Chapter Text
It's been 273 days since his invasion of Midgard. Loki knows this in the back of his mind. It's been 273 days since he met Anthony. Right now, every day of trust that's built up between them matters. It's why Loki can kneel here, hands chained with metal that, thanks to Anthony's ingenuity, he actually can't break very easily. There's a dark cloth over his eyes that he can't see past. He can sense the room, and Anthony, with his magic, of course. That's a kind of sight into itself. But he doesn't feel the need to. There's a sense of peace here.
Anthony's sitting on the bed above him, hands absently swiping through what he had called a Starkpad. Loki wouldn't have considered him as a dom 273 days ago. But now there's an easiness between them, something that makes this moment soft. Maybe it's the custom pillow that he's kneeling on, green with a gold border, because Anthony had gotten it for him as a joke but he ended up actually liking it. Maybe it's how Anthony's hand keeps running over his head, a gentle reminder that he's pleased. Or maybe it's the way that Loki feels light to his core, like his insides are made of feathers, like everything is right with the world.
He doesn't know which it is. He doesn't care. It's been 273 days, but right now, there is only this moment, this soft, shimmering piece of reality that, had he been in a different state of mind, he might have wanted to preserve. There is no wrong here. There is no Thanos or Odin or Thor or the skittering things at the back of his mind that are always, always there. His world is a still pond.
And then a stone crashes through the water. Loud alarms are blaring and he opens his eyes, head jerking up. He doesn't otherwise move from his position. As he comes up a bit, he recognizes that alarm. It's the Avengers alarm, and it means they need to go. He waits where he is for permission.
“Jarvis, cut the alarm.” The sound stops suddenly, leaving a ringing sound in Loki's ears. “Loki, I need to go. Are you okay?”
Loki frowns. The world is still a bit hazy, but he knows that isn't right. “I'm fine. Let's go.”
Anthony shakes his head. “No. You need to stay here. I won't have you going out in the field while you're still half down.”
Loki wants to argue. He doesn't. “Yes, sir.”
“That's a good boy,” Anthony says, and Loki leans his head into the praise.
He closes his eyes again. Anthony bends down to take the cloth from his eyes. It slides gently over his skin. The world behind his eyelids grows brighter, but he keeps them closed. There is something magical here, in this moment. Then Anthony is moving again, walking behind him to unfasten the chains around his wrists. The skin feels pleasantly warm where he touches it. The fastenings fall away, but Loki leaves his hands where they are. Then Tony is in front of him again, squatting down so that they're at eye level.
“Loki, are you listening?”
“Yes, sir.” There is nothing else he can focus on, nothing else that he wants to.
Tony gives him a soft smile. “I have to go. Get on the bed, okay?”
Loki nods, letting his hands hang down and press against the ground as he slowly pushes himself up. He's lightheaded, but it's a good feeling. He climbs onto the bed, laying down on one of Tony's plush pillows. Tony pulls the covers over him.
“You're so good, Loki.”
He opens his eyes to see Tony looking down at him in a way that he can't quite place, but he knows it looks something like love. He thinks about telling him so, but Tony speaks again before he can.
“I'll be back as soon as I can. You can take a nap if you want.”
Loki hums, already half asleep. He knows that he is safe here, and he wants for nothing. He drifts, something warm running through his veins, until even the light world of wakefulness shifts to unconsciousness.
–
He wakes slowly, like moving through molasses, for just a moment unsure of where he is. He opens his eyes, then realizes JARVIS is (has been?) speaking to him with a tone that belies more concern than a machine should be capable of.
“Mr. Liesmith, I must insist you wake up. Sir is-”
He cuts off, and Loki sits up in bed, the trappings of sleep finally falling away from him. “What is it, JARVIS?”
“Sir needs you. Now.”
Now he sounds urgent, almost panicked, and Loki is already changing into his armor before he's even thought it through. He teleports to where he knows Anthony is, to help him with whatever he needs. Of course he'll always be there. They'll always be there for each other.
Except...
Except Anthony is lying on the street, and Loki can't see him moving from here. Something sharp spikes through his chest as he gets closer. The Iron Man armor is heavily damaged, the head dented in a way that's sure to mean a concussion (if not worse), and Loki hurries, kneeling down beside him.
