The plot thickens. Ah, and the chapter title is Skyfall by Adele. Yes. Idk. It sorta works for this chapter. I think. But even I don't understand how my mind works sometimes.

As always, warnings apply for self-harm mentions and some amount of serious angst. Plus, death- although, the death isn't anything you didn't see in the movies.

And, since I haven't done this in a while- I do not own Tony Stark, Loki Laufeyson, or any of these characters. Some of the plot isn't even mine. All that goes to Marvel and Stan Lee and RDJ and Tom Hiddleston. Although, could I own any of them, I SO WOULD.

xoxoxox

It was dark. Black. Pitch. Ink. Jet. Sludge. Oil. Coal.

The sky was dotted with little spots of diamond. Blinking.

Colors of azure and gold and moss flitted before his eyes.

White light and grey shadow swept through the world around him with the rising sun and gleaming moon.

Swinging round and round, stars and the moon, shade and bright sun rays came with the day, left with the night. Days passed in a blur, weeks in a dizzying flash, months in a slow, creeping crawl.

And upon all of it, a slow or raging river of salt water pouring forth from emerald eyes and down pallid, snowy, sharp cheeks. Great, hiccuping sobs accompanied by pitiful sniffles and shuddering gatherings of bravery to face the ever-passing days.

Black on white, words on paper. They were starting to think he was gone. The hope was running thin, in the world, and slowly, but surely, it was entering his own heart. Doubt. Fear. Desperation. Hope. Loss. Grief. Mourning. Was Stark really gone forever?

Tony stared up at the rocky ceiling of the cave. A low growl rumbled deeply in his chest. But in his whirring mind, a plan was forming. He would not lay silently by and let someone come rescue him, that just wasn't who he was. And, honestly, he had no clue how long it had been, here, separated from the sun and moonlight. But if someone was going to come, he was sure they would've come by now. His was on his own. They couldn't- or wouldn't- find him.

Yinsen watched him lay on the floor, arms crossed behind his head and eyes dim with thought. He knew the man was wary, but just as ready to be free as he. It was just a question of how, when, and with what fucking imaginary army? He had seen their guns, top-notch, brand-spankin'-new Stark Industries hardware. And it made him burning mad. Someone had his dad's stuff, and was selling it to the wrong people. The people they were supposed to be fighting against!

"What do they call themselves?" He asked, his voice a quiet echo throughout the naturally carved room.

Yinsen raised an eyebrow. "You've been here for months, and you're just now asking? Why?" The man's wise brown eyes appraised him intensely. Tony shivered, he hated that feeling of calculating eyes on him. It made him feel hunted.

"I want to know...who's got my father's guns." He ran a tired hand over even more strained eyes. This abduction stuff was pretty fucking exhausting, not to mention, the new arc reactor thrumming in his chest was not easy to build. Especially in a cave in the middle of god-knows-where with archaic conditions that were really fucking laughable. But hey, he's Tony Stark. There's nothing he can't do.

He still wasn't sure how he had convinced them to give him more time to build the Jericho missile. Let alone as long as it had already been and the damnable thing just 'wasn't working yet'. He huffed a sigh and looked over at the hulking mass of metal on the table in the middle of their 'room'. Cell. What-the-fuck-ever.

Long fingers tapped the smooth, cool metal in his chest, holding the shrapnel away from his still-beating heart. He had Yinsen to thank for that. The glowing blue that sprung into the dusky, dim lighting, scared even him. He, the creator. He felt like Frankenstein. But, really, wasn't that what he had always been? A creation. Terrifying and uncontrollable in its creator's hands. A brilliantly wrought thing, out-of-control and running rampant. Pictures from the newspapers and TV, showing this monster he had been born as, who he had become through the years, the role he had played. He was just a monster with a brilliant mind and handsome face. And now, he had the heart to go with it. Broken, damaged, so close to being demolished.

He missed Loki. That little green flame that made him warm and human again. His cure, his humanity all wrapped up in a skinny little teenager with inky curls and wintry skin. The smell of evergreen, eucalyptus, and juniper. The hand in his. The heart he longed to steal. The smile he could bring to life and the eyes he could make burn like a forest-fire. His hope. His escape. He would escape.

He missed Loki.

Music pounding eardrums.

Brunet men.

Blonde women.

Bright flashes of green grass and sapphire sky.

Flowers the color of saffron and maroon exploding in satin petals.

