Sorry for delays again. As I mentioned at the beginning, this story is already written and edited. I usually prefer to release this story as I get chapters done on the next story I'm working on, but due to a lot of changes going on there, I'm finding that there's simply no way I'll have the next story ready without making you guys have to wait way too long between updates here. So, instead, I'll be trading: updating this story more quickly for a longer period before I can publish the next.

For what it's worth, I think my next story is going to be fab now that I've worked out the major thematic issues.

Trigger warnings: drug use, past abusive relationship

I don't own the Avengers or anyone therein.

Chapter 7
Tony goes to work because work is a distraction and an escape. Because technology is something he can understand, and he can open it up and look at it and find what's wrong where and know exactly what part he needs to fix it. Because it's better than searching through all the places he and Loki had gone and feeling a stab of pain every time Loki isn't there. He goes because he can't take being at home with Steve and how Steve keeps trying to talk about that night.

He keeps his phone on, though. Just in case.

Pepper texts him to let him know that Loki still hasn't shown back up at the apartment; Natasha is leaving the door unlocked because apparently they found Loki's key and he wouldn't have any other way of getting in and they want to discourage him as little as possible if he does show up. She does this every day, usually around the same time. He texts her back to let her know he hasn't found Loki either.

He doesn't mention how it makes him feel, the panic and worry and terror that Loki is gone for good, how there's this Loki-shaped gap in his day that he doesn't know how to fill. He doesn't mention how he skims the news every day, making sure that a black-haired twenty-five year old hasn't turned up dead somewhere, suicide.

Three days. Three days, and Tony is feeling himself ready to give up. He doesn't go home after he leaves work three hours late, just checks at a few cafes and bookshops and all the little incidental places they had gone together, hoping to find Loki. But there's no smirk that's right and no whipcord thin, black-haired, green eyed man to go with it.

He's walking to the bar, his favourite bar, because it's the only place he hasn't checked. He didn't want to because it reminds him of that night (that glorious night that ended with a shriek of feedback), and because while he doesn't really know all that much about Loki, he can tell Loki doesn't drown his sorrows in alcohol like Tony does. Because Loki had not held his drink nearly so well as Tony and had been more interested in all the different varieties of flavour that Tony shoved into his hands.

There's a scuffle in the alleyway next to the bar. He starts to walk by because he's got enough problems of his own, thank you, but he glances over, just out of the corner of his eye (because he can't help it, and Steve would do the same thing he knows; neither of them can leave well enough alone). Three larger guys and one tall whipcord thin figure. The thin one is getting beaten thoroughly, but he keeps getting back up and spitting at them. He's laughing.

Tony knows that laugh.

"Everything okay here gentlemen?" Tony says, stepping into the alleyway, making sure they can see him. Making sure they can see the glint of the gun in his hand because right that second he has about zero tolerance for these three.

"Peachy, boss," the leader says, leading his group back into the bar through the back door.

Tony shoves the gun away (never has he been so relieved that Steve pesters him to carry it because this city is dangerous Tony and I know you can shoot a gun) and races over to where Loki is leaned against the wall, still laughing. It's not a good laugh—not his quiet chuckles or drunken giggles, not his full and rich and glorious laugh that only escapes when he's been surprised into it. It's broken, hysterical, and wet with unshed tears. Tony puts a hand to his chin, tilts his head so he can see; Loki's lip is bleeding and one of his cheeks beginning to blossom into a bruise, one eye already going black and half-closed.

"Loki," he breathes, whispering because he might be dreaming this.

Loki's pupils are so wide that Tony can barely see his irises. They focus on Tony, blink slowly, then Loki smiles like this is a familiar dream. He's shivering violently, just a thin long-sleeve shirt and some jeans between him and the cold. Tony tears his coat off and wraps it around Loki's shoulders.

"Tony," Loki says amiably, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

"Come on, Loki. Can you walk?" He steps back. Loki follows him with his eyes before he starts to try and follow with his feet. He slips almost immediately; Tony catches him.

"That's a 'no.'" Tony doesn't even hesitate, slips his arms behind Loki's knees and shoulders and picks him up. "Come on, upsy-daisy, arms around my neck, thank you." He's surprised by how weightless Loki is for his height, almost terrified by it. "You're pretty light. And how much have you drank? There's no way you'd let me do this normally." He's talking because he needs to do something, anything, Loki is so cold in his arms. Loki doesn't smell like alcohol, but maybe he has some sort of magic to him that lets him avoid the scent of his body sweating it out—because he certainly smells like he hasn't bathed.

