"I'm gonna stop you right there." Tony says, stiffening his lip to hold back poorly timed amusement. "I'm not here to-"
He can't help it, he snorts and covers his face to get a grip. It's just so absurd. He exchanges a glance with Loki, and the stiff posture tells him all he needs to know. He wants Tony to handle this.
Tony takes a deep breath and continues, "Here's the deal, Big Easy, we're only here because Loki needs you. I'm not looking for a group hug or anything."
Angrboda shoots a dirty look at Loki's back. He's fussing over the brats, getting bags sorted and igniting a log in the musty fireplace the old fashioned way.
"He has done what I asked. I will entertain your request."
Tony eyes Loki too, at that. "What exactly did he agree to?"
"Did he not discuss it with you?" Angrboda asks with a knowing smile and daggers in their eyes.
They're not just trying to rile him, they're sussing out how well he knows Loki. Whether he's a legitimate ally or a dupe Loki will discard once he's no longer useful. Tony understands the need for that.
Dragging out the chair across from Angrboda, he spins it around and sits with his arms on the back. To spare his ribs mostly, but if it looks cocky then he'll count that as a bonus.
"I was busy making him accept my help. You know how that goes." he says, tilting his head and affecting a put-upon expression.
Angrboda leans back in the chair and crosses their arms. "If he has strength left to resist, then he does not really need help. Your time was wasted."
That does raise Tony's hackles a bit, because it's so ridiculously untrue. With Loki you commit or you regret, and it unsettles him that Loki's ex doesn't know that.
He covers his agitation with a shrug. "Well he's with me now, so I'm gonna guess your approach didn't work. Here's what I need-"
"I don't care about your needs." Angrboda scoffs.
"What about your children? You care about seeing them?" Tony asks, dropping his fake smile.
"If you wished to threaten, you would not do it sitting down." Angrboda says.
They size each other up across the table, and the patience on their face surprises Tony. The somewhat spiritual tranquility lurking under the defensive words. Much as they would prefer for Tony to roll over, they don't want to fight either. Which is good, that's something they can agree on.
"Loki's magic is on the fritz." Tony says, "Apparently you can do something about that."
Angrboda considers, and their unwavering stillness unnerves Tony. He can hardly sit still for thirty seconds, and they haven't so much as twitched a finger in five minutes. Tony waits for them to answer, but they just sit there nodding and thinking for an awkward amount of time.
The tension breaks with the chink of porcelain. Loki arranges a set of dainty white teacups around the table, bone white with blue and gold dragons flying around the rims. He's flustered, fussing with the handles until they sit at perfect right angles and returning to the firepit to fill a matching pot.
Tony inspects the one in front of him. It reminds him of strained talks with his mother during breaks from boarding school. Loki returns with the teapot in hand, and brushes aside a half-open scroll to make way for a double handled sugar bowl.
"I hope you'll forgive my poor behavior yesterday." he says, filling Agraboda's cup with a smooth pouring motion. The air fills with steam and a spicy, herbal aroma. Tony opens his mouth to argue, but Loki shoots him a look. He steps around the table to fill his and Tony's cup, and sits at Tony's right.
Angrboda sniffs, lifting the lid off the sugar bowl and spooning out two cubes.
"There is no shame in suffering. What I object to is self-pity." they say, stirring in the sugar with a surprisingly delicate gesture for such a large hand.
"Then I apologize for that." Loki says, lifting his cup and blowing on his steaming tea. He purses his lips, and with some resignation lowers the cup to rest in his other hand. "My mother died. Some months ago."
"She was murdered." Tony corrects, and Loki's jaw clenches.
"And not long before that-" Loki sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as he works through whatever he's feeling. "Two years before that, I learned she was not my mother at all. Nor was Odin my father."
Angrboda draws a thoughtful sip. "Then you know already what is wrong. You do not need me."
"That was two years ago, and I recovered within hours. This cannot be the same." Loki argues, and now Tony's lost. He glances between the two of them, confused.
"You patched together your previous identity. Adaptation is not the same as growth." Angrboda says.
Tony runs a hand through his hair. "Okay, can we stop with the cryptic tarot card talk?"
"I'm being accused of forgetting who I am." Loki grumbles, finally taking a sip of his own tea.
"Damn your pride." Angrboda huffs, "I said nothing of forgetting. You are born to change, yet you fear losing yourself in it. This has always been your weakness."
"That's ridiculous." Tony says, slouching on the back of the chair. All Loki does is change. Change faces, change plans. He's a blur of a person as far as Tony's concerned.
Is it? their eyes seemed to say, while Loki grimaces and hides behind his cup.
Angrboda shifts their weight and sighs. "You wish to sit on a cushion and be given an answer. There is no shortcut. A bone mended improperly must be broken again."
The rattle of china punctuates the end of the conversation as Angrboda places their cup on the saucer and stands. "Find me when you are ready to learn. Come young ones, let me show you where I live."