“Anthony, can you hear me?”
There is no response, and the same sharp pain lances through him again. He begins to pull off the armor, head piece first. Anthony would probably be annoyed with him later for messing up the suit, but medical care comes first, he knows that. Tony's eyes are closed, and Loki wants to ask JARVIS for medical info, but he can't hear him from here, and he can already tell the damage to the suit is too severe for it to transmit.
So he reaches out with both his hand and his magic and touches his forehead. And then he stops, not understanding. It doesn't make sense. He can't feel the heat of him, the core of him, the sparks of energy that flow through every living life form. And that means...
The world is fuzzy again, for entirely different reasons. He glances up at the battle still raging around him. It moves too slow, just like waking up all over again. Then he looks back down, and Tony's still unmoving, still no life signs, still... dead.
He lets out a scream, guttural, the rage and grief fighting each other to claw their way up through his stomach and out his throat, sharp, an explosion of pain, and then -
Then he's up in the air, his magic pulsing out with his screams, without aim, without control, just... out. All of the people around him, allies and enemies and civilians alike are staring at him, slack-jawed, but he doesn't notice. There is only his pain, only the image of Tony's still face stuck in his mind, only the unbridled hate towards whoever did this, whoever hurt, whoever killed Tony, his dom, his love, the light in his world.
He forces himself to focus, to really take stock of the situation. He zeros in on the villain, another magic user, one he hasn't seen before. The rest of the Avengers are either too injured to fight or barely holding on. He can't see Clint, but there are no arrows flying, so he has to assume he's out of the fight. Natasha is lying slumped against a building, the impact crater behind her speaking of a wound that she probably won't survive. Hulk is nowhere to be seen, and only Steve is engaging with the villain, but even he's in bad shape.
It doesn't matter. He doesn't care about any of these people except in the sense of their relation to Tony, and that isn't real anymore. You can't have a relationship with a dead man. So he teleports to the villain – tall, blond, starting a monologue that he doesn't care about and tunes out. A pulse of magic sends Captain America flying from the area, so only the two of them are facing each other.
Loki thinks the man is still trying to talk, but his ears are ringing like there's been an explosion, and he can't think straight. This man killed his lover. He doesn't know his purpose here. He doesn't care. He lashes out with raw magic, too encased in grief to fight with any finesse, which the man blocks with a shield. Loki screams again, shoving a wall of magic toward him. The man is hit with it, and it knocks him back a few feet. Loki hits him with blast after blast of magic, letting out his pain, uncaring of what it looks like or what he's doing to him or of any consequences to his actions. There is blood between them, but he isn't sure who it belongs to. He hasn't even registered that the man has been attacking him back.
But then the magic isn't enough and he lets go of it, swinging forward to punch him instead, so different from his usual fighting style, but he is Asgardian and has the strength to prove it. The villain starts to fall, but Loki grabs him, hitting him again, blood staining his knuckles, then again and again and again until his face looks less like flesh and more like raw meat. Dead, he realizes. Like Anthony.
He lets him drop, uncaring where he lands, uncaring about any of the others. He lets himself float back down toward where Anthony's body lays on the pavement. He doesn't even have the energy to teleport anymore. It's all drained suddenly, at the sight of his lover again. Loki hits his knees beside him, and the position doesn't feel like comfort anymore. It feels like defeat.
He is crying, tears that haven't seen the light of day in 200 years slipping down his cheeks, sure of their place here to mourn the most important man in the realms. Loki stares at him, reaches out to touch, his hand caressing his cheek, still tender, even now. He brushes his hair to the side, out of his face, the strands matted together with thick blood.
He is on his knees again, and again, there is only this moment. The world is narrowed down to the right now, to Anthony, to the man who should have been a god, who deserved so much better than this. He lowers himself down gently until he's laying on the ground beside him, then pulls him close, holding him one last time.
The Iron Man armor is hard against him, jutting out in all the wrong places, but he doesn't even notice. He cradles Anthony – his body – tight to his chest, wanting, needing, desperate to hold on to these last moments. There is no fixing this. There is no future, no rest of the world, no reason to go on. Later, he will have to make decisions and plans.
But for now, he lays there, his lover curled tight against him, and he mourns.