Chapter Text
Given that he's on what is probably day three-point-six of no sleep, Tony is pretty sure—like, 88 percent sure—that he's either dreaming or hallucinating. Sure, it looks like he's still in his Stark Tower lab, and yes, he's still elbow-deep in the inner workings of the pet project that's managed to keep him from maintaining anything vaguely resembling a regular schedule for 50-plus hours now, but since Loki is there and (1) no alarms have gone off and (2) Loki is dead, Tony figures he pretty much has to be dreaming.
Tony carefully removes his arms from his bot casing (that this is a dream is no reason to risk snagging a wire and ruining all his hard work) and runs a grease-covered hand through his hair, considering his options.
Loki, for his part, tracks the movement with his eyes but otherwise is perfectly still. Which, as far as Tony is concerned, is just proof that this is a dream (or a hallucination; jury is still out); the Loki he remembers, the one who threw him out his penthouse window just a few years ago, is all nervous energy and, for lack of a better word, twitchy.
They stare at each other for a moment before Tony breaks the silence.
"How long have you been there?"
"Not long," Loki answers. "Are you not going to alert your teammates?"
"Should I?" It's a stupid question, but it comes out before he can rethink it. Of course he should. If there's even the slightest chance that this isn't a dream—and for all that he's pretty sure it is, there is that 12 percent of him that's nagging at him, telling him that he could be wrong—he should sound the alarm, wake up everyone in the tower, and have them barreling full-speed to his workshop to apprehend the suddenly not-dead supervillain who remains posthumously at the top of SHIELD's most wanted list.
Then again, if it is just his subconscious playing tricks on him, he'll feel pretty stupid when they get there and he has to explain that he was fantasizing or whatever about Loki, of all people.
Loki continues to track him with his eyes. "Most in your situation would."
"Yeah, well. Most people are… not me." He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. The lack of sleep must be getting to him; he likes to think he's typically a bit wittier than that. Even in his dreams. Especially in his dreams. And, since that raises his 12-percent doubt level to somewhere in the 18-percent range, he asks point blank, "Am I dreaming?"
Loki's eyebrows go up and the corners of his mouth pull back in an expression that almost looks like the beginning of one of Loki's crazy 'I can kill you with my brain' smiles. "Do you often dream of me?"
He dreams about everybody, and he's definitely dreamed about Loki. Less so since his run-in with the Mandarin and since he's put a bit of distance between himself and his near-death space experience, but yeah, that's happened. Usually by this point in the dream, Loki is well on his way to defenestrating him, though. Tony ups his doubt level to 25 percent and edges his way around his worktable toward where he's keeping his rebuilt Iron Man gauntlets. Just in case.
Loki is still waiting for an answer; Tony changes the subject instead.
"Just for the record, if this is a sex dream, you're going to have to come again later." Pun intended. "Hate to disappoint, but I'm way too tired for that right now. Different time, different place, maybe, but..."
"No." Loki wrinkles his nose, a gesture Tony takes to mean the god is struggling not to vomit at the very idea of having to touch a human, much less sleep with one. "That is certainly not why I am here."
And that's the question, right there. Tony hones in on that before his sleep-deprived brain can veer off in some other, unexpected direction. "So why are you here?"
"I've my reasons."
"Is it to kill me?" Tony jams his hand into one of the Iron Man gauntlets while Loki is—hopefully—not paying attention. "Because if it is, you should probably do that before I decide to let the rest of your groupies know you're here."
Loki clucks his tongue disapprovingly, as though he's chastising a child. "If I were here to kill you, you would already be dead. I'm insulted that you think otherwise."
"Well, then, I've got to say, I'm drawing a blank."
"And here I was under the impression that you were one of the rare examples of intelligent life in this realm," Loki says, his voice dripping with feigned disappointment. "Surely you can do better than that."
Tony stares at him, his brain working overtime while he tries to parse out a reason—any reason, beyond killing him—why Loki might pop into his workspace in the middle of the night. Booty call is out, and Loki probably isn't here to steal something. If he were, why not wait until Tony passed out or left his lab? The dream alternative is still on the table, sure, but Tony is starting to be less and less certain that that's what's going on.
Still unable to think of a reason why Loki might be there, Tony grasps at straws. "Finally come to claim that drink?" he asks.