"Hey, you can't just-" Tony starts.
Fenrir dashes out from what looks like a bedroom in wolf mode, with Jori riding on his back. He runs a circle around Angrboda, and the unprecedented enthusiasm kills Tony's resistance. They're not his kids, they never were. He needs to get that through his skull already.
Jori looks over his shoulder as Fenrir trots out the door behind his parent, and Tony makes himself smile and wave. The kid smiles back, and reluctantly lets himself be carried away.
"I mean, be back by sun…" Tony looks out the window and sees a grey ice wall. "Uh, by dinnertime. I guess. Yeah."
"Hela?" Angrboda calls. Hela doesn't move from the rocking chair where ze's made hirself comfortable by the fire.
"Splitscreen, you going?"
Hela pulls hir face into something Tony thinks is supposed to be a pout. It doesn't really gel with hir goth look. Ze looks more like ze's holding in a fart.
"I don't feel good." ze says, and if he hadn't already decided ze was faking it, hir tone would have done it.
"Hela-" Loki sighs, like he's only half there. Tony stands up and paces over to the rocking chair.
"You know the best thing about being immortal, sweetcheeks? You don't get sick. Come on, up and out." Tony says, tipping the chair forward until Hela slides out.
"I hate you." ze says without conviction.
"You and the rest of the universe." Tony says, walking hir out. "Just go for an hour and come back."
The door closes like a gable falling in a courtroom. Loki hasn't moved. Tony shucks off his coat and throws it over the stone griffon's wing. When he turns, Loki stares at him. Judge, meet jury.
"That went well." Tony says, resting his hands on his hips.
"Perhaps if you did not immediately threaten her…" Loki drawls.
"Okay, first of all, this is clearly a they/them situation-"
Loki slams a fist on the table, and the china clinks like a chorus of applause.
Tony sets his jaw, pulse rising. "And second, I'm not about to let them come in here and tell me whether or not our relationship is valid."
"Oh, well you certainly showed her." Loki rolls his eyes, trading his empty teacup for the untouched one intended for Tony.
"Them, Loki, it's a gender-" Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know what, ask Hela. I don't really get it. The point is, I don't see how your shitty past is connected to your mojo no-go situation."
"Magic is the product of seidr and focus." Loki says, rotating the teacup in the saucer.
"Like a wizard staff."
Loki nods. "Frigga practiced a special art, the magic of tricks and deception. She taught me to cast using myself as the prism."
"So whenever you change, you have to change how you cast as well."
"And if I change significantly-"
"Like if you found out your whole life was a lie-" Tony says, catching on.
"Then it would interfere with my seidr, yes." Loki says, still gazing down at his tea and nudging the handle back and forth.
"Well, that's a lead. That's great news." Tony replies, taking Loki's hand.
Loki tugs it back, turning his body away.
"Isn't it?" Tony asks. He leans around, but Loki won't meet his eyes. His stomach starts to churn.
"I have changed much in courting you." he admits. "I've come to question things which did not previously trouble me."
"You think-" Tony says, and the wounded sound in his voice is not what he intends. It just slithers into his words without permission.
Loki's shoulders hunch, and he takes a shaky drink of tea. Lowers the cup to his lap.
"What else can it be?" Loki says, hunching his shoulders.
Tony reaches out, and Loki stands up. Walks over to sit in the rocking chair and stare into the flames of the fireplace.
"You can't actually think that our relationship fucked you up." Tony says, dazed. Too wrong footed to fully react. He sounds hurt, and Loki fidgets.
He rests his chin in his hand and quietly says, "I need to think."
"I understand." Tony says, even though he doesn't. Not in the slightest.
Shuffling to the door, he grabs his coat from the griffon and shrugs it back on. Zips it up and slides the blinder shades from the pocket. Puts those on too. The black leather lapel is baby smooth on his neck, and when he pulls on the gloves he notices the buttons match. No detail spared.
"It's a nice coat." he says on his way out the door.
Loki puts on a tiny, sad smile and nods. "Thank you."
"I'll come back." he says, because Loki's never left him without saying something similar. And drags the door shut behind him.
Once he's outside, he has no idea where to go. So he wanders. Red eyes follow his every step and he bears with like the celebrity he is. Pretends he can't feel the attention drilling into his skull like bullets. The aether boils just beneath the surface, and he shivers. Keeps half and eye on it the whole time.
He chats up a few Jotun with the help of the ear cuff of Babel, and is a bit embarrassed to discover that their currency actually is rocks. Shiny magic rocks, but still rocks. Which makes him both right, and an asshole for joking about it.
Eventually he tires of the eyeballs on his back, and asks the nearest merchant where the big boss lives. The old lady points a knobby finger at the central support beam, and tells him to go all the way up.
The spiral stairs make him kind of dizzy, so he summons the suit and flies. Who needs functioning neurons? Not Tony. He could die any day now, fighting a grape man on a foreign planet and wishing he had one last Ben and Jerry's.
