When Loki lays down he's a wash of loose limbs and somber eyes. Pushy arms maneuver Tony into being the little spoon, and as much as it's a dream come true it also freaks him out. Normally post-coital cuddling is something he has to extract from Loki while he's too sleepy and sated to argue. But today Loki presses himself head to toe against Tony's back and clutches him around the waist like he thinks they can merge into one person if he squeezes hard enough. Tony doesn't say a word, afraid he might break the spell and lose this unexpected gift.
After a minute he sucks it up and leans off the cot to snag the soaked sheet off the floor, and those strong arms drag him back in. Loki tolerates the distance only long enough for Tony to wipe the incriminating smear off his belly and then snatches the fabric. The scratch of the rough cotton on Tony's face is abrasive and he's willing to bet his cheeks are glowing with rug burn, but he accepts the favor in the spirit it is given. Loki's face is expressively blank, his signature look, and meeting his eyes is like sitting by a window on a rainy day.
"You know what you did was wrong, don't you? I don't need to spell it out." Tony asks.
"I felt you die." Loki says defensively, touching a hand to Tony's chest, "Your wards disappeared, all my protective charms-"
"I get that, but-" Tony sighs, "There is no excuse for this. You know you can tell me anything, I know you do. So when you choose to control and manipulate instead, that's on you. That's you choosing to hurt me."
Loki's face crumbles and he pulls Tony's hand to his chest. At first he thinks Loki wants to read his feelings, but then his fingers press into Tony's pulse and stay there. He presses his ear to Tony's chest and the only reasonable thing to do is stroke Loki's back and allow him to listen to his busted heartbeat.
"You are here but my magic does not recognize you. It reaches for you. It mourns you so loudly I cannot think."
"Bullshit. You were thinking." Tony spits, "You knew exactly what you were doing."
Loki's eyes cloud with a vital need for Tony to stop pushing, to scoop him up and fix this, but he just feels castrated. All this time, and Loki still doesn't get that this is a two person system. That there are no winners and losers, and it is possible for both of them to get what they need without tricks and traps. Tony isn't asking for much here, just basic care and respect. Hard limits. Loki shakes his head and digs his nose into the valley of Tony's collarbone.
"I would have done terrible things to steal you back from Death. I could feel myself slipping-"
"Calm down. Come on, deep breaths." Tony whispers, taking in deep inhales that raise and lower Loki's head in time. He does not follow along.
"Your vision shall be a false one." Loki swears, squeezing Tony's hand so tight it cuts off his circulation. "I will not lose you again."
Tony pulls his hand away and wraps his thumb around the base of a horn, holds Loki's ear flush to his chest. Loki worms his fingers between the mattress and Tony's back and clings.
"I feel the same. So promise me. No more hurting yourself, no more stupid fights."
"You know I cannot promise that." Loki whines. Distraught. Hopeful. "I will never be a well person, Tony. I can't change-"
"You already have." he insists, wrapping both hands around Loki's white-lined shoulders. His stupid heart gushes indignation and sincerity, and he doesn't try to hide it. He wants Loki to feel his belief.
His partner is so far evolved from that first night in the penthouse. He recalls every detail, from the long slit up Loki's dress to the cherry red lipstick that turned her mouth into a bullfighter's flag. The bottomless void in her eyes that screamed define me define me i don't know why i'm here. Tony sees no resemblance. She's barely a fragment of the proud, sensitive, smart-ass that came to Nebraska and bitched him back to his feet. From the man that pulled Tony's head to his lap and put air back in his lungs.
Loki is so much greater than he thinks he can be, and Tony knows there's more where that came from. There's the father that wears his son like a bracelet, and the mother that kisses her daughter's temple and tells her not to grow up so quickly. There's the hard nosed negotiator that reads every word of every contract, and there's also the quiet, yearning boy that clutches Tony's ankle and begs for restoration. His Loki is a crowd of remarkable people all struggling to be one person, and Tony doesn't see why that should be a bad thing. Why everyone acts like being changeable automatically makes Loki unreliable.
"I will hurt you again." Loki says, pleading with his eyes for Tony to see reason and agree that he's a repulsive stain on the universe.
"I know you will." Tony says, simply. He leaves it unspoken that he doesn't care, that his loyalty does not have a time limit or a self-improvement quota. He only needs Loki to try, that's all.
"You are insane." Loki says. He looks lost, eyes flitting over Tony's face in search of answers he already gave.
"Let's leave that for the biographers to decide."
Loki purses his lips, and his eyes soften. "No more hurting myself. No more fights."
"Stupid fights." Tony corrects with a pointed finger, "Let's not get over zealous here."
Loki laughs like the sound is a convict escaping from prison.
"No, we mustn't set standards too high." he says.
Tony runs a thumb over the intersection of Loki's eyebrow and his horn, and leans in to kiss his forehead. Loki sighs, and his shoulders fall entire inches from the relief of tension.
"And what about me, am I forgiven?" Tony asks, a bit of boyish hope creeping in, eyebrows waggling.
"If we are now in the practice of quoting one another." Loki drawls, "Then it was a foolish, insane, reckless, and unforgivable thing to do."
"Hey, that's not what I said at all-"
Loki huffs, rolling his eyes. "It is close enough!"
