Behold, long chapter!
WARNING - Kinda graphic descriptions of torture, mention of rape
IMPORTANT PLEASE READ- I'm thinking about ending the story here but if you like, I do have a few later scenes planned that I may or may not write - it's up to you, my readers ;) Please tell me your preferences, I'd like to know ;)
Over the course of the next week or so, Fury began allowing them to – finally – leave their rooms, though he was especially careful with Loki. The god was adamant he was fine, or near enough to it, but his leg still occasionally buckled with no warning, and though his gorgeous voice was smoother each day, Tony sensed he still felt some tenderness there. Fury had told him Loki was otherwise fine, according to the scans, that there was some scar tissue inside him but nothing harmful. Tony had questioned a little further and found out Loki's lungs had been damaged but must have been healed just enough by Oriax. His ribs must have been broken, too – probably repeatedly. Nothing that would hinder him in any great way, except his leg. The nurse had told him it might always be the way it was now – the damage had been a lot deeper than expected. And then there was the whole other world of Loki's damaged mind – a pain Tony too felt, though perhaps not as much. Tony had nightmares, every night, and would wake up sweating, an image of Oriax in his mind, or sometimes an image of Loki, broken, or worse, dead. He knew Loki had nightmares too. Knew, because every morning since they'd moved into their own rooms, he'd woken to find Loki curled up on the sofa by his bed. He'd taken to leaving a blanket and pillow on it so he might be more comfortable, and resolved to find a better sofa to replace it with, one not so decorative and uncomfortable. Tony couldn't understand why he'd ever liked the thing, gray and ugly as it was.
They often spent time in the gym with Steve and Nat, not usually talking much. Tony found there was a pleasant, mind-numbing relief in exercising with Steve, lifting weights and sometimes briefly boxing with him. Loki preferred to spar with Natasha, building up his speed and strength slowly. It only took him a few days before he managed to floor Natasha – at which point she'd demanded he taught her Asgardian fighting methods. He seemed glad to do so – and she in turn taught him some of her own tricks. Their matches were spectacular displays of speed and strength, and Tony was looking forwards to seeing them train when Loki was at full strength. Fury didn't let them train for longer than an hour or two each day, and he seemed grumpy enough about what time he did allow them to spend there. Tony had never really felt the need for exercising the way Steve might, but it calmed him now, and besides, there wasn't much else to do with Mother Fury hanging over them like an overgrown, grumpy but benevolent vulture. Tony had ordered some books for Loki that he thought the god might like, and he'd whiled away a good few hours just watching Loki read them. Something had changed in Loki, changed in himself, too. Sarcasm and bravado had been stripped away under Oriax's whips, and they were the barest shadows of who they had been, but it was… Refreshing. A new start, almost. A slate wiped clean. Shadows still haunted them, though, and the more they 'recovered', the more Tony found himself mulling over what Nat had told him. She was right, and he knew she was right, but somehow, he didn't want to face those demons, not yet. Maybe not ever. He'd never want to. But he looked at Loki, sometimes, and saw eyes briefly filled with pain, of fleeting shadows, or saw the dull reflection of glowing braziers echoing in his pupils. He could see it clearly, see that Loki needed to talk about it. Could see he didn't want to, either. He knew – and had known for a while - how he might persuade him to talk, and it scared him, but today the darkness in Loki's eyes had been nearly palpable, and his leg had buckled more times than usual, and now his hands were shaking slightly as he turned the pages of his book, eyes not moving across the lines but fixed on a point in the middle of the book.
