Be forewarned, there is mention of self-harm in this chapter. So, please, don't read it if it will be triggering for you. Xoxox

P.S. The title of this chapter is a song by My Chemical Romance which was totally just perfect for this chapter in my opinion. The quote below in italics is from a song by Bring Me The Horizon. I believe the song is Crucify Me. :)

"There is a hell, believe me, I've seen it; there is a heaven, let's keep it a secret."

"Howard, you have to listen to me! This is imperative to our business continuing to be successful. Surely, you don't want the money to stop?" Howard's liquid brown eyes followed Obadiah as he paced in front of his desk.

Howard was starting to feel old. It was like age was sinking into his bones and softening his muscles. The alcohol wasn't the best medicine anymore, and in the morning, having a hangover made getting out of bed just that much harder. Coffee was suddenly better, suddenly more invigorating, suddenly gave him the courage to go through yet another day alone. Obadiah wasn't even half the company he had had five years ago. The woman reclining on his desk, batting her blue eyes playfully, her laughter ringing through his office like some sort of angelic music. But that woman was no more, and half of Howard's very soul was missing, waiting for him somewhere else.

And then there was Tony. His only son. Maria's son. Her pride and joy, before she had died. And, if it weren't for that curly-haired, chocolate-eyed, dark-complected teenager, the love of his life might still be here. If it weren't for him, Howard wouldn't be so rundown, so weary and tired of this existence without his other, better half. His very presence reminded Howard of his wife, of how he should have given her more, loved her more, worked less and spent his every waking moment with that perfect, unblemished woman he had given his heart to. Seeing Tony, the living reincarnation of his mother's beauty and strength, ate Howard alive with guilt.

"Okay, what's your plan?" He sighed. If he did this he would never see that boy without seeing hatred in those brown eyes Maria had sworn Anthony got from him. And it would hurt, because it would be as if it were Maria who hated him. That's why he had built the walls and cold indifference between them in the first place. It's why, for the most part, he had stayed away from his only child for half a decade. Because Tony had hated him long before this, long before the past tumultuous few months. From the moment Tony had swallowed those pills five years ago, he had hated Howard. And Howard knew it.

The hatred and bottled fury in Tony's eyes was essential to Obadiah's scheme. And now, after this morning, when Tony had threatened to throw Howard to the wolves, they needed this more than ever. It was time to enact the last phase.

The money-shot.

Tony flinched as another shot slid down his throat like liquid fire. It burned through his vocal chords and turned his voice into a raspy, gravelly growl. It was really fit for his mood. Everything in his mind was overwhelming and loud and terrifying and fuck, he had just ruined any relationship he and his dad might've ever had. But hey, who was he really kidding here? That ship had sailed long ago. They both knew it. It was in his dad's eyes like a glacier every time Tony fought back and gave back as good as he got.

His phone sat on the bar beside his glass, screen darkened as ever. And really, it was killing him at this point. Why wasn't Loki calling him back? Where was he? Why wasn't he answering his texts? There was a bad feeling roiling in Tony's chest like a cauldron of despair and helplessness. He felt useless, sitting here in this bar beside his dad's chauffeur, sullen and slowly drinking himself numb. That's all he wanted. To be numb, to not care, to not give a fuck about the fact that he had maybe just ruined his dad's company for good. And really, he didn't. He felt guilt, something he had almost forgotten existed in the throes of his devil-may-care, lets-burn-the-world-down, fuck-morals lifestyle of the past five years. So what was different about this? Why was there a nauseated, sickening feeling curling warm and unwelcome in the pit of his stomach?

Tony had crossed a line.

He just didn't know what line it was, or what the consequences would be.

And he knew now, that the grass was not always greener on the other side. Feeling emotion, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. And while being 'in love' with Loki was thrilling and enlivening and brought something deep into his bones like pleasure and torture combined, that wasn't where it all ended. It made pain so much sharper, it cleared his vision and made him feel shame, and guilt, and wrongness. He knew this was all wrong, he just didn't know why or how, and when the fuck had he developed a gut instinct?

