A/N: The title of this chapter is Fix You by Coldplay (It's a two part chapter, too). Go listen to it. The most beautiful song ever. And it's like the fucking gist of this chapter. I've never been so in love. Also, Stay by Rihanna feat. Mikey Ekko. It is everything Loki and Tony cannot say to each other. By the way, all of these songs I've mentioned throughout this fic are songs I think LOKI would listen to. Tony's sense of music is completely different- although he has his guilty pleasures ;).

Btw, I kind of apologize, because I have no clue how long it takes for injuries to heal, so I gave his ribs a month. If that's unrealistic...sue me. No, wait, don't. I'm broke already. xD

Oh, gosh. This is a real monster. A beast. A leviathan.

Warnings: Um, the usual should go into effect. Although there's really not a whole lot graphic. PTSD, if that can be a warning? Angst? Emotional distress all over the place. So. The usual. (I will be going over this chapter and changing it, at some point. So. Be aware. This isn't my best or favorite chapter. But that's going to change eventually. And yes, it will be shorter.)

Loki sat on the edge of his bed and stared off into space, realizing how words wounded like electrical wires in water and how fists broke things more than just bones and skin. He realized with frenetic terror that he may have actually lost yet another piece of his irreparably torn soul. And Anthony wasn't there and the shower is running and he should be washing off all the pieces of grime and dried flecks of blood that lingered from those three days ago, but he can't or maybe just hasn't because it's all right there in front of him. Everything had stared back at him in that mirror and made him shut down like a dysfunctional computer because he saw the painted aftereffects of that day when everyone hailed down on him like bullets of silver-lined hatred and years of confusion.

And with misguided, badly-timed accuracy, he realized this was deja vu of two years ago when he looked in the mirror and saw not an innocent, half-heartedly happy teenager with a pretty face and pure heart; but instead saw a damaged, raped, victimized, and traumatized 17 year old with bruises and broken ribs and aching insides. And it was that day all over again, the realizations of demoralization and corrupted innocence were washing over him like a tsunami wave. And it didn't make sense, why someone so young and with so much ahead of them- if it hadn't been ruined by the shattered sense of identity and abused quality of sanity- had to go through something like this twice. Once in the hands of a lover. And once at the hands of someone who was bequeathed by the Universe with the responsibility of protecting and loving him for their entire lives. He had just gotten back that balance he had lost in the hurricane of brotherly, stifling protection and conversely affected therapy and one too many stern talks with his father. And now it was gone, like a whiff of perfume on the wind or a snowflake in above-freezing degrees and that sound of a howl that faded into the night like it had never existed or was just a figment of an overactive imagination. And Loki wanted to scream because it was going to take him an infinity just to get back to this point of maybe-almost equilibrium with himself and the rest of the world- even if he still would hate them both with equal vehemence.

Then the door slammed and Anthony was here and he could hear the young, wounded man talking to John Constantine and he remembered how hurt Stark was by him and his family and his very own father. And he knew that they were two of a kind, not because they were born that way or naturally natured alike, no. It was because Life had thrown them two similar curve-balls that had shoved them off course and out of personality and into a totally contrary world that was never supposed to exist. And they were both scarred, physically and mentally, by the people and circumstances that revolved and lived and breathed around them. He knew he needed that man like he needed a hole in his head, but that didn't change the fact that they were saving each other, that they were keeping each other alive. Somehow, they brought each other a whole new zenith of emotional turmoil, but it was a cure not a curse. And Loki wanted nothing more than to hold onto Stark like he was his lifeline and Anthony was pulling him to safety. Because he was. Because, despite the scars on his arms and his heart, Anthony was slowly becoming a healing elixir that made it all a little irrelevant because he wasn't hurting all the time anymore. And sure, right now Loki's wrecked beyond belief, and everything has a tint of doom in it, and nothing's gonna be bright and sunshiney for a while- but it's okay, it's okay because Stark's right there, ready to catch him when he falls. And if that young, emotionally deficient, shut-down, turned-off, powered-down man wasn't there, Loki's pretty sure he would have done something at least mildly lethal.

And Loki would never tell Stark this. Not if their lives depended on it- which, if we're being completely honest, they kind of do, today. Not if the sky was falling and they had mere seconds to live before being crushed by a picture-perfect piece of blue daytime. Not if it was make-it or break-it time, time to give up all their secrets and be transparent. Because Loki knew that they would always have their secrets, even if those little treasured bits of personal promises were the words that each of them wanted so desperately to hear fall from each other's lips. They would always be a bit opaque, because that's what made them so right and fitting as much as they were wrong and mismatched. Everything would be a tug-of-war battle between yes and no, right and wrong, left and right, meant-to-be and forced-together. And life would always be an uphill battle together because they were two unnaturally volatile forces that would rip each other apart as much as they would patch and stitch each other back together. And it would always be push down, only to pull each other up off the ground. But that was maybe what they needed- someone to hurt them as they healed them. And yeah, it was twisted and a little masochistic and anything but practical, but at the same time, it was all Loki wanted or desired- no matter how much it hurt. Because Loki's learned that love hurts, deep and recalcitrant and undeterred.

Loki gingerly climbed into the shower, relishing and cringing at the pain that the hot water pushed into his aching joints and burning muscles that have been beaten far past crumbling and pushed past submission into slavery. He leaned back against the wall, letting water run down his body fast and almost hotter than was tolerable. His thoughts spun and fell and resurfaced in his mind, playing back and forth, weaving amongst his demons and the shadows of memories wished to be forgotten but forever present. Thoughts of Anthony, thoughts of Odin, thoughts of Howard, thoughts of love and pain and betrayal and lies and half-truths and painful bluntness. He wondered if this all-consuming silence would ever be accompanied by thoughts of happiness and fullness of life and smiles and laughter instead of this, this terrible mash-up of fucked emotions and whirling confusion and painful desperation? Because Loki wants so desperately to be happy- even if that screwed little piece of his mind chirps that no, he doesn't, that he's always been miserable and that's his comfort zone and if he loses it he won't be the same, that he'll be dull and intolerable and absolutely absurd. Because Loki doesn't know that it's okay to be happy, that no one is going to blame him or persecute him for being okay and sane for once, that it's not going to change who he is to feel joy and splendor in a life that could be so full and fulfilling.