Tony looked down at his hand, his wrist. Looked at the band of scars around it, the raised skin that had faded from angry red to white, and glanced on the twin bands Loki wore around his own wrists. He sighed slightly and rubbed his face. "Loki," he began, and the god looked up, eyes clearing as he saw Tony. He glanced once at the window, at the setting sun streaking the room with red and gold, at the lone star already beginning to shine, and when he looked back at Loki everything he had been holding inside him spilled out, sounds making words making sentences, weaving a story of his pain which he knew was inconsequential next to Loki's, but he also knew Loki would understand. The god moved to sit next to him after he paused to heave in a breath and wipe his eyes. He spoke of the pain, yes. Of the whips and the coals and the poisons Oriax had used when Loki had been unable to stand between them. But more than that, he told Loki of what he had felt. The fear, not just for himself, but for Loki. The anguish at seeing what Loki had done, had suffered through, for him. Even his shame and guilt, because he was so grateful to Loki for doing it. His terror that last day. And he told Loki that that very terror hadn't been for himself, hadn't been because when Loki was broken, no one would stand before the whip for him, but that it had been for Loki. And finally, he told him he was glad, so glad, that they had survived it, survived together. What he didn't say, though it was hidden in his words, was how deeply he had come to care for Loki. He didn't tell the god the sneaking suspicion that had been forming in him ever since he had returned from Oriax's hell-hole and realised just how happy he was to see Loki alive, unbroken. Since he had realized that for once, up on that ledge, watching Loki about to break, there wasn't a thought to spare in his head about himself, because every part of him had been focused on Loki. He didn't tell him that somehow, Tony had fallen in love with the broken god of mischief.
Loki sat with him in silence, sat and thought. Tony was leaning against him, probably exhausted from both the emotional side of things and the rather late hour. The sun had set completely, and the room was lit only by the unusually bright moon and the lights from the city around them. He didn't say anything – there was nothing, he felt, that he needed to say. Just being with Tony was enough for him at the moment – enough for both of them. There had been something in his words – a raw truthfulness, enough that Loki doubted nothing he said. Even that Tony had been terrified for Loki's sake. It seemed almost unimaginable – that someone might have cared that he was being tortured, cared that he was being hurt down to his now-mortal soul. But somehow, Tony had cared about him. Strange, Loki thought to himself. Strange, that feeling that there would always be someone for him to rely on, and stranger still that there was someone who relied on him – not just when Loki was strong, strong enough to stand before Oriax, but when Loki was weak, too, unable to stop the crashing memories. And that last day… That Tony had not cared for himself, but for Loki… Something bloomed deep within him at the thought, something created from pain, from screams and tears but something that was beautiful in its life. A green seedling amid the broken shards of who he had been. Tony's breathing changed, deepening as he slipped into sleep. Loki brushed a hand across his cheek and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead, before slowly standing and half carrying, half dragging Stark to the bed, where he laid him down before retreating to his own rooms to sleep. Where the nightmares would drag him down, haunt him and tease him as it recreated for him Stark's screams, Stark's terror and pain.
Where the nightmares did exactly that, forcing him to feel every second of Tony's pain, forcing him to cry out as he tossed around in the bed. A voice, her voice, whispering to him that he should have been stronger, should have done more for Stark, because this – a searing, dreamed pain flaring across his back – was something he could have prevented… The dream melted and disappeared into a reflection in brazier next to the iron slab, smoke curling in his nostrils, nothing he could do as Oriax ripped her nails across his chest and he felt the pain explode through him, tearing him apart, breaking him into small pieces. A scream rippled from him and he awoke, air shuddering in and out of his throat. He could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at the ceiling cloaked in shadows. It was almost too much. Almost, except for that small seedling inside of him that strengthened him, gave him the will to live on, live through everything. Because Tony cared what happened, cared if he lived or died. He clutched at his chest, finding nothing of the pain, nothing of the blood. The room swam and blurred around him and his brow furrowed as he shook his head, trying to clear it. It was a battle to stand and pull on some trousers, every inch of his mind trying to force him to lie back down and dream, but somehow, he managed to stumble out of his room and along the corridor, a hand on the wall which he had to use to steady himself.