"This isn't right, is it?" He asked Happy, the hangdog man who had about ten years on him. "I shouldn't be here." He frowned down into his glass.

"Nope. You shouldn't. But it's not like it's the first time you've done this." Hogan grumbled. And he was right, it certainly wasn't the first time Tony had found sanctuary in a dirty bar, or tried to find peace in a bottle. His religion was failing him. His savior was gone. Alcohol no longer held the answers, or the hope to live another day.

"I gotta go home, Happy." He stood, slamming the money for his and Happy's drinks down on the bar and standing. "Right now."

The man's face almost split from his huge smile. "Yes, sir."

Tony exploded into the apartment. "Loki?" He called upon being greeted by silence. There wasn't a single sound in the apartment. And, after tearing through every room, stumbling, slipping, falling, tripping on drunken feet, he decided the boy definitely was not here.

Happy was standing by the door, watching him rip his apartment to pieces. He was loosing it, like batshit crazy, off his rocker, lost his marbles, nuts- his phone was vibrating. "Hello? Loki?"Tony didn't bother trying to hide the desperate, worried tone to his voice.

"Hi, Stark." The voice sounded depressed, dull, a shadow of it's usual sarcastic vibrancy. It was like silver that hadn't been polished in years, tarnished, dull, unrecognizable. And it made an ache start in Tony's chest.

"Where are you?" And yeah, he sounded almost like a pubescent teenager when his voice was this high-pitched and scared, but god damn he didn't care because Loki was hurting and he wanted to fix it. Now. Tony wanted everything now, now, now. "Let me come get you. Okay? Just tell me where you are and I'll be on my way." He started running, flying past Hogan and down the stairs in his building. Happy was hot on his heels, huffing and puffing and muttering about rich, spoiled, drunk brats. Yeah, he couldn't deny he was every single one of those. But this was different, this was about Loki. Not about him. This wasn't entirely selfish.

And okay, sure, he selfishly wanted Loki beside him, safe, warm, in his arms. But he could feel the boy's silent suffering, and it was breaking his heart into teeny-tiny little pieces. Not to mention reminding him he had a heart, and that was kind of a painful process in and of itself. No longer was the boy just fascinating and interesting and curiosity-piquing. He was broken and hurting and small and dependent. Tony had never cared enough to let someone need him, to let them want him there beside them when they were hurting. This was new and different and terrifying.

"I'm at the campus library. Please, hurry." His voice broke, making Tony's heart stutter a empathetic beat.

Please, hurry. Since when did Loki beg, or say 'please'? Something was wrong and he was halfway drunk. Fantastic.

"I'm on my way, baby. What happened?" He opened the door to the car.

"It's a long story. Just get here quick. I love you, Anthony." Tony climbed into the black Mercedes Happy always drove.

The line went dead.

Tony's heart stopped.

Literally.

Loki rubbed his runny nose on his sleeve. It was days like these that Loki remembered all the ways in which he had never fully fit in. How he was too bony, too dark, too smart, too prim and proper, too peevish, too seductive. The way he walked wasn't even right. If Thor was a gold stallion that stomped and clomped loudly everywhere he went, Loki was a midnight panther, prowling and sliding through life like a silent shadow. It was easy to be missed like that, like a misanthropic shadow that kept to the fringes of the crowds, that never spoke, never voiced his opinion except when it came to his brother. If Thor was barreling towards some infinitely stupid mistake, then Loki's voice came out with ringing clarity and a smooth, subtle, inlaid purr that made all the girls take notice. But it wasn't them he was after. Most often, he wasn't after anyone. He just liked the satin curl of his own voice in his eardrums, sounding for all the world like he was made of darker pleasures like chocolate and forbidden love and the stolen taste of taxed teas.