But it's okay. Tony's here to save the day.

Someone knocked on the door in a rapping torrent of beats that makes a small smile lift the cracked edges of Loki's lips. Stark. "C'mon, Lo-Lo, hurry up in there." The teenager whined through the door. "I miss you, sweetie-pie." And Loki's pretty sure his dorm-mates are close to gagging from all the sweet things Stark's been saying the past few days- hell, in a past life, Loki probably would've been too.

He finished scrubbing the past few days in the hospital and the last sweaty night in his own bed filled with nightmares of the all-too real past out of his hair and off his skin. Climbing out, he smelled like his usual frost-condensed, winter-tainted self and felt squeaky clean and almost halfway normal. But really, Loki never believed he would be normal again. Maybe it was doom or depression or that post-broken bone dark cloud that forever hovered above one's head that made him feel that way, or maybe it was the truth.

Or maybe, things would get better than when they were normal.

Fuck, was that even a possibility for Loki and Anthony?

He was pretty sure not.

Especially not after last night.

"Yeah, they say I'm just like my dad." Stark's voice had been sharp and high-pitched and so god damn injured by his father's words that Loki wanted to scream or cry or weep or scalp Howard. And yeah, his own father was just as bad- not that he'd ever say as much to Anthony- but this was different. Because when he was hurting, it was all contained and he could kind of-sort of-not really ignore it. But here was someone- a living being who inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide, just like he did- that he loved and cared for, and they were hurt. And they were trying so hard to be strong in the face of something they couldn't conquer because it kept beating them to the ground until they were too weak to stand up anymore. And Loki knew exactly how that felt, and he had been right where Anthony was- like 49 hours ago, actually- and it made him hurt even more deeply and feel everything- including the fiery pain in his chest- so much more intensely.

Howard smirked, smug like a cat with a rat tail hanging from it's mouth. "No. No, Anthony," And really, does he just want to die? Because only Loki's allowed to call him that. And no, he's not a territorial bitch...at least not all the time. "You're not even close to being like me. You don't have the drive or the brains to be like me." He shook his head, and Loki snarled at him. "You'll never be anything. You're a nobody, kid."

Here, Loki had to stop for a moment to take a few deep, calming breaths. Because, quite honestly, if he didn't, he might snap Howard's neck. 1) Howard's a fucktard if he thinks Anthony will never be anything. 2) Um, the boy is world-renowned genius, you moron. 3) Loki's gonna shoot you in the balls if you don't seriously stop fucking with your son. He's that serious, and god damn it, he has never actually been this protective over anyone but Thor. Yeah. You heard him. Thor.

But the younger- youngest, actually, and yep, it's nice not to be the only baby for once- Stark just nodded. "I know. But at least, I accept it. You never did. I mean, think about it, Howie. Who's gonna miss you when you're gone?" The boy was ignoring Loki- the big mass of seething, cast-adorned teenager beside him- and staring at his dad with pure venom. "Who's gonna go to your grave and put flowers down like I have with mom. You don't have anyone, man. I hate your guts. Stane just wants your money. All your whores wont give two shits once you're six feet under and not paying their rent anymore. So tell me, who's gonna miss you?" His voice was a cool, calm masquerade. Loki could feel him shivering.

By now, Loki isn't sure if he wants to laugh and cheer or cry and crumble into bits more. Laugh because finally, Stark is standing up for himself- to some degree. Cry because he believes he will be nobody special, and he doesn't realize that he's already all Loki can hold onto for sanity and support. He's all Loki has to wake up for, to give him some semblance of a future, to keep the razor blade out of his hands. And isn't that a little sad? That in the whole, big, wide world, all Loki has is a genius addict with daddy issues and PTSD- if Loki knows anything about anything, he knows that kid is repressing some serious issues from his kidnapping- and a broken heart beyond repair. And aren't they a fucking pair, the broken orphan and the lost heir to a kingdom. But somehow, it's okay. In their little portion of the world, it actually works- sorta, kinda, not really, but who's keeping track, really?- and somehow make's the sun shine just a tad brighter and the moon sing a slightly more romantic lullaby to lull them to sleep every night (that is, if Stark even sleeps anymore, although Loki's kinda doubting it).

Howard's a little more than red in the face now, but Anthony's just staring at him with these dull brown eyes that make Loki cringe. "You will stay away from him. And if I ever see the two of you together again...well, you know what I'm capable of, right, Tony?" The big man cracked his knuckles ominously. Anthony went stiff as a board.

Then, everything went a little off course. Because, oh hell no, Anthony's grinning that charming, drugged, fucked smirk that makes Loki want to puke. "But, Howard...I'm Tony fuckin' Stark. And nobody tells me what to do." The threat mingled with his charming sneer made Loki's guts churn, because everything was going sickeningly closer to the events that got his ribs re-broken and the hell if Howard doesn't look every bit like he's going to beat Anthony's pretty face into the hospital pristine tile floors. Not like Loki'd let him. He can be a fucking puma if the need arises- and at this point, god knows violence is becoming the norm for them and it makes Loki a little nauseous to realize that.

"Stay away from him." And this time, those shit-brown eyes were on him, commanding him and ordering him around. Like anybody's the boss of Loki. -snort-

He merely shrugged, pulling off indifference and nonchalance like it was in his soul- and who's to say it's not, really? "I do what I want." And dear god, between he and Anthony, it's a wonder the world hasn't ripped into a chasm because two such immovable forces cannot exist this close to each other without a natural disaster or the Armageddon or some sort of Hel descending on Earth because they're intolerable even to themselves at this point. Although, together, they could potentially rule the earth and the nine realms, because their stubborn determination, excessive narcissism, and totally blown-out-of-proportion egos make them invincible to all but each other.

"Oh really?" Howard raised a sarcastic eyebrow that made something like an angry bull charge full speed ahead in his stomach. Because he knew what that look meant, he knew that Howard knew every detail of his shit childhood, and that made him feel dirty and small and ashamed.

