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The Avengers had fought Loki in the past, had even defeated him.
They had sent him back to Asgard, in chains, under the watch of his not-brother – and, years later, discovered the fucker had not been all that bad, had not been a scheming bastard, a villain, like they had thought all of that time.
Thor had returned to Earth in a spaceship filled with aliens of all sorts, including a speaking tree and a gun-shooting raccoon, and the god’s eyes were brimming with tears when he told the Avengers of his brother’s sacrifice, of how his last words had been calling himself an Odinson , right before he died in Thanos’ grip.
Steve had been sympathetic, offering comfort in the form of a hand on the shoulder. Same with Clint, though he had relied more on humour to make his condolences felt. Natasha had been brief, but said all the right things. Bruce… Well, Bruce had made himself tiny, probably remembering the way he had smashed the trickster god onto the floor, and said in a small voice: I’m sorry .
Everyone had thought, back then, that it was odd how Tony burst out into a strange, nervous sort of laughter; then made a bad joke about trickster gods and their misfortunes. When the billionaire retreated into his lab for a month, no one thought much of it: that was Tony, alright, always keeping weird hours, drinking and sinking into his projects.
But then a month became two, then three.
Then four.
It was odd, everyone thought, how the playboy looked hollow: he had lost a lot of weight, he had dark bags under his eyes, and rarely ever spent time with them anymore.
“What’s troubling you, Tony?” Steve had asked, leaning against the doorframe at the entrance of the genius’ lab.
“Just can’t seem to figure out this equation, that’s all,” Tony replied, and it rang untrue so blatantly that Steve was caught off guard.
“You’ve been acting strange for a few months now,” the blond insisted, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “If you tell us, then perhaps we can help.”
Tony had laughed then, his shoulders trembling just a little, almost like a shivering, his chuckling breathless – and over a few minutes, it grew into uncontrollable laughter, to the point that Tony was bent over himself, his hand to his stomach.
Steve smiled then, thinking perhaps there was a joke underneath.
It was only when the laughter had turned to sobbing that the Captain’s heart missed a beat. He rushed to the other, reaching for him, trying to offer comfort for some mysterious tragedy that weighed Tony’s shoulders down.
“Get the fuck out,” the genius had mumbled instead, the moment he felt hands on his arm. “Get the fuck out!” Steve, who froze in place, only stared at the other. “Having trouble hearing me, old man?” Tony taunted, his eyes red and his chest heaving. “Get the fuck out!”
The Captain, entirely unsure of what to do, had simply done as asked.
No one found it strange when Pepper told them they had broken up – though it was a surprise that, apparently, it had been long since they had stopped sharing a bed, much more than a year, in fact; and decided to keep it under wraps because of a mutual decision between them.
“Do you know what’s making him upset?” Bruce had asked her one eve, and the strawberry blonde had just shrugged, her gaze far away.
“I don’t think I ever knew what went inside his head,” she said, and there seemed to be some anger underneath.
After a year Tony had returned to normal, somewhat at least .
He still had a strange bitterness lurking under the surface, and his temper was short with everyone. But he spent more time with the others, ate enough, drank less… and he had also started fucking random women again – women who would leave the Avengers’ tower at some point during the day, heels in hand and with sour expressions; usually Steve or Natasha showing them the way out.
“Were you depressed because of Pepper?” Clint asked, rudely, at a movie night.
Tony just looked at him, his gaze steady, his body entirely still.
“Yes,” he finally said, and everyone in the room knew it to be a lie.
After four more years Thanos had been defeated, and Tony almost lost his life.
The entire world had shown their never-ending support, had piled up flowers and balloons and get-well cards outside the hospital, had expressed their admiration and devotion, had sat out all night lighting candles and singing songs: their words heard from the room where the Hero walked a fine line, the one between life and death, and his friends took turns to keep him company, to hold his hand, to give him comfort.
Loki, Loki.
Everyone had thought it strange that it was the trickster’s name the billionaire mumbled in his dreams; the word repeated over and over, leaving everyone confused.
“Perhaps it’s a message from the Norns,” Thor had said, his brow furrowed, as he hovered near the bed.
When Tony finally woke up, everyone could tell he was hollow again.
“They’re still singing, can you hear?” Pepper prompted, holding the curtains open and pointing to the crowd outside. Her presence was the last resort for a team of people who did not know, did not have a clue of how to awaken the genius’ soul, how to shake him out of his almost catatonic state.
Tony just hummed, his eyes at half mast.
