#injured myself in another way that i will not hesitate to explain at the barest prompting

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

finally you are back from war

indeed

[izaswritings]

Title: saving atlas

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: (Post-Volume 7 fic). In the aftermath of the Atlas disaster, Oscar and Oz figure out where they stand. But first: shelter. 

Or: in which Oscar is Upset, Oz is the voice of reason, and Atlas winters prove to be the most immediate foe, incoming invasion non-withstanding. When the weight of the world is bearing on your shoulders, what are you supposed to do?

AO3 Link is here.

.

“Stop,” Oscar says.

The air is so cold it burns against his face, every inhale like a knife right to his lungs. The icy breeze saps what little warmth his coat might have given him, and right now even his aura is no help. He’s used it all up—aura and magic and whatever else besides—and now he’s left standing in the snow, with less than nothing. Oscar is cold and tired, and he wasn’t prepared for this, didn’t leave thinking he’d end up here—

He stops the thought in its tracks, mercilessly. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He just can’t. Already the memory coils in his gut, tight and angry, beating like a hollow ache. It rises up and he has to swallow it down before he does—something. Scream, maybe. Or worse—  cry.

Ironwood is going to leave Mantle to die.

Even just the thought, Oscar thinks, chills him worse than the wind.

“All I want to know,” he says, at last, “is how we save Atlas next.”

He can feel Oz’s hesitation like a lump in his throat. Fear of a different sort, preemptive defeat. That may be—a harder task than we can handle.

“It’s not about handling it!” He means to sound calm; instead, his voice snaps. Oscar closes his eyes, and grits his teeth against a scream. “He’s going to—to—”

Pain flares up his side like a spark, right where the bullet had hit. Oscar presses a hand against the bruise and exhales hard. “Please. I—” The words are bitter, but the feeling behind them is complicated. He is so tired. And Oz has been gone for a long time, when they really could have used him back sooner. But at the same time, Oscar understands. And he is also just so, so grateful, that at least in this moment, he is not out here in the cold alone. “I don’t know what to do.”

…To start, perhaps shelter.

“Oz—”

We are no help to anyone like this. Oz sounds as reluctant as Oscar feels; this mollifies him little. Your aura is broken. You… we need to rest.

“But Salem—!” He can’t finish. Just the name makes his head spin, pounds through his skull with all the gravitas and fear of hundreds of lives. If he heard Ruby’s transmission right, then Salem is planning to come to Atlas. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe now. In the back of his mind, the memories that aren’t his own whisper: Bad things happen when Salem comes calling.

Oz, too, in his head, takes a long moment to answer. …I know. It’s funny, that for all the memories Jinn showed them, there is nothing in Oz’s voice that speaks of once loving this woman. All Oscar can feel from him is dread, and a dull hatred borne from years of endless loss. Every good thing Oz ever tried to do, Salem has always destroyed. But that doesn’t change the facts. You are already freezing. And, I imagine, in a great deal of pain. The bullet didn’t break through your aura, but that doesn’t mean it won’t leave a mark.

He wants to argue it, but fresh pain flares and Oscar can’t. Oz is more right than he probably realizes. He shakes his head. “But…”

Oscar, please. I hate this as much as you do, but if we do not recover, then we will be less than useless. And that will be so much worse.

Oscar breathes in. The air burns. It’s so cold it takes everything he is just to keep from shivering, and Oscar exhales slowly through his teeth. Damn it. Damn it. He’s not going to cry. “…Fine.”

There is a feeling from Oz like relief, wordless and grateful, and Oscar ignores him, rubbing at his arms for warmth and finally taking in his surroundings. Shelter. He needs shelter, and a place to hide, until he can face the cold with aura in place. But his surroundings are cold and gray, barren. A great downward spiral of a pit, with roughshod buildings and unpaved roads. The houses are sparse and decaying, little more than hollow shells. He can’t even see any heating grates.