For once, he had slept without nightmares. Nothing. The absence of them pulled at him as he awoke, confusing him, making him wonder why he was in his bed and not on that rocky ledge, watching Loki. Rolling over, he supposed the noise of the door had awoken him, or perhaps his sleeping mind had sensed Loki was there, and woken him. He narrowed his eyes slightly. The god, usually dressed when Tony saw him sleeping on the sofa in the mornings, was wearing only black trousers, barely visible against the wall, but the paleness of his chest stood out, three dark scars marring it, three rips into another world, almost. The rest of his scars had faded somewhat, to white rather than angry red slashes, but those last three… They remained dark red, almost like blood. It took him a few moments to notice Loki was shaking slightly, making no move to go to the sofa. Tony narrowed his eyes and looked carefully, then noted that Loki's eyes were closed, as if he were stuck in a memory. "Loki…" he murmured groggily, still not quite fully awake. He saw Loki's chest rise and fall deeply, and his fists clenched and unclenched. "Loki!" he insisted, louder and a little sharper than the last time. His eyes snapped open and locked onto him. He pushed himself off the wall and half walked, half stumbled towards Tony, where he didn't say anything as he slid into the bed and turned his back – his still scarred back – towards Tony, curling inwards slightly. Tony gave him a few minutes before moving closer, bending himself around the god until they were just touching. He could feel Loki breathing, deeply for a few minutes, then catching, speeding up, and slowing into a deep rhythm for another few minutes. The cycle repeated a few times, Tony just beginning to drift off again, when he felt Loki shift and turn so he was twisted slightly, facing up. His hair just brushed Tony's neck, but he made no move to remove it as Loki, finally, took a deep breath and began to talk.
And how he talked. His words were like smooth snakes, slipping into his mind, creating for him a world he knew so well and despised so much. Loki shared, as Tony had, his own pain. His flowing, ribbon-like voice spun in Tony's mind moving tapestries, showing him as well as telling him everything that had happened. Time stood, but the moon and stars still circled as he listened, image upon image upon image flowing over him. Sometimes, Loki only briefly mentioned what had happened. Other times, those Loki remembered best, were described so perfectly it was as if Tony himself were there.
Loki, in his cell in Asgard. A pleasant looking cell, white walls and clean furniture. Books, too. And then a rip, a slash in the world, and Loki looked up from where he was seated to see, stepping through the portal, Oriax and a few burly Chitauri soldiers. Loki looked briefly at the guard outside, but Oriax's cruel smile told him there was an illusion in place to prevent the guard noticing. Green magic writhed around his fingers, begging to be released. His didn't manage to summon so much as a small dagger that might deter his opponents before Oriax clicked her fingers and a thick metal band appeared on his wrist. He couldn't breathe for a few moments, the sudden inability to access his magic reverberating throughout his entire being. Enough time that the soldiers had grasped him. He got an elbow in one's face and kneed another in the stomach, but the remaining two had firm grips and dragged him, unable to scream for the metal mouthpiece suddenly appearing on him, into the dark depths of the portal. Oriax lifted his chin with a scarlet-tipped finger. "We'll have fun, you and I," she told him, a slight smile on her face. She brought her other hand up and ran a finger down his cheek. Blood welled, and barely a minute later he collapsed as the drug circled through his system. No doubt giving Oriax time to properly restrain his magic and drag him to the cell without any resistance.
Standing before Oriax, he let none of the fear in his eyes show. He morphed his face into a sneer as he stood facing Oriax, hands bund by heavy metal chains. If only he could break the bonds of the spell Oriax had placed on him, he might be able to destroy her with his magic. But he couldn't quite understand what she had done, and without his magic it was hard to study the spell properly. Oriax smiled back, no doubt aware of what was in his mind. She circled around him, boots tap-tapping on the unforgiving floor. One chain was attached to a large post on his left, the other, to a post on his right. There was enough slack that he could move between them. Oriax no doubt wanted him to run, try escape the whip she was wielding. Loki looked behind him almost distastefully, then glanced down to where he could just make out the still-unmarked flesh of his back. A canvas for Oriax to paint red as she might. He refused to let his shudder of fear show, and as the whip cracked for the first time, hitting the floor, he supressed his flinch and spat at her. A sniff answered him, and a crack of the whip. This time, it made contact. He let out a small cry and almost stumbled as the pain hit. He didn't allow himself to do so again, once he anticipated the pain and knew just how bad it was. He stood until the world wavered before him, and as the ground finally rose to meet him, he smiled, for Oriax to see. Even though he was in agony, burning in a fire made of blood, even though he was already afraid to wake.