Fun Fact #12: Loki has felt shame all of three times before now in his life. 1) The first and last time he saw Thor cry, and the cause of those tears was him. 2) Thanos telling him he was chubby. 3) The first time he and Thor threw punches and the reason was- yep, you guessed it- him.

Beside him, he felt Stark get up. Standing at about three inches shorter than Howard, Anthony was anything but intimidating, but he still managed to glare at his father with all the megawatt intensity of a thousand suns. "Get out. Now."

Howard grinned. "Alright son, defend your bitch for now. While you still can." Then he was gone. And Stark was looking at him with big, apologetic, chocolate eyes that melted his heart like a piece of ice in a furnace. And really, his entire body was engulfed in fire, because Stark had defended him and stood up for Loki even if he couldn't stand up for himself and was this the Universe's twisted way of saying sorry for all the fucked up years they had taken abuse from virtually everyone without being able to fight back, that now they each stood up for each other and protected each other like they should've been doing for themselves forever?

'Apology accepted.'

A month later, and Loki's looking at the scar across his ribs and wondering how the hell he got here. How he ended up this broken human being with a xylophone ribcage and white-knuckle hands and daggers for hipbones, again. Because, right here, was where he was two years ago. Hadn't he left this behind? Hadn't Stark saved him? Hadn't life been better the past two months Anthony had been back? Was everything in vain? Why try to be happy when you're a roiling shipwreck sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench of misery and despair? Because really, Loki hadn't been happy in a long time, and he was pretty fucking sure he never would be again. Because, people like Loki didn't get to be happy. They just didn't. The last time he was happy, he was sitting on Thor's lap in a car full of people singing Britney Spear's Womanizer at the top of his lungs with Thor's deep baritone right in his ear. And yeah, his cousins had been there and the whole fucking family piled into one suddenly small Hummer, but it had been fun and they had been close and it was the last time he had let his brother hug him...like, really hug him. One of those big, crushing, sweeping him off his feet until he was yelling and they were spinning around and laughing and just being fucking kids kind of hug.

And after that, Loki became kind of shut off and cut off and became frozen to everyone and everything and his emotions didn't exist anymore because he was so cold and bitter it was almost mind-warping how acerbic and hostile he could be. For years, he spurned everyone and everything in a half-hearted attempt to salvage some last strand of sanity and happiness. It was like he was locking up that little shattered piece of happiness up in a tower until he was satisfied that it would be safe from all the world's vile attacks on it. That, finally, it might find some way to thrive now, now that he had gotten far from the giants of despair and loneliness and abandonement and insignificance. And can we just take a moment to realize how horrendous Loki's adolescence was and how it's left it's mark on him so deeply, he won't ever be able to forget it and that thought in and of itself is so massively depressing he's considering looking for something sharp to cut the thought out of his body with.

That's always been why, why, why he reached for self-harm when the world was literally falling around his ankles. Because with that little blade, he might be able to cut away his demons, he might be able to make them bleed enough to die or at least go into shock or a coma or something. There were things inside Loki that he needed to kill. There were words and thoughts and bitter feelings he needed to die inside of him. They were the monsters that presented themselves every time he looked in the mirror and considered himself too fat or too ugly or saw frizzy hair and an orphan that never found a home or a place to truly belong. And even his own parents, the woman who had conceived him and bore him for nine months within her body and finally went through what must have been agonizing labor just to bring him into this world, didn't even love him or want him. And dear lord, how cursed must he be?

Then of course, after being a human icerberg for years on end, Anthony Stark traipsed into his life and would you look at that? Loki's suddenly that hot little flame that used to flirt like the devil and get drunk and have...questionable sexual experiences and date and flirt and fuck anything cute with a pulse. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of, yet it was a time he had forced himself to view as growth. Because he had felt something, even if it was shallow and barely broke the surface and kind of flimsy when it came to human emotion. But it'd been there, nonetheless, planted on fallow ground, sure. But never the less, he knew that seed was planted, and it was foundering, and all he had to do was let it grow, let it get sunshine and rain and it would grow to be a big, strong tree with actual roots this time. And all he had to do was learn to feel something more than bitterness and uncertainty and anger and dear lord, this is going to be really hard but Loki was almost-kind of-not at all sure that it will be worth it one day.

Somehow, Loki inherently knew that Anthony was going to be his saving grace- and well, looky here, Loki's done a whole fucking 180 and is it sad that this isn't a entirely rare occurrence for Loki to change his mind like the wind?- and maybe teach him how to feel love, and care, and tenderness, and gentleness and maybe trust? Could he trust? And was it actually wise to place his trust in someone so flighty and unstable as Anthony? Maybe it wasn't directly in his nature to be a bit fight-or-flight when it came to any and all relationships of any sort or orientation, but he was an addict and a victim and they're both a little well-versed on how to avoid human emotion or you know, humans in general. And it makes Loki's monstrous bitterness rise up again, like a building on fire in his soul, to realize that all of his problems are indirectly- *cough* directly *cough*- Odin and Thor's fault? Because they made his self-esteem disappear like a magic trick, and made him understand hatred like he had been born with it sown into his skin and implanted in his bones and infiltrated into his organs, and why hadn't he run away all those years ago when there was still hope for his slowly more jaded soul. When he had had a sliver of a chance of normalcy and happiness instead of pure fucking misery that he can't push away any longer because it's seeped into every emotion and every smile and even the flecks of gold in his irises that he's pretty sure no one's even ever noticed but him because they show up fabulously when he's crying and sitting in the bathroom and wishing for all the world that he could just curl into fetal position and die because he can't rein in who he is and how awful and sullen and irascible he is and everyone hates him for it, even he hates himself for it. There's not much on this planet worse than hating yourself 24/7.

