Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1974

His tiny hands scrabbled in the bucket of metallic parts hurriedly, searching for the one important part that he needed. The bucket, no storage box, was huge and filled to the brim with miscellaneous metal parts. There were bolts, nuts, joints, wires, parts from cars, from computers, there had to be a piece for anything.

At least he hoped.

The tears were brimming, filling his eyes threatening to flood down his dirty, roughened cheeks. Every few seconds he wiped his cheek roughly as his tears were constantly forming, shining brightly in the soft glow of the candlelight. His eyes were probably bloodshot, red, swollen and puffy from bleeding the salt of his soul.

It had to be in here, he needed to find it. There wasn’t another choice, he didn’t have an alternative. He had to find this piece, he had to finish the circuit board, he must.

Please. Please. Please.

He’d been searching for what felt like an eternity, searching through a box that didn’t seem to end. He’d heaved out some of the bigger pieces with difficulty, but successfully. He’d taken them out and methodically sorted them into piles. He wouldn’t miss the part he needed.

His arms were getting tired from the constant labour and having to lean into the box. His back was screaming. He’d dropped several items on his feet and his hands, arms, and torso were littered in cuts. But, none of that mattered. He pushed aside the pain, stored it in its own little box in his mind, he’d think about it later.

He had a job. He had to finish the job.

Eventually, the bottom of the box was peaking out from below several metal pieces. He didn’t let himself worry, didn’t let the fear sink in. He had to find the piece in the ever-diminishing pile.

However, as the pile grew smaller his hope dimmed and began fading away. What started as a blooming flower of hope in his chest at his task was now a dark, black hole of dread.

Tears swam in his vision, his breath ghosted in the shiny metal he was reaching for with his small, fragile hands. He was split in two in his attempts to reach the last of the metal in the box. His feet were cycling comically in the air for sure as he stretched as far as he could into the depths of the boxes.

He tears cascaded down his cheeks, he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion. There were only a few pieces left in the box now. Unless there was a miracle he was going to fail. He’d never be able to complete the project. He’d be worthless.

Please. Please. Please.

He pled silently and constantly as he threw himself into the box his small feet landing awkwardly on the piece. One was quite sharp and cut into his foot through his shoe. He crumbled to the ground and searched desperately.

To no avail. It wasn’t there.

His tears, anxiety, and fear were overwhelming him and he fell into a sobbing heap at the bottom of the box.

What was he going to do?

He lifted his torn up, shaking hands to his face over his eyes and took a few breaths. Wiping his eyes, he tried to steady his breathing.

Out of the corner of his eye, a small spark of green illuminated the box for a slight second. Tentatively he reached forward into the dark corner and his dirty fingers circled around a piece of metal he hadn’t noticed before.

He quickly drew it closer and lifted it into the dim light from the far table. He gasped.

It was the piece he needed. He had found it!

Without a thought, he burst into tears, though this time they were of relief and happiness. His hope surged and left his anxiety, fear and worry rotting away. He felt warmth in his chest for the first time since he entered the box.

Thank you.

1976

The bottle smashed against the wall with a resounding shattering sound that shot through his ears. It had missed his head luckily but he felt glass shards nick against his face, neck, and arm. He curled a little further into himself, his eyes closed from the bang though he was still facing down at the floor his mop of curls hiding his face from view.

He heard a shoe tap against the floor coming closer to his prone form. Opening his eyes, he watched as the other shoe came into view- closers still. He flinched further into the wall searching for some form of protection anything.

They stopped where he was and stood there for moments. He could feel the fury radiating off them. Their hand was clenched tightly, bloodless and shaking with anger at his side.

He looked up from underneath his hair, not daring to move an inch, only moving his eyes remaining stock still. Unfortunately, he locked gazes with their eyes full of retribution. They were sneering down at him with an awful expression twisted on their face.

Smack.

In the blink of an eye, he was flung onto the ground from a powerful hit. They’d blindsided him and punched him on the side of his face with such force his small body had landed a few meters from where he resided.

He lay there and waited.

His cheek was ablaze. It hurt and throbbed. He slowly raised a bruised arm up to his cheek and felt something slippery. With swimming vision and shaky arms, he raised himself up into a sort of seated position, mainly leaning crumpled like a rag doll against the wall. His vision somehow focussed onto his hands in the dim light of the workshop and saw red.

Blood.

He reached tentatively for his cheek and found a cut where he was struck- a piece of skin slashed and bleeding ferociously. His fingertips traced it delicately, it was long and deep- a clean cut.

His watch.

Slumping further into the wall he winced when his battered back brushed against the brickwork. His head was pounding profusely with pain in time with his pulse. The tears brimmed and cascaded like a waterfall down from his eyes, falling from his chin and landing with small sounds against the floor. The salty droplets yet another pain laced with his wound.

Footsteps suddenly slammed against the pavement, closer and closer. His ears rang as they yelled and screamed. He closed his eyes, tears still falling from his lashes and hid further against the wall turning his back on the other. He muffled his sobs against his palm, even biting his hand hard to conceal the noise.

Without a reason, he heard the shoes turn on their heel and echo away from him. He heard the distinct tap against the stairs and listened as they ascended. The large door was opened with an ominous groan and slammed closed. The lock clicked into place and there was quiet in the lab.

He stood on shaky legs like a newborn foal. Gripping with corners of the bricks of the wall, between the grout and he clung with dear life. It took long moments before his head stopped spinning and he was able to stand with his feet firmer on the ground.

Slowly but surely, he inched forward- one destination in mind. Many long minutes later he reached his small cot. It was nothing much, a ratty mattress and a small pillow stuffed with soiled rags. At the end of the cot was a neatly folded blanket. It was more holes than anything but tucked certain ways it would offer warmth and comfort in the lab.

He curled into the fetal position and slowly dragged the blanket over himself and unfolded it until he was satisfied. Turning into the rag filled pillowcase he nuzzled into the fabric facing lying on his side. He’d do better tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better.

In the dimming light of the candle, in it’s last few flickers he saw a shadow behind the candle on the table. His eyes blurred with sleep, his eyes fluttering. He fought hard to look that bit closer.

With the last flicker of the candle, he watched a single tear fall from a pale face.

Please.

1978

A tear slipped from his cheek and fell onto the old, browning pages of the book open before him. It splashed on the page with a small pat like a drop of rain falling on the pavement. He sniffled quietly, his lip quivered and he hunched forward closer to the book he was studying before him.