"But it was the right thing to do?" Tony checks, grinning and tilting his head.
"It is a powerful boon, even if I detest it." Loki sniffs, and climbs off Tony's lap as daintily as a Victorian maiden stepping out of a carriage.
"Straight flush." Tony says, triumphantly laying a fan of five etched steel playing cards on the floor.
His CAT scan will probably look like someone spilled a bag of Skittles in his brain, but after an hour of pacing Tony decided boredom was the more present danger. The hole in the wall is now a rather stately arch, and the neat stack of metal playing cards he made from the excess steel is so architectural and sleek that he kind of wants to mass produce them.
"I loathe this game." Loki grouses, his pale Aesir hand flicking his own cards into the discard pile.
Tony sniggers. "How is the god of lying this bad at poker?"
"What good is bluffing between two players?" Loki says tartly, "It is entirely luck of the draw."
Leaning back on his hands, Tony watches Loki deal out the top fifteen cards in a line between them. From the first five he pushes two out of line.
"You return two, completing your flush." Loki says, correctly predicting Tony's move and pointing to the two cards he would have drawn. "Dealer returns three, granting a pair of kings. Congratulations, love, you've won without touching a card."
"Fine, you pick a game." Tony grumbles.
Loki pouts as he gathers the scattered deck. "All the games I know require exploding cards."
Tony enjoys the mental image of a young Loki throwing exploding cards in his brother's face. For all his complaining, he clearly knows his way around a deck. Deft hands shuffle the slivers of steel as if they were ordinary paper, separating them into stacks and riffling them together in a mesmerizing cycle. After a few repetitions he starts absently cutting the deck one handed and watches the smooth flow of his fingers with an airy smile.
"These are exquisitely balanced." he says earnestly, and okay, Tony might preen a bit.
The thought of kid Loki doesn't leave his head as easily as it came, and Tony finds himself wondering what that was like. That reminds him of his own brats, and he stumbles a bit over an unfamiliar pang of homesickness.
"Hey, I know I just asked like, twenty minutes ago-"
Loki sighs, but his lips quirk up. "The children are with Miss Potts, you needn't hover."
Even as he says it, he summons up a glowing green orb. Four figures emerge as the orb flattens into a disc and shapes rise from it. Pepper stands in the center with Hela beside her, talking. The boys flit in and out, running wildly through the radius of Loki's spell.
Tony thinks there's something different about their blurry shapes but he can't put his finger on it until Jori skids to a stop in front of Pepper. He's holding a little dress on a hanger. She nods, and Hela bends over to show him the zipper in the back of the garment.
Tony looks up at Loki, certain he's wearing a dopey smile, and meets careful blankness.
"I wondered when they'd get curious." Tony murmurs.
"I hoped they wouldn't." Loki says stiffly. "It would be easier for them."
They watch the glowing illusion, eyes tracking the energetic movement of Fenrir spinning in a circle skirt while Jori picks up the hem of his dress and drops it again and again, fascinated by the way the fabric billows. The projection flickers and Loki tenses, puts more force into the spell until it solidifies.
Tony leans in, frowning for a couple different reasons. "You know it's okay these days, right? There are, like, parades and stuff."
"I know." Loki says, and the illusion flickers again, more violently. The energy dissipates into grey green smoke and he shakes out his hands, wringing them like they hurt. Tony observes the movement, unsure if he ought to pry.
"Alright?"
Loki brushes his hair out of his face and sits a bit straighter.
"Drained." he says simply, and angles an expectant look at Tony. "Another game?"
Two player card games, now that Tony thinks about it, are all pretty lame. War could be fun, but he suspects Loki would have the same beef with it as poker. There's not really much strategy to slapping the floor. Then he recalls a game he used to play with Mr. Jarvis when their limo was stuck in traffic, and later on in college once he was old enough to go to parties.
"Ever played Slaps?"
"Sounds violent." Loki mutters, scratching at his jaw where a faint dusting of stubble is just starting to show.
Tony grins. "Oh you are gonna love this. This is the most Loki game ever invented. Gimme your hands."
Shimmying closer, he mirrors Loki's crossed legs and holds his hands out like a waiter without a tray. Perplexed, Loki glances between Tony's face and hands and cautiously lays his on top.
"Ok, so the first person to ten wins." he says cheerfully, and without warning flips both hands over to slap Loki's. His partner scowls, instinctively pulling his hands back to his lap, and looks at Tony like he kicked a puppy.
"What was that for?" he demands, so honestly affronted that Tony has to laugh. Fucking literal Asgardians.
"Come on, put 'em back." Tony coaxes, "This time you slap."
Loki licks his lip, studying Tony's face and sliding his hands back to the center. Tony takes his hands and flips them, laying his own hands on top.
"I fail to see the object of this." Loki says.
"Just go for it." Tony says, and barely manages to escape Loki's attack a split second later. "Not bad, my turn again."
This time when Loki puts his hands out, Tony waits a few seconds. Hovering an inch or so below, he lets his hands wave a bit and notices how Loki's focus catches on the movement.
"See now you know I'm gonna slap you, but you don't know when." Tony says, meeting Loki's eyes and watching the pulse point in his throat quiver as tension rises. "Kind of exciting, yeah?"