And to think, Loki's imagining that Stark might fix this. This fuckwad of confusion and depression and unhappiness and bitter coldness. -snort-

His one and only last resort was Thor. His brother and his rock and his tissue when his nose was runny and his eyes were leaky like Niagra Falls, before. Before all of heaven and hell crashed in on Loki's sweet, entirely flawed view on who he was and what he was and you know...his entire life and every truth he'd ever been lied to about. Because, all of a sudden, everything was a lie. Even Loki was a lie. Sure, he lived and breathed and his heart pumped and he existed. But other than that, Loki's entire soul was one big falsehood. And it's not a little white lie, it's a big lie, like Jason Bourne and his fucking identity. Loki was finding out things about himself that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. But probably what was the worst, was finding out exactly why his 'father' had never really loved him, why the man he had tried to win over time and time again until he finally gave up, had decided he wasn't worth his good time. Because he wasn't. Because Loki didn't deserve more than the roof over his head and the clothes on his back and the food in his stomach and the education he was getting. Loki didn't deserve to play ball with Odin, or get wisdom about 'girls' from Odin, or have Odin's approval on his life. That wasn't his right because he wasn't Odin's son. And deep down, hadn't Loki always known this? Something was always off, and he always knew it was him. He was wrong. Something was defective about him. And sure, being an orphan wasn't his fault, but being hated for who he was and what he was and how he acted and the miserable, ungrateful prick he had been was his fault. And he deserved every verbal-lashing and black-eyed beating he got over the last nineteen years.

But the funny thing is, Thor never treated him like he was superior until Loki began turning into a skinny Jack Frost. Until Loki turned into this maelstrom of confusion and despair and depression and anguish that Thor could never understand. And all the heartbreak in Thor's eyes when Loki found out who he really was- a look Loki resented with every raw, bitter fiber of his small, skinny body- was something that Loki would never understand. Because right now, there was this wide chasm ripped between them, holding them captive worlds apart. And Loki wasn't sure that chasm could be traversed, he wasn't sure he could ever get to the other side, and quite frankly, he wasn't all too positive he wanted to. Because as much as he had cherished and idolized Thor, finding out that his brother had kept this secret, that he had continued this lie, that he had been a part of this conspiracy to keep Loki in the dark and confused and hurting for god knows how long if Odin hadn't nearly broken a blood vessel screaming the truth out- finally- had put a bit of a strain on the relationship. And really, Loki's just as ready to call it quits with all of the Odinson's once and for all, but there's that little-brother voice screaming that he wants his big brother back, that brute he practically worshiped and who worshiped him back. And other than Stark, there wasn't a soul on Earth who cherished and adored Loki as much as Thor did.

He sprawled out across his bed, smothering his face deep into his sweet-smelling comfort- which still held just a trace of Stark's whiskey/motor oil/ coffee/ spice presence. And if Loki closed his eyes, he can almost feel the engineer' s presence, just as it was last night before he fell asleep, sprawled out just like Loki was, with a hand curled around Loki's hair to keep him right where he was. And in the morning, with Stark snoring like a grizzly and his alarm clock screaming shrilly enough to wake up Satan down in the core of the earth and a headache already coiling up and ready to strike in the back of his mind, Loki was pretty much close to ripping his hair out or scratching his eyes from their sockets or stabbing himself in the ear drums just to make the noise stop. But to make one such nerve-grating noise off, he had to climb over Stark and somehow keep his head back far enough so that the boy didn't unintentionally rip a good portion of his hair out of his scalp- even if Loki had been considering doing this himself, someone else doing it just wasn't acceptable, Loki's got standards too, y'know. He stared at the sleeping boy beside him, considering waking him, but knowing it would be futile because, like himself, Stark was the type to swat at you and roll over to go back to sleep when you tried to wake him. Hence it taking a cacophony of noise to wake Loki from even a light sleep.

Gingerly, Loki got on his hands and knees, cursing everything in the world, and easing himself over Stark to reach and strain for the alarm clock. Finally, spider-fingers (for once, thank god for his unnaturally long fingers) tapped the button to turn the fucking thing off. And he relaxed.

"Well, y'know, I'd dreamed of waking up with you on top of me, but, uh, I didn't think it'd be so soon." Like the feline he practically was, Loki jumped at the sound of Anthony's sleepy, groggy voice. Flinching, he looked down at the face two inches from his own. Big brown eyes engulfed his electric shock green.

"If you go all Martin Luther King Jr. on me, you'll never see me in this position again." He deadpanned. And no, Stark's hands ghosting up and down his thighs was not seducing him in even the slightest. -snort-

Stark blinked.

Then burst out laughing, effectively breaking the sensuality of the moment and allowing Loki to comfortable waltz out of the room to Stark's early-morning laughter and the remembered sensation of calloused, strong fingers whispering against his legs.

Tony stared up at the ceiling, shrouded in the darkness of the night and the loneliness of addiction. Other than the pills in his hands, there were several things tormenting Tony at midnight on this particular evening/early morning:

1) How the fuck does he explain the arc reactor to Loki? And how will the boy react? Panic? Fear? Disgust? Will he just be seen as a monster in those green eyes?

2) Sex. With a certain snowy-tinted, inkspun-haired, emerald-eyed teenager. No, he won't name any names. He'll scream them-but he really needs to get his mind out of the gutter...

3) Rent. A job. Such tedious, irritating things. He'd really rather bed his ethereal god of a maybe-almost-who-actually-knows boyfriend.

4) Was he actually wanting to commit to a 'thing'- because 'relationship' is a bad word, in case you weren't aware- with Loki? Was it that serious- hmm...can you say 'denial', Tony?

5) Booze. And lots of it.

6) Something Loki had said to him the other day, "You know, if I could have anything in the world, all I would want was you, me, a bottle of whiskey, and a meteor shower on that roof again, but never-ending. Like, we could be stuck in limbo, where no one else existed on the same celestial plane that we did. So we didn't have to actually...interact with other beings." And, as crazy and fucked up as that idea was, Tony loved it. As long as clothes were an option, not a requirement- and let us not forget that Tony's an opportunist. Clothes would be ripped off or torn off with teeth or-

...The precise location of Tony's state of mind at any given moment is the gutter of sex, sex, and more sex.