He stared up at the spines of dusty, age-old books. Gold scrawled across their covers, betraying vague ideas of the thoughts and stories and theories that hid within them. It was Loki's favorite thing in the world, to be surrounded by quiet, whispering books. Books that held things only the mind's eye could see, that only a mind like his could imagine in it's own special way. He loved the delicate, fragile words that he was filled to the brim with, spilling over, dying to let loose these pretty sentences he held onto like a lifeline. Some things just weren't meant to be shared, not with the world, not with anyone but the demons in his head. To say Loki was tortured and secretive and a bit paranoid was perhaps the understatement of the decade.

But amidst all these pretty thoughts and poetic ramblings about himself and books and the authors of the ages, Loki had one singular thought running through that brilliant mind:

'Where is Stark?'

The inventor should have been here a short eternity ago. Loki felt like he'd been sitting here for hours. The itch in his fingers was getting stronger. For once, he needed someone to save him, from himself, from his memories, from those demons that just wouldn't let him be. They followed on the heels of his thoughts like annoying, yapping puppies, biting at his thought process and growling when he shooed them away. This time, Loki had asked the engineer to come, because he needed his presence to get him through, to keep his skin unbroken, to keep his blood within his veins. He needed that spicy smell of pompous, spoiled genius assaulting his senses. He needed that warmth against his skin, light as a feather but ever-present. Even that annoying stubble that threatened to drive his self-control out of his mind completely, he needed that too. So, where was he?

Looking at his phone, he realized it had been nearly an hour since he'd spoken to his tentative-boyfriend. A frown drew down his lips. Stark wasn't coming. The sharp pang in his chest was surprising, he would have thought by now he'd be used to this. And really, shouldn't he? Shouldn't this just be another day to him? Why was he getting so attached, he knew better than this didn't he? His last relationship...

'Stop thinking about Thane. Stop thinking about the razor in my backpack. Stop thinking!'

But, before he could blink, he had that razor gripped in his hand tightly, cutting into his palm comfortingly. He didn't want to use it, and by now he should be leaving. But something kept him anchored to this spot, like it was the last place he would feel safe for a long time. Like, when he left this quite little haven, his world might be shattered again. Loki was scared. Scared of living, and all the dangerous things that breathing threatened to entail these days.

What a shame. He had been starting to look up after that conversation with Anthony earlier.

Tony couldn't breathe. Simple as that. His chest was tight and he could feel something metal sticking into his skin- why did it feel like they were reaching into his veins?- and pulling at something deeply embedded in his chest- was that his heart they were yanking on? Where was he? Who was doing this? Why did everything hurt like the devil?

"Anthony? Anthonyyyyy? Where are you? Come on, this isn't funny!" The sullen teenager sounded so young and vibrant, calling out to him as he hid in the water-heater closet and watched the shadowed form of his new roommate shuffle back and forth. "Stark." He could practically hear the eye-roll and the placement of prissy fists on bony hips. "I'm hungry and tired of your childish games. Get out here!" The exasperation was faked, a facade to hide just how much Loki loved being carefree again. He was just a sore loser, but Tony really didn't have room to talk.

"Alright, alright. Here I am." He unfolded himself and stepped out, much to Loki's unimpressed ire. "Don't look so upset, Sherlock, I'm sure you'll get it right next time." He allowed himself one very smug, shit-eating grin. Again, Loki didn't look impressed.

"Call me that again, and I'll cut out your tongue, Stark." Ooo, back to Stark. Hmm, looked like he was in the doghouse until he could figure out a way to get back in Loki's favor- a surprisingly easy mission.

"What would you prefer, kitten? Would you prefer, Lo-Lo, honeybun, cupcake, sugar, sweetcheeks, dollface-" He cut off with a yelp when a book was thrown at his head. He looked up at Loki's stormy- but impishly twinkling- gem filled irises.

"I'd prefer that we go eat before I starve and die on your hideous carpet. Seriously, do you ever clean?" Loki toed a stain with a look of utter disdain.