His vision was blurry, the tears welling in his eyes was making it difficult to read. Angrily he rubbed at his eyes with his wrist. His emotions stired with no other outlet- not yet anyways. He started chewing his lip- anything to distract him.

He ghosted a finger over the teardrop fading into the page- his fingertip lingering on the damp spot for a moment. Reading the stanza he froze. His body didn’t know how to react, it just shut down. He was hardly breathing, he had frozen to such an absolute point against the brick wall behind him.

Time stood still as he remained stationary on the floor. He was still like a statue. His pupils dilated, his hands now gripping the book with bloodless, white knuckles. His heart was thumping as if it was ready to burst forth from his chest.

Please.

His body twitched with his silent plea- his mouth forming the words silently through his voice too hoarse from crying to speak. A great sob escaped him, he dropped the book and he covered his face with trembling fingers. He shook as the grief engulfed him.

He gasped for breath. Light-headed, disorientated and now feeling nauseous he drew up his legs- his knees now brushing against his hands he was hiding against. His head throbbed, the pain sparking and striking in time with his heart.

He was trembling, he lungs and heart working overtime. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. He tried coming back to himself but the fear pushed him back into a dark corner of his mind. His anxiety loomed over him, a dark shadow and he cowered before the beast.

His limbs went numb, the adrenaline spiking in his body. He felt exhausted. He didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright. He felt lifeless- like a doll with its strings cut one by one.

Somehow his body was still trembling, a bodily reaction to his anxiety. His limbs were tingling his palms, his arms, legs, and feet. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t halt the panic, he couldn’t stop it from washing over him like a tidal wave.

His attempts to calm himself in that small protective cacoon had failed. His breath caught and his heart pounded harder and faster- for several moments he was caught unmoving.

He had receded his control of his body.

Gasping for air his chest heaved and his legs dropped- sneakers sliding forward with a harsh squeak against the floor. His hands fell from his face, unconsciously he clutched at the fabric of his shirt. The fabric stretched and displaced with his white-knuckled grip.

His vision dimmed, the flickering golden light illuminating the room faded. The colours dripped from his vision and were engulfed in black. It crept into his sight, circled the warm golden colour of the light pushing it further and further away.

His eyes closed and bright spots flickered like fireworks before him. He forced himself to open his eyes one last time. Only they didn’t open, his eyes remained shut- his eyelids and eyelashes flickered with his effort. He couldn’t open his eyes.

He was so tired, so lethargic. Somewhere in his mind, he was panicking with a small but strong growing sense of doom. His mind churned.

He felt something warm brush against his cheek briefly. He tried to drift forward, push out and search for that feeling and felt the muscles of his heart tighten with incredible force.

Then there was black.

His head was lolled back against the wall awkwardly, his arms laying limply beside his hips, his legs spread without a care before him. He felt better.

How long had he been out?

There was no pain, it had faded during his time asleep.

He moved off from the wall and found the book before him. He perused the page and furrowed his brow. This wasn't the page that was open before. He flicked quickly through the old, dusty book and found the page with a teardrop soaked into the page slightly distorting the paper.

Turning back to the page that was left open he studied it carefully. There it was... the answer he needed.

Thank you.

Chapter Text

1980

The hall was loud and bustling with the chatter of students, with laughter, delight, and humour. As he approached through the corridor the merry atmosphere grew. The echoes from the walls became an all-out din as he turned the final corner and shuffled towards the hallway entrance.

With his head down, he crept closer still and made a direct beeline for his table. It was in the corner of the room closest to entrance and left empty. He walked slowly, taking steady deliberate steps as to arouse suspicion. He treads silently like a thief avoiding detection.

The thought of the other children noticing him gave him a sudden chill. He gasped under his breath at the thought. His hands tightened around the books he was carrying and his vision dimmed- only his destination in sight.

As he grew closer, the anxiety lessened to some degree. The children’s laughter, fun, and mirth were intoxicating to all those in the room. He hoped that their games and their chatting would serve their purpose and that he’d reach his table with no altercations.

Please. Please. Please.

None of them noticed him.

He finally, after that treacherous walk, made it to his table. Placing his books on the surface, he turned the final corner and slipped into the seat. His table was pushed again the far corner so he slid himself and his things along it’s top until his side was touching the wall. In this part of the room, there was little light and was the perfect place to blend into obscurity.

He slouched further into the table, brought his elbows up onto the surface and adjusted them to slide further out, lying on the palms of his hands. From this position, he could see all the other children in the room. He watched their smiling faces, heard their laughter, saw their comfortable body language in the presence of others.

Watching for some moments he turned suddenly away and drew his attention from the joyous atmosphere. He studied the books before him lazily and opened the top book with a languorous finger. The old spine creaked as he opened it slowly. It flopped open with a slight bang against the table as he’d let his finger go in surprise.

Instead of the title page residing before him, tucked into the book lying elegantly on top was an envelope. His name was written delicately with care and precision in the middle of the envelope with neat, tidy calligraphy in green ink.

He was stunned. Who could do this? Was this a prank?

He wasn’t sure anyone cared about him enough to even initiate some sort of prank. At the school, he slunk around and remained as unobtrusive as possible. He made it his purpose to remain out of the spotlight. He’d crafted himself rules. A lot of rule. But mainly, to complete his work adequately, to not get caught doing anything wrong and to stay as far away from the other kids as possible.

The rules had been broken. He’d messed up somehow.

With a shaky hand he flung the note from the table, it fluttered off the table and tumbled underneath into the shadows. He frantically picked up his books, tumbled out from the seat and fled.

Please. Please. Please.

No one noticed him leave. It was like he had never been.

He flew through corridors, racing down the halls like his life depended on it. His feet were pumping against the floor, his shoes slapping loudly and echoing all around. He wasn’t worried that anyone would see him- they were all spending time in the communal area.

Eventually, he reached his door. It was plain, no name and remained exactly how he’d seen it when he first arrived. In comparison to the other doors, his was simple, it wasn’t decorated, it didn’t say whose room it was. It was like no one even used the room.

He rustled around in his pockets for his key to his room. Resting the heavy pile of books against the door, they wobbled ominously as he plunders his pocket. He felt the cold metal against the tips of his fingers and curled them quickly around the metal key.

Quickly, he heaved the books back into his two arms and miraculously was somehow able to fit the key into the lock. He shoved himself into his room with a shoulder, the books knocking slightly against the door frame. Shakily, he races over to the desk, once through the doorway, he kicked out a foot carelessly hooking his ankle around the door and swinging it closed.