"If you say so." Loki mutters, but he's full of shit. He's into it already, arms poised and lips pressed thin with concentration. Tony brushes Loki's palms with his fingertips and he jerks away, half jumping.
"Gotcha!" Tony says, "That's called a cheat. You can only do that three times, or you lose."
"So I'm meant to willingly offer my hands for this abuse?"
"No, you just have to react faster." Tony teases. He grabs Loki's wrists and pulls his hands back with a firm touch, turns them over the right way and slips his hands underneath. Loki frowns, arms stiff and ready.
Tony should probably mention that he was the MIT Slaps champion, but when you're playing a game with Loki half the fun is stacking the deck. He is one hundred percent guaranteed to cheat, so winning becomes less about playing the game and more about cheating better than him.
Wiggling his fingers, he notices Loki's shoulders tense. That's the trick of the game, reading opponents. Priming them to expect a certain outcome and then doing the opposite. Loki's high strung, expecting Tony's next move to be a strike. Moving just one hand, he feignts and his partner reels his hands back lightening quick.
"Cheat." Tony chuckles, and Loki huffs. His eyes are sharp, mouth quirked in a sour frown dusted with faint black stubble, and this time he offers his hands of his own volition.
"When do I return the favor?" Loki asks.
"When I miss." Tony says, throwing his shoulder forward in a whole body fake out. Loki flinches, but he just barely keeps his hands in. Most people relax after a sleight, their minds fighting to keep their hands in place despite surges of adrenaline and cortisol. Loki is one of them, so Tony takes advantage and nails him rather hard with a cross over slap. Loki laughs at the stinging impact, shaking his hand and half grinning.
"That was one handed!" he accuses.
"Never said I had to use both hands." Tony smirks, and when he meets Loki's eye he knows he chose well. It's exactly the cocktail of strategy, manipulation, and danger that Loki gets off on. Harmless mischief, but with enough sting to get the blood pumping.
Loki shakes his head and smiles wide. "This is a devilish little game."
"Human children. Natural born sadists." Tony jokes. As soon as they are back in position he swings, aiming for a surprise attack. Loki is faster though, and he beams when Tony's hands fly through empty space.
"My turn!" he says with sparkling eyes, eagerly extending his hands and wiggling his fingers. Tony melts at the bright expression, the childish glee, and indulgently puts his hands out.
Loki imitates his technique. He taunts him with slight movements and finger brushing but Tony doesn't fall for it. It's easy to see through because Loki doesn't know to lie with his whole body yet, he's only thinking about his hands. When his shoulder starts to move Tony knows it's a real blow and withdraws. Loki still clips his fingertips though, and his face is so pleased that Tony gives him the point.
They return to the middle and this time Loki has his own ideas. His hands are perfectly still, not even the slightest tremor, and it is actually quite unnerving. It creates a restless kind of anticipation that's totally different from the twitchy, jumpy energy Tony aims for.
"It is curiously enthralling." Loki says with a sweet smile, "Like being spanked."
Tony's mind derails. Then a loud crack echoes off the walls and his hands sting. He rubs at the pulsing pain and Loki smiles with all his teeth.
"Problem, darling?"
"Cheap trick." Tony says, grumbling but impressed.
"Effective." Loki counters, sticking his hands back out. Tony rejoins him, and now the floodgates are open for whatever taboo experiences Loki is willing to share in the name of winning.
"I was flogged once." Loki brags. Slap, hit.
"Only the once. My laughter so disturbed the tutor that he never punished me again."
"Bet you were a handful."
"I am still a handful." Loki corrects, "In fact I am two, as you well know."
Slap, hit.
"And then some." Tony mutters with a wry smile.
Loki's mouth twitches and Tony jerks his hands back for no reason at all.
"Cheat!" Loki yells, grinning. Tony palms his face in disappointment but he's smiling underneath.
Their hands go back to center, but now there's a charged undercurrent. Both of them are hyper aware, attentive to every tiny twitch and tremor, and listening with rapt focus to the back and forth of their bantering. Topics which would normally send Loki blushing to the next room get swung around like toy swords as they try to best each other. Ball gags, handcuffs, threesomes, one incident where Loki apparently saved Thor's life by giving a troll a foot job. Everything gets thrown on the table and it's fun. Really fun.
"I like this game very much." Loki proclaims during his second turn, adjusting his posture and very nearly making Tony cheat again.
"You like anything that involves risk." Tony observes, picking out a common theme to Loki's rather objectionable exploits in unnegotiated kink.
"And you only like it disguised in games." Loki challenges. His foot grazes Tony's leg under their outstretched arms and Tony jumps.
"Well yeah." Tony says, considering his answer even as Loki distracts him with his foot and runs one finger down the middle of each hand. "When you know you're safe, risk is exciting. Otherwise it's just, well, risky."
"I've never had cause to differentiate."
Slap, miss. Tony's turn.
"Maybe it's time you did." Tony suggests, "There's not a lot I won't do if it's fun and I know it's safe."
Loki's breath hitches, his pulse thumping in his neck as he holds out his hands. When Tony puts his under, Loki drops his fingers to dance on his wrist.
"Then I would be wise to make you feel very safe indeed." Loki murmurs.