Loki blinks twice in quick succession, and for a second Tony thinks he's somehow managed to insult the god for real and Loki is going to kill him after all, but then Loki laughs. Like, really laughs. Not an evil supervillain cackle or a vaguely amused, condescending chuckle. Loki laughs, with his eyes crinkling up at the corners and everything.
When he finishes, Loki shakes his head, still smiling faintly, and says, "I'd rather forgotten about that."
"So that's a no, then?"
Loki shrugs one shoulder, suddenly visibly relieved of a sort of tension Tony hadn't even realized was there, and inclines his head slightly. "Well, if you are offering…"
Okay, he definitely wasn't expecting that, but this is good. This is something he can handle, even when he's going off three-point-six-two days without sleep. Tony scrambles away from his worktable to his miniature wet bar—wouldn't do to keep a potentially murderous guest waiting, after all—and snags two (hopefully clean) glasses. They clank against the metal of his gauntlet as he sets them on the counter.
"Right, so, scotch is good?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle. "I'm having scotch."
"I'm sure that will suffice."
"Good. Great. Scotch it is." He pours a generous amount into both glasses, well aware that he's putting himself at a significant disadvantage if things take a turn for the worse. There's no way his alcohol tolerance, high as it is, can keep pace with Loki's, given that the guy grew up in Space Viking Paradise where even the children drink drinks that are apparently in the 70-proof range, and he's pretty sure he hasn't eaten anything since the half-sandwich Bruce left for him a day or so ago, so that's not going to help. Still, when he finishes pouring and considers the amount in the glasses, he tilts the bottle again and adds a little more to each glass. Just because. "Are we toasting to something, or what are we doing? Just drinking in awkward silence, what? I mean, I'm good with whatever, but I want to make sure we're on the same page, if you follow my drift."
Somewhere from the vicinity of the door, a voice pipes up, "Tony, who are you talking to?"
Tony looks up, eyes going first to where Loki was—and is no longer—standing and then to the door, where Bruce is lingering, holding a plate with another half-sandwich and some chips on it and apparently way more concerned about Tony's mental well-being than the fact that a dangerous supervillain was standing just a few arm-length's away not ten seconds earlier.
Okay.
Tony looks down at the glasses he's holding in either hand. They're real. They're definitely real. So that actually happened. What about the rest of it? Was Loki actually there, or did Tony sleep-pour his scotch? That would definitely be a new one, but he can't rule it out. It certainly seems more plausible than Loki showing up out of the blue and no one—not even JARVIS—taking any notice of it.
Bruce is still watching him, his brow furrowed and eyebrows knitting closer and closer together, so Tony offers up a smile and sets the glasses back down on the bar.
"I was celebrating," he lies. "I'm this close to getting DUM-E working again."
His answer doesn't do much to unfurrow Bruce's brow, and Bruce nods toward the drinks. "You were celebrating with two glasses of scotch?"
"It's very good scotch," Tony says. "And one was maybe going to be for DUM-E. Probably not a great idea, in hindsight. He'd just get fried again, maybe worse than he did in the explosion."
Bruce shakes his head in what Tony recognizes as a 'what are we going to do with you?' kind of way and sets the plate with the half a sandwich on the first available surface. "You should consider getting some rest."
"No, I'm fine, I don't…" He trails off, glancing back to where he could swear Loki was standing not a minute before, and then quickly changes his mind. "You know what, yeah, you're right. This can wait until the morning."
Bruce looks skeptical. "Really?"
"Sure, why not? DUM-E has waited this long, he can wait three or four hours while I take a catnap." He tugs off his gauntlet, sets it down on the bar, and picks up one of the glasses. He uses it to gesture toward Bruce. "Want one? I'd hate to waste good scotch."
"No, thanks."
"Fine, suit yourself." He raises the glass once more. "Cheers," he says, and downs the contents. When he finishes, he sets the glass back down and nods toward the sandwich Bruce set down. "While I appreciate the thought, you know I don't need you guys to take care of me, right?"
Bruce shrugs one shoulder. "I know. We've all come to the conclusion that you're an adult and are probably able to take care of yourself. But we've also decided that it doesn't hurt if we leave offerings now and then when you go on these science binges."