And, last, but certainly not least (and really the only thought in his mind, at the current moment, that wasn't Loki-centric)- 7) Afghanistan. Yinsen. Brown eyes going completely and utterly blank in front of him as another's life slipped away from them. Death, it was certainly something Tony was familiar with, but he'd never seen it so close, so personal. And Yinsen, giving his life up so that Tony could maybe survive and get out of the cave that that man had been in for god knows how long before Tony had even gotten his ass dragged there. Oh, the fear he had felt, the way his spine rattled and his skull shook every time something exploded or some part of the cave crumbled or someone screamed because guns were being shot and he was a Weapon of Mass Destruction, and it made him realize just how fragile human beings are. How with just a few pieces of metal melded together, he could squeeze his fingers and obliterate a human being. He had played God, and it put a bad taste in his mouth. He had taken lives, he had killed, he had destroyed; to persevere, to survive, what was the price? What was the going rate for life? Another life? Must one die to keep another breathing? Is it just a back and forth, a game some Being in the clouds was playing? Were He and the Devil dueling it out on a chess board, pawn for pawn?

These were the thoughts that crowded Tony's head between the spaces filled with ideas for new robots, and a system with its own personality to one day run his home, and the hazy alcohol-drenched memories of his childhood, and the pain and traumas that made up every human life- especially of one so crazy and hectic as Tony's. Throughout it all, there were strains pretty green eyes and laughing pink lips and wind-blown raven hair and pallid skin. And that made it a little tolerable, because if he looked hard enough, he could find a snatch of that pretty angel that would pull him out of the depths of despair and back onto solid ground, and a smile would find its way back onto his face and he could breathe once more- even if it only lasted a whopping thirty seconds. But maybe, maybe he just needed thirty seconds of bliss every once in a while to keep him sane and strong and to keep that cocky, arrogant, devil-may-care mask up.

Tony grinned down at the moaning boy under his hands. Loki's eyes were closed and the class was about to start, but really, neither of them cared because this was their one class together- not that Tony was actually taking this class, but he made it work- and they weren't going to waste it actually listening to the lecture. -snort- No, they wasted it with Tony's nimble fingers massaging Loki's whatever- so far, feet, hands, and now shoulders because this kid has some serious issues with tensing up. I wonder why.

He can barely concentrate with that wintry, somewhat peppermint tea smell from his hair and skin and just Loki in and of himself, in his nose and fucking with his brain because nothing smells like Loki. Nothing. It is purely Loki. But that's the case with pretty much everything about Loki because Tony's never been this close to a boy before to find out how he smelled and how he smiled and how much his eyes changed color like a god damn mood ring and how soft his skin was and how he could feel those muscles move under his hands because Loki was arching his back because "Oh, that's the spot." And Tony's pretty sure Loki's not in on the fact that he sounds beyond sexual right now. But Tony's okay with that, even if he's getting looks from the other students that are making him blush, because Loki's visibly relaxing under his touch. Which, of course, was precisely why he started doing this. And really, Tony's never given a massage before in his life, but he's a quick learner and easily found out exactly what got Loki to roll his eyes back and drop his head back and just turn to utter putty under Tony's hands.

The thing is, Tony's got a hang-over migraine the approximate size of a small country squeezed into his brain. Every other noise in the whole fucking universe is like someone grating their fingernails down a chalkboard, except Loki's voice, Loki's soft breathing, Loki's pen scratching across his notebook. And Loki does this really, absurdly fantastic thing where he brushes Tony's mud-colored hair with his fingers. And Tony knows it's just an absent-minded habit, just a idle rhythm (because if Tony knows anything about Loki, it's that Loki likes rhythms and tunes and soft noises- like how he hums when he's in the shower, but shhhh, because Loki doesn't know Tony knows about that- and idle movements), but every time Loki's fingers run through his hair, his headache vanishes. And of course, any touch from Loki is a good touch, but they're still getting used to physical contact and what's good and what's okay and what's bad and what's over-the-line and Tony still can't get over the fact that, um, he's super-duper-uber in love with a boy. A boy. Yep, Tony Stark, notorious playboy who could rival Hugh Hefner himself, is in love with a skinny, misanthropic, occasionally snarky teenage boy. What's the world coming to? He isn't sure, but with Loki in his sights, the world suddenly looks a whole lot more beautiful.

"You sure you don't wanna skip class?" He murmured, scooting closer to Loki and resting his chin on a thin, bony shoulder. Peppermint invaded his nose and brain and raced over his body and enveloped him in Loki's pure, clean, minty, wintry, dark scent. He spent hours upon hours upon nights upon weeks thinking of this and recreating this when he was in Afghanistan and the only true smell was smoldering metal and sweat and dust and fire and, a few times, blood. That metallic odor that made a chill race up his spine and his eyes go dark and a frown pull down the corners of his lips and pushed his eyebrows together because it reminded him of everything bad and dark and sinister in this world and how close he was to it and how close he had come to becoming it when he was in that- thankfully, destroyed- suit. And even with the medicine he's been pouring down his throat to combat all the haunting memories crammed into his brain, he can't forget that moment when brown eyes looked into his and all Tony could see was joy and freedom and there wasn't a trace of fear and that scared Tony. Because that moment when everything started going blurry and dark and there were dots dancing in front of his face when he was fourteen, he was frightened and terrified of what was to come, of the fact that he was dying and soon, he would be no more. Maybe it was because Tony had known he wouldn't be remembered more than a few weeks, that no one would mourn over him because he didn't have friends or family or anyone who cared. Because, if Tony died, the only person who would care was the media. And Pepper, because Pepper always cared, it was her biggest flaw and greatest virtue.

Loki smirked and shook his head. "To do what, exactly?" His voice was just short of driving Tony crazy. Like, batshit, off his cracker, nutty as a pecan, out-of-his-fucking-mind crazy. But, then again, that's kind of the general effect Loki has on Tony- and he'll be damned if that boy doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

He nuzzled his lips against Loki's jaw. "Mmm, I could think of a few things." And yeah, he was flirting, because when were they not flirting? He was fairly sure Constantine was going to break something if he walked in on Loki and Tony in a tickle fight or kissing or doing something incredibly goopy and mushy and really, this wasn't how Tony did things but it was a nice change and, if he had his way, a permanent one. He had never liked being a player or a heartbreaker or an easy fuck. He wanted something substantial this once, and god damn, he was going to get it.