This is what lies under Atlas? This is the pit beneath the city? It looks… it is… worse off than even Mantle. He’d call it abandoned, except it’s clearly not—just neglected to a degree that makes something in Oscar go small and furious.

The sting of disappointment rises up in his throat, stronger this time, strangling. He’d really thought… they’d been so close! So close to saving Mantle, to choosing trust. But maybe they were never as close to peace as Oscar had hoped. Maybe this was always going to fall apart. He gets the sudden and looming sense that Ironwood never really saw Mantle, or this place, as worth saving at all.

You couldn’t have known. Oz sounds tired. It’s not your fault.

Oscar starts walking. His feet sink in the snow. “You weren’t there.” There’s no accusation in his voice—just fact.

…No. But I—saw what happened. In a way. And it wasn’t your fault, Oscar. You did—everything right. Another pause, longer this time, and Oz concludes, very quiet: You did better than I ever could.

Oscar hesitates mid-step, staring at the ground. He wants to protest, but he can feel the sincerity. Oz means it. It makes something go funny in his chest, to hear that. Oscar blinks down at the ground, watching his shoes, and doesn’t answer. Just remembers, suddenly and clearly, the first thing Oz had said to him. Actually, you saved us. Now he wonders, quietly, if maybe Oz had meant something other than just surviving the fall.

Oscar doesn’t ask, though. He puts a bracing hand against his side, still sore, and looks up into the sky. Atlas is a looming shadow, and the storm clouds are dark and forbidding… but still. The pale light of the coming dawn is beautiful against the ice.

“I’m glad you’re back, Oz,” he says, finally.

You don’t need to lie to me, Oscar.

“I’m not.” He starts walking again. “I got used to hearing you, I guess. And you weren’t so bad, really. And then, when you just… weren’t there…” He’s not sure how to explain it—the emptiness, the hollow pit, the silence worst of all—so he doesn’t try. He takes another step, hand pressing harder at his side. The pain is blinding. Oscar takes a shaky breath. “I never hated you. Not really. I just—I wanted the truth. I think we all did.”

…I know.

“Mm.” He takes another step, and his knee almost buckles. “Ah—”

May I?

“What?” Oscar blinks, fast. His first instinct is to say no—he’s never liked losing control—but already he can already feel Oz pulling away, and Oscar swallows down the instinctual denial. Oz only means to help. And honestly, Oscar could use a break. But on the other hand… “It’s not gonna be fun, feeling this.”

I assure you, I have gone through far worse. Oz’s tone is almost dry. You’ve seen a few.

For a moment Oscar has no idea what he’s talking about, but then the memories click. Ohhh, right, the constant death via godly bickering, and not to mention that whole bit with dragging himself across the ground while suffering from a terrible stomach wound… Yeah, no, Oscar remembers. “Still—”

Please. If you won’t let me apologize… at least let me shoulder some of the burden.

Oscar considers this and sighs. He closes his eyes, drifting back—and then his limbs are not his own, and he is there and yet he is not, and the pain is suddenly and wonderfully far away, barely an echo.

Oz, in control now, takes a sharp breath and almost stumbles. “Oh.”

Told you.

“You did, but I confess, I didn’t expect…” He presses a hand to their side. “You’ve had a hard battle.”

Bullet didn’t help.

“No.” Oz’s voice goes briefly hard. “No, I suppose not.” He straightens, turning around to look, flexing their fingers. For a moment their mouth pulls in a grimace.

Are you okay?

“Just—unused to this. I’ve never… done—well, that, before. Locking myself away. Now… It feels like going out of practice.” He rolls their wrist, flicks out the cane. “I’ll adjust.”

You old man.

Oz exhales hard, almost a laugh. His surprise flickers bright and warm, the barest hint of a smile. “Well, I suppose that is true…”

The conversation tapers off, and Oz takes them higher up the pit, closer to Mantle’s edge. Beyond that momentary stumble, the pain doesn’t seem to touch him at all; with the cane as a crutch, he walks as if they are perfectly fine, rather than on the verge of collapse. Which is good, Oscar supposes. People tend to remember injured children, and tend to ignore weird ones walking with fancy canes. Good for staying undercover.