Warm breeze pummeling his skin.

Sun's rays blinding his eyes with white light.

Everything was so sharp, so razor-edged since It had happened. Even the music from his iPod, cutting him off from the rest of the over-exposed world hurt, cut, sliced through him. He was willow-thin, because food was too much to handle on his sensitive taste-buds. His tongue ran against his teeth, screaming at the jagged dentin's rough scrape. Each breathe was a blade through his lungs, each pump of his heart, a hammer to his ribs. Living hurt, everything was sharp.

Was there lead in his veins? He didn't want to move, to wake up in the morning. Every night, he read over the texts from Stark on his phone, teasing him, reminding him they needed milk from the grocery store, telling him he smelled good or had looked particularly fabulous that morning before class. Loki could still remember strong, calloused fingers digging into his sides, tickling him. That smell of spicy, warm, engine grease genius still clung to the shirt he had nabbed from his apartment when he packed his stuff. It enveloped him, swarming into his senses and creeping across his skin and hair and into his mind like smoke. Like the cigarettes he had started smoking to remind him of the inventor.

His roommate walked in, glancing at him and frowning. Loki was sitting on the 'living room' floor, TV blaring, earphones in, music screaming- the new alternative stuff he had started listening to-, lights dimmed. Everything was so loud and bright. The TV screen's glow nearly blinded him. A hand appeared in front of his face, making him snap back, almost falling on his back.

"What?" He yanked out his earbuds, wincing at the sheer volume of the TV.

"Are you okay? I mean...I know everything has been difficult recently, but is there anything you need?" The soft voice and warm blue eyes of John Constantine. A few blond locks flopped into his eyes when he leaned down to be eye-level with Loki.

He shrugged. "I'm fine. I just have a migraine, I think." He forced down the bile as the thought 'Anthony would force-feed me Tylenol.' crossed his mind. "Thank you, though." He strained to put a polite smile on his face.

Really, he liked John. He was a bit of a pyromaniac and had some...odd habits, but Loki was not unaccustomed to that. His missing boyfriend had been reckless, strange, and eccentric. In light of that, Loki could deal with a few mishaps with the stove- which resulted in it being out of commission and the lot of them having to order Chinese takeout or pizza every other night- and a few pentagrams here and there. And there was that one time he walked out to the kitchen in the middle of the night and found Constantine chanting in the living room. That was a little much, but, again, it wasn't his first run-in with oddities.

And there was Steve, of course. Loki was beginning to wonder if the big blond hadn't requested to again have Loki as a roommate. Again, he was surrounded by blond, blue-eyed beauty. It irked him a bit, but at least here he wasn't expected to look like those around him. At least here, he wasn't genetically misplaced. It was shallow, but comforting nonetheless.

Already almost to tears- a feeling that nearly made him sick with wear and tear (because when was he not crying these days?)- Loki crawled under his blanket on his bed like a pathetic, pitiful infant. What had he done before his personal teddy bear had come along?

Tony stared down at the helmet in grim satisfaction, Yinsen looking on in controlled excitement. Finally, he had figured out how to get out of this hell-hole. Turning it over in his hands, he felt the cooled metal and the warmed smoothness where he had welded pieces together. It would shield him from any blast. Any bullet. Any little machination of death. Even his father's creations, or his own previous contribution to Stark Industries. A tiny little bubble of pride grew in his chest.

But alas, all good things come to an end.

The door swung open and the helmet disappeared under the table he was working from. Fuck.

Yinsen's pupils exploded in fear. God damn it. Raza breezed in with four guards, a dangerous look in his eye. "How is our missile coming along?" There was a distinct threat in his accented voice that put Tony on edge.

"It shouldn't be much longer." He kept his posture relaxed, even when the bald man started toying with a rather sinister looking knife. It caught his eye as it glinted under the harsh lights. He swallowed the fear rising like bile in his throat.

Raza cast an eye across the metal warped into various shapes across Tony's worktable. He picked up a scrap, sharp, still bright orange at the tip from the fire. Tony steadied his breathing. Raza languidly prowled towards him.

Breathe. Dear god. Don't stop breathing.

Jesus. Who knew my heart could beat this fast? Loki. Yeah. Loki knew. Shit.

If he puts that thing anywhere near me, I might piss my pants.

That's gonna be embarrassing.

Tony Stark, bedwetter extraordinaire.