Loki laughed, all low and seductive and breathy, and no, no, that's okay, Loki, it's not like Tony has hormones or anything or you know, reacts to you so strongly he was beginning to think he was turning into a trip-wire, one wrong move, and boom!, he's hot and flushed and about to fall head over heels in this overwhelming desire and love and lust for this incredibly fucked-up boy who was just as terrified of this as he was. And maybe that's why it was so sharp and so consuming and encompassing- because it was dangerous and risky and a really, really bad idea. But, Tony loved bad ideas. Loves them like southerners love sweet tea. "Alright, but nothing-" And here, Tony pressed a finger to Loki's perfect rose-tinted lips.

"No rules." He smirked, snatching up Loki's backpack and dragging him out of the room, because there's something they need to talk about and he really doesn't want to especially with everything becoming perfect and comfortable; but that's precisely why they have to talk now. Because if this goes one or two steps further, Tony's gonna be in deep shit because Loki is gonna find out and how will he explain exactly why he hadn't told him yet? Was there even a viable answer? Other than fear, of course, because it seemed like fear was fueling a larger and larger portion of Tony's decisions.

"Where are we going?" Loki asked, stumbling along behind Tony's unwittingly extra-long strides that, for once, rivaled Loki's lanky, long-legged pace. "And why are we going there so fast?" And, yes, Tony, that was a grumble you heard.

"The roof." He smiled softly, remembering that night not too long ago when everything had been perfect for one ill-fated night that had turned into a spectacularly tragic morning. But he refused to let this turn tragic, he refused to realize that this was big, that this was earth-shattering and mind-warping and that, yeah, Loki's gonna be extraordinarily pissed that Tony kept this from him for so long. And no, it's not going to be okay with him that Tony kept the fact that he nearly died, a secret. Because, he and Tony both know, he deserved better. He deserved to know every in-and-out fact about what went on in Afghanistan; and Tony deserved to tell him and finally get everything out and in the open air so that it would stop sitting like an anchor in his mind, weighing him down until he could barely get out of bed every morning. And if it hadn't been for Loki, Tony would probably be in that cave, still, or worse, dead in that cave, just a decomposing, rotting body that had been forgotten by all except the rats.

On the roof, Tony looked out and saw the entire campus, shining in mid-morning splendor, and bright, direct sunlight. And every bird, squirrel, and campus cat was out, scavenging and sunbathing and singing their little hearts out because it was beautiful and the world was filled with green grass and blue skies and colorful flowers and a big, gleaming yellow sun. So, why was there this dark cloud hanging over his head, just waiting to let out a torrential downpour that threatened to drown him in his own version of the god damn Flood? Oh, right, the arc reactor- that cursed device that actually kept him from having many little pieces of shrapnel stuck deep in his heart. Right. This is going to be fucking fabulous. Loki's gonna be thrilled. Or, he might rip Tony's eyeballs out, and Tony would let him, because it was nothing short of what he deserved.

He turned to face the inky-curls, the sparkling green eyes that really rivaled the gems they resembled, and the just barely smiling lips. And his heart choked around the blood it was pumping, contracting a little unevenly and making Tony's chest tighten almost unbearably, and yep, he's already drowning because here comes that violent storm that will pretty much rain down Armageddon on Tony's head. Damn.

"Stark? Are you okay?" Loki was frowning when Tony came back down to earth. Whoops. Adderall, where you at?

"Uh. Yeah. I, um, have to tell you something." He fidgeted, turning into a paranoid, twitching mass of cells and veins and organs- that honestly, were starting to shut down and Tony might die before he can get this out- and sweat and tears- which might come flooding his eyeballs before this is over because this is really the most personally devastating thing he's dealt with in five years- and blood- which was pounding in his ears and making him feel like he's going to faint (not unlikely).

Loki sat back, green eyes assessing Tony shrewdly and making him feel really, really naked, like Loki could see his soul- and maybe he could, the jury was still out on that one- and right now, Tony was fairly positive he had never been more vulnerable. "Go on." He murmured, his eyes still glued to Tony like he was fucking Medusa.

"Well. I never told you about Afghanistan." Loki's eyes widened. "And there's a reason why. It's all really complicated, and there are parts of it that are still a jumble and I don't really remember much of escaping- except...the guy that was helping me died." He saw Loki's face darken. "And, that scene keeps replaying in my head. Everything else is so fuzzy, except the suit and that first few minutes of adrenaline before he died, and how you were the only thing keeping me going and I felt sure that we were both going to get out of there, Loki, but he died, he- he sacrificed his life for mine. And I know he wanted to see his family again, but he's dead, Loki and they were dead and he never told me that and I was so scared when his eyes just suddenly turned off like a light and I was alone and it was the first time in my life when I thought I couldn't do something by myself. I mean, I've been the lone wolf forever, I've been the one who didn't need anybody, I've been the one who could do it myself. But I trusted him to be there, I believed he was going to be by my side and we were going to get out of there together but he always wanted to die, and I feel like it's my fault he's dead- despite all. I can't live with that, and with seeing his blood all over the place and on my hands and on his face and no matter how many times I wash my hands, I can't get rid of that blood. I feel it crawling all over my skin and I've used bleach and clorox and industrial stuff I had laying around but it wont come off. Loki, I can't get rid of it." And Tony was pretty sure he was having a panic attack but it was okay, because Loki was there, holding him and shushing him and telling him he was okay and that it wasn't his fault and that Yinsen was happy because he was with his family, even if neither of them believed any of it. Even if it was all a lie, it was okay because it was Loki's lie and Loki's comfort and Loki's arms wrapped around him and Loki kneeling beside him on this fucking roof in fucking New York in fucking America, land of the free. He was free. He was safe. He had Loki again and nobody was going to hurt him.

For a few minutes, they just sat there, Loki hushing him and brushing his hair and whispering things in his ear that he was fairly sure he would never forget and making him relax and remember how to breathe again. And Tony just tried not to panic, tried to understand that this was for the best and that he needed to tell Loki this or it would just get all gnarled up and be yet another thing that bruised and beat them. And they needed to know things about each other, everything didn't have to be a secret because Tony didn't need to protect himself here, with Loki. And that thing in his chest was his lifeline, but it wasn't really, because that was Loki, it had been Loki for almost a year now, and without realizing it, they had become so much more important to each other than breathing or having a pulse or continuing to exist. Because without each other, neither of them could exist. Now that they had found each other, there wasn't a thing more devastating than losing each other, and really, that's what keeps them both awake at night.