On one of the ledges of the pit, they find a small house with the door already swung open. Oz takes them inside, and shoves the door shut behind them. The heating is still off—if it even exists down here, a thought that makes Oscar flinch and Oz tight-lipped—but there’s some moth-eaten blankets in one corner and an empty bed elsewhere, and Oz curls them up in the corner of the abandoned home, with some food and a small water bottle he’d swiped from the cupboard.

Oscar takes in the place, the tiny kitchen and barren bedroom, and sighs. Who do you think lived here?

“Hopefully someone who managed to evacuate.” Oz sips at the water. “We’ll take an hour to recover here. Then, we need to discuss our next move.”

I don’t know where the others are. I told them to go ahead…

“With luck, they have. If they’ve been detained, that may pose a… difficulty.” Oz pats down their side. “Where did you put your scroll?”

Left pocket. Wait, wouldn’t you know?

“When I say I was watching, it was really only the barest minimum of awareness. That is, when you were stressed, or felt you were in danger. So no.” Oz tugs out the scroll, pulling it open. “Hmm.”

Surprised it isn’t broken.

“They are remarkably sturdy things.” He taps their finger against the screen, frowning faintly. “Oh, joy.”

There is a bright blue alert flashing across the screen—updated orders for the whole of Atlas Military. Oz taps at it, and the banner expands, taking up the screen. A row of faces stares up at them. The main group—RWBY and JNPR—are listed under a banner labeled Arrest on Sight. Qrow is now under Detained. And Oscar—

There’s an X through his photo, and a small note beneath his name. Deceased.

For a moment neither of them says anything. The silence weighs down like a physical thing. Oz shifts on the bed and exhales hard, and then lifts a hand, tentative, to their cheek. Their fingers come away damp with tears. “Oscar.”

Are you—?

“…No.”

Oh. Which means… the tears are Oscar’s.

With that understanding, all at once, everything crashes down on him. Neapolitan. Losing the relic. Facing Ironwood, hoping against hope something could still be salvaged, and then—

Oscar is suddenly glad to not be in control anymore. If he was, he thinks he might crumple, or worse, hyperventilate. Everything goes shaky. Their vision blurs. I…

Oz carefully wipes the tears away with one edge of the blanket, their sleeves too dirtied and torn for use. “It’s okay.”

I don’t even know why…

“I do.” Oz lifts a hand to their chest. “I feel it too. We trusted him. We thought he would make the ri—” He stumbles, briefly. “…a good choice. We thought things would be okay. That Atlas and Mantle could stand together, that Remnant could be reunited. And even then.” Oz sounds bitter. “In that final moment. My presence would have only angered him, I think, but—I’d truly hoped that you would be able to change Ja… General Ironwood’s mind. I never thought…”

He shot me. The words are dull, empty, devoid. The shock hasn’t hit him yet. Not really. He tried to kill me. He thinks he did kill me. And I don’t think he even cares.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Why are you apologizing?

“I—”

Oh.

“Never mind.”

No. No, you’re right. I think—I always thought so too. The bitterness settles down on both them, a shroud. Always trying to wake you up… and even then, he asked which one of us it was, when I walked down there. I wonder if he ever saw me for me.

“The others did. Do. Miss Rose, Mister Arc, Miss Valkyrie… I have seen that, too. They care deeply for you.”

And now they’re going to think I’m dead, too.

“…Ah. A fair point.” Oz frowns down at the scroll. “This is, perhaps, a problem.”

Can we get in contact with them?

“Hmm.” He brings a hand to their ear, to the comm piece, and waits. Nothing. “We are still too far out of range, I think. Too far below. If we got back to the sky…”

Oscar considers something else. It says… Qrow got detained.

“…so it does.”

What prison do you think they’d throw him in?