Angrboda's place wraps all the way around the beam like a donut and glows a vibrant yellow through the hide walls. Inside the kids are all sitting on woven bean bag looking things, munching two halves of some kind of gourd and listening to Hela bitch out their machem about cultural sensitivity. Honestly, it's pretty cathartic to see someone else fall below her social justice standards for once.
"Hey, Slayer, do they happen to have Starbucks on this iceberg?" he asks without greeting, wiping his shoes on the doormat. "I need somewhere to charge my MacBook and hide my inner pain."
Hela whips around, trailing off. "Something is wrong?"
"Artistic differences." Tony shrugs. "Seriously, there has to be a park or something. Beer garden? War monument?"
"The Iron Wood boasts the grandest shrines on Jotunheim." Angrboda says.
Ick. Religion.
"Sounds Perfect." Tony says, "Anybody up for a field trip?"
The kids inhale their snacks at a pace Tony can only call breathtaking, and throw on their shoes. Angrboda leads the way, and when they shoot the Iron Man armor a sideways glance Tony banishes it.
Circling down the stairs, the giant says, "You are not what I expected."
"Funny. You're exactly what I expected." Tony says, rolling his shoulders against the cool air. He lingers at the back, making sure Fen and Jori don't fall off. Or, more likely, push each other.
There are small passages splitting off from the main cavern, and some of them have paths that presumably go places. Angrboda leads them down one, and through a meandering tunnel that opens to a sort of grotto. With a garden of iron tree sculptures and tablets covered in pictogram messages, it looks like Superman's fortress of solitude. Sticks of burnt incense stick out of the ground in front of the tablets, and Angrboda leads the bits to one on the far side.
"This is the Shrine of the Ancestors. A place to seek guidance from our fore bearers."
They kneel and Angrboda shows the little biters how to light the sticks and pray. Tony hangs back. Mystic mumbo jumbo got about as far in the Stark Mansion as a bottle of scotch. Which was not very far. His mother wore a cross, but that was mostly for the newspapers. A remnant of a time where nonconformity meant treason and trial by anti-communist fanatics.
He watches them kumbaya for a couple minutes and feels like an intruder, so he pokes around the cavern. There's a tiny alcove at the back with about a thousand paper cards hanging on it. Sliding a hand between the dangling cards, he holds them aside and peeks through the low doorway.
The inside is lit by iridescent purple rocks that give the secluded crevice an ominous atmosphere. Flagstones are set into the floor in a radial design, and banners of fabric hang from the cardinal directions in brilliant scarlet and azure. And in the center is a statue standing with its arms open in welcome. It's eerie, a smooth and featureless oval where the face should be.
A minefield of incense surrounds the statue, sticking up like a forest of burnt twigs. Tony's fingers tingle with the press of foreign magic, and he steps inside. Power surges, pulsing in from the walls like a magnetic and the statue changes shapes. The statue warps and flexes until it reforms in the shape of a man in a three piece suit with a receding hairline and a bristled mustache.
Tony checks his pulse, and for once he's horrified to discover a healthy resting heart rate. There's no PTSD to blame. His brain doesn't want to accept what his eyes are seeing. He's stuck, eyes wide with his gloved hands fisted at his sides as if a punch could protect him from a ghost.
"Always knew you were a pansy." Howard Stark slurs, his stone body listing in his usual drunken stumble. "Momma's boy, always crying-"
Tony steps back, and hates himself for it. Bullies feed off of fear, how could he forget? He can feel himself shrinking in his head, and only their equal height grounds him in the present.
"What is this?" Tony grits through his teeth.
Howard inspects the ornate tapestries. "Cave of Wonders. You've got questions, I can tell. Don't you want answers before you die?"
"Not from you, I don't."
"Tony, Tony, Tony, you break your old man's heart. If you really wanted someone else I'd be someone else."
The aether flows out of him, crawling out like slimy fingers and wrapping around the statue.
Howard laughs. "Go ahead, use your parlor trick. You'll only deny yourself ancient wisdom."
"You're not really him." Tony says, knowing how stupid he sounds. He's talking to a statue, obviously it's not his father.
"Do you want to debate the nuances of reality? Or do you want to know what I really think of you?"
The aether bubbles and flexes, and Tony draws it back in. Just hearing his father's voice drags him years into the past, reminds him of the dark presence that hung over his childhood. The insidious drive to do more, work harder, be tougher so the next time he came home he'd finally be good enough.
He should leave, he should. There's nothing to be gained from whatever bizarre Jotun oracle he stumbled upon. His gut rolls, and he takes another step back. He doesn't want to know, or, more accurately, he already does. Sensitive, weak, coward, sissy.
"I don't have to justify my life to you." Tony says.
Howard grins, all teeth and drunken mania. It's uncanny, exactly the look he always wore before he insulted Tony's latest attempts to earn his approval. All that shame and hatred he's condensed into workaholic fuel and alcoholic grief gasses up and comes back to his mind. His hands shake, and he wants to cut them off.