Tony stared at the stain blankly. He hadn't a fucking clue when that had happened, only that it must've been in the past week and it looked suspiciously like the chili he'd had a few days ago. Whoops. His maid would have taken care of it, but he had had to fire her thanks to his father being a dickhead and refusing to budge on the whole 'No money' thing. Yeah, Tony was adapting fine. His carpet however...

"I used to have a maid. Actually, I've had a maid all my life." He shrugged, figuring Loki would understand, having come from similarly privileged roots himself.

Loki looked at him with one perfect, black eyebrow cocked. "You don't even own a vacuum, do you?" He sighed. Tony shrugged. "Fantastic. We have to go to Sears. This place is filthy and you're cleaning before I even think of going to sleep tonight."

Tony eyed the apartment through new eyes. Cleaning. Surely it couldn't be that hard, right?

Wrong.

Loki was a slave-driver. And here they were, in Tony's t-shirts - which, oddly enough, looked somehow perfect on Loki, even if it did dwarf his skinny little frame- and their boxers because it was fucking hot to move this much and work this hard on something so trivial as cleaning. But, Tony couldn't complain, because the scrawny teenager was doing his part- and then some because Tony was apparently not gifted with the ability to understand the mere rudiments of cleaning sinks and bathtubs and using a mop and really, he's just watching Loki do all the work for him, but shh.

So, he sat back and watched Loki slave over his apartment, finally popping the caps off two beers and joining the lightly sweaty raven-haired boy on his balcony. "Do you think we'll ever be just...normal?" The wistful teenager asked him. Tony wanted to ask why he wanted to know, but more than that, he wanted to lie, even if it would do no good. Even if Loki would know he was lying, he wanted to give the young man false comfort. Now, when had he grown such a heart? All this time...he'd thought he was the Grinch with a heart three sizes too small.

"No, babe. I don't think so." In the end, Tony knew it was best to stick to the cold, hard truth. Because although Loki was an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in lie upon lie, the boy dealt best with blunt fact and hair-raising truth.

Finally, the land of dreams and tugging pain in his chest faded away with a scream wrenched from his own throat.

Loki walked across the campus, a bit lost. Where did he go now? He couldn't go back to Stark's place, that was for sure. Again, the sharp sting of rejection echoed through his lungs and into his heart. But he pushed it away in favor of finding somewhere else to sleep. His dorm room hadn't yet been assigned to him. There was no family to go to, no friends that wouldn't betray him to Thor or his powerful 'father'. He sighed, leaning against a tree and feeling ever-so lost and tiny in this big, lonely world. And the stars slowly lighting up in the sky did nothing to make him feel any less alone.

Lonely. It wasn't a big word, it wasn't poetic or romantic. It was quiet and full of despair. Lonely. Lonely. Loki was lonely and broken and a little bit hurt. All around him were people, being of the same species and language, and yet none of the dissipated the big, smoky cloud of doom that was following him around, threatening to unleash all it's thundering fury on him.

Pondering this loneliness, Loki sunk down to sit on the dark green blades of grass beneath his feet, his back against the old lone tree. It was the middle of the campus lawn and there was a pretty fountain tinkling like flowing glass a few yards away. His backpack hugged to his chest like that spicy, cocky engineer who always folded him into a hug when he got into moods like this. Slowly, he lowered his head to rest on his backpack and stared at his arm, now glaring with several angry red lines across his milky skin. A dull, heavy weight settled onto his chest, keeping him from breathing normally.

Was this who Loki was? The thought made him cringe. A boy who couldn't survive on his own, and had never gone a full day without someone he loved within reach? He had never thought himself powerless or hopeless before, but that was starting to change. With everything raining down on him like a hail of angry bullets, he felt like he had maybe always been this way. This desolate little creature. Maybe that's why people left or betrayed him at every turn. Was there always a shadow looming nearby to overtake him when he least expected it- although it really shouldn't have been surprising with the last few hellish weeks of his short life. Loki refused to see that he was wallowing in self-pity, that he was playing the victim- although anyone could see he was one-, and essentially doing what he had always prided himself in refraining from- being the damsel in distress.

