Puente Antiguo – what's left of it – is nothing more than a burned-out shell of a ghost town. Blackened skeletons of vehicles haphazardly litter a street slashed through with lines of churned earth and fractured concrete, while fire-gutted buildings crumble and collapse on the sidelines. The sign stating the town's population of 2175 is a lie, just like the dirty, faded ads for 'tire rotation' and 'daily special'. Nobody's lived here in over a year. There's no hint of life, apart from the occasional bird and a few ambitious spiders spinning webs in empty window frames. The crunch of Tony's footsteps on grit and debris slices through static silence.
He stops when he finds the first building he's looking for. The convenience store's automated door is bent off its track and jammed with gravel, and Tony can't open it, but he can squeeze through the gap and force his way inside. The interior of the building, with dirt-caked windows and no electricity, is almost too dark to see anything. He pauses a moment to let his eyes adjust before stepping over a collapsed candy display and heading for the bank of refrigerators along the back wall.
Everything is still fully stocked with rancid milk, moldy cheese, and other perishables long since gone bad. But bottles of water and soda stand in perfect condition, warm but undisturbed behind clear plastic doors. Tony loads up an armful of water bottles and sugary juice. Loki should like that, even if it doesn't come in a box. After dumping it all on the counter, he surveys the rest of the store. Everything in flimsy packaging looks like it's been ripped apart by animals. Chip bags and cereal boxes lie shredded on the floor. Chewed-up candy wrappers with them. The few canned goods, though, are untouched: beans, corn, ravioli, peaches. Tony grabs another armful of those, along with the one intact bag of Fritos on the top shelf.
He's always hated movies about horrific disasters, wars, and other cataclysmic events that turn the Earth into some post-apocalyptic wasteland. All the stupid bullshit about trying to survive after the breakdown of society, digging through the remnants of cities for food and weapons, struggling minute by minute just to stay alive... He always figured he'd rather kill himself than be forced to scavenge like a rat for the rest of his life. He thought so before Afghanistan. He knows so now, having lived through that temporary hell.
Because this classic trope of scrounging for supplies while his badly injured buddy slowly dies of something that could be easily fixed if only they had access to everyday twenty-first century medical help? It fucking sucks in real life.
ooo
A heavy sense of foreboding hangs in the air when he approaches the hotel: that uncomfortable little knot in his stomach twisting up once again to tell him something's wrong. Carefully, Tony kicks aside bits of ruined masonry and shattered glass. The lobby had probably once been homey and quaint. Now half the front wall's been blasted away and everything inside is dirty and broken, from the sooty carpet up to the lighting fixtures hanging by a single wire. And while the second floor's been reduced to rubble, a few usable rooms remain in the back on the main floor where damage was minimized. Dingy and stale-smelling, but otherwise fine.
He pushes open the door to room 3, holding his breath against the sickly metallic smell, and drops his load of plastic bags. "Loki?"
Loki's exactly where Tony left him on the bed. Stolen motel towel still stuck to the mess of blood on his chest. The towel's soaked through, shiny and dripping with deep red, while Loki lies in a glistening puddle of more blood than could possibly have come from one person. It's pooled on the mattress and running over the sides onto the carpet, where it spreads in thick rivulets. Against all that blood, dark in the shadows of the room, Loki's face is chalk white. Lips no more than a trace of gray. The knot in Tony's stomach tightens, twisting and churning as a finger of nausea worms its way up his throat and panic squeezes his shoulders. He steps around the splashes of red on the floor and grabs Loki's arm. "Hey!"
Loki's eyes blink open. Tony drops his head, exhaling loudly. "Shit. Fuck! For a second I thought..."
"I am not going to die," Loki murmurs, scarcely moving his mouth. "It takes much more than this to kill a god."
"Yeah, well, you can't really blame me for jumping to conclusions based on my pathetic human expectations, can you?" Tony asks, feeling a spark of relief when Loki reacts with what could be interpreted as a smile. "Usually when there's this much blood, death is involved."
"I can regenerate it."
"Blood?"
"Mm." Loki inclines his head in what's probably supposed to be a nod, though he doesn't finish the gesture. "In fact... that is all I can do. It seems I have outsmarted myself."
"What do you mean?"