Could someone rescue me? Please. I'll pay the poor fucker who gets me out of this mess.

"You..." The glowing orange metal came dangerously close to his mouth. Heat whispered across his lips. His breath caught. Sweat pricked across his forehead. "You will lose your mouth if this isn't done in two days. Inventors don't need mouths, right." A deceitfully pleasant smile crossed the Ten Rings' leader.

Tony nodded, feeling inert and boneless. After the entourage left, he collapsed into a plastic lawn chair that had been provided as seating. Yinsen stared after them, his hand on his chest. Tony almost laughed at the pure hopelessness of this situation. What if he never got out of here?

"Uh, I think we should get to work." Yinsen smiled shakily at him.

And really, Tony was starting to love this crazy calm, even-keel scientist. He kept him on track, kept him moving, kept him breathing the scent of nearing freedom. They could both feel it. This was make it or break it time. Just a few more pieces and the suit would be complete.

Loki was quite possibly losing his ever-loving mind. It had been months, and Anthony was gone, still gone. The raven-haired teenager felt lost and hopeless. There wasn't a thing he could do, and now, he wondered if anyone could ever do anything? Maybe Stark was lost for good. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe all those pitying glances sent his way were right. His best friend, and possible boyfriend, was gone forever. Just the notion sent a harpoon through his stitched-up, beaten, bruised heart.

"Brother, I would have words with you." A deep, rumbling voice spoke from his left. Ah. Thor. Lovely. Because, y'know, his day just wasn't bad enough.

He sighed like this was the most tedious burden. Maybe because it was. "What is it?" He turned hesitantly to face Thor. The big blond looked a little worn, a little overly-tired, a little too sad for his usual sunshine-bright face. Loki shoved away the guilt. He would remain laconic and unmoved. This wasn't entirely his fault, and for once, he wouldn't accept all the blame. Maybe. I mean, if Thor kept looking at him that way, god only knew what he'd end up doing. -sigh- Brotherly love was a cursed and wretched thing.

"I fear your health is declining. Mother wants to see you. She's very worried, Loki. We haven't seen you since..." He shrugged and looked away apologetically. Loki's mouth turned into a tight, thin white line. "We miss you." Big blue eyes turned a little watery. Loki snarled.

"Stop trying to manipulate me. I know you miss me." He snapped. "Can't you understand for once, that I'm hurting? Not just you? Not just Frigga? And we all know Odin hasn't missed me for half a second. I need time, Thor. You don't just find out you're an orphan and everything is just fine and dandy. No. I-" He shook his head. This would be so much easier if Stark were here, by his side, safe and breathing.

"Just meet mother. She's sick with worry." The groveling tone in Thor's voice broke Loki's heart a little more.

He nodded. Because of that tone. And because, not for the first time, Thor seemed to truly understand that Loki was breaking. That Loki needed to be taken care of. Were things different, Thor would have been so close by that Loki would've had to shove him away to take a piss in private. But now, Loki couldn't trust Thor as far as he could throw him- not like he could even pick him up in the first place...- because out of everyone in the world, Loki had believed Thor's every word. It had been that explicit trust of a little boy in his big brother. And Thor had thoughtlessly broken that trust. But something deep down told Loki that Thor hadn't meant it, maybe he hadn't even known the extent of Loki's ironclad trust in him. Thor was naive and insouciant, and likely to miss something like that. But Loki was the master of holding grudges. And this one he couldn't let go of just yet.

"Thank you, brother. I know she'll be relieved to get a look at you." He seemed reluctant. "Loki." He grabbed his younger brother's wrist, keeping him still. "Please understand, I never meant to hurt you. I do love you, and always have, as my brother. You are my flesh and blood, Loki. No matter what you think, I never considered you as adopted, I considered you purely as my own family." The crushing grip on Loki's bones was tight, and powerful as the confession that spilled from Thor's quavering lips.

Oh, fabulous, more tears. "I know." He murmured, sounding very much like a little boy again, listening to his brother tell him that his boo-boo wasn't fatal. There had been a few hypochondriac spells in which Thor had taken control and reassured his brother that no, he wasn't going to die anytime soon. And no, that fall from the swing hadn't fractured his skull. And no, boo-boos like that didn't get infected, because look, he's not even bleeding. And yes, you're throwing up, and yes, it's disgusting, but no, it won't get you sent to the morgue, Loki. Sometimes, Loki wondered how he had put up with him.