"Everything I did, and that's all you have to say? Shouldn't I get what I deserve?" Howard says.
"You don't deserve the breath it would take to say it all." Tony says, but the suggestion worms its way down. Even as he's trying to walk out, his brain is drumming up all the shit he's lived with. All the shit his father made him believe about himself, the shit those beliefs made him do.
"Fine, prove me right. Run away and cry to your little ladyboy." his dad says, and Tony's mind blanks. The gauntlet to the iron man suit appears on his arm like an extension of his body, and the energy he shoots from the repulsor feels like pure rage. It hits the back wall, and the chunks of ice that shatter off seem to mock him.
"Ok I'll bite. You know what I wonder, dad? I wonder how the fuck you lived with yourself." Tony shouts, glaring at the undamaged statue, "I look at those kids, and I try to imagine telling them what you said to me. They copy everything I do like I'm some kind of hero. And all I think, every single day, is how the fuck did you look at me and say what you did?"
"I worried about you. If I didn't toughen you up they would have eaten you alive." Howard says. His face is guilt ridden, sincere and it hurts like nothing Tony's ever felt. Like being ripped open from the inside out.
"Well you did that, dad." Tony yells, "Mission accomplished! You nearly killed me from six feet under. Four trips to the ICU for alcohol, two for cocaine. I did whatever it took to shut down the part of me you said was weak."
Tony's pacing, he realizes, waving his arms around like some ranting lunatic. But he can't stop, his thoughts keep circling around and around. It's a supernatural force, this useless grief he's never let himself feel. There was always something more pressing. Corporate takeovers, media scandals, rehab, terrorists, aliens from outer space. Pepper. Fuck he spent years ruining Pepper's life, thinking he could bury this under his desire to be good enough for her.
"And now? You know the fucking piece de resistance? Now I finally let myself care about someone, you're ruining that too. I am terrified I'm gonna hold too tight. I can't relax, I can't trust myself, because every time I let go I turn into you. I get mad, I yell, I push him around, and when he looks at me I see mom."
"Your mother and I had a complicated relationship." Howard says, and Tony is very aware of how he doesn't acknowledge the rest of Tony's accusations.
The statue's imitation is flawless, honestly. From its casual dismissal of Tony's words, to it's masterful impersonation of calm appearance of rationality that made Tony feel like the defective one, like he was a stain on his father's honorable, industrious legacy.
"You abused her-" Tony says, and he isn't prepared for how the words steal his breath. For how hard it is to say it out loud. "You threatened her. You…"
Tony can't breath. His throat is dry and caught on nothing. The statue freezes, like his inability to finish his sentence puts the whole scene on hold. There's a pressure squeezing his throat, and he realizes it's him. He's holding himself back, because over that line lay pure darkness he's never shared with anyone. He presses his knuckles in his eyes so hard he sees spots, and the noise that comes out of his mouth is not a sob. It's not.
He needs to say it. It's suddenly so clear.
"Did you rape her?"
"I'm a reflection of your subconscious, kid. I can only tell you what you already know."
"Did you?" Tony demands desperately.
"What does it matter, you're just looking for someone to blame." Howard says.
Tony advances on him, presses the repulsor to his fucking stone face. As if him dying a second time would change anything.
The cold, granite face remains implacably serene. "I've been dead twenty five years, and you still blame me. Was I holding a gun to your head, boy? Did I put the liquor in your mouth?"
Tony stares at the soulless eyes, panting and horrified.
"See, I was right about you. You're too afraid to man up and take responsibility. You've gotta blame me, because otherwise it's all your fault, isn't it?"
The repulsor whines as Tony powers up the blast. His hand shines blue-white, and his teeth grind in terror and fury. And a big, blue hand wraps around his wrist.
Angrboda jerks him away and he loses his balance. Gravity pulls at him heavier, like the intensity of the moment had temporarily disabled it. They drag him out of the chamber, and it feels like stepping through a portal as he remembers where he is.
"What the fuck?" he pants, shakily finding his feet and brushing off Angrboda's hand.
The giant scrutinizes him, frowning. "You were visited."
"That's a word." Tony says, rubbing his face. The archway looms behind him, the stringed lines of paper prayers now a menacing reminder of what lay beyond.
Angrboda's brows are low and pinched. Eyes wide with surprise and concern. The look fills Tony with dread.
"This isn't normal, is it?"
"Only those drawing near to death receive direct guidance."
"Could have warned me."
Angrboda scowls. "When you wander alone, I cannot be responsible for your missteps."
They reach the circle of tablets, and the biters are all waiting there. The scent of burned herbs hangs on their clothes, along with an unusual air of serenity.
Irrationally, Tony wants to hug all of them. Wants to apologize for wrongs he can't specifically name. They've been under his wing for nine months, surely he's fucked up, even if he can't identify how.
Fenrir holds out a stick of incense, face stern. "Tony, you didn't burn an offering."