"It was my knife. I called up a jagged-edged knife with dark magic. Blood magic. And I wove enchantments through the blade to slow the body and hinder magical healing. But Thor tried to take the knife, and in the struggle... You see what happened. Blood magic is a dangerous ally, Tony Stark. Always destructive. It likes to turn on its wielder when not shown the proper respect and care. I was arrogant and foolish and this is the result: savaged by my own spellwork, which is now not content to merely hinder magical healing, but is set on preventing it altogether. Everything I try seems to make matters worse. So... now I must lie here and regenerate blood until the wound heals naturally."
"Okay," says Tony, trying not to think about what that means or what it actually involves. Or how much more blood could possibly pool on the bed. "Right. Yeah, you just regenerate away. You're doing great. I'll help you with that by... uh... not panicking... and also I found some medical supplies. Not real medical supplies because what I think used to be a doctor's office is now a pile of cinder blocks, but the animal clinic was still standing. I got you some Vetrap and dog morphine."
"I'm fine as I am."
"No, you're not." Nothing about this situation can be qualified as 'fine', and it's giving Tony an epic level of anxiety. "You've bled out enough for at least three whole people in the last hour. Maybe you're good with that because you're a crazy space alien, but I'm not, and I feel like it's my duty to tell you that I'm really close to having a nervous breakdown. Between the teleportation and you turning into a Frost Giant and all the blood... I'd really be grateful if things could return to normal. And by 'normal' I mean 'anything at a level of insanity less than what we have now'. The cuddling, lack of pants, and magical sexual harassment? Now that I know what the alternatives are, I'm totally okay with all that stuff. I fondly recall the days when the craziest shit I had to deal with was you and Thor not knowing personal boundaries. Feel free to go back there any time. But at the moment, to help me cope, if you'll just let me patch you up in a conventional Earth way so I can pretend everything's under control..."
Loki laughs. Or he tries to laugh. Laughing requires too much movement of the chest muscles, which makes him grimace and hiss in pain. But he slowly sits up nonetheless, sloshing in his puddle of gore, and nods to Tony. "Perhaps... If you insist. I've tried everything else, so you might as well."
"Damn right I might as well. I like fixing things. It makes me feel better."
First things first: Loki's shredded shirt has to come off. Tony probably should have thought to grab a pair of scissors from the clinic, but at least the fabric's ripped up enough that tearing it the rest of the way doesn't take too much effort. The grim sight of what's underneath will be more of a problem. Tony bites down on his tongue to keep from saying anything he doesn't want admit out loud. Instead, swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he grabs his bag of vet supplies and pulls out a squeeze bottle of saline and a packet of disposable towels.
"Lets, um, clean you up. It's probably... probably not so bad once we get some of the blood off."
Only trouble is, the blood just keeps coming. Tony can get the surrounding skin wiped off to some degree, but the wound keeps bleeding all over his handiwork. After ten minutes, all he can do is turn a big torn-up mess into a slightly contained torn-up mess. That'll have to be good enough. He gives everything one last wash with saline before applying a layer of gauze padding and binding it all up with the Vetrap.
"They had different colors," he says to Loki as he starts on the first roll. "But I thought you might like black and green better than purple and orange." Alright, so it's lime green, and the way it wraps in with the black might make Loki look like an 80s new wave pop idol in a skin-tight one-shoulder tank top, but at least it seems to be holding everything together. Tony leans back to admire a job well done, flashing Loki a lopsided smile. "There you go. Feel okay?"
"Yes," Loki murmurs. Then, very quietly, "Thank you, Tony Stark."
Immediately, Tony looks down at his hands. The God of Assholes actually thanking him, and thanking him without a hint of irony or sarcasm, ranks right up there with 'things too weird to deal with at the moment'. "Right, well... I'm kind of batting a thousand with saving your life, huh? No need to stop now."
"Hm," says Loki, though it's not quite a full sound, but half a sigh.
"Can you stand? I think we should switch rooms. You shouldn't sleep here tonight. Not in all this... yeah, no. Are you okay to walk?"
"You worry too much," Loki replies as he pulls himself up to his feet. It's a slow movement, and hesitantly careful, and Tony can see in his tightening shoulders just how much it hurts. But he does it just the same. "I told you, I am not about to die. Not today, and not in the foreseeable future. I am not as fragile as you seem to think me." As if to prove a point, he punches a hole through the wall's wood paneling and shoots a sly grin over his shoulder before walking out the door.
"Gotcha," Tony mutters under his breath. Because really, when a guy can stick his fist through a slab of pine like it's tissue paper, the best thing to do is probably just go along with whatever he says.