“I have a few ideas.” But Oz sounds hesitant. He swallows. “Oscar—”

Hm?

“I—that is, I am not sure…” He trails off, as if unable to finish. Their lips pull in a grimace.

He’ll be mad. Oscar is frank, certain. I mean, probably. The others too. But it’s not the same as before. We’ve all had time. Atlas has… we’ve grown a lot. All of us. You said you were watching some of it—you saw that too, right?

“I did.” There is a quiet warmth there. A muted pride.

Then, you know. They’ll be angry, I think. But Qrow—and the others, they’ll listen. We’ll listen. You came back. And whatever you say about me saving us, well, you kept me from blacking out, which is its own help, so.

“Oscar—”

You’re not—it’s not like with Ironwood. You’re not an enemy. I’m pretty sure no one ever saw you as one. They just wanted the truth, and now we have it… and if I’ve learned anything from today, then its only too late if you make it that way. You can always still choose trust. You can still choose to build trust.

Oz goes quiet, distant. He stares off at nothing, and then slowly shakes his head. His smile is a faint, disbelieving thing—but genuine, too. “I said before that I had reasons for the things I do. For the lies, especially.” He closes his eyes. “But I admit, Oscar. These past few weeks have… swayed me to your side, so to speak.”

The truth didn’t break them, Oz.

“No. It didn’t.” He straightens. “All right. We’ll do it your way. Trust others, as you like to say. Starting with…” He taps the scroll. “You’re quite right. Qrow would despise prison.”

So…

“We need to find a way to Atlas.” Oz downs the last of the water and food, and stands, stretching out their arms. Their aura flickers up, weak but slowly strengthening. “Evacuations have stopped in Mantle, but if I can find us a ship…”

You can fly an airship? Wait, what am I saying…

“Beyond crash-landing expertise, I was also there when they were first being built, you know.”

Wow, you really are ancient. But Oscar almost feels like laughing, the earlier grief beaten back. He hasn’t realized until now how much he’d missed Oz. And he thinks... he did miss Oz. He hasn’t missed all of it—the fighting, the lies, the body-snatching—but he’d missed this. The echo of a voice in his head. The warmth of not being alone. Of having someone there to turn to, whether Oscar needed it or not.

And strangely, for all the time he’s been gone, Oz being back is… easier, somehow, than it was before. Less like being haunted, and more like living in tandem. Maybe it’s the merge, or the shared memories… or maybe it's something else. Relief, perhaps. There are no more lies or fears to stand between them. All of Oz’s secrets are now brought to light, no more pretending necessary—and Oscar, at ease with his fate, has grown stronger and surer of his place here, all on his own.

It feels… equal, now. As if, for the first time, Oscar and Oz are finally on the same page.

Thank you for coming back.

Oz hesitates. “I should have—”

It doesn’t matter. He can’t smile, but he hopes the feeling comes across. Just… thanks.

“…Of course.” Oz ducks their head. Then he takes a breath. “Well, then! To Atlas.”

Oscar almost laughs at him, but that would be rude. Instead, he settles back with a sigh. So, what now… find a ship, save Qrow, connect with the others, help Mantle, stop Salem’s probable invasion…

“One thing at a time,” Oz says, smiling faintly, and pries open the front door, stepping back into the sun. The air burns with winter fury; the wind howls a storm. But the cold is lessened, beaten by their aura, and the oncoming darkness of the storm still pales, for now, to the sun-lit horizon. In this moment, the worst has not yet come. In this moment, there is still a chance. The determination rises in them twofold, a feeling like setting your feet and lifting your head, and the grief of the long night fades away, if only for now.  

Let’s go save Atlas.

Oz’s smile grows, a little wider, a little stronger. He lifts their head, tilting their face back to the sun. In the glint of sunlight, their eyes burn bright and gold.

“Agreed,” Oz says, and heads toward the city proper, cane in hand and gait steady, taking the first step of many on the long trek back.

