Pity.
He can't have that.
Not after everything, all he'd done.
And the truth.
That's the only thing it'd gain him.
They were angry. They asked him why. They were shouting.
They blamed him.
And he reveled in it.
Because he'd rather that…
…And he blamed himself as well…
…
…
…But meeting him, telling him,
having the so-called 'Avengers' learn of the truth,
…they didn't care.
If there was one thing he'd from them learned, is that it didn't matter.
Because it was him.
It didn't matter, what he'd say, truth or lie,
they either don't care, or don't believe him.
The hero, the villain, what was it worth?
The results were all the same.
…So why lie?
What difference would it make?
None at all.
Truth or lie,
what was will never change.
XXX
Truth.
There was truth in the words that Tony was hearing.
It disturbed more than surprised him,
because no matter the satire that in he spoke, reserved or impassive, Tony traced every undertone, where he hesitates, where his voice changes, where he grows impatient.
He couldn't understand and sooner didn't need to. Loki was there and the truth he was already speaking, whatever his reasons.
He thought maybe he was wrong. Maybe somewhere along the line there was indeed a lie, disguised in partial truth. Maybe.
But every fraction of novel knowledge filled in gaps, fit perfect.
Asking why still puzzles him, certainty wavers.
He all but needs to catch his eyes, and they would tell him.