Loki settles down onto the bed in room 4, kicking up a year's worth of dust from the bedspread and the smell of mildew from within the mattress. He's no longer bleeding everywhere, so that's an improvement. The Vetrap seems to be working at holding everything together. At least for now. Tony hauls over all the bags and backpacks of supplies and grabs out a water bottle. "You want a juice? I picked up some of your favorite: empty carbs and citric acid."
"No. Not at the moment."
"Are you sure? What about water?"
"No."
"Anything? Canned peaches? Dog morphine? I have this feeling you might need to keep up your strength, and I have some-"
"Tony Stark," Loki growls. "I told you already you need not worry about me. So please shut up and let me sleep before my hands decide to keep up their strength around your neck."
"Hey now, no need to be mean," says Tony, trying to sound hurt despite the smile doing its best to break across his face. If Loki has energy to expend on threats and acting like his same old dickish self, that can only be a good sign. "Just lemme know, okay?"
The only response from Loki is an annoyed grunt as he fluffs up his faded pillow.
Leaving Loki to his rest, Tony cracks the water bottle and throws back a swig. If only it were something a little stronger... He pokes his head into the bathroom, taking in the sights of an empty, rust-ringed toilet bowl and a desiccated mouse corpse in the tub. An unnervingly large and new-looking spider web floats between the cracked light fixture and the shower curtain rod. No sign of the spider. Better just close the bathroom door right now. Outside the window sits a planter full of weeds and the shriveled stalks of what might have once been flowers; out in the hallway is a pile of rubble and a partially collapsed ceiling that blocks the way to what Tony guesses must be the mostly collapsed kitchen. And that concludes the grand tour of the Puente Antiguo Hotel.
"Tony Stark?"
He probably turns around a little too quickly. "You decided you want the dog morphine?"
Loki stares at him with what can only be described as fraying tolerance. "No," he finally says. "I want you to try very hard to be silent, because I am in a terrible mood right now and if I have to listen your voice blaring in my ear for much longer, I will tear your tongue out."
"Right," says Tony. "I can, um-"
"Perhaps later I will ask you to explain to me exactly why the word 'silent' is so conspicuously absent from your otherwise extensive and obstreperous vocabulary, but for now I want you to shut your mouth. Then, once you have accomplished this stunning feat, come over here and sit down."
He almost says 'right' again. Almost. He gets as far as sucking in a mouthful of air before the scorching look from Loki cuts him right off. There's still blood smeared down the side of Loki's face, and he looks dangerous. It's probably safer if Tony shuts his mouth and sits in the worn-out armchair next to the bed without any back-sass.
"Now isn't that better?" Loki asks with a smile. "You listen to what I say, and we'll have no problems."
Define 'no problems', thinks Tony. But he smiles in return just the same.
"Don't give me that stupid look."
"What do you mean, 'stupid'-"
Loki holds up one finger in warning. Tony shuts his trap.
"I only need you to hold out your hand."
He remembers, this time, that rule about not touching Loki under any circumstances ever, and crosses his arms to tuck his hands safely away. Nope. Not going to happen.
"The accumulation of inert magic is hardly at a level that would affect you," Loki sighs, like he's reading Tony's mind. "Difficult as this may be to believe, I'm not exactly interested in any sort of dalliance at the moment, owing to a need to continuously regenerate all of my blood. Taking my hand now will be no worse than touching my skin when you applied the bandage."
The Vetrap. That's right. He did touch Loki, without even thinking, while patching him up. If there was any trace of magic in Loki's skin at that point, it was faint enough to go unnoticed.
"It will, however," continues Loki, "provide me with enough energy to ensure the inert magic levels remain low. At this point, any contact at all will help. The transfer from your hand should be sufficient to balance out whatever I expend on regeneration. I want to keep my powers as stable as possible for now, as I'm sure we'll have need of them in the near future."
Okay, so that makes sense. (Sense! Right.) Tony might not like it, and when he woke up this morning he sure didn't anticipate he'd be spending his afternoon sitting in the ruins of a small-town hotel holding hands with a Norse god, but then again he also didn't anticipate being teleported across state lines to take up the role of combat medic after Operation Desert Thunderstorm. Sometimes days just don't turn out the way you expect.