Tony takes his turn, distracted. Loki is getting flushed in his face as well as his hands now, his posture relaxed and eyes burning Tony on the inside.
Slap, hit. Slap, hit. Slap, miss. Loki's turn.
Loki hesitates, licking his bottom lip absently as he watches Tony watch him.
"I think this game would be much improved if it were always your turn." Loki whispers, and scores three points in a row while Tony's head spins.
They end up on the floor side by side, red handed and a bit manic. His not-fiance tips his head sideways after a minute and openly checks him out. The unique pressure of being watched tingles over his body, but he doesn't meet Loki's gaze. He pretends not to notice and allows himself to be seen, stripped of any artifice by frumpy ill-fitting scrubs and skin-bleaching overhead lights.
In nine months he's not sure they've ever spent this much time completely focused on one another. No machines or tablets or children or Avengers, nothing to do but appreciate this person they've chosen out of millions and millions of beings in the universe. Loki reaches for him and a cool touch turns his head. His cheek touches the floor and when he blinks his whole vision becomes pale skin and wild hair.
"I've not done something so frivolous since I was a child." he says, working his jaw and lowering his brows like he's apologizing for something.
Tony smiles boldfaced and wrung out. For once no words bubble up to fill the silence. There's an energy in the room that is almost spiritual. The electric zing of Tony's psyche tuning to Loki's like a dial on a radio. His lover swallows, helplessly open while his eyes skitter over Tony's unguarded face.
"Will you teach me more devilish games, Mister Stark?" he asks, breathy and fragile.
"Of course, Loki."
What a preposterous question. He can't deny this person anything, not a damn thing.
Loki's answering smile is watery and free.
Aluminum cafeteria trays slide through a flap in the security door a few hours later, weighed down with soggy, bland, preservative-loaded rations just like mom used to make. Loki must really be flagging because he tucks in to the sloppy brown mush masquerading as chili without so much as a sneer, and slathers a stack of crackers in jalapeño cheese spread with even more fervor.
With a bit less enthusiasm, Tony picks at his own watery meat soup and manages to choke down about half of it with the help of some very salty crackers. He can practically hear Bruce lecturing him about his sodium intake, and that actually makes the whole thing palatable. Few things taste as good to Tony Stark as petty rebellion.
By the time Tony has choked down about as much chili as he can stand, Loki's tray is spotless and he's casting longing glances at Tony's cornbread. As if. That dry square of sweet, sweet carbohydrates is about the only thing on offer that Tony actually likes. His favorite bag of cats will have to man up and ask if he wants so much as a nibble. Frankly, even then it would probably be a no.
Tony makes sure to take his time slathering the thing in butter. It earns him the most pathetic yearning look he's ever seen, and when he's done he stalls a bit longer just because it's fucking hilarious to watch a fully grown demigod beg with his eyes like a spoiled chihuahua.
"Something wrong, Slugger?" Tony asks, holding the crumbley bread in his left hand while he slurps loudly at the bottom of his juice box. Loki is shredding a napkin between his crossed legs, and he doesn't seem aware that he's doing it.
Loki sniffs, and says arrogantly, "Your people's standard of cuisine is deplorable."
"The crackers weren't bad." Tony shrugs, and drops the empty juice box on his tray.
"One can hardly live on squares of baked wheat." Loki pouts.
Tony suppresses a smirk. That sounded less like a genuine complaint and more like Loki telling himself not to want the cornbread. Tony takes a bite and smirks when Loki's eyes follow the rain of yellow crumbs falling onto the tray.
"You sure you're okay?" he asks, maybe a little meanly. "You seem antsy."
"Human portions are so small." Loki huffs, leaning his elbows on his knees. The sincere disappointment in his slouch makes Tony feel a bit bad for messing with him. Even by human standards, it was a pretty pathetic meal.
"Well I'm full. You might as well have the rest." Tony lies, setting the mostly uneaten bread in the remaining chili and sliding the tray in front of Loki. Dusting the crumbs off his fingers, he grabs the frosted diner cups from both of their trays and goes to refill them in the sink. The increasingly familiar sensation of Loki looking at him creeps up his back, and he just watches water pour out the tap. He can be selfless once a decade or so, it's not illegal yet.
Taking a long drink from one glass he twists off the tap and turns to say as much, but the words don't make it out. One second he's leaning on the sink to deliver a self-deprecating wisecrack, and the next he's falling face first into the opposite wall along with Loki and every object in the room that isn't nailed down.
Loki hits first with a hollow metallic thump, and Tony almost lands on top of him. Fortunately eight years of vigilante justice have turned catching himself with his repulsors into muscle memory, and he puts his hands out on instinct. The impact he expects never comes, and when he looks down he is shooting small jets of gold energy out of his hand arrays.
"Neat." Tony says, meeting Loki's wide eyes with a boyish grin. The white room turns red from spinning emergency lights and a piercing alarm blares at an ear splitting volume. Distant explosions rock the ship and the room shakes.
"Expecting company?" Tony yells over the din.
"Not as such!" Loki replies.
The nearby turbine engine roars and the ship rights itself with a groan of torqued metal. Loki slides down the wall to the floor in a pile of rubbish and Tony cuts off his thrusters, landing hard on his bare feet.
Pulling Loki up by the arm, he scans the detritis for his blinder shades.