"Maybe you'll think about going out to dinner with me some night this week?" Thor's voice was that same, smooth, calming tone it had been all those years ago when Loki had been bawling and clutching his shirt in childish fright. Where had all that innocence gone? When had it gone from bruised elbows and scratched knees to abandonment and broken hearts? When had it gone from kissing away the boo-boos to crying himself asleep at night?

Where had all the time gone?

Where had he gone wrong?

Tony smirked. It was done. Now, they had one chance. Just one. They would either escape, or die trying. "Okay, ready?" The computer was set up, Tony was stepping into the suit. Yinsen merely had to bolt him into it, and fire up all the different programs on the computer. They had been through it all earlier. Tony had the camp mapped in his mind's eye. It really wouldn't be that difficult until they got outside. There, everything would become a tad more complicated.

All those guns they showed me. They were Stark Industries. He thought, running the plan through his mind again. He was going to fucking demolish every single weapon they had. He couldn't allow that, he couldn't live with it. And Yinsen's burning, wise gaze upon him when they were shown everything this camp had from his father's company, it had made up his mind fully. As much as they pretended indifference and aloofness, Tony had come to admire the older scientist. He had wisdom and something else that Tony couldn't really understand...maybe it was...compassion? He wasn't sure. There wasn't a name for it in his mind. But whatever it was, he respected it.

His teeth rattled when the other scientist started nailing him into this metal contraption. His metal contraption. Frankenstein rattled through his brain again, but he pushed it away. Focus. He was getting out of here, soon, he'd see Loki. Escape. It was so close he could taste it. Now, he just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It wouldn't be that hard. Hell, he was an iron man. Nothing could stop him now.

The programs on the computer started, powering up the suit with the energy from his miniature arc reactor. It gave him a little rush of adrenaline, feeling the pure power strumming through the suit. It made him feel invincible, like just maybe, it wasn't so impossible to imagine that they just might make it. There was a little, rare gleam in Yinsen's eyes that said he was feeling the same thing.

It was gonna be okay.

Freedom was on the horizon.

Loki was on the horizon.

Then shouts sounded. Yinsen's eyes met his. Panic spread through the room like a miasma. They nodded at each other. The small, but highly powerful, bomb on the door would stall them for a few minutes. Then, they would do what they had to. To survive. To escape. To taste freedom and sunlight. Damn, Tony hadn't realized how much he cherished that big, fiery ball of light. He could practically feel their warmth on his skin- or maybe the suit was just getting hotter.

The door rattled, then an explosion blasted his eardrums into ringing silence. Yinsen was reeling, but the computer was still running, the machine he was strapped into was still thrumming. Hope. He had hope. He couldn't lose it now, not when they were so close. If there was no will to live, there was no chance he'd get out of here. And for all the times Tony had wanted to take his life, this was one moment when he wouldn't give it up for the world. Maybe he was just being defiant, maybe it was just that god damned rebellious streak within him that said no, he wasn't going to let these rat bastards take his own life from him. The breath in his lungs was his. And only he would take it.

He was almost powered-up, the bar was slowly but surely getting closer to 100%. In the darkness, the computer screen glowed like a beacon of hope. And he could hear again, even if his ears were still ringing a bit. His mind was racing, running through the calculations and steps to be taken. Everything was going according to plan. Now if everything would just load a bit faster...

Shouts rang out, sounding through the halls. They were coming. Yinsen looked at him. "There's not enough time." Ghosts haunted that voice. Tony shivered. The brown eyes that looked black in the darkness cast a glance toward the door. "I'll stall them. I'll hold them off." Then he was gone, grabbing a gun on his way and darting out the door.

Tony let out a stream of curses. No! This wasn't supposed to happen. Yinsen wasn't supposed to be in danger. Tony was supposed to go first! He wasn't sticking to the plan, and it scared the shit out of Tony. He was never this strict, but god damn it, they were both going to get out of here. Not just Tony. He wasn't going to let that man get hurt. He had a family to return to! A wife and kids! And Tony would be damned if he didn't make sure the older scientist saw them again.

Shots rattled through the cave, each one, sending a bolt of electricity through his spine. Each bullet seemed to strike his nerves, again, again, again, and again. Over and over. But with each shot fired, he knew Yinsen was still alive, still fighting. Then the computer flashed 'COMPLETE'. And Tony grinned. He could hear men firing guns, but he could also hear men coming his way. He placed a hand over the crude version of his arc reactor. The room was pitch dark. Darker than a moonless sky. Perfect. His eyes were adjusted. He could see the men filter in, cautiously, looking for him.