The coals were next. Days had passed, he thought by his counting. Oriax had begun experimenting with him and the whips. Barbed whips she could only use a few times, and had to heal him afterwards. The healing spell she used was designed to cause pain in itself. Knotted whips, too. Whips coated with poison. He hated it most when she heated the tips of her whips, and somehow, she must have caught onto that, because he was lying, chained, facedown on a strange metal – or polished stone, his fingers were too raw to tell – slab. His heart picked up speed as he watched Oriax push into his field of vision a brazier filled with glowing coals. Almost instinctively, he jerked away slightly. He could sense rather than see Oriax's smile. "Oh dear…" she murmured, voice filled with some sort of sadistic humour. An iron bar was placed in the brazier and Loki's eyes widened. He tested his manacles, but they dug into his skin, already red and cracking slightly from the chains he'd worn so many times. He swallowed as the tip of the iron began to crackle slightly and glow, the heat distorting what Loki could see of it. He couldn't stop himself jerking away again as Oriax lifted it up to inspect it. "Perfect," she sighed, and the tip disappeared somewhere above him. That was the worst – not knowing when the pain would come. Panicking slightly, he tried to wrench himself around, see the iron, but he couldn't, not even as the manacles began to gain a coating of his blood. When the iron did descend, it was pain he had never known before, agony coursing through him, radiating out from his back, and he couldn't hold in a scream, not for that iron nor the ones that followed.
He met a girl called Sigyn after that. He dimly recalled the stories he'd heard of in Midgard, and decided the mortals must have found and misinterpreted one of the lost books of prophecy. Sigyn was not his wife, and he was not close to her in that way. But he grew to care for his cell-mate, who was to Loki what he later became to Stark. She'd been here a few months and often took the brunt of the whips for him. But as the weeks passed, a stillness grew over her. Oriax had made her 'teach' him. Lesson one – observation. A clever ploy of hers to make Loki watch her torture. Rather than being tortured himself. Barely days later, she sobbed out lesson two – pain – as Oriax threw Loki towards her, after the irons, and cracked his ribs against the harsh stone walls. There was some regret in her eyes, perhaps a week later, as she held a bowl under the mouth of the snake dripping poison into Loki's face, that she whispered, lesson three is watching someone break. The poison lapped the edge of the bowl and splashed onto her fingers. Loki felt something inside her snap and the bowl fell, poison coating his chest, and Sigyn, sweet Sigyn whom he had never known outside the cell, stepped backwards off the cliff and fell, fell, fell. Loki screamed and screamed, and it wasn't just because of the poison, but because Sigyn was the first person who had looked at him and seen something worth suffering for. She had been his friend, and now… He wished, inside, to join her in death, but he was chained and no amount of pulling would loosen the manacles. Oriax did not seem to mourn the loss. She emerged next to him and laughed, the noise mingling with his distraught cries.
He did not expect there to be another like Oriax, but there was. A male he did not learn the name of, black hair, but dark red eyes instead of green. Handsome as Oriax was beautiful, in a deadly, dark and predatory way. She had led him to his cell and was telling him he'd been here… Six months. Yes, it could be that. His body had lost all trace of smooth skin, and Oriax hadn't healed his hands for long enough that he could barely feel the cool kiss of the manacles, and any movement felt like the irons on his back. Again, and again he'd screamed, he'd begged for death. Oriax enjoyed it, he was sure. This man, too, seemed to take delight in pain. He examined Loki closely, before turning to Oriax. "Six months?" he asked with a raised brow. "You are getting slow, Oriax," he smirked. She cocked her head. "He's a rather marvellous toy," she replied. "Your methods might be faster, but I want to take my time with this one. He's slow to break – it's really quite delightful. They don't usually last this long." Loki looked at her with hate in his eyes, and the man smiled. "He has spirit! Give him to me for a day, I should like a try with him. See if he is as strong as you claim." Oriax cocked her head. "oh, he is," she hummed. "Very well then. But prepare your own room, I shall have to find another to play with today." The man nodded, a smirk growing on his face. Between one second and the next Loki and the man were in a small, completely closed room. There were chains wrapped around his wrists, lifting his arms behind him slightly, connecting to the top corners of the back wall. Loki stood his ground, the man standing before him. Then the man ran a hand down Loki's bare chest, and quietly murmured, "I do like a bit of spirit – it really spices things up, don't you think?"