"Right. Good thinking." Tony considers the second glass—Loki's glass, if Loki had in fact stopped in and it wasn't all just some kind of mirage—and ultimately decides to leave it there. It will keep for a few hours.
He claps Bruce on the shoulder as he passes him on his way the door. "Don't touch anything," he says, and he heads for the elevator. It takes him straight up to his penthouse and, when he arrives, he goes straight to the bedroom and falls onto his bed, fully clothed.
There's daylight coming from… somewhere, making it hard for Tony to tell exactly what time of day it is, and he figures it probably doesn't really matter. He covers his eyes with his forearm and lets out a breath. "Tint the glass, JARVIS, will you?"
"Tired, Stark?"
And, suddenly, he isn't. Tony shoots up in bed. "Loki."
For all that JARVIS has suddenly and somewhat inexplicably gone mute, the AI is still responsive; Tony's eyes have to adjust as the room quickly goes dim, but he can pick out Loki's shape as he prowls in front of the windows.
"JARVIS, lights at 30 percent."
The overheads creep on, and Tony eases himself further on the bed so that his back is propped against the wall. Loki doesn't take his eyes off him.
Tony watches Loki a moment more, trying to figure out—for the second time that day—if he's having a really vivid hallucination or if this is real, before he speaks. "If you came back for that drink, you're out of luck. I left it downstairs."
The corner of Loki's mouth quirks up into what might be the start of a smile. "Shame," he says, continuing his slow pacing in front of the now dark windows.
And that's when Tony sees it. Or, rather, doesn't see it.
Loki doesn't have a reflection.
The rest of the room is reflected in the glass behind him, but Loki isn't. Tony quickly runs through the possible reasons why that could be (vampire hallucination vampire dream trick of the light vampire vampire VAMPIRE illusion ghost vampire) before he settles on one.
"Do you sparkle in the sun, too?"
Loki blinks at him, clearly not understanding the reference, and Tony relishes the admittedly brief satisfaction he gets from that.
"You aren't real," he decides.
Loki seems nonplussed by that statement. He merely inclines his head. "What brought you to that conclusion?"
"Process of elimination. Scientific method. Take your pick."
"If this is your interpretation of the scientific method, I must say I find it quite lacking."
Okay, so he's definitely dreaming. There's no way Loki, who is essentially a space Viking, knows the scientific method, much less well enough to call Tony on his poor application of it. Regardless, because Tony is kind of a scientist, he feels the need to cite more evidence in support of his theory.
"Also, you're supposed to be dead," he says. "So, yeah. You're definitely not real."
"Ah, yes. That." Loki waves a dismissive hand. "A trivial thing, really."
"What, death?" Tony shakes his head. "Nice try. Not buying it." Still, because there is still that 25 percent chance that this isn't a sick, twisted product of his overly tired and probably greatly in need of professional help subconscious, he asks, "Just for the sake of argument, though, if you were real, why would you be haunting me?"
The corners of Loki's mouth turn up in what the god probably means to be a smile, but it looks to Tony like more of a grimace. Which, well, is a little hurtful. Even dream-Loki doesn't want to hang around.
"Perhaps this isn't real after all," Loki muses. "How would you be able to tell?"
"The part where I'm still alive is a pretty big clue." Tony rubs his palm against his chest, over where the arc reactor used to be. He seriously hopes the doctors got every last piece of shrapnel out of there; otherwise, at the rate his heart is pounding, he'll probably be dead any second now.
Loki shrugs, moving past the windows again. The hem of his duster sweeps around his ankles. He still doesn't have a reflection. "Coming here was perhaps an error," he says. The unexpected admission further cements it for Tony: There's no way this is real. The Loki he remembers—and the one Thor fondly reminisces about—doesn't admit when he's made a mistake. That puts him a tiny bit more at ease.
And, since this is definitely not real, Tony feels bold enough to pat the space on the bed next to him. "Well, c'mon, Bewitched. Sit yourself down and let's talk for a spell."
The corners of Loki's mouth turn up again; this time it actually does look a little like a smile. "Pun intended, Stark?"
"Fully. So how about it?"
"You don't truly wish to talk with me."
"Shows what you know. I have a lot to say, and it turns out people get pretty sick of the sound of my voice before too long. I could use a new victim."
There's a kind of gleam in Loki's eye, like he's enjoying the banter or whatever this is, and he spreads his hands. "Do your worst, Iron Man."