The door closed with a soft click, then another- his automated locking system he’d built locking the door. He placed the books reverently onto his desk, pushing aside random papers in the process.

Turning to his bed, he crawls under the covers and buries himself in them. Only then does he let himself try and relax.

His nervousness sedates, his heart stops racing a mile a minute and he no longer feels nauseous. The constant vigilance is not necessary inside his living quarters. It’s his one place he can relax in this whole environment.

He shut his eyes and blackness awaited him.

1988

A faint knock echoed against his door, waking him from his restless sleep. Frantically, he shoved the covers off his bed, tripping in his excitement to reach the door. His feet thundering against the cold timber floor as he rushed over.

Please. Please. Please.

As he reached the door, an envelope slid along the wood and came to a stop sliding against his bare toes. He stares down at the envelope for a moment before lunging down and scooping it up into shaking hands. Shaking not from fear, or pain or negative emotions but from excitement.

He feels a grin spread across his face and his mood brighten as he spots the familiar green writing with his name on the front. With his feet growing cold, he pulls the letter close atop his chest, swipes a letter opener from his lab desk and walks over to his ratty couch.

Plopping onto the couch, he reaches and pulls the fluffy covers back over his body and gets comfortable sinking into the comfy furniture. He allows himself a few moments to adjust to the warmth and comfort of the couch and then focusses his attention on the letter.

He opens it carefully with the letter opener, a precise cut into the envelope. He drops the letter opener on the floor somewhere- the tool no longer needed. Lifting the flap, he finds numerous pieces of parchment folded neatly into the envelope.

Reaching into the package he reverently pulls out the papers. With a delicate touch, usually reserved for his technology, the unfolds the notes.

A smirk slides onto his face as he begins to read. As he continues he finds himself rubbing his fingers against the parchment, over the words. His smirk turns into a small private smile.

The note continues, no matter the length, he is always engrossed. He can’t tear his eyes away from the letters as if spellbound.

Eventually, he reaches the end of the letter and feels a slight pang in his chest. Gently, he folds up the notes back up, slides them back into the vanilla envelope and holds it against his lap. He spends some time absorbing the letter and its contents.

The smile never leaves his face.

Thank you.

He stands after some time and walks over to a secret part of his lab, he taps a complex code into the hidden panel in the shadows and a drawer slides free from the wall. It’s a large drawer filled with years of letters, notes, and memories.

Reverently, he places the notes into the drawer, behind the last note he received and as he removes his hand from the draw he brushes his fingers over the lines and lines of letters. The letters he holds dear.

Instead of removing his hand he finds himself closing his fingers around a letter and drawing it carefully from the drawer. He takes a closer look at the item and finds himself smiling brightly.

It was the first letter he’d found at boarding school, in a book. The letter he’d thrown away at first- but opened courageously days later.

He found himself unconsciously opening the envelope and beginning to read the message. It only took a moment to finish it and he read it again and again, enveloping himself in his old memories and the feelings of happiness that was only brought forth from the letters.

Thank you.

1991

Ice cubes clinked together in the fine glass of whiskey he was clumsily danglingly from his fingers. He looked that those ice cubes in the glass for a minute before slamming back the alcohol.

He lifted a hand and signaled for another with a point of his finger and a wavy gesture with the ice-filled glass. The bartender nodded and began preparing another drink from across the other side of the bar.

He needed more alcohol. He needed it now. He needed to forget.

He became agitated with the wait so he tapped his fingers against the glass impatiently. It was empty and seemed to reflect how he felt. Oh god, he needed that drink.

No sooner had he thought of it, a glass was placed in front of him, right under his nose by the bartender. He held out a hand in signal with the glass he was toying with and raised an elegant eyebrow at him.

He slid the glass over the counter to the man with a finger and gave him another nod. The bartender snapped the glass up into his hands and with the flourish of his towel was off to serve another customer.

Sighing he lifted the glass and downed the glass. It burned and he felt like he deserved that minute bit of pain. Unknowingly, he’d put down the glass on the counter- stuck in that moment of thought only snapped out of it when the bartender placed yet another glass down beside the empty glass.

He lifted his eyes from the glass to the man and found he’d already walked off to another customer and had turned his back on him. Instead of lifting the glass and slamming it down he picked up the glass and observed the liquid.

It was swirling and swimming as he circled his wrist. He lay his elbow on the counter and took a sip this time. Afterwards, he grabbed a coaster from beside him and placed his drink atop it. He spent minutes drinking, sipping at the drink and watching the condensation drip and fall from the glass. The alcohol was intoxicating- he could feel a buzz underneath his skin.

He watched the ice cause the condensation to slip and slide down the glass like tears. The thought caused him to freeze with the glass before his mouth. His hand grew numb and he lost his grip on the glass- it too slipping.

Crash.

The glass was shattered against the floor and he remained stock-still caught back in the moment he was trying to forget.

Realising the eyes on him, the unwanted attention that was buzzing along his skin- unwelcome, unlike the alcohol. He stumbled from the bar and clumsily swung off the chair. In the process, he almost tumbled the chair over but miraculously managed to steady it.

In a panic, he reached into his pocket, with shaky hands fumbled into his wallet and threw a few bills hazardously onto the counter. He turned suddenly, only to crash into a tall, slender body and fall.

There was a burst of pain and then nothing.

The first thing he knew was that there was someone talking. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but their voice was soothing and washed over him like gentle waves. Then he noticed the careful, gentle caresses. Chilled fingers lingered in his hair whilst cupping his cheek, moving languidly and another held his hand in a caring grip.

A tear slid down his cheek. No sooner had it cascaded had a thumb rubbed the moisture from below his eyes. He turned into the tender touch.

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to open his eyes. They felt heavy and didn’t want to co-operate and instead remained shut. His brow furrowing and he clenched his hand in the other person’s grip as he fought to open his eyes.

He felt a small shift in weight on what he was lying on and the hand holding his reached out to lovingly cup his other cheek. The other chilled hand still soothing him and caressing under his eye.

Another tear fell. Then more, until he was sobbing uncontrollably and gasping for breath. The pain he trying to block was overwhelming-  his grief was unchained. He couldn’t hold them in.

The tender hands remained, even when he tried to pull away, turn into a ball and hide. His longing for care in his vulnerability won out on his embarrassment. Exhausted and tired he sank into the bed and the comfort of the other.

He couldn’t say how long it had been, but he was no longer sobbing. Suddenly, the weight on the bed shifted again and he felt those gentle hands begin to drift away.

No!

Please. Please. Please.

