In his dream, Loki has returned to he and Tony's apartment, and they are in the kitchen together, fixing dinner and trying to talk about what happened to Loki without arguing—a feat that is proving, even in the dream, to be impossible. 'Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Thanos?' dream-Tony snarls, and dream-Loki replies, with equal venom, 'Same reason you didn't tell me you were dying.' They kiss, roughly, brokenly, Loki's long fingers sliding down Tony's cheek, and he cries in the dream, tears spilling out of his emerald eyes, dripping down onto his collarbone. There is so much anger in Tony's touch, but also regret, and Loki pushes him against the wall, pinning his wrists back against the wooden panels, biting his neck.
He wakes covered in sweat, the edge of the blanket he's wrapped in stained with tears, body shaking slightly. It's darker outside than it was when he passed out, and they're stopped somewhere off the road, he has no idea where. The overhead light in the car is on, and Amora and Thanos are talking quietly in the front, looking at a map, a half-crushed can of Coke in Thanos' hand.
"It would be easier to just go to Vermont or New Hampshire," Amora is saying, frowning at the map. "Come on, Skurge, this isn't necessary—"
"Justin told Tony about the Super 8," Thanos interrupts, in a tone of voice which suggests he's already said this several times. "He could've told him about the shack, too. If we go up to Toronto, the police will have a harder time of finding us."
"That's bullshit," Amora says automatically, though there's a shred of doubt lingering in her voice. "Anyway, who says Tony will go to the police right away? He's not the type—"
"You don't know him at all," Thanos interjects, waving a hand and nearly spilling his Coke. "You've never even met him, Amora, so you can't say what type he'd be to do anything. He'll go to the police, or he'll get Loki's brother Thor to, and we need to be out of the country before all that starts."
And Loki's in the back, thinking, no, Amora's right, he wouldn't go to the police, because honestly? Tony's not the type to ask for help, never has been, and somewhere in the back of Loki's mind he thinks maybe that's the reason why he didn't tell him about the iron poisoning, but he doesn't really want to think about that right now, so he doesn't allow himself to, focusing instead on Amora and Thanos' words.
Amora draws in a breath and exhales it in a long, shaky sigh. Then, as both Thanos and Loki knew she would, she acquiesces, "Yeah, Skurge. Yeah, let's go to Canada."
Thanos does that thing where he smiles like a feral animal, setting his drink aside and grabbing her by the back of her neck and kissing her long and hard and drawn-out to a point where Loki actually feels physically ill, watching them. "Thank you," he says. "Can you make Lo' a fake passport?"
"Well, no shit," Amora grumbles, ducking her face away from his and fumbling around in the glove compartment for a moment before locating a pen and some paper. "Do you need one too?"
"Nah, I have mine," Thanos says, and pulls it out of his pocket for a second. Then he grabs his Coke and finishes it off in one swallow, throat muscles jerking downward in a way that's almost graceful. He tosses the can under his seat, and Loki hears it roll against the carpet for a second before stopping.
Suddenly his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, almost like the Temazepam was still holding onto him and has just now released his brain: why are they going to Canada, why is Thanos dragging this out like he is? There's really no reason to anymore—well, okay, there really wasn't any reason to begin with, but Loki's too much affected by Thanos to see that—he could just take him back to Manhattan now, back to Tony and Thor and Berkeley and everything else warm and safe, where Loki needs to be. Instinctively he reaches for his phone before remembering, like a slap in the face, that his phone is no longer on his person, and actually he has no idea where it is.
Forcing himself to sit up all the way, Loki clears his throat and says, "I want my phone now."
Thanos and Amora both jump about ten feet, spinning around to stare at him like they'd forgotten he was in the back of the car. Immediately Thanos has his gun out, like he thinks Loki's going to run when he still has the memory of last night imprinted so hard on his brain, and Amora's yelling something about 'don't wave that thing around Jesus freaking Christ you could kill all of us' and Loki is disentangling himself from his blanket and his hair falls around his face and his neck in wild tendrils and he can feel its greasiness, and thinks he must look like a madman right now.
Finally everything seems to calm down some, and Thanos lowers his gun, but only slightly. "I told you I'd give it to you when I'm ready."
"We're going to Canada," Loki says. "I'd like to call Tony and tell him good-bye, at least."
Thanos and Amora look at each other. "You heard that part of the conversation?" Thanos asks after a few seconds, like he wishes Loki hadn't, and Loki kind of shrugs and nods at the same time.
Thanos groans, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, you can't have your phone now, anyway, we're still in the States. I'll give it to you once we're in Toronto. Or wherever the hell we end up."
For almost the first time since Thanos took him, Loki feels a sudden surge of something like power rush through him. He wants to demand no, wants to do something drastic and completely not him like threaten Amora's life or pop the locks on the doors and start running or grab the map and rip it to shreds, but the gun is still in Thanos' hand, gleaming threateningly in the overhead light, and Amora's got that switchblade knife somewhere on her person, and if Thanos raped him once in the woods, who's to say he won't do it again, or even kill him this time, and Loki's not ready to risk his life over a fucking phone. So he sits back, feeling frustrated and trapped and shaky, and a look of something like triumph flashes across Thanos' face for half a second before he's turning back to the front of the car and saying:
"Hurry up with that passport, would you? We have to get over five hundred miles before we're even in Ontario."
/
Tony and Thor ride back to Manhattan in silence. Tony's gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white, and Thor's staring straight ahead, his expression murderous. Part of Tony wants to call Justin and chew him out for telling Thanos, but he doesn't because a.) Justin's a fucking sniveling weasel who wouldn't get what he'd done wrong and b.) it would be counterproductive. Still, he's furious as he drops Thor off at his apartment and hangs out of his window for a moment as Thor walks up to his door, calling:
"We're gonna get Loki, Big Guy, okay? Even if we have to kill for him."