Loki's phone vibrated. Thor. He sighed, but something deep down in his subconscious made him answer. "Yes?" Dear gods, he sounded tired and worn and his voice was rough like he had been crying a moment ago. Actually, he hadn't been far from it before Thor interrupted his merry pity-party.

"Do you know where Tony is?" There was a type of urgency in Thor's voice that immediately caught Loki's undivided attention. He scrambled to his feet.

"No, why?" He could hear the fear in his own voice. "He was supposed to meet me an hour and a half ago, but he never showed." Something in his chest constricted. He didn't want to hear what Thor was going to say next, he wanted nothing but to be a child and put his hands over his ears and tune all of this out. Because, yeah, this was going to blow his world apart. He just knew it.

"Loki, Howard and Happy think that Tony's been kidnapped." Thor's dull, scared voice disappeared when Loki dropped the phone and hit his knees on the sidewalk, all the breath in his lungs sucked out forcefully and his eyes watering.

No.

No.

God, no.

Tony woke up to white-hot pain driving through his body at a thousand agonizing miles an hour. "Oh god..." He breathed, opening his eyes and feeling a bright light stab his eyes painfully. He groaned and tried to roll over, only to be stopped by pain blossoming like an atom bomb in his chest. Well, fuck.

Hot, prickling tears erupted in his eyes because he was alone and he didn't know where he was and damn did everything hurt like hell. Maybe he was in hell. That was certainly a good theory, and currently, the best he could come up with for just why he was in gut-wrenching pain that made him pretty certain he was dead because fuck, fuck, fuck he couldn't live through this. He had been through and put himself through some pretty serious pain- like that time he leapt off a building and into a swimming pool and ended up somehow breaking his collarbone, that had hurt- but this was on an entirely different level. A level he was pretty positive wasn't possible on earth.

Someone spoke gibberish a few feet away. If it weren't for the extreme and building pain in his chest, he would've shot out of this..thing he was laying on and most likely right out of his skin. And here he was thinking he was blessedly alone. -snort- Yeah, because Life would be so kind to Tony. Someone nudged him out of his sarcastic, angry pity-party. His eyes fluttered, because he really didn't want to see that fucking light again. It was like the sun was hanging right over him. Ow.

"You might want to open your eyes, or they might...make you." A careful, calculated, bitter voice assaulted his ears. But hey, it was English this time. Improvement.

"Whah?" He felt his mouth slur, his tongue a piece of cotton in a dry, scratchy throat. "Water." He moaned, starting to sit up and gritting his teeth till he thought they might just crumble under the pressure of his tight jaws.

"Sorry, not till you speak to them." Yeah, that voice really sounded sorry. -snort-

Tony pried his eyes open slowly, squinting at the brightness of the room. Er. It was sort of a room. More like a...cave? Really? They had him in a cave. Fantastic. And the pain in his chest...well, he was just too scared to look further into that than was completely necessary right now. The 'they' that his translator spoke of were staring at him stonily. Great. And they had guns. Wait, they had Stark Industries guns that he had seen his father crow and obsess over. Beautiful. Really, his situation was fantastic. Just, fantastic. Tony couldn't believe his motherfucking luck.

He licked his lips and swallowed a few times. No, it didn't really help, but it did give him time to regulate his breathing and notice that oh, wonderful, he had a pulse. "What do you want?" He looked over at the English speaking man who was reclining in what appeared to be boredom in a chair beside his cot. Tony was pretty sure he was dying, and this man was bored. Bored.

"Me? Nothing. They, however..." He waved a hand at them, which apparently spurred them into speaking in a weird language Tony had never heard before. They conversed with his bored translator for a few minutes until bitter brown eyes returned to his face. "They want you to build a gun." A paper was shoved at him by one of the stony men with his father's guns. The Jericho. This was not a gun. This was a missile. A big ass missile that, yes, he had admittedly invented. "They can get you whatever supplies you need." A few sharp words were barked at the translator. "Apparently, you have a week."