The next five minutes passed in a blur. Later, Tony wouldn't remember a second of it. Until, until he came upon Yinsen. Blood was seeping into the man's shirt and he was laying on a pile of supplies. Tony knelt over him. "Yinsen? Wake up, buddy. We gotta go. Come on, man, you gotta go see your family. Your kids are waiting for you." He could hear the tremor in his voice, but he ignored it. Yinsen would not die. No.

The man smiled, a trickle of blood slipping from his mouth and down the side of his face. "Tony, my family is dead. They are waiting for me. And soon, I'll be with them. This was always the plan, Stark." The pure joy in the man's brown eyes scared Tony. Nope. No. Yinsen couldn't leave him. He couldn't do this alone. The impregnable, invincible lone wolf needed a wingman.

"No, Yinsen. No. This wasn't the plan. Please, don't. I don't want you to go." And why was he suddenly sentimental? Why was it he was always able to be cold and calm and calculated, but right now when he needed most to be that bastard he had always been, he was breaking down and crying like a little boy? Something in his chest hurt.

"Go, Tony. I've saved your life. Now don't waste it. I'm okay. Better than okay. Go." His eyes flickered closed, peace washing over his face like the tide.

Tony stared, until something fluttered to life in the corner, and shots fired off against his metal torso. Well, that's a wake up call if he'd ever heard one.

Loki sat by his bed, staring at the wall and begging himself to harden up. He was fine. He didn't need to cry. Not anymore. Today was the last search for Tony. They were flying over Afghanistan. Loki didn't hold out much hope, nor did anyone else anymore. It was most sure that the boy was dead. There hadn't been any ransom demands, no threats, no hostage alerts. Stark was gone. Poof. Like he'd turned into thin, sparse air.

A steel jaw and stony eyes greeted him in the mirror. He'd lost ten pounds, if not more. And yeah, he looked sickly, like the invalid he had been as a child. Small, pale, terrified. Now, he was small, pale, and bitter. Angry. Lost. He hated how vulnerable and screwed-up he looked. Like someone had run over his puppy and he wanted to kill the bastard. Maybe in a way, it wasn't all too far from the truth. He wanted to strangle whoever had taken Anthony, that was true. But Stark was not his puppy, he was far more. He was his anchor, his strength, his love. And damned was the man who had taken him away.

But that wasn't all Loki was contending with, and he knew that after all this pain had subsided- a very long time, no doubt- there would be something else within him flaring up. Loki was not meant to be happy, he had known that for too long. The Universe just wouldn't allow it. There was the family issues he'd been dealing with for years. Finding out his ancestry. Dealing with those brand new cuts on his arms.

It made him feel a little numb, to be honest. He wasn't sure if he liked it. But then again, what was the alternative? Pain? Tears? Sobbing until he couldn't breathe and shook from head-to-toe? Yeah. Fantastic. But in the long run, which would be more detrimental? Did he even care? Or was he destroying himself? Did he want to hurt, to ruin himself? Maybe. He wouldn't lie to himself, there were few times when he had wanted to demolish his own life. But this was certainly one of them. The red lines on his arms attested to that undeniably. The truth was staring right at him. Oh, what he'd do for a well-told lie.

Fun Fact #9: Loki doesn't escape into fantasy, not even if the sky is falling. And it most certainly is. His world was going up in flames.

Okay, so adding flame-throwers to his suit had been a remarkably fortunate idea. Tony would have been grinning if it weren't for Yinsen's body behind him, still in the cave. If he hadn't needed his arms, he would never have left him behind- dead or not. The man deserved a hero's burial, but if he were being honest, a heroes grave was in battle. And Tony knew he'd never be a hero.

He focused the flames mostly on the weaponry laying around. He wasn't leaving until every last fucking gun or missile was useless. Charred. Boiled down to worthless hunks of metal. Things were exploding like fireworks, but he wasn't scared. If he died, now, no one would know the difference. He had been gone for going on six months. Everyone probably thought he was dead. Loki had probably moved on. All he had left, was making sure that Stark Industries was no longer arming these motherfuckers. If it was the last thing he did, he would decimate their armory.