Blindly he lashed out a hand and grabbed onto a slender wrist, an embarrassed shout croaking from his tender, sore throat. He held it tight, conveyed his desire to not let go- his need.

The person’s other hand lay softly above his grasp and slowly but surely pried his fingers from the slender wrist. Unbidden, one last tear fell from his fluttering eyelashes and was again with such care swept gently from his cheek.

He felt the weight leave the bed and the warmth of another body leave him. Only for a hand to swipe aside the hair stuck to his forehead. He leaned into the touch, savouring the moment.

With effort, he fought off the exhaustion and once again tried to open his eyes. The lights were bright once he opened his eyes and he instantly closed them again- in pain and from tiredness. He fought so hard to open them again, only for them to close just as easily.

He felt a soft caress of lips against his temple suddenly and his eyes opened in shock, his tiredness forgotten for a mere moment. His eyes were still adjusting so he only saw a blurry figure above him, their hand outstretched still playing with his hair. The hand slowly receded and he tried his damnedest to keep his eyes open.

He stared focused on remaining awake with his vision swimming slightly on the figure. Somehow the person's eyes shone in the bright room piercing into his own.

With a blink, the figure with the vibrant green eyes was gone.

Thank you.

Chapter Text

1999

It was approaching the turn of the century- which was frightening for most of the human populace. However, Tony was extremely excited. This was an opportunity to turn a new leaf. Maybe.

He’d have to convince Stane. Tony had so many plans circulating in his mind. He’d had J.A.R.V.I.S. encrypt his list on his private server and add to them when he could recall something new. Just thinking about his futurist plans pulled a smile on his face.

There was so much more than manufacturing weapons. Technology was absolutely booming and Tony, well, he wanted in. A new thought suddenly sprung to life- a new idea to consider.

“J, pull up the files. You know the ones,” he says.

“Will do, sir,” the A.I. drawled back. He projected the list on the computer closest to Tony. The screen was a bright light in the dimly-lit room.

J.A.R.V.I.S. was his A.I. He’d made him so long ago. Tony had named him after Edwin Jarvis, his butler. The best man he had ever known. It had taken Tony hours, no days, to correct J.A.R.V.I.S.’ voice to sound like the Jarvis he had known. The day he’d finalised the speech comparison- he’d cried to J.A.R.V.I.S.’ soothing voice echoing that of his long past butler.

He’d continued to develop J.A.R.V.I.S. He’d moved from a chunky computer to the network of the house. But he knew he could do more, J.A.R.V.I.S. could grow.

Stane kept him busy with the weapons. His time developing J.A.R.V.I.S. was small- but he wanted to change that. J.A.R.V.I.S. was his best and closest friend. Tony knew J.A.R.V.I.S. was running out of space- needed more to grow.

Tony would fix that.  

He sat on his couch in the lab cradling a scotch. He took a large sip and smiled at the burn. Tony was feeling fantastic. He recited to J.A.R.V.I.S. his ideas and watched as he wrote them into their developing list.

The future was so bright, and Tony was going to be in the thick of it.

Swallowing the last of the drink he placed the glass on a coaster and lay back into the couch. Tony plopped into the cushions and sighed. He instructed J.A.R.V.I.S. to seal everything, check everything. J.A.R.V.I.S. responded with an affirmation and left Tony to himself.

Tony lay there on the couch. He closed his eyes and sighed- not a weary sigh, an accomplished sigh. He closed his eyes and rested. Someone would be by soon or they’d call. Then he could get up and put on a show for the world.

He lay there for some time. J.A.R.V.I.S. would know- but Tony had lost track.

An inquisitive beep broke him out of his calming, relaxing thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he turned his head to view the interruption. DUM-E had rolled up in front of him, a claw was clutching a pile of letters.

Tony felt his blood run cold. The small smile he’d had tugging at his lips fell. He scrambled up clumsily and awkwardly at the sight before him.

No.

Confused DUM-E waved them a little and beeped worriedly at Tony. Butterfingers and U turned from their places around the lab and zoomed over to crowd them. The 3 bots were beeping in alarm, DUM-E still shaking that bundle of letters.

Tony broke forward and ripped them from DUM-E’s clutch and threw the package as hard and far as he could in anger. He felt the paper rip as he tore them from DUM-E. He watched as if in slow motion as the letters sailed through the air and landed scattered over the far side of the lab.

Frozen in the moment with his arm outstretched post-throw, he stared at the crumpled, torn pile of papers littered on the floor. Ironically, Tony laughed hysterically at the image. It was as if it symbolised him.

Those papers were like his heart- broken and full of love.

His laughing morphed from its hysteric cackle to a scream of frustration. Tony screamed everything he’d been holding in- all the emotions he’d refused to acknowledge for so long. He screamed until his face was red, tears were falling down his face and he was breathing hard.

The bots fled at the sight, beeping in fear.

In the back of his mind, he was ashamed of his actions. Somewhere he could recognise J.A.R.V.I.S.’ instructing the bots to head back to their charging stations, that Sir wasn’t angry at them- never at them- and that Sir needed some time to himself.

But he couldn’t push past the rush of emotions- the flood of pain. He wanted to agree with J.A.R.V.I.S. and tell the bots himself. But he couldn’t. So, Tony watched like a detached bystander as his bots fled into the far corner of the room and huddled together in their charging stations.

He slumped further into himself onto the couch with another scream of frustration. At himself this time. At everything. With his feet grounded on the floor, he leaned forward with his head in his hands. He drew his hair tightly into his hands and cried.

Tony lost himself to the moment.

He felt something shift over him. It was warm and coated him in warmth. Disorientated he looked up from the cracks between his fingers. In the dim light, metal shone as it moved around him.

Tony pushed himself up and the blanket cocooned further around him. He turned to look over his shoulder and found U and Butterfingers with their claws outstretched where the blanket must have been.

He smiles up at them- his lips wobbling with emotion.

Thank you.

Turning forward at the constant nudge against his chest he finds DUM-E. He caresses his arm in thanks and smiles at him. A stubborn tear slides down his cheek.

Thank you.

It isn’t until a few minutes of his bots beeping over him and forcing him onto the couch and piling him high with holey blankets that he notices. Placed gently on the table were the ripped, torn letters from earlier.

Thank you.

Tony turns to the bots and pats them whilst thanking each of them individually. Butterfingers spins on the spot- a sign of excitement and happiness. U nods up and down beside Butterfingers with acceptance and exhilaration. Then DUM-E he beeps and nudges Tony in his own form of love.

Thank you.