"I have to tell you something else." He sniffed, ew. He hadn't even realized he was crying or that it sounded like his voice-box had been through a blender or that his nose was now a factory for runny snot. "When they, uh, captured me, they blew up Happy's car. Unfortunately, I was actually getting into the car when the bomb went off." Loki went rigid beside him. Just keep breathing, just keep breathing, just keep- "And, some metal shards hit me in the chest." He sat up to take off his shirt, putting his hand over the arc reactor, because he didn't really want Loki to see it because right now it felt like he was ripping his heart out and placing it in Loki's hands and saying 'Please, don't break this. It's all I've got.' and he has never felt so susceptible. So open. So scared. "Yinsen was able to take out most of the shards, but there were some little pieces of shrapnel stuck inside me. They, uh, they call those kinds of injuries 'dead men walking' because you're fine for like a week or something, but the pieces get pulled closer to your heart and one day you just fall over dead. So, he, uh, he fixed it by hooking me up to this fucking car battery and I don't really get all the ins and outs of it, but I built-" His voice caught in his slowly restricting throat because, no, he didn't want to move his hand and Loki's eyes are glassy and his vision keeps blurring and there's something warm and wet on his face because, fuck, he's a monster, a creation, something no one would ever want or see anything in but freak, freak, freak, freakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreak freakfreakfreakfreak.

"It's okay, sweetie." Loki murmured, his voice cracked and shredded raw. And Tony decided right then and there that that was the most absolutely heart-breaking sound he had ever heard.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the arc reactor thrum steadily under his hand- unlike his heart which couldn't decide if it wanted to stop, start, or tango. "I built this," And no, he didn't move his hand. "To, you know, not be hooked up to a car battery for the rest of my life. And it's powerful enough to run my heart for like fifty lifetimes. And, it, uh, it's like a battery, and no one knows about it. Not even my dad, or Stane, or Pepper. It's run by Palladium and I have to change out the Palladium chip every now and then cause it burns out." He was mumbling by now, feeling Loki's worried eyes on him and through him and piercing his soul.

"Anthony, look at me, please." His voice was soft, but he could hear the hurt in it. Hurt that he had put there. Because he hadn't trusted Loki by keeping this from him and he was still too scared to let the other boy see it, because, it made him a freak, a Frankenstein, a robot. What if Loki hated him or was repulsed by him? How could he cope with that? How could he live with that? Nevertheless, what Loki wants, Loki gets, so brown met green and melded together like oxygen and carbon dioxide and nitrogen and hydrogen. "What's scaring you, darling?" Green eyes traced every flat plane and rolling slope of Tony's face. "I'm right here, there's nothing for you to fear."

"That rhymed." He smiled, falteringly. He was failing again. There was no way to stop this, it was going to happen, he had to show Loki, he had to trust him. And he knew he could, he knew there was no reason not to- except that Tony had trusted too many times, and each time he wound up here again, breaking down with no shoulder to cry on and nothing to lean on but a bottle of Jack Daniels and an almost-overdose of Adderall or something equally strong (or worse, stronger). "I'm scared you'll leave. I'm scared you'll...be repulsed by me. Or, or, think...something worse."

Freak.

Monster.

Frankenstein.

Robot.

These are the things that Tony fears will come out of Loki's gorgeous, rosey, eloquent mouth. These are the things that will finally bring Tony to his knees. That will tear him apart. That will pull him six feet under and bury him there forever, never allowed to breathe or see the man that has become his world again. And he doesn't deserve this delicate creature with concerned pools of green and planes of flat, sharp white and rosy curves and ink spilling down his shoulders and wisping around his chin and playing with the shell of his ear. He knew he didn't and it killed him sometimes because this shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be the one and only person Loki cared about or looked at this way or touched with gentleness or spoke to with love. No. Tony didn't get to be loved this way or cared about or have this kind of gentleness and tenderness directed toward him by possibly the most acrimonious fucker he had ever met. And Tony wasn't supposed to be here, handing this being his very own heart on a silver platter because he wanted to. Because Loki deserved it and so much more. Because for once in his life,

Tony found someone he loved more than himself.

Thor walked up onto the porch he had fallen off of as a child and listened to Loki cackle deviously while he peered over the railing at Thor's crumpled, moaning form on the ground. He absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on his arm from that childhood 'accident', although Thor knew Loki had tripped him with one fleet-footed ankle. But Thor hadn't tattled. He had never tattled on Loki, because he knew that Loki would suffer if he did. And when Loki was miserable or hurt or upset, Thor was too. It had been that way since the moment he saw the pale, green-eyed, cooing bundle of baby skin and baby smell and baby limbs that his mother had taken from some shady woman in Germany. Teeny-tiny baby fingers wrapped tightly around one of his own, and that was it. Thor's heart was stolen so quickly, he hadn't even realized it at the time.

Now, it was all too apparent.

Because Thor was in anguish. He had hurt Loki. He had heard his ribs crack beneath his fists, and the force of that sound had nearly broken him clean in two. Because, although it wasn't the first time he and Loki had gotten up in each other's faces enough to come to blows, this had been the first time it was vicious and malicious and terribly nasty and dark and awful. And then, Thor had been glued to the floor when Odin started viciously beating Loki. If it hadn't been for Tony...he feared his brother would no longer be living. And he should have known it would be that way, he should have forced his father to leave, he should have been there beside Loki, protecting him even if he didn't think he needed it. Because that's what big brothers do, god damn it, and Thor was Loki's big brother. And if it took him walking through fire, and bleeding, and breaking his back, and singeing his bone marrow to get Loki back, to get his trust again, he would do it.