"Suit up?"
"Obviously." Loki groans, rubbing where his head hit the wall. Shaking out his hands, he summons the shimmery gold magic which usually accompanies a change of clothes. Golden threads start to materialize along his arms, tracing the line of his shoulders and arching into the curves of his horned helm. And then flicker out.
"Not a word." Loki growls, shoving past him and stalking into the other room where he left his boots and armor.
"One in five!" Tony calls, just to get the obligatory joke out of his system.
Loki doesn't dignify that with a response. Looking back down, Tony kicks around the mess of playing cards, food wrappers, and bed sheets until he finds his glasses and wipes them off on his shirt. His shoes are easier to locate, tossed in a pile with the blindfold tangled in one of the laces. On a whim he balls up the rough scrap of linen and buries it in his pants pocket just in case the glasses get damaged. By the time Loki rounds the corner fully dressed, Tony's ready too.
"If anyone asks we're popping out for milk and scratchers." Tony says, sliding the hillbilly glasses up his nose and activating the targeting system. Walking briskly toward the security door, he tries the handle on the off chance it isn't locked. No dice.
A reverent voice comes over the carrier intercom, a smooth tenor that sounds almost prayer-like. "Hear me, and rejoice. You are about to die at the hands of the children of Thanos."
"Ah, shit." Tony mutters.
Loki dashes to his right and wraps a hand tight around his wrist.
"We have to get off this ship." he says urgently.
"Be thankful," the voice continues, "-for the lack of purpose which has always haunted your nightmares and plagued your sanity ends today."
"I think this guy drank the wrong flavor of Kool-Aid." Tony says. Beside him, Loki's hands fly in frantic casting gestures. He repeats the same sequence over and over to no avail, growing more agitated with each failure and straining to pull power from his core that he just doesn't have.
"Woah, take it easy." Tony says, seizing Loki's hands and holding them motionless. "You're juiced, pushing harder won't help."
Fearful eyes meet Tony's and at first he's not sure what the big deal is. Sure, it's got to be freaky not to have magic at a time like this, but Loki's just exhausted. It'll come back. Then he breaks down the rapid movements Loki was making and his gut sinks as he recognises the spell. Dreading the confirmation of what he already knows, he drops his gaze to his partner's neck. His bare neck, devoid of the locket that he tucks away in hammer space when it's not in use. Devoid of the Space Stone.
The melodic voice croons over the tinny speakers. "Today your deaths serve a noble role in delivering peace and prosperity to the universe. Embrace your fate, chosen lambs, with dignity and pride."
"Bet he won't sound so preachy with a fist in his face." Tony mutters, pulling up his arrays and stepping up to the security door.
Loki shakes his head, stepping back. "I cannot fight in this state, are you mad?"
"This ship is full of civilians. Running isn't an option." Tony says, jaw tight.
"Sod the mortals, they are here for the stones. To kill us while we are weak." Loki hisses.
"Mortals?" Tony spits, because he knows that's a slur coming from Loki. Shaking his head, he turns back to the door and liquifies the lock. It slides up easily, and Tony moves on the the next one. "I'm human too, Reindeer Games, in case you forgot."
Loki's nostrils flare at the nickname, and Tony knows he would be shooting magic missiles if he wasn't out of batteries. Good riddance, then. He'd still have magic if he hadn't lost his mind this morning, terrific fucking timing that turned out to be. Tony's anger bolsters up the stone's power and the second lock melts in half the time. Prying his fingers into the jam, Tony wrenches the door open with three heaves and finally he's free.
Stepping into the cell block, he wills his glasses to give him a bit more information. Walls, doors, anything moving. A blue wireframe of the space appears on his blinders just in time for the power to cut out. His glasses automatically switch to night vision, sweet.
"Blast it all." Loki swears behind him, and Tony hears him collide with something solid. A rather vindictive part of him thrills at the poetic justice. It doesn't feel very good to walk around blind without a guide, does it Lokes? He nearly says it out loud too, but it's not worth the fallout. They literally just promised to stop having stupid fights.
Opting to be the bigger person, Tony turns and alters the coding on his glasses to always show him Loki in perfect detail. The stone's afraid of him, only works half as well when he's around, so it's pretty much impossible to hurt him on accident. Loki's pained face appears first, the rest of him cascading down to where his shin collided with the door jam. He grabs Loki's hand and guides it to his wrist.
"I can see." Tony grunts, pulling Loki along behind him, each of their footsteps echoing loudly off the cavernous space. Looking around, he sees for the first time that the holding cells are a free standing structure built into the side of the freight deck. It's the lowest level of the helicarrier, spaced evenly between the four engines to distribute the weight of the massive supply containers and out-of-commission vehicles. Belatedly he feels some regret for their ill-timed sexcapades. With these acoustics half the helicarrier probably heard them grunting and moaning like wildebeests.
Another explosion rocks the upper decks and the carrier tilts, throwing he and Loki into the cell block walls. Cursing, he drags Loki up and leans on the wall for balance, walking as fast as he can to the elevator on the far end of the hall.
"If you insist on running towards battle, you should at least consider whose side you're on." Loki spits in his ear.
"The right one." Tony replies just as sharply, and steps over an overturned linen cart.