He felt a bullet whine into his leg, warm blood running and the joint collapsing in the suit. "Fuck!" He was kneeling. Shit. He had to get up. Slow steps. Baby steps. One at a time.

Another bullet hit the metal at his shoulder, causing his arm to go completely out of commission. He grilled the last of the weapons and hit the button for his jet-pack. Yeah, fancy shit for a scientist in a cave. He was that good. And just a little bit proud of himself. A bullet flew into the gas that fueled his 'jet-pack' and his flamethrowers. Fan-fucking-tastic. This was gonna be fun.

Everything exploded.

Stars danced before his eyes.

He was flying.

Motherfucking flying.

Like a god damn plane.

And then he was falling.

Like a god damn useless metal suit.

He could hear the air whistling past him. Falling, falling, falling. Boom. Bang. Crash. Sand was in his mouth- yummy- and in his eyes and grating his skin. But holy fucking hell he was free. Free. Free. Free. He was free! He had done it. There's that sunlight. There's that fresh air. He could feel the sun on his skin and the wind- albeit hot and stifling wind- was in his fucking face. Man, he had never cherished his life more than at that moment.

Stowing away the tears of joy, he dug himself out of the ground, throwing off dangling pieces of machinery and wrapping his more than useless coat around his head- as much as he loved the sun, dying of heat exhaustion would be a little silly at this point- and starting the long trek towards...somewhere.

Where the fuck was he?

Loki danced in place. Natasha Romanov was fixing him dinner- because 'dear lord, Loki, can you even feed yourself, you big, lanky baby?'- and it smelled good. Like, dear gods, it smelled mouth-watering, eyes-crossing good. And Loki wasn't exactly that enamored with food, but he was ravenous. He could eat one of those cute giraffes right now. Seriously. That woman was a sorceress.

The news was on. Just nothingness. It wasn't like he actually cared what the fuck was going on, but Nat had a special adoration for any and all things international- and if there was news on Russia, you better shut the hell up or that woman would flay your skin from your bones. Yeah. She was a tad violent. But hey, who wasn't these days? Loki had punched a hole in his wall the other day. Mmhmm. Anger issues. So lovely.

Something flashed, grabbing his rather flighty attention, and immediately ripping his heart out of his chest. "Natasha, get your Russian ass in here!" Whoa, his voice was shaking.

His heart was about to explode.

Maybe he would explode.

Tears threatened.

And he let them fall.

Was that the whine of an engine? Really, he was so exhausted and so hot, he was pretty sure it wasn't unexpected that he be hallucinating by now. How long did one have to go without water in this intense type of heat to get delirium? Surely he was there. Surely. But no, fucking hell! It was a helicopter!

"Hey! Hey, I'm here! It's me!" Was it landing? Did they hear him? Please, please-

The wind whipped his face, throwing thrashing sand against his skin. Someone was running towards him. Grabbing him. Holding him when he collapsed to his knees and started sobbing because he'd made it.

"You're okay, Tony. You're okay. It's okay, Tony." Someone shushed him, holding him in a tight hug. Oh god. He was safe. "You're safe. I've got you, Tony." He was safe.

Loki was running through the airport like a bat out of hell. Natasha ran beside him, throwing up a security pass that they'd been given as he darted through security and towards the landing strip. He could see the big plane landing. His boy was home. Stark was home. Stark was home. And Loki was about to burst into fucking tears again like he had when Natasha confirmed that, no, he wasn't hallucinating. They'd hugged and yelled and danced and cried because finally, finally, Anthony was home. Here. Again. And Loki didn't care if he was an orphan, or if his adopted father was a dick, or if his brother looked at him with sad, pitiful blue eyes anymore.

The boy he loved was home safe.

And as he ran out on to the runway, and Stark trotted off the plane, his heart danced a happy jig behind his ribs. Brown eyes caught sight of him, looking like a god damn mess no doubt, and the boy started running. Strong arms wrapped around him, whipping him off his feet and spinning him around. He held onto Anthony's neck tightly, gripping him with all the strength in his rather emaciated figure, and wanting to scream that he'd never, ever let him go again. And yeah, it hurt as much as it felt good because Anthony was about to break his ribs and the cuts under his sleeves were screaming and tears were pricking the backs of his eyelids and his heart was beating so hard it was sure to break bones and his nose was pressed so desperately into Stark's neck that it might break, but he didn't care. Because his heart was racing and Stark's arms were tight around him and he was about to cry and laugh and he could smell that spicy smell again and Stark's hair was right up against his face and he was pretty sure that boy was holding him like he would never let him go. Fuck, it was the most amazing thing he had ever felt in his entire life. Because, yes, Anthony was real, he was alive, and he seemed to still be in one piece.