And sometimes your whole life takes a turn for the indescribably weird. I'm probably going to regret this, he thinks as he unfolds his arms and offers his hand. Loki, giving him an indulgent smile like he's praising a reluctant child, reaches out to take it. Tony flinches at the contact, bracing for the worst, but only a tiny prickle of magic, like a static spark, jumps from Loki's skin to his. Just a tingle. Just a flutter.
Just enough to make him think, for one moment, that Loki's hand is surprisingly soft.
He sinks farther down into his chair and looks away. On second thought, I'm definitely going to regret this.
ooo
It's the sound of wind that pulls Tony out of his sleep. He blinks his eyes open in the darkness of a strange room, shapes and shadows of unfamiliar furniture illuminated a dull, eerie blue in the faint glow of the arc reactor. No light coming through the window at his side: just his own ghostly reflection in the glass. As he blinks again and rubs his face, giving his head a shake, sleep-displaced memories from the past few hours begin to shuffle back to the front of his mind. Puente Antiguo. The hotel. Loki...
Loki's still asleep, hand hanging limp over the edge of the bed. Must've slipped Tony's grasp when they nodded off. If Tony reaches down he can just brush his fingertips against Loki's skin. Still buzzing with a low level of magic. So still stable.
Yawning, Tony stands and stretches. His head throbs with a dull ache, his legs are stiff, and his knotted shoulder muscles twinge with every little movement. Fuck, his whole body hurts, and dozing off sitting in that chair with his chin drooping down to his chest sure didn't help. He paces a few steps back and forth to loosen up, staring out the window. Not much to see out there. Moon obscured by clouds and no power for the street lights. All he can make out is the silhouette of a building across the street, its shape a slightly darker shade against the charcoal sky. Maybe the remnants of a flag or banner along the roofline, whipping in the wind.
As he stares, lightning flashes overhead, followed by a long roll of thunder.
Loki sits bolt upright in the bed at the sound.
"Looks like we're in for a storm tonight," says Tony.
"No, we're not," Loki growls. "Stay away from the window! And cover your light!"
Any grogginess still lingering in Tony's brain disintegrates as the meaning behind Loki's words sinks in. Shit. Right. Turning his back to the window, he covers the arc reactor's pale glow with one hand. "How'd he find us?"
"Lucky guess?" Loki irritably replies. He climbs out of bed, but not easily, keeping his shoulders hunched low. The process of standing up draws a hiss and a groan through his tightly clenched jaw. "If he took the time to think things through rationally, he would come to the conclusion that, in my weakened state, I'd shift to the site of least resistance. Here."
"Wait, you knew he'd-"
"I was hoping it would take him longer to figure it out! Long enough, at least, for me to heal this wretched injury and shift somewhere else."
"Okay," says Tony. "So at the moment, on a scale of one to ten, your level of healing would be...?"
"What do you think?!" Loki snaps.
Right. Negative one-point-fuck-you it is.
Loki's movements are stilted, awkward, as he stoops to gather up all the bags Tony dumped by the door. Blood has seeped through the Vetrap. In the dark of the room, green stripes are indistinguishable from black down his left side. The bandage didn't help; it was no more than a temporary patch over a problem too big to contain. Loki's still bleeding out as fast as ever, and when he winces to lift the bag of water bottles...
Sometimes, Tony has moments of clarity. Sometimes, things just click into place and he knows – he knows – he's on the wrong track. Not that it's always immediately evident what the right track is, but hopelessly wrong? Yeah. He can spot that. And this wrong track is crooked as hell, leading in a downward spiral so steep he'd need to hire Sherpa guides to lead him back up.
"Loki," he says quietly. "Maybe we should..." No, he can't bring himself to use the words 'give up'. Giving up is not something that comes naturally to Tony Stark. "Maybe we should think about trying to cut a deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury."
Loki's head whips up to fix him with what Tony can tell is a look of disgust, even if he can't really see it in the darkness.
"Hey, listen. We can keep running away, but realistically for how much longer? Unless we want to assume false identities and live out the rest of our lives south of the border, eventually they'll catch us. This isn't just a couple guys on our tail. This is a highly powerful, resourceful organization full of spies and assassins, and now your brother. Who's found now us. We'll never be able to make them go away or fight our way free. Sooner or later, we'll need to face facts and make a stand. Do you really want to keep dragging it out to the miserable end?"
"Yes," Loki snarls.