"Hurry, before you ancestors get angry!" Jori says, "Machem says the spirits follow you and dance on your head."
"I'm not, uh, religious." Tony protests, taking the stick and feeling ridiculously fragile under the combined attention of the brats.
"But the spirits." Jori insists, holding out his arms and doing an odd dance that involves a lot of stomping and growling.
"Look, I-" Tony starts.
Angrboda pinches the tip of the incense, and a small flame starts the end burning.
A memory claws at him, making his heart stutter. A night that feels like a lifetime ago. Prog rock warbling around the lab, and Loki curled up on the loveseat. Loose-limbed and happy, asking him to come to bed. And he kept working, kept trying to prove he was worthy, when all Loki wanted was him.
When he puts the stupid burning twig in the ground, he's not praying to his fucking garbage ancestors. His only thought is a wordless, helpless plea. A prayer to whatever cosmic puppeteer has it's hooks in him. Please, god, don't kill me until my family is safe. Let me keep a promise, just this once.
The uncaring ice floor does not offer any reassurance. It reflects a warped image of him. Beaten, gaunt, defeated. He forces a smile, hiding the ugliness behind a narcissist's bravado. The handsome devil in the mirror is stretched at least three inches taller, he has no right to look so dreary.
Back at the cottage, Loki doesn't seem much better off. He seems to have gone on an anxious cleaning spree, because all the windows are open and the place smells overpoweringly of lye. All surfaces in the house have been relentlessly scrubbed to a shine, and even the rafters are free of dust.
"Someone's been busy." Tony says approvingly, standing in the threshold.
Loki glances up from his place at the table, where he's polishing a tarnished silver water pitcher.
His brows lower, those sharp eyes taking in Tony's tired slouch. "You are troubled."
Tony isn't sure if he ought to bring up his unwelcome omen. Loki has more than enough weighing him down. But then his father's words ring back, and he supposes that's another excuse. Either he trusts Loki or he doesn't, he can't tell him one thing and do another.
"I found a psychedelic cave. According to Angry Buddha, it only works if you're about to die." he says, knowing that he should say it better.
To his credit, Loki doesn't freak out. He finishes buffing out the pitcher and places it on a high shelf in the kitchen. Without comment he slips on his high top boots and ties the laces. When he stands, he smooths out his shirt and favors Tony with a patient look.
"Well, show me to this oracle." he sighs, "We both know you'll go mad if you don't know."
He feels pinned, amazed anew by how well Loki knows him. When he fails to respond like a normal person, Loki huffs and slots a hand inside Tony's elbow.
"And do not start with your guilt complex. I wish to know as well."
"I…" Tony starts, and runs out of steam. "Okay."
They pass Angrboda and kids on the walk back to the cavern, and Tony tries to ignore the niggling suspicion that ze already knows.
The walk to the shrine doesn't take long enough. Tony isn't ready when they get there, and some childish part of him wants to drag Loki to a tablet and make him pray. Wants to sit there with him until the stick burns out and pretend they have a long future together.
At some point in their walk Loki's arm migrated to rest over Tony's shoulders, so he doesn't get much of a chance to stall. Loki spots the bouquet of paper prayers almost immediately and guides them unerringly toward it.
"You walked through this, sight unseen?" he says, like he's asking if Tony tried to put a Twinkie up his nose. Like it's inexcusably stupid.
"Well it's not like it has a stop sign on the front." Tony grumbles.
Loki plucks one of the cards from the line and holds it closer.
"Knowledge brings pain." he reads, pointing to the pictograms one at a time. "Pain brings enlightenment."
Tony scoffs. "Okay, great, I'll be sure to remember those three words in a language I don't speak."
Loki's arm slides off his shoulders, and he grips Tony's hand just long enough to squeeze.
"Are you scared?" Tony finds himself asking, his words echoing in the empty cavern. The cloying smell of incense burns his nostrils and the cold, icy walls feel imposing without the kids filling the space.
Loki exhales through his nose. Chews his cheek. "No... Yes."
"I can wait out here, if you'd rather."
"No. Stay." Loki says. Tony puts his hand on Loki's back, and lets him pull aside the strings.
The room shows no evidence of Tony's outburst. The statue stands dead center, surrounded by hanging banners and burnt offerings. Loki leads the way, and Tony keeps pace. Tries to be a steady presence at his right, even as he sweats through his socks. He's not sure what would be worse, seeing his father again or seeing whatever counts as an ancestor for Loki.
Neither of them move once they reach the edge of the incense minefield. The room fills with the sounds of their breathing and the quiet shuffling of fabric on their bodies. Nothing happens.
A tension he hadn't noticed until just now melts off Tony's body. He leans just enough for their arms to touch, and fucking rejoices. Loki's okay, whatever gets Tony's ticket doesn't get him.
"No." Loki says, grabbing Tony's wrist. "No, no-"
"Loki." Tony says, returning the hold with a hand on Loki's forearm. "Don't, this is good. Look at me, this is good."