"Nothing," Loki murmurs, breath brushing against Tony's neck. His shoulders are starting to burn a bit as he carries Loki back to his home, and he's glad his favourite bar is just a few blocks away and not half the city.

"Where have you been? Why aren't you panicking over this?"

"This is a dream and when I wake up I'll just reach and find more and then be back to sleep. Sometimes it's right where I left off." Loki's voice is dreamy and matter-of-fact and it makes Tony's blood turn to ice. "You always show up, which is nice, since you won't be here when I wake. I don't expect I'll see you again, Anthony."

"This isn't a dream, Loki."

"Mmm. You said that last dream too."

Tony shuts up and tries to walk home faster.

XXXXXX

Steve feels like he's only just got home and is on his way to the bathroom to wash the kitchen smells off himself when someone starts to pound on the door like there's a fire. He hurries back to the small foyer area, opening the door right as Tony is about to kick again. In his arms, wrapped in his coat, is a gaunt and sleeping Loki, face utterly relaxed and a little drool slipping down the side of his face.

Steve blinks and just gapes for a second, but Tony just pushes past him and kicks the door closed.

"Where did you find him?" Steve asks, following Tony as he sets Loki on the couch.

"Bar."

Steve hesitates to draw nearer. He knows why Tony has been avoiding the house. He can't even blame him.

"Tony, I—"

"I know, Steve." Tony is looking at him now. He smiles, strained and aching but a smile. "Happens to the best of us. Clearly, since it happened to you."

The tightness and nervousness he's been carrying around since that night stops constricting his chest, just a little. Tony goes back to looking at Loki, hands fidgeting the way they do when he doesn't know what to do next.

"Bath," Steve suggests and Tony gives him this grateful glance that eases the tightness more. "You get the tub running, I'll carry him." Tony starts to open his mouth, so he just waits patiently for whatever argument comes, but then Tony actually shuts his mouth and goes down the hall to get the bath started. Steve is a little impressed that he didn't have to point out that he is the stronger of the two of them.

In the bathroom, they start to pull Loki's clothes off. Loki doesn't even stir. Tony hesitates about the boxers and Steve can't help but chuckle.

"We both know you two weren't coming back to cuddle."

"Hey, we might have been. You don't know that." Tony licks his lips.

"Leave them on, Tony," Steve suggests.

They get Loki in the tub, and Steve notices something on the inside of his right arm and leans over, moving Loki's arm a little so he can see better. Bruises, tiny little bruises, all along the inside of his right arm. Some of them looked fairly new too.

"Track marks," Tony says, voice bleak.

Steve looks back at Tony.

"What do you want to do?"

"I… Steve, he's been doing some serious shit. I don't know what to do. I don't know what he wants to do." Tony seemed to be looking back over all the times Loki had ever been with him so Steve stays quiet. "I mean, what if he was trying to quit when we went to the zoo? And he canceled a date earlier this month, said he was sick. He sounded… he sounded bad, Steve."

"Tony, listen to yourself. What he wants? Do you honestly think he wants to be entirely dependent on a drug to resemble anything approaching normal?" Tony looks horrified. "Let him stay here. We can keep him here, our schedules usually overlap so that someone will be here to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, we know there's nothing stashed here and the liquor cabinet locks. I can tell Natasha what's going on and get some of his clothes."

Tony is looking at him oddly, the way he looks at things when he's mentally taking them apart.

"What?" Steve asks irritably.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, three days ago you were… well, you were angry, Steve. And yelling. You made it pretty clear that you hate him."

"Tony, I don't hate him." Steve sighs. "It was out of line. I was drunk and… well, envious. He makes you happy, Tony, and that's what counts at the end of the day. Don't be miserable on my account, or think I'm going to strangle him while you're at work. He's not a… okay, I still think he's a bit of a failure because I never would have said it otherwise, but if what Natasha said was true, then he never really had much chance."

"Oh. Well. As long as it's okay."

Steve smiles a little at Tony.

"Yes. It's okay. You want to give your boyfriend a scrub down or should I?" As Tony's face goes scarlet, Steve laughs and shoos him out. "That's me then."

"I am not blushing, it's just really warm in here!" Tony is almost fleeing.

"The great playboy, given a sense of modesty by his unconscious boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Tony protests weakly, head still sticking in the bathroom so he can try and get the last word.

"Okay, but you're definitely the blushing bride in this relationship."

Tony makes a noise, but Steve doesn't even look as he lathers up a washcloth.