Those words were the final straw. For over a year, Loki allowed himself to be complacent. He sat by and let the holes in his mind exist, writing it off because he was too cowardly to pursue the remedy. To go back to Asgard and take what rightfully belonged to him. No longer would that be the case. Once he knew Tony was okay, he was going to fix his magic problem once and for all. If Asgard was the only place that had what he needed, then so be it. He would go to Asgard. And while he was there, he'd fix the other problem that had been bothering him.
Tony wasn't allowed to die. Not just today, but ever. Loki's natural lifespan was far greater than that of a mortal, and it had always been obvious to him that Tony would only be a blip in his long life. But he didn't want that. He wanted Tony to live with him for thousands of years, not just the fifty or so the man had left. And to do that, he needed one of Idunn's apples.
Loki wanted to never return to Asgard. He wanted to just forget that it ever existed. But for Tony, he would go back. He'd sneak into the palace and steal artificial immortality for the one man who meant everything to him. Regardless of what Tony wanted.
When the loud whir of the quinjet's engine quieted, it took Loki a moment to realize that the plane landed. Tony was rolled from the hold and into the Helicarrier, and Loki followed like a wraith, staying out of the way but never straying far. A few people tried to stop him, though they were not the same people Loki had come here with. These people took one look at his bloody form and frantically tried to help him. "It's not my blood," he snarled at them, shoving them away so he could get to where Tony was. When some tenacious people kept pestering him, one of the medics that had helped Tony intervened.
"He's alright. Worry about people who actually are injured," she said, staring them down until the crowd thinned. She turned to Loki then, like she wanted to ask him something, but after a moment she stopped. Instead, she just told him, "Talk to me if you need anything," and went back into the throng of doctors.
They were hooking Tony up to all sorts of machines that whined and whooshed. Leading the tempo was the heart monitor beeping incessantly: a glorious, obnoxious noise that pittered and pattered, faltered and thrummed. It kept going as the doctors sliced into Tony's flesh, taking what Doom ruined and trying to piece it back together again.
It wasn't until that erratic, slow song became a smooth ditty that the flurry of activity slowed down. The congealing blood was wiped from Tony's skin, and the ugly wound was hidden beneath pristine white. Finally Loki heard the words he had craved. "He's in the clear."
But even though he knew now that Tony would be alright, his decision did not change. This time they were relatively lucky. What if they weren't next time?
Sneaking into Asgard was no simple task, and sneaking into the palace was even harder. Not because of how well guarded it was- he had bypassed that security time and time again -but for the very fact that he had lived there for so long. It was a tangled mess of memories, with all of the joy covered by the ache of betrayal. Just the thought of returning invited swarming black to dig deeper into his brain. He would be his own greatest obstacle, and if he failed—if he was caught or even just seen—then that was it. His little paradise here would be over. Asgard would know he was alive, and they would come for him.
But Tony was worth the risk, even if Loki knew the man would vehemently protest. He would say Loki wasn't ready yet, and Loki agreed. That still wouldn't stop him.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Someone asked him, pulling him out of a daze he didn't even realize he had fallen into. It was that same woman, and while she looked a bit unnerved to be talking to him, she didn't back down.
"I am unharmed," he repeated. His clothes were torn and he was drenched with blood—some of it really was his own, shed before his skin knitted back together—but his body was fine now. His mind was a different matter, but no one could help with that. No one but Tony.
"He'll be okay, you know," she said, undeterred. "It was a close call, but he was lucky. He should be able to make a full recovery."
Loki didn't reply. There was nothing to say beyond, 'I should have been able to fix him when this happened', and that was not this woman's problem.
"Do you want to wash off or change your clothes?" she asked. "He's not going anywhere."
No, Tony wasn't, but Loki was. He wanted to be around the man just a bit longer, because if things went wrong this could very well be the last time he saw Tony.
Distantly, he heard a familiar voice join the fray, and Loki turned to see Rogers talking with someone on the other end of the hall. He was still in his burnt, sooty uniform, covered with small tears and cuts. The person he was talking to nodded and pointed in Loki's direction. The Captain followed the gesture, and when he saw the god, his expression tightened. "That's him. Thank you." Rogers walked over, trying and failing to smile at the god. "Hey, are you alright? I tried to get back here as soon as I could." He sounded so sincere it made something inside of Loki ache.
"I'm fine," he lied. Rogers wasn't Tony; Loki only didn't like lying to Tony. Not that he was at all believable, with his limbs still trembling imperceptibly and his mind randomly disconnecting. It didn't matter. Loki would be fine once he got his hands on some spell books and Idunn's apple. He and Tony could go back to that peculiar happiness—forever.
"He's going to be okay," Rogers reassured again, the same words everyone kept echoing back at him.
"I know." Which meant he had no excuse to stay here longer.
"I'll be here if you need me," the hero continued, oblivious to Loki's intentions.
"Thank you, but I actually should get going." Even if all he wanted to do was stay.
"Go? Go where?" Something seemed to dawn on Rogers then, and he looked alarmed. "Loki, don't-" He reached for Loki, but he was too late; Loki had already become cloaked in green, his magic whisking him away. The god reappeared inside the penthouse of Stark Tower, the room seeming so much colder now that Tony wasn't there as well.
"Jarvis," Loki said, forcing himself to speak before he could reconsider. "I need you to give Tony a message for me when he wakes. Tell him..."