"Well I don't. My Spanish is limited to a few specific phrases like 'another drink please' and 'where am I' and 'I need a bus ticket back to Mérida immediately'. Also once I think I accidentally told a very pretty girl I had thirty-seven anuses. Anyway, digression aside, I'm tired. I'm stressed. You're injured – badly – and for fuck's sake you don't even have any shoes. Collectively, we're a disaster. What are we even doing?"
"We are working to reclaim the Tesseract."
"For what purpose? Still bent on taking over the world?"
No answer comes from Loki. Which can only mean one thing.
"I'm serious, just please listen for a minute," Tony tries, dropping his voice. Loki's not looking at him, but he pushes on nonetheless. "It's not too late to back up and do the right thing. We can make a deal with S.H.I.E.L.D., I know we can. They're not exactly the most morally righteous people in the world, so you swap sides and agree to work for them? They'll let you. You can walk away, no prison, no punishment, but only if you cooperate while you still have a couple valuable cards in your hand. Right now? You're in a prime position to do just that. You're the only one who really gets how to use the Tesseract, and the only one who knows about these Chitauri guys and what their play is. That information will be very, very valuable. But only for a limited time."
"For a limited..." Loki mutters, followed by a huffing breath. He says nothing else. But he's thinking. Yeah, he's thinking. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like he's literally weighing his options, he bites down on his lower lip.
"Loki. Come on. We can do this. I promise. I swear to... whatever you want me to swear on, this can end in our favor. You just need to listen to me."
Loki drops the bags. Lets them fall to the floor, canned food and bottles of drinks clattering around his feet and rolling away. The look on his face as he stares at Tony might be unreadable, but his posture, his resigned stance, the way he raises his arm and holds out his hand in a gesture of solidarity...
"Good," Tony sighs. "This is good. Now let's just go out there, and you let me talk to Thor, and I think I can convince him we're ready to cooperate. We can do this. It'll work out. It'll all be okay. Let's go." He takes Loki's hand.
And Loki says, "No."
"Wait, what do you mean, 'no'?"
"I have a different destination in mind."
ooo
They land in the desert with all the fluid grace of a car crash, Tony tripping over his feet and faceplanting while Loki topples into some kind of stop, drop and roll maneuver beside him. Smooth. He pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, both scraped and stinging, to look around. On his left, Loki lets out a shout of frustration and smacks the ground with his fist.
"Where are... Oh." Tony's heart sinks. That ridge... he recognizes it, and the patch of flat rock at its base, and that gnarled little bush.
"Back where we started," says Loki. Smacking the ground again, he grunts as he pulls himself up.
Yeah. Back where they landed when they first teleported away from the motel: a couple miles out of Puente Antiguo. "Did you mean to bring us-"
Based on the corrosive glare Loki shoots him, finishing that thought is probably a stupid idea.
"Right," he says instead. "Let me rephrase. Why did we end up back here?"
"Why does water flow downhill?!" snarls Loki.
Well, that would be due to gravity, but he' has a feeling Loki meant what he said as a rhetorical question.
"Honestly, Tony Stark, if you knew the first thing about magic..." He doesn't go any further. And Tony doesn't stir the pot by pointing out that Loki hasn't exactly taken the time to teach him anything about magic apart from a few accidental lessons in energy transfer and power-drunkenness.
"No. I know precisely jack shit about magic, which is why this is all on you, pal. Your time to shine. I'm just here to keep it real."
"Oh, shut up..." Loki mutters, shaking his head in disgust. He roughly grabs Tony's arm and pulls him into... wherever it is they go when they circumnavigate the limitations of known science.
This time, it feels like Tony's literally kicked out of particle form. Like something slams him from behind (and in front), knocking him sideways (except it's more like outways) back to reality. He's squeezed into the shape of his body and cracks heads with Loki as the two of them land in the dirt. A whopping five feet from where they started.
Loki mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but Tony can recognize the sound of swearing when he hears it.
"If I can ask you something-" Tony starts, but Loki cuts him off with a snarl and grabs his arm again. A fraction of a second later, they're falling out of thin air and onto a pile of thick debris in the hotel lobby. The landings are getting worse. Loki's elbow sinks into Tony's gut as they collapse in a heap, knocking him breathless and bringing tears to his eyes.
"Time out!" he groans between coughs and struggling gasps for breath. "Just a sec, I need to..."
"I can't, Tony Stark."
"Can't wait? Yes you can, seriously, just a minute... just a minute so I can... catch my breath..."
"I can't shift away from this place."