With a shaking hand, he reaches out to the table and lifts the first letter off the top of the pile. Trembling he opens the paper with soft, delicate motions. He’d already done so much damage.

Another tear falls at his actions.

He wipes it away with a corner of a blanket. Instead of focussing on his anger he turns to the green, cursive words. Tony reads the letter slowly and savers the words written just for him.

When he reaches the end, he traces the final words.

Yours, always, Loki.

With a new sob, he clutches the words close, crushes them directly over his heart. The closes his eyes to try and cope with the new wave of grief. He curls into himself- around the letter he treasures above all else.

Please.

Tony succumbs to sleep under the close watch of his bots and J.A.R.V.I.S. the last letter of his love pressed against his heart. The dear old letter crumpled yellow with age over his long-broken heart.

2008

If Tony had ever felt defeat, then trapped in a cave in Afghanistan held captive by a terrorist’s band called the Ten Rings might have been the moment. Tony was stubborn and not one to leave things up to fate. Conventional fate.

Tony was nothing short of terrified.

He was beaten bloody, waterboarded, threatened and half-starved. Not to mention he had a magnet in his chest. He freaked out for a while- but pushed on, there were more pressing issues.

Like escape.

First, with help from Yinsen, his fellow captive, he created a mini arc reactor. It might not have been the safest, most reliable thing to chuck in his body instead of a magnet hooked to a car battery. Or maybe it was. He was desperate.

Then he created the suit. In all honesty, creating a suit of armour that flies wasn’t even a new idea. He won’t deny that he’d had J.A.R.V.I.S. jot down absurd ideas like superhero armours. Tony was an inventor and creator and grew up on tales of Captain America. Of course, he had a super-secret list of superhero ideas.

So designing a flying armoured suit in a cave in a desert in Afghanistan held captive by terrorists powered by a new mini type of technology- it was easy.

Of course, doing so under the supervision of terrorists, who wanted you to create a Jericho missile was another matter entirely.

It took a lot of time and preparation to manipulate the situation into their favour. But, they did it. Over the weeks in captivity, he hammered away at his suit, his own Jericho missile that’d taken down this entire organisation.

Over the fire, Yinsen and he would discuss their plans in small whispers. They grew closer as their time together lengthened. In their time in captivity continued, they bonded. Tony found another person to care about- he didn’t have many but now he had one more.

The realisation made him that much more adamant to escape.

Please.

By the time their preparations, planning, and production were complete Tony was more than ready to burn this hideout to the ground. By Yinsen’s meticulous count, Tony had been in the cave for just under 3 months. Yinsen never disclosed how long he’d been held, but Tony knew deep down it had been much, much longer.

With his help, Tony donned the metal suit. It was heavy and hot in the suit with all the padding and the humidity- but Tony couldn’t find it in him to care. He was ready to fight his way out.

To escape.

Yinsen set to coding and initialising the suit. At some point the guards became suspicious and despite Yinsen’s commentary they attempted to open the door. The door the two had rigged to blow up with some leftovers of the weapons they’d scraped.

At the blast, Tony felt a new thrill of adrenaline.

Though that quickly turned into a chill of fear as Yinsen raced off into the cavern seeking to create more time for Tony to escape. Tony was left helpless to the program as gunshots echoed through the cavern. The automatic rifles fired rapidly- there was no knowing the outcome of the shooting.

Enraged he slammed into the cavern. All guns a blazing. Fuelled with his rage he tore down all that opposed him. All the terrorist’s bullets ricocheted off his protective metal armour as he raced out of the cave after Yinsen.

He stopped dead at the sight of Yinsen. He was slumped over some bags, breathing haggardly and bleeding profusely. There was so much blood.

Please.

With the suit on, he didn’t have any mobility to staunch the bleeding. There was nothing he could do. Panicking he rushed over to Yinsen’s frail body.

“We gotta go. Come on, move with me. We got a plan, and we're going to stick to it,” Tony muttered frantically. He’d get Yinsen out of there- they’d get out- they had to get out.

Please.

Yinsen’s weak voice spoke up, “This was always the plan, Stark…”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. No, Yinsen and he were going to escape, together. That was the plan. Yinsen had his family to go back to. Tony would fix his corrupt company. They had those plans. Not, not this plan.

“Come on, you’re going to see your family. Get up,” he said frantically.

Please.

“My family is dead, Stark… and I’m going to see them now. It’s okay, I want this…”

Tony couldn’t breathe. A small part of his confirmed he’d already known, Yinsen had subtly acknowledged the fact that there was no one waiting for him in Gulmira. Tony had denied the thoughts and focussed on saving their asses.

Only Yinsen had really saved his. He hadn’t done all that much to save Yinsen’s.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered. The words felt like they were strangled out of him unwillingly. Why did it have to be like this?

Yinsen breath had grown frail, his eyes fluttered, and his blood dripped from his sleeve as he lifted a hand up to Tony. Tony instantly guided that hand into his own and felt Yinsen’s fingers weakly grip his gloved ones. Looking up at Yinsen he sees his piercing gaze staring into him- as if into his very soul.

“Don't waste it... don't waste your life, Stark.”

Then he was gone.

Thank you.

He rampages through the camp. Tony sets everything on fire. He has no desire to leave anything left standing. He watches were tears in his eyes and pain in his heart as his weapons burn from his hands.

Tony is fired at, the shots hit the metal suit that protects him. So he fires back- literally. He turns the terrorist ring into a sea of blazing flames. It was engulfed in fire- so bright, so hot and roaring like the rage inside of him. The sight of the encampment alight echoes within him.

With a final look at the cave, where Yinsen lies, he sets out to escape. Finally. Tony activates his secret superpower. He hopes it works.

Please.

And then he’s flying out of there.

For a moment it’s exhilarating. Flying. He was flying. Plus, he was escaping. Warranted he was escaping alone. But, the freedom looking out at the desert plain was unexplainable.

Until he crashed.

It hurt like a son of a bitch. Though he didn’t have time to sit around and whine about every ache out in the desert. Tony was resolute in escaping.

He would escape. He’d get back to America. Or he’d die trying.

Please.

Tony walked for hours in the sun. It was hot and burning down on him. He’d made a make-shift shawl to try and protect himself from the sun, but it only did so much.

His throat was parched, dry and cracked. He couldn’t remember the last moment he had drunk any water. His sweat had dried up- he was so dehydrated he couldn’t cool himself.

Tony felt his legs wobbled beneath his weight. No, he had to push on. He forced another leg forward and another. They kept walking, forced his body to move despite how weak, tired and sluggish he felt.