Tony gaped at him. "A week? You're shitting me." He gasped. Because, no, genius that he was, that could not be done. By anyone. Ever. No. Just, nope.

The man shrugged. "Also, they need a list of the supplies you'll need." The guys with guns were retreating, filing out of a door without even giving Tony a chance to ask questions. "My name is Yinsen." He held out a hand for Tony to shake, but something yanked hard on Tony's chest, making him gasp and recoil. "Ah, right. You might want to stay within reach of that."

Tony looked behind him. A car battery. He followed the wires which hooked to something embedded in his chest.

Holy fuck.

Loki was at the police station with Thor and Odin and apparently Howard, although he hadn't seen the older Stark yet. He wasn't really sure he'd want to under any less life-shattering circumstances.

"Calm down! You want me to fucking calm down! Thor, my best friend is fucking missing!" Well, then. Two curse words in a row. Thor needs to be looking for some god damn cover because Loki's bout to explode into a big atom bomb of loud anger. "You have to be kidding me!" He stomped his foot, his hair swinging around his face because he couldn't stop moving. If he did, everything would crash around him again and he couldn't take that feeling of complete and utter impotence.

"No, Loki, I just want you to sit down and try to breathe so you don't pass out." Little did big brother know that Loki had already lost his shit once by 'sitting- although it was way more like kneeling- down'. He had also thrown up a few times, but that wasn't something he would readily admit. Ever. But the thought of Stark being gone, being abducted, somewhere possibly far, far away from him made him nauseous beyond belief.

Right now, Stark would probably be laughing at how worked up he was. Well, no, scratch that, if Anthony was here, he would see the completely debilitating fear in his eyes and wrap him in one of those warm hugs that he knew were for him and him only. In a subconscious attempt to comfort himself, Loki's gesturing arms wrapped around himself tightly. A scared, shaky shiver slipped through his bones.

"I can't. I need to know where he is, Thor. I have to. I can't. No." He shook his head, his hair- so unruly by now that Loki didn't even want to glance in a mirror- falling down to veil the sides of his face. And tears were now threatening his eyelids with full on war.

At that vulnerable moment, Howard and Odin chose to come breezing into the room. When his brown eyes- a lot like Anthony's, Loki noticed, but not nearly as warm and liquid- landed on the skinny, disheveled, panicky teenager, he stopped on a dime. "Who are you?" Well, apparently the elder Stark wasn't one to stand on courtesy. Neither was Loki.

"I'm Loki. Your son's...friend." Okay, so he didn't have to shock everyone by saying he and Stark were kinda-sorta dating. Anthony was considered straight as an arrow, no need to ruin that just because Loki was almost completely freaking the fuck out and could barely remember how to breathe.

"Oh." Was all the man said, then turned back to the policemen who were lounging around in the room.

"Loki, Thor, why don't you two go back home. I should be back soon." Odin's eye was flinty and holding barely controlled anger within it's iris.

Loki folded his arms. "I'm not leaving." No way, no fucking how. Anthony was in danger. Did these people understand that? Or was it just that they didn't understand that yes, Loki does actually have a heart and it's every beat screams Anthony. Anthony. Anthony. Anthony. Anthony.

"Yes. You are." There was a death-threat tone to Odin's voice that made Loki's hackles rise.

What Odin simply didn't realize is that Loki was not leaving this place unless he was carried out in a body bag. His boyfriend, the boy he fucking loved, was missing. And until he was safe and secure in his arms, Loki was not going anywhere. He planted his feet and let pure defiance seep into his expression. He was really just daring Odin to contradict him. There was too much bottled-up emotion inside him, letting some of it out in the form of fury towards Odin sounded kind of nice right now- trivial, but nice.