Loki yanks his hand out of Tony's grasp. "You heard the Children on the speaker. If you were to ask I am certain they would say they are the right side."
Tony stalks the last five steps to the elevator and rubs his temples. Tries to figure out if he can restore power to an entire elevator shaft at once. Muffled screams echo through the ceiling and his gut clenches.
"Fine, then the human side." Tony growls, raising his hands and imagining a bubble of perfectly functioning technology around the elevator. The stone whines in protest, but it answers, a rippling line passing around he and Loki and abruptly turning on the overhead light above the landing.
"In my experience, fighting for the side which imprisons you generally leads back to a cell when the conflict is over." Loki says icily.
"Then screw it, I'm on my own side." Tony shouts, frustrated, "It doesn't matter. I'm on whatever side gets us and the civilians out alive."
Tony hammers the elevator call button, and by pure luck the car happens to be on their floor. The doors slide open, and a column of blinding light casts long shadows off their bodies. He pulls Loki in behind him and plots a course for the bridge based on his dusty memories of the layout.
"Thanos is a powerful ally, and we have what he wants. We would be wise to surrender and bargain." Loki sneers into the sudden quiet of the elevator. Tony squeezes his eyes shut and palms his face. "I am not fit, my stone is inaccessible, and Ebony Maw is on board. This is a lost fight."
The car rises when Tony presses the button for the top deck, and the sphere of magic rises with them. It moves at a snail's pace, a fraction of a normal elevator speed. Loki waits for him to answer, his shoes creaking on the elevator floor as he nervously shifts his weight.
"Well?" he demands.
"I'm not bargaining with a galaxy ruling maniac." Tony says, dropping his hand. "If it goes tits up, we can steal a Quinjet."
Loki's hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight.
"Then I will acquire the ship while you satisfy your martyr complex." Loki says.
The mere suggestion has Tony's heart skipping beats. If he turns his back on Loki for five seconds, he'll be gone. Whether it's true or not, fair or unfair, that's what he thinks. It's a conditioned response like Pavlov's dog. Before he knows what he's doing, he's standing in Loki's space.
"No, you stay with me. I don't want you leaving my side." he says forcefully. Loki steps away, his back against the wall.
"I am all but defenseless, Tony, I have two daggers that I cannot even return to my hand without magic."
Tony's palms are clammy, his neck beading with cold sweat. He works his jaw around all the words fighting to get out and feels utterly pinned down. He's damned either way.
"Who is Maw?" he asks, dodging the question.
Loki pivots his head away angrily. "He is the telepath. A sorcerer. Torturer. He will read your attacks from your mind before you perform them, and have a counter ready."
"So improvise and I'm golden, got it." Tony says.
The doors open before Loki can reply, and the sight on the other side silences them both.
Sparks fly from severed electrical cables, showers of white in the dark hanger. Small pockets of light flicker from fires burning out of the cockpits of destroyed rescue shuttles, and in the middle of the wreckage are Thor and Rogers locked in a bare knuckle brawl with a man the size of the Hulk. Past them are Clint and Natasha locked in a battle with the horned alien that invaded Tony's penthouse. And beyond that screaming and chaos. A rioting mass of civilians running and trampling one another like schools of fish avoiding a shark.
Tony runs. It's an impulsive decision, the knee jerk need to act like the hero he claims to be. While he runs his suit materializes around him as naturally as breathing, fabricating itself fluidly up his legs and around his back, swirling around his shoulders and crashing between his fingers like little waves of titanium and circuitry.
"Tony, I need a weapon!" Loki calls, "A sword, a gun, anything, this is madness."
To his right, the big guy has Thor by his head. He's swinging him around like a club and beating Captain America with him. He has a massive scythe in his main hand and Tony twists his wrist to shatter the weapon into a pile of scrap. Noticing that Steve doesn't have his shield, he reforms the metal into a crude targe and flings it at him.
"Catch, Rogers!" he calls, ducking under a broken support beam and leaping over a stack of weapons crates on the other side.
Loki follows, his long legs easily carrying him over the crates in one leap.
"Stay with me." Tony pants, "I'm getting you a spear."
By the time he gets to Midnight, Widow is on the ground. It's hard to tell in the dark, but she looks injured. Clint is standing over her, firing arrow after arrow. His shots don't penetrate her armor, and he has to duck periodically to avoid the boomerang spear. Tony uses her distraction to close the distance.
Clint fires an arrow that glances off Midnight's horns, and Tony strikes while he has the element of surprise. Firing the repulsors, he gets up to speed and lands a pushing kick to Midnight's back. She hits the floor hand and tumbles, digging her spear into the concrete floor to slow her descent into a crouched landing. Immediately she launches herself back, spear tip first and coming fast.
A repulsor blast knocks her off target, and he bats the spear aside with his forearm, angling the opposite into an elbow strike to the nose. The horns, he has to admit, are pretty practical. They make almost any blow to her head or ears pointless, but her nose is as vulnerable and full of blood vessels as anyone else's. The rocket boosted blow hits her hard and she falls flat, her grip loosening enough for him to rip the spear from her hand. Loki skids to a stop beside him, gasping. Tony holds the spear out for him to take.
"You shouldn't have." Loki huffs, snatching it by the middle.