Challenge accepted. Tony nods to the spot on the bed he already indicated. "Want to take a seat?"
"With all due respect, you are a bit... ripe. I am inclined to keep my distance."
Tony bites back a laugh. "A guy goes three days doing heavy labor without a shower and suddenly he's a social pariah? Come on. I've been downwind of Thor after he's gone a round in the sparring ring with Steve. I know you've smelled worse."
"I think perhaps you are underestimating yourself."
Right. As soon as he wakes up—or stops hallucinating, whichever—he's taking a shower. His subconscious is clearly trying to tell him something.
Tony is prepping a wisecrack, something light-hearted to get them started, when Loki interjects.
"Do you dream of it? The void?"
Ah. He wasn't expecting that. Tony hesitates. He hasn't heard it called that before, but he knows what Loki is referring to: that vast blackness of space beyond the wormhole. He'd only gotten a glimpse at it and it hadn't exactly been empty and void-like at the time, but the feeling… He'd been certain he was going to die there. That that would be the last thing he ever saw. Sometimes he closes his eyes and still sees it, and it knocks the breath out of him. So yes, he knows what Loki means.
"Have you seen it, too?" he asks.
"Oh, yes. And much more of it than have you."
Tony swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. His heart is racing again, and he runs his sweaty palms against his jeans. He shouldn't have such a visceral reaction to this. Not to the mere mention of it, in what is probably a dream. It's ridiculous. He needs to move past it. He has to find a way forward. And he definitely shouldn't entertain that little pang of sympathy that stabs at him when Loki says he's seen the place.
In the meantime, he avoids meeting Loki's gaze. "No," he says. "Why would I dream about that?"
"No," Loki agrees, thoughtfully. "Of course. You've already admitted to dreaming about me. How could you possibly have time for anything else?"
"Not just you. Don't go around thinking you're special."
Loki presses a hand to his chest, feigning insult. "Stark, you wound me."
"Yeah, I bet." He eases further up on his bed so that he can rest his back against the wall. "What do you care what I dream about, anyway?"
"Perhaps I am merely interested in learning your base desires, Stark. Your motivations."
"The stuff that makes me tick, huh? And here you said this wasn't a booty call."
Tony can practically feel how badly Loki wants to roll his eyes, but the god somehow manages to restrain himself. "Surely you think about something other than sex."
"Who, me?" Tony grins. "Now come on. That's just crazy."
He's kidding, but Loki's expression instantly darkens until it very closely resembles that of the Loki Tony remembers from their first encounter in New York. Brooding. Angry. Pained. It's terrifying. Tony holds his breath.
Loki lowers his voice. "Be mindful of what you say," he warns.
Tony hesitates. Okay, so dream Loki doesn't like being called crazy. Now he knows. He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, okay, you win. I do sometimes think about something other than my libido." His self-preservation instinct, for instance. "But if you think coming to me in a dream will help you crack the mystery that is me, you'd better think again."
All of Loki's razor-sharp edges immediately smooth out as Loki returns to the more polished, courteous demeanor he adopted when he first appeared in Tony's workspace, but Tony stays on his guard; now that he knows it's there, he can spot the threat of violence lurking behind Loki's clever eyes and casual gait. He'll watch his step going forward.
He speaks up before Loki can. "So, how's being dead working out for you? Good?"
"You keep obsessing over this," Loki chides. "My so-called death."
"I am not."
"This is the second time you've brought it up in the past five minutes."
"Well, sorry, guess I don't run into dead guys that often, much less coherent ones. It's a bit of a novelty for me."
"I should have guessed."
"Not that it matters," Tony continues, "seeing as how you're probably just a dream."
"And now we've come full circle. This really is getting quite dull."
Right, as though Tony is responsible for keeping the guy entertained. It's not as though he asked Loki to show up and crash in his head space. If he'd known he was going to have company, maybe he'd have prepared some talking points. Then again, maybe not. He's always had a habit of doing this kind of thing on the fly. It's worked out okay for him so far, all those near-death experiences aside.
Speaking of.
"Am I dead?" Tony asks, the question bursting out of him even before he realizes it has started to formulate in his brain.