What had Yinsen said? Don’t waste his life. He wouldn’t waste it.

He continued walking. When he couldn’t muster full strides, he shuffled forward. Tony pushed on, he kept walking. Despite the pain, the burning sun, the dying of thirst. He wouldn’t stop. He kept going.

Please.

Eventually, his body said enough. He fell to the ground. Tony struggled and got his arms underneath his body but just couldn’t push himself up. The weight of his body was too much. His arms shook as he lifted himself just a little off the ground. He couldn’t manage to stand.

In defeat, he slumped to the ground. He lay in the sand and just stared up at the sun defiantly.

He didn’t want to die here.

Please.

He blinked up at the sun and squinted until a shadow fell over him. Startled he quickly blinked the spots away from his vision to find a figure standing over him with a palm outstretched towards him.

The man was tall, wearing a green tunic and blank pants. His long hair was tied back from his face down his back and he seemed to be looking down at Tony worriedly.

Tony made a confused noise in the back of his throat at the sight. Even if this was a figment of his imagination that hand looked so real. He just wanted to reach out and touch it- prove his delirium wrong.

He did.

His arm was shaking furiously but he reached out to the man’s hand above him. He pulled back startled as his hand phased through the others. Tony’s eyes widened in fear as he stared at his hand and the obviously fictitious hand of the man.

The man smiled down, his poison green eyes full of sorrow and turned to walk away. The sun blazed down at him, as he moved no longer blocking the sun, and he grunted an animalistic in defeat. That caught the attention of the man who raised an elegant eyebrow and gestured into the vast beyond expectantly.

Yes. He had to get up and not waste his life. Yinsen would want him to live. So, Tony had to get back to his home. To Rhodey and to Pepper. To his bots DUM-E, Butterfingers and U.

To his Loki.

With those desires at the forefront of his mind and with a strength he didn’t know he had left in him he stood. He was still shaky, yes. Tony was still injured, sunburnt and dehydrated in a desert. But, he hadn’t given up hope.

He turned towards the man and was struck by the blinding smile on his face. Tony smiled back at him with new found hope. This man might be a figment of his imagination designed by his brain to trick him into surviving but for the moment he let himself imagine it was real.

Please.

The man began walking and Tony trudged along behind him. They walked forever, for what felt like an eternity. Tony had lost track of time within days of captivity so knowing his time spent wandering in the desert was incalculable.

He left no footprints, no trace that he was here. The man didn’t speak, though he couldn’t call that definitive proof that he wasn’t real. But this man was a figment of his delirious subconscious, so anything was possible.

After some time, the man head shot up and turned to the left as if he heard something. Tony followed his gaze and listened. The wind whispered along the due and the sand shimmered gently in the breeze.

Please.

Then suddenly he heard a familiar buzz. Not one that was native to a desert. A buzz of machinery, all too familiar to Tony. Within moments, a helicopter rose over the dunes and into sight.

Hurriedly, he waved his make-shift shawl in the air as a signal. The helicopter passed over him and seconds later, miraculously, turned around and descended.

Tony fell to his knees in relief. He slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut loose. Exhausted he caught his breath and waited for the bird to land.

Through it all, the man stood by him waiting too.

As the plane touched down, his name rang through the wind. Surprised he squinted and watched stunned as Rhodey ran towards him and fell to his knees before him. Rhodey crushed him in a hug, so right and desperate.

Tony instantly melted in his friends embrace as Rhodey whispered vehemently into his ear.

Over his shoulder, Tony watched as the man smiled down at him. He looked happier now, his eyes no longer crinkled in worry, but bright with relief. Tony mirrored the expression- smiling with relief and thanks at the man.

With a small nod, the man vanished into nothing. Tony knew he had never really been there. Though, he had wished that he were. He blinked away some sand only to find the spot still vacant. Tony felt distraught as he looked upon the empty spot where the man had once been. He turned his face into Rhodey's jacket, away from the memory of the man.

Thank you.

Chapter Text

2012

“This is, uh...” Tony trailed off as he expanded his arms and various profiles appeared in holographic form floating in the air. He heard Pepper take a small gasp of air behind him. Coulson, as usual, l remained his passive agent self probably monitoring Tony’s reaction to the images to go gossip about with Fury and Romanov.

Only, Tony was fixated on the different videos playing via JARVIS. In all honesty, he was a little shocked. Sure, he knew SHIELD was hiding some things and changing events and governmental cover-ups. But to this extent was mind-boggling.

With the amount of power they must have to be able to hide these things from the public, it could potentially become a huge problem down the road. Mentally, Tony made a note to look more into SHIELD when he could as soon as possible using JARVIS’ capabilities. He didn't think he'd ever want to combat that.

No, please, no.

Appearing on the screens were various individuals- recruits for the Avengers. The first he immediately recognises is Captain America in action having seen the photographs and footage before due to Howard’s ongoing obsession before he died.

Tony felt a flash of jealousy as he gazed at the moving images of the Captain. But more so, he felt the rage boiling in his veins. Something told him that their meeting may not be jovial.

Next, he watched in awe as a huge, green monster roars viciously and attacks an army at what seemed to be Culver University. With a quick glance to the bottom corner of the screen, he read the name Bruce Banner/Hulk. The name sounded awfully familiar, where had he heard that name, ah, the scientific field.

Bruce Banner was a world renown scientist just as bright, even maybe more so than Tony in his field. Tony’s grim set face turned into a small grin at the thought of their meeting and the science they could use and create.

Another panel showcased a particularly familiar, lethal, prone to stabbing genius’ red-headed woman paired with a blonde, muscular man wielding a bow and arrow. The two were fighting easily alongside each other with such ease that spoke of long years of training and knowing the other and their style.

Another quick glance at the writing on the screen provided the name of the man and his cover, Agent Barton aka Hawkeye.

Having spied on Natashalie after she infiltrated his company those couple of years ago- he’d found many files linking Widow with Hawkeye though as best he could most of the files were retracted before being entered into the system or remained as hard-copies.

Tony had been particularly curious to discover a person who could work alongside the devious Natashalie- now he realises that the guy must be insane.

Tony found that he was quickly drawn away from the archer and Widow when the panel beside their lit up with streaks of lightning. He watched in amazement as a blonde, cape wearing, long-haired man wielding a hammer conducted lightning at a humungous, otherworldly, metal machine. Tony watched in wonder, not at the man wielding lightning- tame, but at the machine.