"Only the best for my consort." Tony replies, eyeing the wall of rubble between him and the crowd of trapped civilians "I'm going in. Wanna ride?"
"I've already had one today, thank you." Loki says, brushing his messy hair back and glancing around.
"Yeah, we know." Clint groans from a few feet away. "I'd tell you to get a room, but you two need a fucking soundproof bomb shelter. Jesus Christ."
"Boys, the sorcerer?" Natasha calls, struggling to keep the stronger alien on the ground.
"On it." Tony says, speeding toward the far end of the hanger where he could now hear the pops of gunfire, and the cacophonous screams of terrified Sokovians. The dismantled shells of rescue shuttles litter the area and block off all the exits, corralling the civilians in a giant pen.
At the end of the hanger, a double set of glass and steel stairs climb up to the bridge, and a line of ex-agents and Fury stand guard up there, guns drawn and firing. The alien stands in a mess of people all fighting to get away, walking passively over the fallen bodies of his victims as though they are nothing but mounds of dirt.
The blades of a dismantled turbine spin around him like a hundred machetes, cutting through anyone who fails to run fast enough. The bullets from the agent's guns ricochet off the blades and catch random victims. It's utter carnage, an unmitigated massacre.
"Hey, Ugly!" Tony shouts, flying over the crowd as fast as he can. He lands hard directly in front of Squidward. This must be the telepath, the one that predicts combat moves. Shouldn't be too hard, Tony never has a plan anyway.
"Anthony Edward Stark." the alien says, the turbine blades sweeping out in a pass that would be beautiful if it weren't slicing people in half. Tony summons up a barrage of missiles and fires them, blows up every blade he can see.
"Hands up, Chris Angel. Show's over."
"Oh, I see. You are Tony. The lying welp's new master." Maw says, "Tony. Y not, backwards. What might that say about you?"
For some reason that lame ass threat creeps him out. Goosebumps crawl up his arms at the esoteric armchair psychology and the fucking disgusting implications about he and Loki's relationship.
"Where is the little traitor god?" Maw wonders out loud, "I would hate to kill his owner while he isn't watching. His fragile mind is such a handicap, he will be much more useful once I break it."
Tony fires a missile point blank, but he knows before it even leaves the chamber that it's useless. Maw disintegrates it with nothing more than a wiggle of his fingers and reshapes the dust into needle like shards. In an instant they surround Tony, their points piercing into his armor and slowly burrowing closer to his skin.
"He isn't anyone's tool." Tony growls, trying to melt the needles but finding a resistance that he's never encountered before. Pushing harder with his mind, the pressure seems to double and redirect back on him.
Maw smiles wide, "Bold words, but you doubt. Don't lie to a telepath, Tony, we always know."
Tony flinches at the use of his name, tries again to push the needles away and the power behind them feels like a hairbrush dragging on his brain.
"Anthony!" Loki shouts, his voice muffled by the noise of the panicked crowd. Tony doesn't dare look back, but he can't stop the way his tension unravels at Loki's presence. Maw's face shifts into a cruel grin.
"The starring role has arrived." Maw says in a sing-song voice, "Let the show begin."
Loki lets out a war cry behind him, and Tony smirks. "You asked for it, cupcake."
The recently re-gifted spear flies over Tony's left shoulder and he cuts the cord on the Aether. Power surges inside him, a wild rush of gnashing teeth and chaotic fury and he surrenders himself to it. Iron Man melts off his body and becomes tendrils of blood red exploding outward. It destroys the concrete needles and throws Maw into the air.
"Stark, the civilians." Fury shouts, and Tony grits his teeth. His glasses block out the crowd, it's too risky, but without vision he has no concept of how many people are trapped in the combat zone. He throws wild attacks of pure energy knowing that he could be hitting people along with the enemy, and praying desperately that he isn't. Echoes of death and destruction reverberate off the walls and the stone thrills at wreaking havoc. It's everything Tony can do to hold the reins and steer.
Loki crashes into Tony's side and the sudden detail of his face clears Tony's head, his eyes sucking him in like a homing beacon.
"The shuttles, you imbecile, clear the shuttles so the humans can run."
Tony nods, turns back to where he flew over the wrecked shuttles, but a warbling laugh draws his attention upward. Maw hovers above them with his arms wide, apparently he can do that. A wave of his hand gathers a mass of scrap metal and engine parts and a second gesture sends it all falling on top of he and Loki.
Scraping at his brain for something harmless that falls from the ceiling, he pictures confetti. For some reason that's what comes to mind, and Tony tells the stone it's time to party. The mass of falling debris morphs into square scraps of fluttering foil and suddenly the hanger is littered with tissue paper like Time Square on New Years Eve.
"Which shuttles?" Tony asks, blind again. The glasses are glitching, unsure which shuttles to show as important and which ones are noise. His own confusion clouds the interface and turns it into useless black plastic. Loki's hand comes into his periphery and points. Two wireframe models of shuttles appear where he indicates, and Tony puts his hands out.
"Cover me for a minute." Tony says.