"I can't-" Loki says.
The shining light of the crystals dims, the glowing energy congregating on the statue as it's face reforms. Tony's insides feel like lead as reality creeps in. Loki's grip on his wrist tightens as they both watch the horrifying spectacle of a face emerging from stone.
"Oh Christ, isn't it bad enough that you slept with a he-she? You have to bring it into my house and throw it in my face." Howard accuses, words slurring together.
"Let's go." Tony says, turning away and pulling at Loki's arm. Loki stares, surprised.
"Didn't know they make fairies that tall. Shit, Tony, you're the girl aren't you? What am I sayin', of course you are. You'd lift your shirt for anybody that called you special, wouldn't you?" Howard says, and Loki shivers.
Tony drags him out, face hot with shame. He hadn't anticipated Howard's response to Loki, hadn't thought that far. Once they're free of his father's shouted slurs, he shakes out his hands. Wipes the sweat off his forehead with his t-shirt, as if that will somehow rid him of how disgusting he feels.
The walk back to the cottage is as stiff as before. The only difference is now they have a concrete reason to be silent and morose.
The next several days are agonizing, and not because his ribs are knitting together fast enough for him to see and feel the change. The shrine's dark omen hangs over both them like a dark cloud, and nothing Tony says helps. Loki slingshots back and forth between hovering over Tony and avoiding him.
For his part, Tony can't summon the energy to be hurt. He's too busy trying to get his affairs in order without any of his files, records, or an internet connection. Loki refuses to discuss it. Every time Tony tries to broach the subject, he walks out of the room without so much as a flimsy excuse.
Anticipating death isn't as flashy the second time around. He already gave away the company, and his stock holdings were altered the week he ate the apple. There's no booze on this planet that a human liver can handle, and the only person he wants to have sex with is about as horny as a dead cat. So he sits on the rocking chair and contemplates the likelihood of reincarnation given the apparent existence of prophecies and destiny.
Time crawls with nothing to do, no reason to plan for the future, and no visible changes in the environment to mark its passage. The cavern is beautiful, but static. No weather penetrates, no light or dark hours break up the constant blue gloom. It's thematic for his mood, if nothing else.
It's only at night that Loki seems to actually listen, and even then it's because there's no couch to banish himself to. Each night, he drapes himself over Loki's curled up body and whispers into his neck how he wants Loki to live without him.
You will eat at least once a day. You will exercise twice a week. You will choose one friend and entrust them with your secrets. You will never hurt yourself because your body is precious to me. When you're ready you'll find someone else, and you'll remind yourself every time you see them that I want you to be loved. That my love does not exclude you from someone else's arms. Every night Loki covers his face sobs yes, Mister Stark, yes Mister Stark, I promise, Mister Stark .
On the fifth day Loki hovers, and Tony is just glad for some company. The sprouts have spent the last several days with Angrboda, which is fine. It's their right. But it's been quiet, and he never did like the quiet.
He keeps himself busy scribbling notes to every person he ever pissed off. He only runs out of letters because he runs out of names. There's plenty more wrongs on his ledger, but he can't seem to attach a specific person to them.
After two days in the soggy cottage he drags the rocking chair out on the porch for a change of scenery and starts on his will. It's tricky, because he's not really sure he even has friends anymore. Also, he's not sure if Rogers prefers mountains or beaches. Creaking floor beams breaks his concentration as Loki steps outside and holds a ratty piece of linen in front of his face.
"Where did you get this?" he demands, and it takes a moment for Tony to identify the glorified rag as the blindfold.
A better version of him would make a joke about Loki's hints getting less subtle, but he's so depressed he can't even contemplate sex. Loki waves the blindfold in front of his face like a flag and Tony rolls his eyes.
"It will take me more than a sentence to explain. Are you sure you want to know?" he says moodily, because he's tired of Loki's hot and cold routine.
Loki drags a chair from the dining table and sits, arms crossed.
"On Sokovia another you saved my life. He ripped that off his clothes to stop me from blowing people up." Tony says.
"I have seen this fabric before." Loki says, tapping his heels on the legs of the chair.
"Well you were wearing it, so that's not exactly surprising." Tony says, chicken scratching a shitty outline of the Malibu house on a rumpled parchment. At least he gets the satisfaction of making Fury read his last will off a scroll like a Greek tragedy.
Loki pulls the scroll out of Tony's grasp and very nearly knocks the inkwell off the wood plank he's been using as a lap desk.
"Hey, what gives?"
"It was worn by a Midgardian wizard named Doctor Strange." Loki says, dropping the scroll on the ground and frowning. "When Thor brought me to Earth, Strange made it clear that he would not tolerate hijinks on his planet."
"So why would the other you go to Hogwarts?" Tony asks.
Loki wrings his hands and tips his chair up on the back legs. "I presume, since this other me came to your aid, the he had some means of foreseeing your death."