"Yes you-" He catches himself mid-thought once he realizes what Loki said. "...Oh. You... What?" Looking up, he can see that Loki's lying on his back, hands clutched over his bandages, face gray-white and slick with sweat. Entire body tense and shivering.
"It's too much," Loki says. Or groans. "I haven't enough strength to push past the barrier of this place. It's so hard, to go somewhere new... It's so hard. So much energy. I can't... I can't spare enough to overcome the pull of the Bifrost site. The regeneration is too..."
"At least you tried?" Tony offers. If he rolls onto his side, he can just reach out across the rubble to clasp his hand around Loki's arm. The residue of magic coils over his skin, already noticeably stronger than it was only hours earlier. "It was worth a shot, but..."
"I will not surrender, Tony Stark."
"But if you can't-"
Loki slowly rises, pushing himself up into a sitting position with his arms and taking in a few stabilizing breaths before staggering to his feet. "I will not surrender. We can walk. I may not be able to shift, but I can still cloud us with invisibility."
"You want to walk through the desert again?" Tony asks as he climbs up off the rubble heap. He's not sure at exactly which point during the adventure the prospect of turning invisible became less noteworthy than a proposal to walk across New Mexico, but right now that sounds like the normal part of Loki's plan.
"How far is it to the next town?"
"No idea. Hours, probably, and that's assuming we accidentally start walking in exactly the right direction."
"We need only put enough distance between us and the Bifrost site," Loki says with a frown. "Once we are far enough, I should be able to shift us away."
"And if you can't?" asks Tony. "If we end up right back here again?"
If ever there was a moment when Loki looked like he was second-guessing himself, this would be it.
Tony gives him one decisive nod. "How about this. Can you spare enough magic to keep a car both invisible and silent? If so, I have a highly predictable plan."
Nodding in return, Loki gestures for him to take the lead. "Is your plan to steal a car?"
"Hey, what did I just say? Highly predictable? Yeah. But the twist is, I'm not going to steal a car, per se. When I was out earlier I saw this Durango that had been abandoned in the street. Still in one piece and keys inside. I'd be more like... recycling a car. Follow me."
ooo
The street outside the hotel is choked with fog and blowing dirt. Overhead, lighting continues to flash and illuminate the sky like a searchlight. A big, vindictive, Asgardian searchlight. Thor's up there somewhere, on the lookout. Thunder rumbles. An uneasy prickle rolls down Tony's spine as his heart picks up speed.
"You sure we're invisible?" he murmurs to Loki. "I don't feel invisible right now. Actually I feel very exposed. Kind of like I'm walking down the middle of a deserted street while Northern Lights up there has his eye right on me."
"He is unable to see us," Loki assures him in a low whisper.
"And hear us?"
"He may hear us. I need to conserve my strength to silence the car. For now, be as quiet as you can."
Great. But Tony can deal with being quiet, if he has to, stepping carefully to avoid sliding on loose stones. What's harder to deal with is the feeling of being hunted. Trapped. Vulnerable. Waiting for the bad guy to fall from the sky or pop out from around any corner.
Loki's hand clasps Tony's shoulder to stop him. There's something looming in the fog up ahead. Something tall and bulky and... No, it's unmoving. Not Thor. Just a truck tipped on its side. Tony exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, though his heart's still pounding. Behind them, the wind picks up, stirring whirlwinds of dust and sending garbage skidding over the cracked pavement, but still no sign of Thor. He could be anywhere. Above, ahead, a mile away to the left... Tony's eyes dart from one suspicious shadow to the next, drawn by any little noise, straining to make out shapes through the fog. He should have the suit in a situation like this. Needs the suit. He needs thermal imaging and flight power and body armor and everything else that might stop him from being a sitting duck.
Instead of any of that, he has a half-dead wizard and a desperate wish that the SUV he saw earlier will start. How the hell he gets himself into these situations, he doesn't even know. But no going back now. He turns down a street to the right and pulls Loki along with him. The SUV should be up ahead, just past the fallen telephone pole.
Then lightning flashes, lighting up the air as bright as day, and a deafening crack of thunder shakes the ground.
"Loki!" Thor's voice booms from somewhere above. "I know you are here! I can sense your magic!"
Tony's stomach plunges and he stumbles to a halt, but Loki shoves him forward with a cutting and desperate look: No, we can't stop now, keep walking!
"Loki! Show yourself!"