His feet hit the runway again, and he pulled back just enough to look into those warm, liquid brown eyes and see that smiling mouth and that abnormally slender face and he could touch those cheekbones and run his fingers across Anthony's skin again. A mouth collided with his, and he was happy to just let Stark kiss him until he couldn't breathe any longer.

Tony got off the plane with a prance in his step for Pepper's sake. And he smiled at her. Then a racing raven-haired teenager caught his eye, and he was off. Loki.

He caught the tiny teen in a bone-breaking embrace, sweeping him off his feet and spinning him around. A laugh resounded in his ear, sounding like something straight from heaven. An angel. His angel. The angel that had picked him up and pulled him out of that Afghanistan hell. All he wanted to do was hold this sweet-smelling, soft, tiny boy in his arms until doomsday. And those arms wrapped around his were bony with worry. But they were Loki's arms. And even if the sharp edges cut into his flesh, he didn't care. It hurt, but he wanted this kind of pain more than he wanted anything in the world. Loki. He loved Loki.

He allowed him to pull back a few inches, keeping a tight grip around his ribs. Those emerald eyes- eyes the most perfect shade of green that had been played over and over in his dreams- looked into his with such love that he felt like he might just implode. Before he could stop himself and remember who was watching, he crushed his lips against Loki's, holding the back of the boy's skull and drowning himself in Loki. He tasted perfect. Like tea and Colgate and honey, and maybe just a bit tangy like blood- because let's face it, Tony hadn't necessarily been gentle with that kiss (he'd kissed Loki so hard their teeth clashed, c'mon, he hadn't seen the boy in six months). Perfect.

Loki pulled back laughing and crying and nuzzling against his neck and whispering something Tony couldn't hear and the feel of this cool little being in his arms again was overwhelming. Could he keep him forever? Please, God? If Tony could have Loki's love, he would be forever content- even if he was poorer than a pauper and felt a little sandy still. And yeah, those past six months were going to haunt him forever, but Loki could scare away the ghosts. And Loki could kiss away the fears. And when had it become so imperative that Loki be there through it all? And when had Loki become the cure-all for Tony's shit life?

Tony didn't care about the answers to the questions. Loki was saying he loved him. Whispering it over and over through those pretty pink- now bruised red- lips that Tony wanted to kiss over and over and over again. Loki loved him. Who cared if everything else was confused and fucked. He had the world in his arms. His world. His Loki.

Stark didn't actually let go of him for a few hours. In the limousine, at the Burger King- where Stark insisted that Loki eat as much as he did because 'Loki, you look like you're the one who was in captivity. Not cool, babe'. And yeah, every time Stark called him 'baby' or 'love' or 'darling' a little shiver of pure happiness shot up his spine. And sure, soon, he might have to face Anthony being upset because of all the pure misery he had carved into his arms. But he was confidant that the man would just be happy to be there with him. He had kissed all over Loki's face, telling him he loved him too. Everything was okay, for once. He had his love back. His heart was beating again. And Loki couldn't stop smiling.

A/N: Holy shit, the first like 3,000 + words of this were a bitch. Butttt, after it switched from pure plot and get-Tony-the-fuck-outta-hell to omg-everyone's-happy-again-let's-write-this-shit my writer's block (more like writer's I-hate-hate-hate-plots) went away ;). So...forgive the shitty quality of my attempt at plot. I don't normally plan stuff. But yeah, I'll stop excusing my shit writing.

Review, maybe? Yes? No? Ok.

Btw, I am so-so-so sorry for the Loki angst. But seriously, I would probably be just like this if someone I loved went missing. I tried to make it realistic? Hopefully it came out that way?

No worries, loves, thing's'll start looking up. At least for a little while. Maybe. I don't know. I shall try to make things a tad less angsty? Because I love you all. And Loki. Even if I'm a tad cruel.

I'm rambling.

GOODBYE AND HUGSSS. I love you all. xoxo

P.S. John Constantine is a little foray into the DC universe. Whoopsies. Hellblazer, I believe. But, yeah. Sorry if that offends anyone? I kind of forget which comic book world I was dealing with. Oops.