Thor doesn't say anything, just goes inside and slams his door shut, and Tony thinks of how much Thor must be hurting right now, because Loki may be Tony's boyfriend, the fucking love of his life and they haven't even gotten to make up for their last argument yet and damn that hurts, but Loki is Thor's brother, in blood if not biologically, and there's a different, deeper cut for losing a sibling than there is for losing a lover.
When Tony gets back to his apartment, Bruce is still there, with all the windows cracked, staring at the tube where the formic acid is—or was. Now there's just a sort of hole in the glass, and Bruce has an expression on his face like someone just ran over his dog.
"Oh, let me guess," Tony says, dropping his things on the sofa and pulling out his phone. "This one didn't work either."
"The acid got too strong and I couldn't control it," Bruce says, twisting his mouth. "I was trying to dehydrate it like the textbook says, y'know, but—"
"It's fine," Tony interrupts, scrolling through his contacts until he comes to Howard Stark and tapping his father's name with his thumb. "Just note it in the log or whatever the fuck. We'll get it." He's too distracted to really be angry over this fifth—or sixth, whatever—failed attempt. "Maybe next time we'll try doing it in the lab again."
"Yeah," says Bruce, shutting the textbook and watching Tony carefully out of the corners of his eyes.
Five rings into the call, Howard picks up. "Hello?"
"Dad, hey."
"Anthony?" Howard says, surprised. "What is it?"
Tony grits his teeth, pacing around his living room because he hates asking his dad for anything. "I need money," he says, figuring it would be better not to beat around the bush about this.
"How much?" Howard asks after a few seconds. His tone is guarded.
"Ten thousand dollars," Tony grunts, ignoring Bruce's exclamation from the sofa where he's packing his things up.
On the phone, there's a loud clunk, and Tony thinks he's sent his father into cardiac arrest again until Howard speaks. "How much?" he asks, loudly.
Tony repeats the amount, feeling irritation crawling into his chest.
"Don't you have that much in your account? Why do you need this money, anyway? You aren't back into drugs, are you?"
(To be honest, it was never drugs Tony was into, it was just a combination of boredom and loneliness and some bad nicotine that had made him act the way he had his freshman year of high school, but he doesn't want to get into that right now.)
"No, it's for something serious, Dad, come on, don't go all cheap on me now. You're the head of Stark Industries."
"Well, I'm also careful with my money," Howard snaps back. "I have medical expenses to pay off and bills to file and I can't just—"
"By 'careful with your money', I'm assuming you mean you don't actually have the money."
Again, Howard hesitates. "I have the money," he says. "But I—I may not have paid off everything I needed to this month, Anthony. I'm sorry. I can send you five thousand, but the other half, you'll have to come up with yourself."
"What the hell didn't you pay off?" Tony snarls, suddenly more furious than he was a second ago. "Don't tell me you haven't paid the apartment bills—"
"Do not speak to me as though I am a child!" Howard roars. "It's none of your business what I have and have not paid. I'm going to transfer five thousand dollars into your checking account, and I don't want to hear any more complaining from you or I'll cancel your credit card and you'll have to make any transactions through me. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Tony spits, resentfully, digging his toes into the bottom of his shoe.
"Very good," Howard says. He's quiet for a second, and Tony's about to hang up when abruptly he speaks again:
"And how are you and Loki… doing?" It sounds like the words are being forced from him, and Tony entertains a very brief, very amusing mental image of Jarvis standing beside Howard in his kitchen, holding a gun to his head with certain phrases painted on its side for him to say.
"Fine, Dad," Tony grunts after a couple of seconds, because there's really no point in telling Howard that Loki is the reason why he needs the money, because why would Howard actually give a shit that Loki's been gone for four days now? "We're fine."
"Good," Howard says, and then, "I have to go, Anthony. We'll talk later." He hangs up before Tony can say anything else, and the younger Stark waits for a second before throwing his phone on the sofa and pulling his fingers through his hair in frustration.
"Goddammit," he snarls.
"What, he won't give you the money?" Bruce asks, standing up and slinging his booksack over his shoulders.
"No, he's giving me half," Tony says. "I have to take the other half out of my account. Like he expects me to have five grand just lying around in the fucking bank." But he does have the money, and he knows it, and it pains him to have to take it out because he was planning on using it to pay for his next surgery, or his dialysis, whichever came first in the order of his fucked-up electromagnet business. He looks at Bruce, and Bruce draws in a breath.
"Is it serious, what you need the money for?"
Tony nods. "It's serious."
Bruce nods, too. Then, "Will you have enough for your dialysis after you withdraw this cash?"
"Dad will. I won't," and both Bruce and Tony know that Tony's never going to tell his father about his electromagnet, not unless Yinsen says there's nothing more they can do and that Tony's going to have to fill out a will and say his good-byes in the hospital.
"Well, then," says Bruce quietly, laying a hand on Tony's shoulder, "I guess we'd better figure out how to save you soon."
"I guess you're right," Tony says, smiling bitterly, and forces himself to wait until Bruce is gone before completely breaking down, sinking to the floor and just letting the tears run like acid down his cheeks.
A/N: So here's the deal: I'm kind of not liking this story at all. Even though I have the next three chapters after this completely planned out and even though the rest of the story is sort of sporadically planned after that, I still don't like this story. So my question is this: would you guys still be interested in reading it if I continue with it, or are you not liking it either and would prefer for me to just delete the whole thing and start on my next idea(s)?
I'm just curious to know what you all think.