It was such a beautiful spectacle- he could salivate on the spot at the chance to see such dynamics working in reality and not through a screen. The workmanship that had to have gone into the construction of such a creation was awe-inspiring.

Even more so, Tony watched in shock as the metallic machine burst a flame through a cavity it created through its face showcasing that no one was operating the inside. Tony had to get his hands on it- if it meant doing anything in the world to-he would.

Please, please, please.

He was still admiring the machine when out of the corner of his eye as a memorable burst of green shone in his peripheral vision. Tony turn on his heels quickly to catch the source of the flash and frozen at what he saw.

Please. no. It can't be.

On the last panel was a man holding a scepter with green, black and gold armour, a matching green cape alike the other blondes. He had long black hair and smiling wickedly as he attacked various SHIELD agents. The man was instantly recognisable.

Tony felt himself sway a little unsteady at the revelation. He was shocked down to his core at the sight of the man, his heart seeming to beat out of his chest.

It was the man from the desert from Afghanistan. The one that saved him and kept him going, continued to urge him to walk and to stand. It was the man with the green eyes that pierced somewhere so deep in his soul he’d do anything.

The image was the man that Tony thought he’d envisioned from delirium in the desert. Only maybe that wasn’t the case- maybe the appearance of this man wasn’t a hallucination caused by dehydration from the stinging sun. Maybe he was real- Tony must have seen the man before.

Turning his gaze from the man was difficult, but he read the name labeled on the screen and felt his heart stop and felt himself suck in a large breath of surprise. The tablet that he was holding creaked as his fingers and hands tightened in his shock.

He felt all the colour drain from his face and instantly became light-headed as he held his breath now as still as a statue.

However, Tony inexplicably he felt himself take a step forward toward the levitating, holographic panel, a hand lifting in the air as if attempting to reach out and touch, touch what wasn’t there, as he stared at the footage of the raven-haired man with a new, crucial understanding.

Tony scrutinised the recognisable green-clad man for several long moments, with bated breath and a rapidly beating heart until black dots swam in his vision and his head grew dizzy overloaded with emotion he couldn’t seem to process. With a willpower he didn’t know he had, Tony forced himself to turn his gaze and look away, his mind screaming to focus on anything else, any other thing but what he had just seen.

Please, please, please.

In the next moments, Tony became very hyper-conscious that he was still in a room with two others, a place not acceptable to have a mental breakdown. Thus, he fiddled with his tablet attempting to look like he was still studying the footage and not losing his marbles one by one. Tony didn’t want to cause them to become suspicious and ask questions he didn’t want to answer or think about.

So, he quickly schooled his expression, closed the holographic footage and turned to face Pepper and Coulson who were chatting amicably in the background nearer the elevator. The two looked over at him pausing their conversation as he looked at them.

Tony watched as Coulson’s eyes flickered down to his hands, he hardly stopped a flinch as he noticed his own slightly trembling hands clutching white-knuckled onto the device.

Pepper said something about needing to leave to which Coulson offered something or rather, but Tony was too preoccupied to decipher the situation or conversation. Sensing they were about to leave he said a few words, not really caring what actually came out of his mouth.

He hoped it was appropriate.

Please.

Then without another word to the pair Tony turned on his heels and fled to his workshop. He was heaving and choking on air as descended the stairs to the workshop, his breath coming shorter and becoming more laboured as he entered the access code and made his way to the rumpled couch that furnished one side of his workshop.

When he reached the couch, he collapsed like all his strings holding him up had been severed with a snip of invisible scissors. Tony lay stretched along the couch his face turned out and back resting against the pillows lining the couch.

With a hard, flick of his wrist, he threw the tablet across the room in anger. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears and he curled into himself shuddering in emotion he couldn’t contain. Through glassy eyes and a foggy, panicked mind he somehow seemed to notice that the tablet was projecting a picture of the man onto the very cupboard that contained his precious letters.

He let out a croak and tears cascaded down his face at the revelation he’d only just unveiled, at the dots he’d only just connected. Blinded by tears and sobbing openly he flinched as something moved about him.

“It’s just the bots, sir,” JARVIS informed quietly. Tony didn’t respond, too caught up in the sea of emotions, too trapped to even nod and signal that he understood to JARVIS.

He gasped out a panicked breath as he felt claws nudging a blanket over his prone form. Tony felt a brush of fabric against his fingers and with what strength he had left he pulled the blanket over himself, head included. In the dark, now isolated from the world he squeezed his eyes closed and curled even tighter into himself.

Thank you.

Only, even now behind his eyelids, he could see an image of the man with the pale skin, long raven hair and green eyes smiling dazzlingly at him. The image, not a hallucination as it had seemed, but a memory. The memory, not a made-up being created from exhaustion, but a real living, breathing person. The person, not a stranger to Tony, but a person he knew, a person he cared for, a person he loved. Loki. His Loki.

He fell into an uncomfortable sleep after crying for so long. His eyes were sore, probably red and puffy. Tony also felt like he was suffocating a little under the blanket but couldn't move himself to get up out of his cocoon. He didn't want to see the light, think about today's events. So he hid. 

But despite the fact that he was hiding, his mind spinning with thoughts. Thoughts about the Avengers and their expectations. The invasion and stopping the conquering of Earth.

However, none of those thoughts were as significant as Loki. Try as he must, he attempted to stop his mind from circling back to the raven-haired man, but couldn't prevent the thoughts that popped into his mind.

What was he going to do?

2012

Tony watched on in growing trepidation as JARVIS projected the ever-decreasing mileage between him in his suit and Loki. SHIELD had finally identified Loki’s presence and sent personnel to the location immediately.

Coulson had begrudgingly called Tony to ensure that he was heading to the location as well. As much as Tony was unwilling to see Loki, he was even less-so willing to avoid Coulson or go against what Coulson commanded.

He would rather not have to experience Coulson’s wrath again.

Please, no.

Tony shuddered inside the suit even thinking about the time he had dared to defy Coulson. Luckily, Coulson had never proved to ask much of Tony so he found their situation as more of a win : win. Coulson gets what he wants, and Tony never has to experience anything like he did ever again.

Nevertheless, Coulson’s call to join Natashalie and Capsicle in Stuttgart came at the time that Tony would rather run in the other direction. Only Coulson’s wrath was hanging over his head in warning- seriously- never again.

Thus, Tony was flying the suit as fast as possible to the location. The end-goal becoming closer and closer- the minutes ticking by quicker than they seemed.