"Yes, because a glowing skewer will do so much against a rock slide." Loki bitches. Tony takes that as his agreement and zeroes in on the roadblocks. They are enormous, solid steel with glass windows and foam seats. Setting his feet wider apart, Tony recalls the feeling of dicing vegetables. The way an expensive chef's knife sits balanced in his palm and the satisfying drop of a sharp blade cutting through and clacking on the cutting board. Once it's clear in his mind, he sets his jaw and moves his open hands like he's chopping a salad. Metal screeches like nails on a chalkboard, and the outlines on his shades become a lot more segmented. He cuts the shuttles in narrow sections and shoves the slices into a pile at the side.
What follows is a truly bewildering mismatch of sensations. Visually he doesn't see anything, it's just a neon blue pile of overlapping lines like a nineties virtual reality game. But his skin feels a rush of air as hundreds of bodies all rush for the exit in a anarchic free-for-all. He covers his ears to block out the overwhelming commotion and his head spins. Warm blood gushes from his nose and onto his hands and he gags at the smell of copper and death.
The solid line of Loki's back presses along his and Tony leans into it, makes himself open his eyes and pay attention. Maw throws tires and tool boxes at them and Loki guards Tony's back, deflecting the projectiles with grunts and painful sounding gasps like his own personal Obi Wan Kenobi. Wiping his nose on his bare arm, he throws himself around Loki and fires his array repulsors hard enough to fly even though he's not wearing Iron Man.
Aiming a swinging roundhouse kick at the wrinkly alien's face, he toggles the arrays from non-lethal gold to cutting blue. An unseen force stops his foot inches from the sorcerer's flat nosed face.
"You wear your thoughts too freely." Maw says.
Tony struggles, but his leg won't move. He's stuck in an awkward balancing act, trying to keep his body airborne while his leg is anchored to the spot. Real fear creeps down Tony's spine, and Maw's eyes narrow.
"I do not need to fight you to kill you." he whispers, just for Tony to hear, and far below he hears Loki howl in pain. He jerks at his leg as hard as he can, but it doesn't give and he has to twist to see. Forty feet below, Loki is immobilized, wrapped shoulder to shin in a steel beam with Midnight's spear floating in front of his chest. Tony yells, kicks and flails as hard as he can, but he can only watch while the spear sinks deeper and deeper and Loki screams.
"Give us the stone." Maw says evenly.
"Over my dead body." Tony grunts, lashing out with whips of Aether, but it does no good. There isn't any physical matter in the force holding his foot, and so the stone is useless against it.
The intangible force takes hold of Tony's other leg and dangles him upside down, gives him a better view of Loki thrashing helplessly in his bonds.
Maw chuckles. "I think you mean, over his."
Thinking fast, Tony turns his arrays gold and slashes. Wildly cuts across the entire hanger just to cut Loki out of his steel cage, and he hears a chorus of painful cries. Shit, shit he hit someone else. Someone not on his display. Loki grabs the shaft of the spear and pulls, yanks it back inch by inch with pure determination, straining so hard that his hands start glowing. His glamour drops, skin turning navy blue as he uses the last of his power to snap the triple tipped blade off of the handle and throw it to the ground.
Tony throws his weight around, swinging wild punches and slashing out with the Aether until he scores a lucky hit on the alien's ugly mug. The force drops him and he plummets, just barely catching himself with his hand rockets before he hits the floor. Loki manages to break his legs free and sprints to Tony's side. Holding his arm over his bleeding wounds, he snatches Tony's wrist and pulls.
"Run-" Loki says, dragging Tony over mounds of squishy, uneven terrain that he belatedly realizes are bodies. Dead human bodies. The floor in between mounds varies from slick to tacky and it's only when he catches the acrid scent of blood that he understands why. His stomach rolls and only Loki's hand on his arm keeps him moving.
He's seen death and destruction before, but only through a monitor while he was wrapped up safe in a flying tin can. Never before has he smelled the gore or tripped and gotten his boots tangled in some poor bastard's spilled intestines. It's revolting, horrible, all his fault. These alien psychos are here because of him and Loki's stupid cosmic treasure hunt, all these deaths are on him.
Without warning Loki stops dead and Tony crashes into him. Looking ahead, he sees a jagged blue line rising from the ground and he has no idea what that's supposed to be.
"We're cut off." Loki whispers, and when Tony turns around there's another matching line crawling up to the ceiling. Placing one hand over the other, Tony pulls them apart like he did to the robots in the city, and the bottom few feet of wall crumbles. He takes a step forward, but in seconds the barriers repair themselves. He does it again and again but it's like Tetris, no sooner does a line disappear than a new one takes its place.
Maw walks through the wall like he's passing through a beaded room divider, and looks up to the ceiling.
"An enthralling performance. I will be sure to inform Thanos of your cooperation, welp." Maw says darkly, and then they are surrounded by a brilliant blue light.
Tony trips as his feet leave the floor, but he doesn't fall. The feeling of weightlessness overcomes him as the beam interrupts the ship's artificial gravity and he realizes he's being pulled to the ceiling. Frantically, he reaches behind him and finds a bigger hand reaching back, warm as bath water.
Looking down he sees the grid representing the carrier's floor get smaller and smaller until it disappears entirely. A cold like liquid nitrogen compresses him into a shivering ball. Peeking through the gap around the edge of his glasses, he sees an endless, star speckled void splattered with unfathomable galaxies and asteroid fields. His stomach drops.
They're going for a ride.