Title: broke into a thousand pieces.
Author: kyrilu/Endless-chan
Type: Fanfiction
Fandom: The Avengers (2012).
Rating: T/PG-13.
Warnings/Triggers: Underage drinking, parental neglect - Tony's father issues, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, adoption (Loki has a lot of problems coping with this issue, so expect major angst and feelings of inadequacy.)
Pairings/Characters: Loki/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers, Sif/Thor, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson/Natasha Romanov, Ensemble. Past one-sided Tony Stark/Bruce Banner.
Tony leans back against the restroom door, head falling back onto the sign. He hears a stream of hacking coughs, dry and restrained and frantic. The noise soon recedes, however, and it recedes into something like a choked sob.
"Christ," he mutters, because, hell, did he just cause Thor's little brother to have a fucking breakdown?
He sighs and slips away, a green figure fading into black.
When the play resumes, Tony pretends that the red under Loki's eyelids isn't tears.
"This belongs to you and always will," Loki says, and Tony tugs on Loki's arm and makes their lips meet instead because this is the only way he knows how to say sorry.
Even later on, Tony doesn't know how to describe the expression on Loki's face. It's just-crap, cold and beautiful and a touch desperate, and Tony can't help but wonder.
And Peter Pan leaves Windy, because that's how the story ends. Everyone on stage take their places and bow altogether. Tony can still hear the sound of applause as the curtains swish shut.
"What was that about?" Loki says, wry and perhaps a little biting. Tony feels the urge to pull his hair out because he cannot figure this guy out.
"Not now," he shoots back at Loki, and Loki's fingers catch at his wrist and it seems like maybe they might kiss again, positions reversed, but Loki just lets go and pushes Tony further away.
"See you at the party," Tony calls at Loki's retreating form, and he thinks that maybe he'd picked the worst way to apologize.
Loki sits the farthest distance away from Tony, all the way in the back with Sif. They're talking to each other in short, harsh whispers, and Tony peeks at them every few minutes as if he could divine their conversation.
"Stop staring," Pepper says under her breath, and Tony reluctantly diverts his eyes onto her. She says, "That was-kind of a dickish thing to do on stage, Ton. I know that he did some improv for your pin scene, but you actually kissed him. Kissed him, kissed him."
"It's called being an actor. You've seen me kiss plenty of people on screen," Tony snaps.
"First of all, this is a play, and I saw that he was surprised, you didn't plan it out that way - I'm not blind. And you could've easily gone for the forehead or the cheek. Ask him out, and then you can do whatever you want to him-"
"Is that a challenge-?"
"Listen to me, Tony, I'm speaking. He likes you, you know, and I think he'll probably say yes if you ask him. You two have been dancing around in circles ever since you've had play practice." Pepper massages her temples, projecting the perfect image of a exasperation and frustration.
"Wait. Hold your horses. You told Loki to ask me out? Pepper, you're not a fucking matchmaker."
"You were being a chicken and not actually doing anything."
Tony scowls. "Look, okay, I barely know him well, alright? Maybe if I get to talk to him more - I dunno, one or two weeks - and actually be friends with him or something, then maybe I'll make a move. And he's Thor's little brother, for God's sake. I don't even know how interested he is."
And I think I just made him cry, his brain adds unhelpfully, and Tony unhappily sinks further into his seat.
"You just admitted that you are interested, though," Pepper says smugly. "And just to let you know: he is, too. But for the love of God, please don't do the creepy thing and keep stealing kisses from him."
"'Stealing kisses'? How old are you? I thought you were sixteen, not six."
"Funny, and here I thought the phrase fit your maturity level."
"Don't try and teach me about romance, Pepper. How's it going with Rogers?" Tony glances pointedly at the said guy, who is chatting comfortably with Bruce. "Have you even kissed him yet?"
"No. But when I do, it's not going to be under false pretences."
"Ugh, stop already. I hate it when you gloat."
"You hate it when you know I'm right, you mean."
Tony pauses. "Yeah," he admits, "I do."
It's a small party. Even though Tony knows he's always been the partying type, he's aware that Jarvis will very much disapprove if he throws a wild event. All the people he'd invited only consists of the usual Pepper and Bruce, as well as Loki, Sif (as Loki's guest), Thor (as Sif's date), Clint (he made some props, including the Native American bow and arrows), Natasha (as Clint's date), and Coulson (as Clint and Natasha's date). But honestly, they're pretty hyper enough - especially with Thor and Clint on that list. Tony feels a throbbing headache coming on - especially with the loud music blasting over the music system - and two hours in, he decides to take a break. It hasn't been particularly interesting, really: just eating and talking and dancing, the last of which Tony uses as an excuse to hassle Pepper.
Tony leaves Inception in the DVD player, and he skulks out towards his father's laboratory once everyone is glued to the television screen. (Clint, Natasha, and Coulson are having what seems like a Very Important Talk together in one of the spare parlors, and no one dares interrupt them.)
He dials up the lights, and a waxy yellow glow beams onto the white walls. The lab is a familiar place to him: with all its sterile smells and metal smells and chemical smells mingling into all one scent, as well as the faint tang of coffee and just a hint of beer. Tony bends down to his father's toolbox and hauls out a glass bottle of beer, softly juggling it back and forth between his hands. Then he pops off the cap with an opener right beside a screwdriver, and takes a swig. God. Awful stuff, but if you drink enough, there's a pleasant buzz in the back of your head.
He sits there for about half an hour when the door creaks open, and Bruce finds him. He doesn't look-he doesn't look mad, or angry, or even shocked, just disappointed in his Bruce-y way. Tony squints to focus on Bruce's face, and Bruce is looking at him like he's pathetic, like something to pity.
"You're a mess, Tony," Bruce says softly, prying the bottle from Tony's hands.
Tony lets Bruce's fingers unhinge his grasp. "What, you've finally noticed?"
"No," Bruce says, giving Tony that sad-eyed puppy look dead-on. "But really, Ton. You're not your father. You don't have to-"
"Shut up," Tony says, words slurring. "Don't talk to me about him. And don't tell me what to do. Everyone's had an underage drink once in a while, yeah?"
"Maybe. But not everyone will go far as you might go. Tony, come on, please." Bruce crawls over to Tony, and plops a hand onto Tony's hair, kneading his fingers through the disarray strands.
"You're petting me," Tony grumbles, but the hand soothes his throbbing head, gentle and careful. He presses back into the touch, hiccuping. The beer bottle clinks to the ground, falling from Bruce's other hand.
He is fourteen again and he's fighting with Pepper and his dad is up to the usual shit, and god, there's only Bruce, and puberty hits him like a fucking brick. He'd noticed things, things he usually hadn't - the way Bruce's eyes turn almost green in the right lighting, the way that Bruce lights up when he talks about movies and television shows, and the way Bruce savors orange soda like it's the best drink he's ever had.
Two years ago - not now, not now. He is sixteen, Dad's being a douche, and Pepper did something well-meaning but drastic, and Tony kinda resents her for it, but it's okay. Bruce is right here, and Tony is noticing green again but perhaps not the same shade.
He closes his eyes. Breathes.
God, he's a mess.