In a whistle of wind, Thor comes crashing to the ground. Electricity surges from the hammer and up his arm, glowing a hot blue-white. An ugly sneer twists his face as he pivots in his stance of attack and scans the street. "You know I will find you! You hide behind your magic like a coward, but you cannot hide forever!"
"Go!" Loki whispers, pushing Tony along with a hand between his shoulder blades. Thor's now standing directly between them and the Durango. It takes every ounce of willpower Tony has to step forward, sure they'll be seen... what kind of idiot trusts his life to magical invisibility? But Thor's gaze slides right over him, right over Loki, searching for a target that can't be seen. Tony lets himself breathe one tiny sigh of relief. Thor can't see him. Thor can't see him. Thor can't see him. He'll just keep repeating that in his head as he steps over the fallen telephone pole and around half a dirt bike.
Thor can't see him, but Thor can see something. His eyes are drawn to what looks like a dark stain on the pavement a few steps behind Loki. Blood. There's blood on the ground. Little drips and splotches and one partially smeared footprint, all leading Thor along a breadcrumb trail right back to…
There's no time to even think of what to do before Tony is thrown down, Loki's hand clapped over his mouth to prevent him from making a sound. Thor's hammer rips through the air, missing Loki's shoulder by a fraction of an inch as he drops down on top of Tony. Metal and glass crunch and shatter at the hammer's impact with the back of a burned-out pickup truck.
"Loki!"
"Go!" Loki hisses in Tony's ear, shoving him away. "Get to the car! I will deal with Thor!"
Tony doesn't have to be told twice. He rises up into an awkward crouch and makes a dash around the front of the pickup while hoping like hell he's still invisible. He ducks down and presses his back against the bumper. There's the Durango, just across the street, no more than twenty feet away. Twenty feet of open air, lighting, a flying hammer, and a god's wrath.
Behind him, something smashes into the truck, knocking him forward onto his hands and knees.
"Loki!" Thor shouts. There's another crash, this time accompanied by a pained groan as the truck skids forward. Tony can guess what hit it. "Where is he?!"
Then Loki's voice: "Where is who?"
"Do not toy with me! Where is Tony Stark?"
Loki laughs, until there's a crack sounding too much like a fist connecting with a face.
"Where is Tony Stark?!"
"How should I know?" Loki snarls. "You expect me to keep watch like a nursemaid over your worthless human pets?"
"He was with you when-"
"He was with us. With you. Have you lost him?"
"Loki, I swear on the roots of Yggdrasil, if you do not tell me..."
Tony has to force his body to move. Now, while Thor's distracted. One hand, one knee, other hand, other knee... that's it. He crawls out from the safety of the truck to glance back, but from this low angle all he can see is the corner of Thor's cape caught in the wind.
Loki said to go. Loki said to get to the car. Loki, from the sounds of things, is no longer invisible. Does that mean the spell no longer applies to Tony, or...? He clenches his teeth and swallows hard. No, he has to trust Loki. Loki said to go...
Inch by inch, he stands up and takes a step. He can see Thor's face now, and the back of Loki's head. Thor's eyes don't even flick in his direction. Another step out into the fog. Thor, oblivious to his presence, slams Loki into the truck for a third time.
"Tell me where he is! We will all go together back to-"
"Thor, are you honestly so stupid as to think I would bring your ally here with me? That I would waste my strength on him?"
Tony steps over a pile of gravel and around a sunken pothole, sticking to hard concrete. No footprints. Halfway there. He just needs to make it a few more feet and he'll be home free. If he can reach the vehicle, he can get the fuck out of Silent Hill.
"I am weary of your games," Thor growls, and whatever he does, it draws a choked cry from Loki.
"I am weary of... your clumsy violence..." Loki spits.
Three more steps forward. One to the right to avoid a ridge of wind-blown dirt. Two more quick strides to close the distance, and Tony's hand is on the SUV's door. He pulls it open, looking back over his shoulder to see if Thor noticed the sound, but no. Thor's lifting Loki up by the neck, jerking him forward. Tony slides into the driver's seat, pulls the door shut with a gentle click, and, reciting a wordless prayer to the God of Mischief for the vehicle to be cloaked in silence as promised, turns the key in the ignition.
The engine whines, sluggishly complaining, and refuses to start. Second try, same result. Third try... he loses hold on the key when Loki suddenly teleports into the seat beside him and collapses over the console with a grunt of pain.