"He had the time stone." Tony admits, tapping the fountain pen on the plank. "Wait, what if the other you joined the wizard cult-"
"-to steal the time stone and undo your death." Loki says, the front legs of his chair thudding on the porch as his legs go slack.
Loki jumps to his feet, movements jerky as he rushes inside and returns with socks and boots.
"Loki, no. We're not robbing a time wizard." Tony says, startled.
"Heavens no, I would never put you in danger in your current state." Loki says, shoving his feet into socks and nearly snapping the laces on his boots in his haste. "Which is why I shall go alone."
"Without your magic?" Tony says, hurrying to set his lap desk aside.
"I have my stone-" Loki replies, his eyes widening as he gets an idea. "Perhaps we can trade."
Loki strides into the cottage with the kind of confident rashness that makes Tony nervous. When he walks inside Loki's opening a wardrobe in one of the side rooms, and pulling armor pieces off a rack within. It's not a style Tony has seen before. Interwoven silver plates lay over a black tunic lined with scale mail.
"Loki, be reasonable."
"I am!" he spits, turning on Tony with the taking-over-your-planet look he hasn't seen in a long, long time. He steps into Tony's space and looks down at him from his full height. Tony flinches, can't stop himself when his lover is looming and holding back obvious terror.
Loki shrugs into a heavy, padded tunic and jerks the ties into hasty knots. "I will not sit idle while I have time left to save you."
Tony shakes his head, resigned. Unable to tell Loki no again.
He makes him eat a damn power bar before he goes, just so he can feel like he did something. Loki smiles at him for the first time in days, and wraps a hand around the back of his neck.
"The universe can burn, so long as I have you." he swears, and that's exactly what Tony is afraid of.
"Be clever. Come back safe." he says instead, "I don't want to die alone."
"You shall not die at all." Loki says sharply, and the mist on Tony's hand feels like liquid fear.
As it turns out, Tony was being unnecessarily dramatic. Loki returns less than ten minutes later with ash on his nose and a surly scowl dragging his eyebrows into a dark line.
"The wizard has been taken. The stone is lost." he seethes, pacing an angry circle around the dining table. "Idiot mortals, can they not hold a single treasure where it is meant to be?"
"It's okay, Lokes, it's okay. You tried." Tony says wearily, massaging his temples.
"It is not." Loki chokes, stopping suddenly enough that his cape billows around his legs.
"Sit down." Tony says in a firm voice, "You're gonna make a new crawl space if you keep stomping like that."
Loki sits. He slumps forward. His shoulders slump.
When he starts sniffling Tony pulls his head into his lap and murmurs into his hair. You will be okay without me. You will find happiness again. You will have your children beside you. You will get help when you can't do it yourself. You will cry when you need to, and you will not feel ashamed. You will think one good thing about yourself every single day. You will prank baristas at coffee shops and flirt with them if they're cute. You will tell your critics to go fuck themselves, and you will not try to bring me back. Do you hear me? You will not. You will not.
The next morning Loki rushes out the door mumbling about the Soul Stone, and Tony just rolls over in bed. He lays there in a fog and imagines the sun rising and shining through the windows, because nothing ever changes here. He doesn't notice the brats come in until they're jumping on top of him, and even then he can't seem to concentrate on what they're saying.
Hela thrusts a teacup in his face after a bit, and the spiced herbal scent makes his eyes burn. He sips, and Hela stares at him blankly.
"Sorry, Slayer. I'm not much fun today." he says.
Hela picks at her nails. "I will watch him. When you are gone."
Tony sighs, and his breath ripples the surface of his tea. He can't quite make himself say thanks.
Eventually he crawls out of bed purely because he can't stand to lay on his half healed ribs any longer. He pulls on a fresh pair of pants and sits by the fire. There's a rug just by the fire that's some kind of animal skin, furry and with the tusked head still attached. Good thing PETA doesn't have an office on Jotunheim, they'd have their work cut out for them.
Jori's sitting on his knees on the rug, a box of antiquated toys upended to his right. Tony watches him walk the little wood soldiers and horses around the fuzzy landscape, and tries to remember a time when he played with the kid. He's a bit stunned when he comes up empty handed. Usually he just watched or told him to go bother Fenrir.
The little biter abandons whatever story he's working through after a bit and rummages around in the box. He pulls out a rag doll by the foot, and squints at it. Frankly, Tony wants to toss it in the fire. The thing is straight out of a grindhouse horror film, and he knows better than to mess around with an antique rag doll found in an abandoned witch house. Jori's perplexed expression stops him.
The kid turns it around and studies its smiling button face.
"What is this?" Jori asks, holding the nightmare toy at arm's length. Tony scratches his beard, unsure how exactly to answer. It's not like there were any dolls in his childhood. Well, none that weren't made of plastic and equipped with mini missiles. Come to think of it, there aren't any in Stark Tower either.
"That's a doll, Champ." Tony says, "It's like an imaginary friend."
