Work Text:
Loki had never seen Tony look so lost.
He was sitting on the floor in front his fireplace, staring dully into the flames as he slowly fed a stack of paper to the fire, page by page, weariness written in the defeated slump of his shoulders. There was a bottle of whiskey next to him, and as the pages curled and turned to ash with a blaze of orange, Tony would drink straight from the bottle, throat working as he swallowed. Across the room, half-hidden in the deep shadows cast by the fire, a familiar shield lay against the wall, its red and blue paint scarred and burnt. As the fire brightened with each new page, Loki could see the bruises and swelling on Tony’s face, the stiff way he was holding himself, and understood then that Tony and the Captain had had an unpleasant falling out. Tony was vulnerable, alone, staggered by the weight of the world that had recently come crashing down around him.
Perfect timing, then. Loki stepped forward silently, the leather of his coat whispering softly around his boots, barely loud enough to be heard over the snapping flames. He knew exactly when Tony heard him approach; Tony’s body tensed and his breath caught in his lungs, and for a moment Loki wondered if there was fight left in him yet. But then he exhaled, long and low, and when he looked up at Loki his gaze was flat and lifeless. “And now there’s you,” he said with resignation. “As if today hadn’t been bad enough already. What do you want?”
“Maybe I’m here to give you something,” Loki said. Stooping, he pressed fingertips under Tony’s jaw; he felt Tony jump at his touch, his heart racing. But he was still, eyes watching warily as Loki turned his head from side to side to examine his injuries.
“Give me something,” Tony repeated. “Like what? A broken neck?”
Loki raised his eyebrows. “Are you afraid I will finish what the Captain started?” He asked, brushing a thumb over the wound above Tony’s eye, an ugly gash right at his hairline. “Tell me, with friends like that, what have you to fear from your enemies?”
At the reminder, Tony pulled away, turning back to the fire. “Just do what you’re here to do, Loki.”
“I could give you the gift of forgetting,” Loki said. “Surely that would be easier than carrying so much pain inside you.”
Tony’s breath hitched, and he swallowed thickly. “If only it were that easy,” he said, voice ragged, “and if only I could trust you.”
“It is, and you can.” Loki stood and held out a hand; tendrils of green light coiled around his fingers, glimmering even in the flickering glow of the fire. Tony stared at it, clearly tempted. “You won’t forget anything you don’t want to,” Loki coaxed. “And it won’t be for all time. Just until you are strong enough to bear the weight of another betrayal.”
Tony’s laugh was bitter, ugly, and as sharp as broken glass as he looked away to watch the fire instead. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
Loki made a thoughtful noise and the light in his palm vanished. “The only way to do that is to stop caring,” he said. “Do you think that will ever happen? Will you ever turn your back on the world and walk away?”
“No,” Tony said, voice barely audible over the fire, though to Loki’s ears it was less an answer to the question than a reflexive denial of a possibility that seemed all too real. Loki waited for him to say something else, but eventually Tony’s eyes dropped back to the pages he was burning as if he just remembered they existed. “Kill me or get out, Loki,” Tony said as he started burning pages. “But I’m not fighting anymore today.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Loki said with a thin smile, and turned away.
Months later, Tony’s anguish echoed throughout Yggdrasil. Loki heard it on Jotunheim like final note of a distant song. “We will finish this later,” he said to the Frost Giant as it swung a sword at him the length of Loki’s own body and disappeared.
He stepped out of the space between realms and appeared next to Tony, who was cradling a body amidst a scene of destruction. All around them, it seemed like a battle was raging, but here it was calm, like the center of a storm. It was raining from a low dark sky of clouds, and the rain was making the blood in the street turn into attenuated tendrils of red. Looking down, Loki recognized the body and realized why Tony look so defeated.
He glanced back at Tony to see the man watching him. “Do it,” Tony begged. His armor crawled away from his skin and vanished, leaving him only in thin clothes that were quickly becoming plastered to his skin. “Please.”
“What, Tony?” Loki asked, though he knew. “What do you want from me?”
“Make me forget. Take it all away.” Tony lifted his face to the rain and closed his eyes, shoulders slumped even as he kept his grip on Captain Rogers’ body. “I’m done.”
Loki cradled Tony’s jaws in his hands. “Are you sure?” At Tony’s nod, Loki cradled Tony’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking gently at Tony’s temples. A force of will, a simple spell, and when Tony’s eyes blinked open, they were lighter, unburdened. “You can put him down now,” Loki said gently. “He’s not important to you anymore.”
Tony nodded and laid Rogers carefully on the pavement, arranging his limbs in a peaceful repose. “What now?” he asked, glancing at the battle raging around them with mild interest, as if it were a particularly robust play instead of a war fit to tear his world apart.
“Come with me,” Loki said as he held out a hand. “We have better places to be.” As Tony stood and took his hand, Loki’s eyes found Thor’s on the far side of the battlefield. You did this, Loki’s voice whispered in Thor’s ear, even as Loki turned away. You and yours broke him, so he’s mine now.