But, he knew it would take more than just bodily sacrifice, because he had done something that had nearly ruined his little brother. He had done precisely what that-that motherfucker, Thanos, had done. Thor couldn't even forgive himself for that. It had nearly driven him insane, thinking about it for the past month. It haunted him. He couldn't even get his head in the game, and his coach was screeching at him at every practice. Thor's life was falling down around his ears, so, he came to the one person he knew could help him fix it. The one and only person besides Tony and Thor who actually understood Loki. Even though, really, he was pretty sure Loki was too complex and contradictory to ever understand truly. But her insight would do nothing but help. And he needed a good homecooked meal, because all this worrying and fretting and insomnia was making him shed much needed weight.

The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock, and he was pulled into a crushing hug by a strong woman with blazing blue eyes and flaxen blonde hair. His mom. Loki's momma- he was the baby, but Thor had refused to join his father in heckling the boy for loving Frigga. Their mother was an angel, straight from heaven and perfect beyond all belief. And she loved her boys.

"Hello, my son." She smiled, but there was a trace of sorrow in her eyes. Her other son wasn't here. Again. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" She bustled towards the kitchen, knowing without asking that her big blond spawn would need something for his shrinking belly.

"I need your help, mom." He sighed, sitting on the counter like he and Loki had when they were little and pelting the all-knowing momma with questions about seahorses and their bedtime world of the nine realms and other countries and Alice In Wonderland (always a favorite among the Odinson boys- Loki had always had a fondness for the red queen-) and whether Hel was really in the core of earth and if god existed and how far away was heaven and did spaceships go to heaven or was the moon further away than that? And did god give angels their wings every time a bell rang- to which Loki would scowl as Thor obnoxiously rang a bell for an hour on end- and for the nth time, did the devil have a spaded tail because Loki wanted to go as Lucifer for Halloween because Thor was going as the angel Gabriel and they could have an epic battle to the death- maybe just see who could eat more candy without throwing up while mom and dad slept (Frigga had found them sleeping in a pile of wrappers the next morning with chocolate smiles and sticky fingers).

She nodded, like she had already known. "This is about Loki." It wasn't a question, because she already knew. Of course she did, the woman was omniscient. He still remembered Loki grumbling about how she had eyes in the back of her head.

He shrugged. "I know what I did was...unforgivable, but mom, I can't-" He broke off at her puzzled expression. "What?"

"What did you do? Thor, he's not mad at you. He's mad at me and Odin. Eventually, he'll let you back in. He loves you, darling, it's just going to take him some time to realize that because he was adopted doesn't make you two any less brothers." She smiled and patted his hand reassuringly, but this time, it was Thor's turn to be confused.

"That's not what I'm talking about." He frowned. "Mom, did dad tell you about what happened last month?" And dear god, it had been a month. He should've come sooner. How had father not told her that Loki was in the hospital? That...that was low, even for his dad and his disdain for Loki.

"I'd fucking love to know exactly what it is I do that makes him so hateful!" Loki snapped, pacing vehemently in the study Thor had secluded them to until their father stopped raging. Mother's voice had sounded a little harried the last time he had allowed himself to listen. "I mean, I'm just a normal teenager, and I didn't take his fucking car, Thor." Eyes that could cut through steel looked him dead-on. "I wonder who it was who did." And Loki was walking closer and Thor was just the teensiest bit scared for his life.

"Look, I didn't know what to do! And you...you covered for me." Thor had known he would, and even though it made him sick, he had thrown him to the wolves with the intention that they would go for his jugular before his own. His stomach churned with the realization. "Why?" He peered at the boy with the shiner and wild black curls.

Loki's head snapped towards him he must've gotten whiplash. "Why?" He laughed. Fucking hell. "Because your my brother, you ignoramus! Of course, I'm gonna take the blame, and you damn well knew it. I have to admit, I didn't think you quite the brightest tool in the shed, lovey, but you made me proud with that clever move." He smirked at Thor and winked. "Plus you lied, and you know I'm always for a little corruption." But it was all baseless and fallacious. Because Loki cherished innocence and purity like it was golden treasure. All because his had been taken away at a very young age.

"I'll keep you safe from him, brother. I promise." Thor vowed solemnly. It was the least he could do for the dark sunshine in his life.

Loki arched a perfect, pith-black eyebrow. "Don't make a promise you can't keep."

Frigga was fuming. If smoke was not coming out of her ears and through her nose, she would be shocked. And that old, miserable man was going to damn well wish he was in Canada or Hel by the time she got through with him. He had hurt her baby. Her Loki. Her intellectual ball of misery and loss of identity and confused gay son that held her heart in a grip so tight it hurt. But that was a mother, that was the price she payed to have the two biggest blessings in the world. She would have given her limbs, her life, her heart, her blood, her brain for those boys. They were hers. Loki was hers. Loki was not an orphan, or adopted, she might as well have carried him for nine months in her stomach. She had gotten up with him every night and sang to him and Thor while she fed him, and while Thor watched, a protective hawk. The teary crack in his voice as he explained what had happened, without leaving out a painstaking detail, to his brother had torn up her heart. To him, she had given a stern talking-to, advice, a hug, and a warm meal- complete with the cherry ice cream she had made in case Loki came around. It was his favorite desert and always stained his lips a shade of red that made him blush.

Odin was in their bedroom, slowly taking off his tie and staring at the TV screen with the eyes of a much older man. She noticed wrinkles starting to sprinkle across his face. He was aging quickly. It had been apparent that he would when she saw him and Loki fight for the first time. Hatred and resentment ages one quickly, takes away the wisdom and replaces it with haggardness. It had done this to her husband over the past fifteen years. At one time, she had felt pity for him for he missed out on Loki's creativity and talent and his little spark of life and fire and promise for the future.

"You have some serious explaining to do, Odin Odinson. And I suggest you start. Right. Now."

Cliffhangers. I swear I don't do this on purpose.

This thing got waaayyyy out of hand, lemme know if you guys are okay with chapters more than 10,000 words, or if that's just too fucking much xD. I'm wordy. Don't shoot me! Pweez. Also, I may start putting up a playlist of songs that pertain to whatever chapter I've just put up for this story, on my profile. (My A/N are already like novel-size), if you guys want. If not, never mind, I shall go back to my music-fanatic corner and be silent...ish.

I hope you all are having a lovely week! love and internet hugs :) xoxox

~Rayn