[dracusfyre]

Square K5: Dear Thor (you’re still a dick)

Warnings: None

Rating: General

Relationship: Loki/Tony

Words: 2,964

Summary:  Tony writes a letter to Thor and thinks back over the years since he got soul bonded to Loki (AKA Five Things Tony Learned About Loki) For Square K5: Five Things.  This is a Sequel to Square R4: Read the Fine Print and Square R1: Conspiracy of Ravens. I’ve officially turned all these soul bond fics into a series called Loki Radio.

for @tonystarkbingo

On AO3!

Tony turned off his monitor and spun idly in his chair, finally admitting that he was not going to be able to concentrate on work.  There were too many thoughts spinning around his head to focus on equations right now.

“Can you, like, carry a letter? Not just relay a verbal message?” Tony asked the raven sitting on the monitor, basking in the warm air coming off the CPU fan.  The bird quorked and fluffed its feathers, bobbing its head up and down.  “Awesome.” Tony stopped his chair and searched through his desk for a pen and a piece of paper, because writing a letter to an ancient Norse god/alien to be delivered via magic raven seemed like something that should be done by hand.

Dear Thor; Tony began, then squinted at Dear.  He got a new sheet of paper and started over.

Thor;

  I hope this letter finds you well. Tony made a face. “Goddammit, this is why we invented computers,” he muttered and got a third sheet of paper.

Thor;

  I want to let you know that you can stop avoiding me now, I’m not mad about the thing with Loki anymore. Not saying that you don’t still owe me one or a dozen favors, not the least that another bottle of that mead you brought that one time.

  The past two year or so has been pretty interesting, to say the least.  I’ve definitely learned a lot about Loki that someone didn’t bother to warn me about.  For one thing, you could have mentioned that he is a nosy bastard. I mean, seriously. He has the whole universe to screw around in and he can’t help but meddle here on Earth?

beware the readmore

          “Stark?”

          Tony glanced out from under the car he was tinkering with and saw Loki looking down at him expectantly.  With a sigh, Tony rolled out from under the car and wiped his hands before accepting Loki’s helping hand of the floor.  “What do you need, Loki?”

          “Do you know anything about this man?”  An illusion of a man appeared in the middle of Tony’s lab, scowling darkly out at the viewer.  He had long brown hair covered by a baseball hat and was wearing clean but worn clothes.  Tony squinted and walked around the illusion, but despite the fact that the man looked vaguely familiar Tony couldn’t place him.

          “No…JARVIS, can you run a facial recognition on it?”

           “Of course, sir.”  Loki had long ago ceased to search for the source of the disembodied voice after Tony had explained what an AI was. “No matching records in any current photo ID database, sir,” JARVIS reported after a moment.

           “Huh,” Tony said in surprise, sitting down at his computer and opening a new window.  “Where did you catch a glimpse of this guy?”

           “He’s been following Captain Rogers for ten days now but refuses to either engage or make contact.” Loki leaned against Tony’s desk and crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his biceps thoughtfully.  “I thought at first it was an enemy, but now I’m not so sure.”

            “JARVIS, expand search to archived records, foreign databases, and all intelligence community databases,” Tony said.  He rolled around the corner of his desk so he could look Loki in the face.  “So why have you’ve been following Captain Rogers, Loki?”

           “Information is power, Stark,” Loki said with an enigmatic smile. “You never know.”

           “Loki, it is a specific clause in the contract that there will be no more attempts to take over-” Tony started, but was interrupted when JARVIS announced, “Sir, I have a match.”

           Tony pointed to his eyes and pointed at Loki in an I’m watching you gesture before he went to his desk to see JARVIS’s results.  Images and archived news articles appeared, showing a slightly younger version of the man clean cut and wearing a uniform.  After a moment of scanning, Tony’s eyes zeroed in on one image and expanded it.  Steve Rogers, wearing a World War II era uniform, had an arm around the man’s shoulders and they were smiling at the camera, caught in the middle of some sort of celebration.