"Why's it's head so big?"
"It's a baby. Babies have big heads." Tony shrugs, growing uneasy as Jori continues to hold the thing upside down by the ankle. He shuffles off the hearth and sits beside him. "Have you not seen a baby before?"
Jori blinks at him.
"Ah jeez, okay." Tony says, massaging the back of his neck. Taking the doll from Jori, he holds it in his arms and mimes rocking it back and forth. "Babies are like…"freshly coded A.I.s "..puppies. You remember that movie we watched with the puppies?"
"Uh huh." Jori nods. "The big man gave them milk!"
"Yeah that's right. Babies are the same. They can't take care of themselves. You have to feed them, and hold them. And eventually they grow into little monsters like you."
"I was that small?" Jori asks, pointing at the little doll.
"Probably?" Tony says, "I dunno. Here, you try."
He passes the rag doll back, and Jori paws it into an awkward hold. It looks like the kid's about to run a football to the endzone. Tony's chest tightens, and he shifts the doll around until it' head is on Jori's elbow. Jori goes on like that for a while, grabbing a rag from the kitchen to use as a blanket and picking out a cylindrical block to use as a bottle.
Then without warning, Jori puts the doll down and climbs in Tony's lap.
"What's up, buddy?"
"I wish I was a baby." Jori mumbles.
Tony hesitates. "You sure? Babies don't get TV time. They don't eat ice cream or play tag or do coloring books."
"I hate growing up." Jori whines. "When I get bigger we move. I don't wanna move, I wanna go home."
An irrational urge to console sweeps in, and it kills Tony that he can't say anything. He can't promise to be there.
Jori is way too big to fit in Tony's arms. His legs hang over his elbow, and his little shoulder digs into Tony's reactor scar.
"You can't stop time, kid." Tony says.
Jori wraps a hand around the hem of Tony's shirt and he can't tear himself away. Leaving will not be Jori's last memory of him.
He lets the kid lay there as long as he wants. When the thoughts get too loud, Tony rocks him in his lap. Soon the rocking isn't enough so he starts humming. And if the only song he can think of that's remotely lullaby-ish is Bohemian Rhapsody, well, Jori doesn't know any better.
Once the baby adder gets his fill of age-regression, Tony convinces him to make Fenris a mud pie and secures himself a few minutes of free time. As easy as it would be to continue nose diving, he's not a tortured genius for nothing.
His dad's words haunt him, and a deep seated anger boils up and doesn't go away. After declaring Hela a temporary grown up, he put on his shades and stalks to the shine in a fugue.
Howard's vacant stone eyes don't give Tony the anchor he expects. His buzzing thoughts dissipate like smoke now that he's ready to say them. Unlike the previous visits, his dad is silent. Tony sits cross-legged, gripping his knees.
"Did you love me?" he asks.
The statue regards him, the room as quiet as a tomb.
"Did you?" Tony demands, voice cracking.
The statue blinks very slowly, as though the question has many variables. It doesn't, it's a very simple question. Yes or no. Howard shakes his head.
"I cared about you, but I was not capable of love."
Tony crosses his arms. Breathes in moist air. When he exhales all he feels is relief. After all these years, finally there's closure. Bare truth to rewrite the facts of his life with.
"My mistakes were my own fault." he murmurs.
"As were mine." the statue says. His voice is gentler, as if Tony's acceptance smooths the rough edges.
"There was nothing wrong with me." Tony says, half expecting the statue to spit out some trite magic 8-ball crap. Outlook hazy, try again. His dad clasps his hands and doesn't respond. Tony mirrors the pose.
"And no matter how many bottles you threw at me, or how many names you called me, I still like dick. How about that, pops?"
The profanity feels good, like a double shot of teenage rebellion. He wants more, and the statue makes no move to interrupt, so he ups the ante.
"In fact, the next time I see Loki you know what I'm gonna do?" Tony sneers, leaning into Howard's face, "I'm gonna grease myself up like the queer pansy whore you were so afraid I would be, and I'm gonna ride his fat alien cock in your honor."
The statue observes him placidly, and its non-reaction punctures his bitterness. Robs him of the satisfaction he expects to feel. He slouches, scratching at the seam of his pants.
"I don't think I can forgive you." Tony admits.
"Do you think I deserve forgiveness?" Howard asks.
"I think you were a broken person." Tony says.
"But do I deserve forgiveness?"
"If you don't, then I don't either. I did even worse things than you."
"Do I deserve forgiveness?" Howard repeats.
"No." Tony admits.
Water drips from the rippled ceiling and splashes into puddles. The air feels stale in his lungs.
"Then you do not need to forgive me." Howard says, and when Tony looks up the statue is just a statue. The face is blank, and its arms are outstretched as if welcoming the universe in.
Tony feels hollow. Exhausted, but also peaceful. He rubs at his nose, and sniffs. He's not crying damn it, it's sweat. Stress sweat.