ii. unwell
Another night, another dream.
And they are dreams – just dreams. Tony has had stranger, more horrifying nightmares, the kind that not even daylight can fully chase away, that linger on into the sun and fill the mind with night. He knows that shuddering terror like an intimate friend and, these days, only memories of Afghanistan can bring it back. In comparison, the darkness of Loki's pain is quick to fade from thought. Even the sinking heart disappears with the last of the stars.
The day is Tony's realm and he is in his element.
Pepper drops by after lunch and harasses him with demands – he can't quite recall what they are, but they might have something to do with the new building plans or the upcoming press conference or that charity ball he promised he'd go to but intends to ditch or … Well there are a lot of things they could be about, to be honest. None of them are of any interest to him when he's in his workshop, absorbed in his suits. A dream, certainly, is not worth his consideration.
But sleep comes again and so do sleep's strange visions. Part of the illusion is a demand for attention and belief. Tony finds himself alone in the nothingness, the delicate mechanisms and machinery forgotten. All he knows is Morpheus' embrace.
This time Loki is missing and his absence is conspicuous and uncomfortable. It's as though the novel's main character has been ripped from its pages, leaving a void in the shape of his figure. A void within the void. For a brief moment, Tony speculates. Again he is filled with questions whose answers will elude him (if they exist at all).
Is he dead? His heart fell out last time, but was that real? Did it happen? Did he bleed? Can gods even die?
Something clenches at his heart and the questions fade completely. Suddenly he feels as though an immense force is pressing in on him from all directions and his immediate thought is that the void has become sentient.
It's a black hole. It's malicious. It's killing him.
People can't die of a dream, Tony knows that when he's awake, but now, in the grip of something unspeakable, he suddenly forgets. Terror floods through him and the darkness clenches tighter, tighter, until the arc reactor in his chest gives a loud crack! in unison with his bones.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
It's not elegant but neither is dying – he squirms and wriggles, trying to escape. The breath is pushed from his lungs and his vision skews, blurs, turns spotted, turns dark. The world inverts and splits apart. Simultaneously, it rips open and folds in on itself, looping and shattering in paradoxical twists, like physics and logic don't matter. Fleetingly, he thinks of Schrödinger's cat, imagines that this is what being the cat must feel like. His existence is indeterminate and independent of his will.
Only a second passes. Forever elapses and loops back in on itself to begin anew.
And then, mercifully, he feels peace.
He opens his eyes and discovers himself standing in a field of rolling hills and distant tree lines. Up above, the sky is a perfect, hypnotic blue. He sighs in contentment.
"Well, well. Back so soon?"
Tony turns and feels strangely relieved to see Loki standing before him in all his Asgardian glory. No bones this time, no sinking flesh or stitched up lips. The god is regal and tall and wearing a smirk.
"If I didn't know any better," Loki says, "I'd say you like it in my head."
"Your head?" Tony frowns. "Uh, I'm pretty sure the one waltzing around in other people's thought bubbles is you."
Loki seems puzzled.
"But why would I be in your mind?" he asks. "How could a pathetic mortal like you possibly be capable of housing my consciousness? It's the other way around, Stark. Now get out of my dream."
Tony opens his mouth to protest, but blinks and is confronted with the dark stillness of his bedroom in reality. The ceiling stares back at him, undisturbed.
"Jarvis," he says hoarsely. "Time."
"It is currently four thirteen in the morning, sir," the AI provides at once. "Shall I start the coffee?"
Tony clears his throat.
"No, I… No. Thank you, Jarvis."
There's a strange taste in his mouth like rubber or tar. An eerie, unsettled feeling has crawled its way into his bones, but Tony swallows the best he can and attempts to will it into submission. Then he closes his eyes. He knows he won't sleep again, but pure exhaustion forces him to try.