JARVIS without prompting opened a small window in the suit and projected some footage. Tony’s heart skipped a beat as he watched a screaming crowd of people run from a building as Loki magically donned his armour- even with a helm of golden horns.

In another small window, Tony watched aghast as the past vision of Loki stabbed a man in the face, over his eye with a device Tony recognised as a retinal scanner and projector. Loki was vicious and willing to go to any length to get what he wanted and that terrified Tony.

No sooner had Tony thought that did Loki use his scepter to shoot a blue bolt of energy at a speeding police car. The car flew into the air on impact and slammed to the ground bursting with flames. Tony watched on his screen, through JARVIS’ new connection with various CCTV cameras as the crowd flinched away from the explosion.

Then, with renewed vigour Tony pumped his feet and pushed his suit into overdrive- needing to get to the scene as soon as possible.

Please.

The inside of the suit flashes red in warning, though Tony ignored the signals and JARVIS’ commentary to continue flying faster. He was driven by new determination to get to this destination- he was still wary of approaching Loki. But, saving the people was causing him to act and bypass his fear and anxiety that stemmed from his situation centering around Loki.

Lifting his scepter into the air haughtily he listens past the wind whipping around the suit as Loki calls to the crowd, “kneel before me.” Though, the crowd ignores him in favour of continuing to run like headless geese away from the gallery and away from the madman. Tony, at any other time, would have snickered at the sight.

Surprised, Tony watched in growing terror as magical clones of Loki appeared around the crowd, cornering and encircling the scared crowd. Each of the clones looked so life-like and maintained their own movements it was astounding. Though turned creepy as they all smiled, together in sync and again raised their hands to the sky.

“I said. Kneel!!!” Loki yells, his voice booming above the terrified screams and din of the crowd and silencing everything around them. With a deranged smile, Loki looks down at them all from the steps he stood on.

Please, faster.

He continues to smile as he opens his embraces his arms outwards gesturing with the spear. “Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.”

As these words are resonated around through the crowd, an elder begins to stand refusing to kneel. Tony yells aloud at the sight and pushes harder with his suit. He knows he won’t make it in time- but he had to try.

JARVIS says something only his voice is cut out and indecipherable over the warning signals blaring and the red and blue flashing over the Hud screen. Despite it all, Tony pushes on, racing faster to the scene. Not wanting to arrive too late.

Please, faster, faster.

He watched on, too far for comfort as Loki’s face twitched in annoyance at the sole man standing heroically amongst the crowd. He stood alone, the only person not kneeling and staring down at the ground in fear. Then he spoke, his words said solemnly resonated over the crowd despite the fact he didn’t yell to intimidate like Loki. “Not to men like you.”

Loki’s brows twitched, and fury flashed across his face quickly brushed away with a slightly unhinged mad smile and crowed from his position for all to hear, especially the German man, “there are no men like me.”

His face distorted with forced charm and charisma that was overshadowed by wide-eyes and sharp gritted teeth. Tony felt the suit unbalance a little in the air as he saw the expression darken as the man began to continue.

“There are always men like you,” he replied sadly at Loki.

Loki’s hand twitched against his scepter and raised it the blue tip lifting to point directly at the man standing amidst the crowd. A dark look donned his face and he seemed to relish in his next words, “look to your elder, people. Let him be an example.”

Then with a flick of his wrist, another blast of blue energy shot from the spear tip and flew towards the man. Tony roared at the sight, only a couple of minutes from the site Loki was tormenting the people.

Only Captain America appeared suddenly wielding his shield and saving the man from the blast as he stood in front of him. Plus, a quinjet flown by Natashalie appeared in the sky above the crowd a large gun pointing at Loki. As if that would do anything to a magic-wielding God. Though it had Tony let out a small relieved breath anyways.

Thank God.

The blood was rushing in Tony’s ears, the warnings making his eyes blur and head dizzy as he grew closer. JARVIS mileage estimated a 60-second margin that they would approach in. He was so focused on reaching the place that he wasn’t focussing on the conversation between Loki and Capsicle. Or even Natashlie's attempt at stopping Loki from attacking and standing down.

However, his eyes quickly zoomed onto the small screen when another blast of un-natural, unearthly blue shone from the projection. Capsicle and Loki were now fighting amongst the crowd. People were screaming and running around them attempting to flee the scene. Capsicle was sloppy as he took hits he should be able to dodge.

Again, without prompting, JARVIS patched him into the communication of the quinjet and heard Natashalie’s complaint on the performance of Capsicle, “the guy's all over the place.” Not that it wasn’t true, but the guy had only been unfrozen so long and grew up in the forties. He didn’t have the KGB training she had.

Suddenly, AC/DC's "Shoot to Thrill" overdrives the quinjet's speakers. Tony smiled in surprise at the music blasting from the speakers. He’d definitely need to give JARVIS something special this time around- his A.I was truly a spectacle to behold.

Thank you.

Pulling on his confident, playboy persona he zoomed into the sky close to the quinjet. “Agent Romanov, did you miss me?” he crooned, oozing charm and something suggestive.

At the peculiar noise and the sight of Tony flying through the sky in his armour both Cap and Loki look up at the sky and pause their confrontation. Tony took advantage of the situation and flew his Iron Man suit over to their stunned forms.

Without hesitation, he raised a gauntlet and blasts Loki with a repulsor blast sending him falling back and tumbling onto the stares. A grunt of pain is heard as he lands crumpled on the steps.

Tony touches down on the ground, the armor clanging as his feet hit the road and bending to accommodate the weight. He slowly, and rather dramatically, pulls himself up to his armours full height. Every piece of weaponry pops out of suit joining the two repulsors raised at Loki still laying on the steps.

Hidden by his mask and protected by his armour he quips, “make your move, reindeer games,” at Loki with bravado and pumping adrenaline. Only JARVIS and himself would know that his heart was beating out of his chest and his hands were shaking in the gauntlets JARVIS had kindly locked temporarily in place.

In response, Loki puts up his hands and surrenders.

“Good move.”

However, Tony can only hear a small voice in his head call through the fog of his ever-growing anxiety ‘is this a trap?’. What could his motive be? Tony hoped that accepting Loki surrounding would come to bite him in the butt.

Please.

Though, Tony knew it would. Nothing good to come from the God of Mischief surrendering after one hit from an enemy. SHIELD may think they were getting to the bottom of this, that they could use Loki to find Barton and stop the incoming invasion.

A small part of Tony hoped that this could work, that their plan to work. But only a small sliver.

The rest of him knew that Loki was a trickster- what better trick than to keep your friends close but your enemy closer still.