Loki blinks at him, apparently caught off guard by the question. Ha. Take that. "I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, it's not that stupid a question, right? You're here and JARVIS isn't sounding the alarm. Oh, and you don't have a reflection. So maybe you're, I don't know, some harbinger of death come to escort me to the afterlife. I mean, I don't really believe in the afterlife, if I'm being honest here, but you're not telling me anything, and, well, what's to say I didn't choke on a ham sandwich, Mama Cass style, and that's why you're here?"
Loki stares at him for a solid thirty seconds, then laughs lowly and shakes his head. "No, Stark. You are not dead."
Tony's brain adds the unspoken 'yet.' Stupid traitor brain. "So how about you tell me why you're here, then? Why you're really here. If you are really here. Don't tell me you just missed my company."
"And if I did?"
"Our sole interactions before today have been you letting me arrest you, you throwing me out a window, and me watching Thor take you back to Asgard. In chains. So, yeah, I'm going to go with 'not likely' for 200, Alex."
The Jeopardy reference is, not surprisingly, completely lost on Loki, who shrugs and prowls by the windows, turning his attention outside as though he's contemplating the view.
"Do you ever consider that things could have gone drastically different for you, Stark?" Loki asks. "A single decision, a single action done differently..."
"Why are you asking all the hard questions today?" Tony complains. "I'm not even remotely lucid enough for this." He rubs his palms together. "Anyway, who can say? I don't exactly think these things through. I'm just a lucky guy."
"You are not, however. Not really."
Tony frowns. "Are you going somewhere with this?"
Loki shrugs one shoulder. "Merely musing aloud."
"Yeah, that's not what this sounds like." Tony squints, considering Loki. "You aren't trying to, I don't know, relate to me, are you? Because, look, even if we're a little bit similar—and we're not, trust me—it isn't like I'm going to feel sorry for you or anything. Having an awful childhood isn't exactly a good excuse for, you know, mass murder."
"So I'm told."
"For the record, you shouldn't have to be told that more than once."
Tony expects Loki to threaten him or glare at him or at least roll his eyes, so he's more than a little surprised when Loki just laughs softly.
"You intrigue me, Stark."
Tony furrows his brow. "I what?"
"You intrigue me." Loki spreads his hands. "You asked why I was here. Now I've answered you."
"Right. Well, okay, as disconcerting as you probably don't intend that to be, I can get behind that. I'm pretty intriguing. I'm more intriguing when I've gotten some sleep in me, though. Just so you know."
"That's up for debate, I think."
"Yep, okay. Is that it, then? I'm interesting? That's the only reason you're here?"
Loki tilts his head just slightly to one side. "For now."
"Still disconcerting."
The corners of Loki's mouth go up just a little, as though he's trying not to smile, and Loki shakes his head. "I'll take you at your word that you are more worth my while after you've had some sleep," he decides. "Rest easy, Stark."
"Right, that sounds—" Tony cuts himself off as Loki disappears into thin air. "Great. Yep. It'll be a real cinch to rest easy when I've clearly just had some kind of stroke." He presses the heels of his hand against his eyes. "JARVIS? You there, buddy?"
'Is everything quite all right, sir?'
He's a little relieved that JARVIS has broken what was apparently a vow of silence, and more than a little concerned that JARVIS isn't, well, on the phone with the Asgardian Police Department or whatever the equivalent might be.
"You saw all that, didn't you?"
'I assume by "all that" you are referring to your talking to yourself, sir? Rest assured. I've long-since stopped seeing that as an anomaly.'
"Reassuring. Thank you." He pushes his hair back from his face. "So you didn't see Loki?"
'No, sir.'
Great. So either he's hallucinating or he's going crazy. He's not sure he likes his odds, but given that he's now officially on day three-point-whatever of no sleep... Well, maybe his brain will fix itself if it gets a little shut-eye.
Tony gets settled back on the bed, casting a quick, appraising look back toward the windows to make sure he doesn't suddenly have company again, and then shuts his eyes. "Don't bother waking me, JARVIS. I apparently need my beauty rest."
'I'm sure GQ will come calling any day now, sir,' JARVIS quips, and Tony smiles.
"And you know how I hate to disappoint them." He stretches out. "You know what to do, J."
JARVIS responds by dimming the lights, and Tony—for all that he's sure he'll lay awake for hours trying to puzzle out this whole Loki hallucination thing—falls asleep just moments later.