"Loki? Son?" Frigga's soft voice came from somewhere behind his straight, angry back. Frigga. Frigga was here, and all Loki wanted was to melt into her embrace and start sobbing. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

He just stared at Odin stubbornly, ignoring Frigga and the small, warm hand that landed gently on his shoulder. It was with all the resistance towards feelings and love in the world that he shook her off. But he just couldn't let go of it all yet. Of all the pain and betrayal uprising in his very soul. Oh, he loved Frigga! But she had lied and stabbed him in the back. Or that's how it felt to Loki.

Fun Fact #8: Loki is by far his mother's son. And despite how he feels, she has always loved both her boys equally, and he damn well knows it. He hates treating her this way.

"Get out, Loki. It's not like you're in love with this Stark kid." Odin is up close and Loki has to physically restrain himself from killing the man. Yes, he bloody well is in love with 'this Stark kid'.

"Think again." He snaps. "Don't pretend to know a thing about me, old man. I'm not leaving. Not until Anthony is home, safe and sound." He growls.

And right now, the world is a cold, dark place.

His arms hurt from the open cuts he placed there.

His head is pounding from the worry bottled up inside.

His heart aches because he doesn't know if Stark is even alive.

His stomach is as empty as his heart, because there's no food and no love.

He misses the spicy smell that belonged to his small, compact genius.

Loki needs Anthony Edward Stark, like the tide needs the moon. And he'll be damned if he moves before he's holding that boy in his long, lanky arms again and breathing in that deep, warm scent. So, as far as he's concerned, Odin can go fuck himself.

Then, big hands he's felt against his throat too many times bunch in his collar and shove him hard against the wall. "You're going to get out of here now. And if you ever mention having a relationship with a man again, I'll break you, Loki Odinson." He snarled, up in Loki's face, his eye blazing with hatred.

For a moment, Loki just stood there in open-mouthed shock.

He blinked.

"Get the fuck off of me!" He spat, venom dripping from his lips. "I swear to god, Odin." He laughed, shoving the man off his chest and dusting off his clothes primly. "You think you're so scary and big and bad and authoritative. News Flash: You're not. You're just an angry old man, a corrupt, angry old man. And my name isn't Loki Odinson."

Odin's eye flashed. "Oh, then what is it?" His voice was condescending and there was a sneer on his scarred face.

Loki sniffed. "Loki Laufeyson." And what the fuck kind of hat had he pulled that out of?

Odin rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond when Thor placed a heavy hand on his father's shoulder. Loki cocked a surprised, although contemptuous, eyebrow at his former brother. "Father, I think that's enough." The depth in his voice furthered Loki's shock because he sounded damn intimidating and really this was a fucking flashback to all those terrible high school years when Thor had been his damn bodyguard when he was home and Odin was threatening him and he had loved Thor with all his heart because he was all he had sometimes. And Jesus, as awful as they were, Loki missed those days when his life hadn't been shattered to bits and pieces and there was still one person he could fully depend on. Gone were those days. Motherfucking gone.

Odin glared at Loki one more time, then nodded and went back to where Howard was talking to the police. Feeling every bit of adrenaline that was wracking his body finally start to seep out of his pores, Loki sunk down, crouching against the wall. His arms hurt. He wanted to whine and cry and sleep. But there was Anthony. His Anthony. No one else called him that, no one else called him Stark, no one else got to cry on his shoulder and use him as a human teddy bear. No, no, that was Loki's luxury.

Thor came to sit next to him. "It's going to be alright, Loki." He promised, patting his little brother's leg comfortingly.

With tears in his eyes and pain stinging across his arms and in his heart, Loki was fairly positive that it was going to be anything but alright.

Well, to be honest I'm not sure if this is good or if it completely sucks because I didn't write it all in one day like I normally do. So, I feel like it might be kind of disjointed or something. So, if it sucks, my sincerest apologies. And actually this just started as a little baby chapter that was supposed to just move the story along...and yeah. Well over 5,000 words. Whoops.

Pahleaseeeee review. Oh, and this story hit 50 followers. Omg. So much love to you alllll. HUGS. MEGA HUGS.

See you soon :)

xoxox