“You kept repeating my brother’s name, Anthony Stark,” Thor mumbled in the dark one night, and the muscles in Tony’s jaw jumped, his head turning away. “I thought, perhaps, it was a matter of celestial interference–”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Point Break,” Tony interrupted harshly. “Who the fuck knows? I was pumped full of drugs. Maybe I was just thinking about that time your brother threw me out of a window, huh? Did you think about that?” he spat, then turned on the bed, giving his back to the god.
Thor, realising he was undesired, nodded and left.
After yet another year the billionaire had entirely healed, except for some difficulties with his right hand. His temper had not improved, and neither had his diplomacy: Tony was now known for his angry outbursts, for telling people to fuck off at any inexplicable moment.
Clint could see, from where he usually perched on the roof of the tower and looked into the lab, the way the genius often screamed and turned everything upside down. More often than not, it was because his hand failed him, no longer capable of carrying out some simple tasks, but sometimes… only sometimes, it was when the billionaire thought himself alone, unseen. Abandoned.
Tony would stand up in a rage because of one reason or another, glaring at his work and then immediately after at himself: his gaze focused through the reflection of a mirror, seemingly looking at something that only he could see, his fingers tracing an invisible line around his neck. The genius would remain still for long periods of time, his body tense and his other hand fisted, every once in a while mumbling to himself as tears ran down his face. Only one time had Clint been close enough to hear the scathing words that left the billionaire’s mouth:
How dare you fucking die, you stupid piece of shit.
And then, promptly, burst into pitiful sobs and wreaked havoc in his lab.
“I think it’s got to do with Loki’s death,” the archer said to Natasha a few weeks after that particular scene, and she nodded in response, almost absently.
“I have had my doubts,” she agreed, “but I can’t tell what the connection is.”
Now, as they all stood watching Loki appear from thin air, the connection seemed the most obvious.
They had all been at a public event, just returning to the tower for some rest, when they heard Mjolnir clatter to the ground along with a loud gasp. It was Thor’s bellowing Brother! that announced something was afoot, and both Clint and Bruce saw Tony blanche as soon as the words reached them. The billionaire dropped to his knees, not even in the living room yet, when Loki’s voice echoed around them.
I have missed you, brother, the trickster said, and a moment later Tony threw up on the floor.
“Tony, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, and Clint, the truth already clear in his gut, had simply dragged the genius ahead.
The moment Tony appeared from the corner Loki stilled, his hands freezing around the blond’s shoulders, his eyes fixed on the brunet. Everyone noticed the tension, even Thor, who released his brother, and the room grew silent as the mortal and the god stared at one another.
It dragged on for what felt like an eternity, everyone’s eyes darting between the two, until finally Tony burst into tears, his sobs ripping from his throat and his shoulders heaving, pushing Clint away. The genius, who was sitting hunched over and on his knees, slammed his fist onto the floor, unintelligible words slipping past his lips.
The Avengers noticed how Loki’s face morphed in agony, how Loki took a step closer to the man crying at his feet. No one dared speak a word, no one dared move a muscle, when the trickster god finally sank to his knees, touching Tony’s shoulder – and, instead of the wrathful reaction the Avengers had come to expect nowadays, the billionaire crumbled under the touch, sinking into the other’s arms, his face hidden away in the crook of the god’s neck.
“Fuck you, you stupid fucking god, piece of shit, asshole, you were dead, you were dead! ”
“I’m sorry,” Loki repeated over and over, his eyes closed, his face an agonised grimace.
Everyone in the room remained in a stunned silence, only Clint and Natasha sharing a brief look, Bruce noticing but saying nothing.
Dead, you were dead, you left me – why did you leave? You were– dead!
Thor hovered around the two of them, pale and confused, almost reaching out. Natasha intercepted his hand, shaking her head.
“No, leave them be,” she said, and Thor nodded, slowly and distraught.
The Avengers watched, mystified, how the trickster god threaded his fingers through chestnut hair, the way his other hand roamed over the billionaire’s back, the way his arms clung tightly to the compact body at his side. It was only Thor’s sharp breath intake that rang through the room when Tony finally lifted his head, eyes puffy from crying, and kissed the other man. The exchange was messy and uncoordinated, the genius mumbling into it, and Loki only clung to him harder, his hands sure to leave finger-shaped bruises on the other’s shoulder and jaw.
The team had thought it odd, for so many years, how Tony had become a shadow of himself: how he had retreated and turned angry, how he had seemed hollow. And now, with the pieces of the puzzle finally slotting into place, everything made sense.
“Fuck you,” Tony said, and yet the words seemed to rhyme with a different verse.
“I’m sorry,” Loki replied, and it rhymed all the same.