"He… He…" Loki's voice broke and he began coughing, curling up even tighter. Tony pulled him closer. At some point – he didn't even remember when – he had wrapped an arm around him, holding him steady as he spoke. Loki leaned back into him after the coughing subsided. "Oh gods, Tony, he…" Loki couldn't seem to say it. Revulsion passed through Tony as he realized what the man had done to Loki. He pressed Loki to him and then murmured, "the one time I saw him, when he came with Oriax and mentioned being surprised to see you still here, was it…?" He felt Loki's nod. "The same. A second time. Yes. And… There is not much different for me to tell. You arrived only a few months after the first encounter, and nothing much happened in that time. And apart from… The man again, you know everything that happened to me – or saw its effects, at least." Tony found himself gently running a hand down the god's arm, soothing motions. The god stilled and relaxed for some time, before turning and looking over Tony's shoulder. The sun was rising. They must have been talking for hours. No wonder Loki's voice had gone hoarse – none the less beautiful, though. "It's been so long since I was outside, properly," the god mused quietly, eyes only half open. Surprised, Tony thought about it. Aside from the brief struggle with Thor, they had not been outside. It had been almost a year since he'd attacked New York, and even then, Loki had been trapped in his own mind. Almost a year without the kiss of wind on his face or the taste of fresh air. "JARVIS, the suit," he murmured quietly. He didn't think Loki had heard, even though they were right next to each other. A tear was sliding down the god's cheek, but his eyes were closed, and he looked relaxed, almost relieved. Relieved of his burden, the memories, the pain. Tony watched as his iron man suit stomped over and opened. He slipped from the bed and into the suit, and felt it close around him. It was almost like coming home again, being in the suit. He walked over to the bed and gently scooped up Loki, setting him on his feet. He didn't even need to tell JARVIS to open the window before the bot did, and he was airborne, Loki clutched tightly in his arms.
The god seemed to be more lucid, clutching Tony's arms, a small smile on his face and his eyes bright as they swooped around the tower once, twice, then landed on the top of it. A small space Tony had built where he could watch the city, with a bench but nothing else. He emerged from the suit to see Loki watching the sun rise over the city, light splintering between the skyscrapers, staining the sky golden. Loki was crying, even as a cool wind swept over him and he raised his arms slightly, allowing it to sweep around him. Tony walked up behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around the god, saying, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Loki nodded, tilting his head up to look at him. Tony couldn't stop himself brushing his lips to Loki's in the barest of kisses He pulled back quickly, suddenly realising what he had done. What it might remind Loki of. His eyes widened. He was stupid. A stupid fool. Loki wasn't… Loki would probably never love him. Hell, he didn't even know if Loki preferred men or women, and… Gods, he was a fool. Loki would never be able to look at him again. He twisted his face away, swallowing, feeling his cheeks redden slightly.
A cool hand slipped under his chin and he was forced to look Loki in the eye. The god didn't look disgusted, or lost in memories, or even… Unhappy, though tears were still sparkling on his cheeks. Tony didn't dare let hope flare as he looked into the god's eyes for a second, two, and then Loki pulled him firmly towards him and kissed him deeply. The world exploded in fire, fire that was everything Oriax's flames were not. And when they pulled apart, Tony was surprised to see the world had not been burned to cinders.