"Drive, Tony Stark," Loki groans.
"I'm trying! I'm trying. But..." The engine still won't turn over.
"Why doesn't it-"
"I don't know!" In the rear view mirror, he can see Thor spin around, hammer ready in his hand, trying to see where Loki went. "Could be the battery or connections or some other electrical problem..." Fifth try. No luck. Thor's hammer knocks the burned-out pickup aside.
Sixth try. Thor kicks the telephone pole, cracking it down the middle. He shoves the broken dirt bike aside with his foot and lets out a shout of rage.
Seventh try. Shit. Thor's attention turns to the Durango.
"Loki..." Tony says as Thor starts forward. "I think... We have to run for it. This thing won't start. If he..."
"Keep trying," Loki murmurs. There's blood trickling down the side of his face, onto his shoulder. New blood. He wipes it away from his eye with two fingers.
"I don't think-"
"Keep trying."
He's doing something. Exactly what 'something' is, Tony can't fully see and doesn't understand, but it looks a bit like Loki's using the blood on his fingers to draw a symbol on the palm of his hand and...
Oh FUCK. "No!" Tony snaps. "No, you son of a bitch, if that's what I think it is, if you're trying that blood magic shit again, the stuff you told me is dangerous and destructive and almost killed you..."
But Loki doesn't even look at him, doesn't even listen, doesn't lose concentration. He traces the symbol three times, speaking something too soft to hear, and raises his hand to his mouth to breathe life into his spell. The symbol smokes, sparks, and a little tongue of flame dances to life.
Outside, mere steps away, Thor's cape catches fire. Then his armor. Then his hair. Then...
"Drive, Tony Stark." The little flame in Loki's hand has grown into a ball of fire the size of an apple, whirling and hissing and spitting. Something crackles, and Thor screams in agony, now completely engulfed.
Bile rises up in Tony's throat at the sight... the sound. He can see the fiery shape of Thor's body through the back window as it falls to the ground, frantically rolling in the dirt and clawing at his skin. It does nothing. The blood-magic flames only grow stronger the more he moves. "Loki, stop it," Tony says, or tries to say. The words come out in a splintered whisper. "That's enough, that's... stop it, now!"
"I can't," Loki answers.
"Yes, you can. You can stop it. Just end your spell. Let him go."
"No." Loki shakes his head. "I'm sorry." He's staring down into the flame in his palm with an empty smile, admiring his work. "One thing I neglected to tell you about blood magic is that it cannot be undone. Now drive."
"I'm not driving anywhere until you stop that fire!"
"Did you not hear what I said? It cannot be undone. Drive!"
The reflection of Thor in the rear view mirror has managed to rip its burning cape off, and part of its armor, but its skin...
"Loki! Jesus Christ, that's your brother you're-"
"Blood magic cannot be undone! It can only be diminished, and only reliable way to do that is to put as much distance as possible between the rune and its victim. So if you value Thor's life, drive!"
Maybe the Durango can sense his urgency. Maybe he's just destined, finally, for a bit of luck. Tony cranks the key in the ignition and this time the engine puts up only a brief complaint before squealing into action. He jams the gearshift into drive, steps on the gas, and peels away in a storm of gravel.
Slowly, second by second and yard by yard, the flame in Loki's hand shrinks down to an ember and, finally, a wisp of black smoke. He flexes his fingers and the blood-rune cracks before disintegrating into ash. "He will live," says Loki.
"You're a psychopath," Tony growls, and fucking hell, his heart's pounding in his throat and he can feel the slick sweat beading on his neck and face. "You're both psychos, you know that? You and Thor. He stabs you, you set him on fire... What is wrong with you that you can do that to each other? Is it just you two? Is it Asgard? Is that kind of shit acceptable there?"
Loki shrugs. "I once saw a man lose a hand at a banquet in a fight over a wheel of cheese."
"I don't care. You're still insane. Both of you: insane! You deserve each other. I don't even know why I give a shit about either of you, why I let myself get drawn into this mess, why I spent all afternoon worrying about poor, injured Loki when poor Loki is a fucking psychopath who tries to burn his brother alive! Fuck!" He slaps his hand down on the steering wheel so hard his skin stings. "Fuck. I don't even know."
"Just drive, Tony stark," Loki tells him. Smiling. Playing with the ash on his fingers. "We have a long way to go."
Yeah.
They have a really, really long way to go.