           “James Buchanan Barnes?” Tony read aloud.  “Uh, that seems doubtful, considering it says right here that he died in 1941.”

           “Appearances would argue otherwise.”  Tony jumped when Loki spoke right in his ear.  Loki reached over him to scroll through the information on the screen.  “Clearly he was a friend and contemporary to the Captain eighty years ago, but what is he doing here now and why is he treating Rogers like an enemy?”

          “Indeed.  JARVIS, put all of this in a new file for me to look at later.” The images obligingly vanished, and Tony turned to face Loki.  “What are you planning, Loki?”

          “Why so suspicious, Stark? I’m just…curious.”  There was that goddamn mysterious smile again and then Loki was gone.

On the other hand, I don’t know if it’s the contract or Loki’s own contrary nature, but there have been a few times where he was really helpful, even if it is in a “careful what you wish for” kind of way.

           It’s strange the way your body reacts when you get bad news, even for someone who has gotten more than his fair amount of bad news.  When Tony heard the words, “Mr. Stark, this is Officer Weber, with the Hamburg Police. I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he felt his body go numb and his ears start to ring; his vision seemed to both sharpen and go gray as everything slowed down.  Except his heart; that was pounding hard enough to hurt.

          Pepper was a business trip to Germany, and had taken Happy to drive her around.

           “What happened?” He managed, fumbling for his desk chair and sitting down heavily.  “Is everyone ok?”

           “Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts are in the hospital, in stable condition.  They were driving to the Hamburg airport when someone clipped their car; Mr. Hogan lost control and they hit a retaining wall.”

           A car accident. Tony felt nauseous. “Ok. But, they are-”

           “They are fine, sir,” Officer Weber said, sympathy warming his clipped accent. “Ms. Potts wanted me to make sure you were notified.”

           “Thank you. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Tony was already on his way upstairs when the line went dead, taking the steps two at a time. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Pepper has the jet.” He paused for a second and said, “Fuck it, I’ll take a suit,” even though he had gotten Very Stern warnings from many governments about flying it across international borders without proper authorization.  But ‘proper authorization’ pretty much meant ‘Only On Avenger’s Business,’ but what was he supposed to do, fly commercial? It would take hours for him to-

           “What’s the matter?” Tony jumped when Loki spoke, and that was when he noticed Loki lounging on his couch.

           “Pepper and Happy were in an accident.  They’re in Germany, and I have to figure out the fastest way to get there without earning myself a military escort on the way.” Tony fisted his hands in his hair, trying to think. Wallet. He needed his wallet and his phone. Clothes? Nah, he could buy clothes, having a suitcase would only slow him down.

           Loki sat up, looking mildly concerned. “Are they injured?”

           “Well, they’re in the hospital, so they’re injured at least a little.” Tony took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart so he could think. Pepper would not thank him for making a mess for her to clean up later.

           He only realized he was pacing when he almost ran into Loki, who was holding a hand out expectantly. “What?” Tony said, staring at the hand and then up at Loki’s face.

           “Let me send you to Germany,” Loki said, making a come on gesture with the outstretched hand.  “You’ll be there in seconds.”

           Tony hesitated for the barest moment, but he could feel Loki’s sincerity so he took his hand and sure enough, he was standing outside Hamburg hospital between one heartbeat and the next.  He blew out a relieved breath and resolved to find some way to thank Loki.

           It wasn’t until later that he realized that he didn’t have his passport, or a passport stamp, or basically anything to indicate that he was in Germany legally since he had not, in fact, gone through border control at all.  Overall though, as Tony waited in the Interior Ministry office, waiting to speak to the head of German Border Control, he had no regrets.

Somewhere I heard that he’s known as the God of Lies, but that just seems like bad PR.  He doesn’t lie nearly as much as he likes people to think he does; I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell an actual lie at all. He doesn’t even cheat at poker (I think).

           As Tony’s regular poker group grumbled on their way out the door, Tony leaned his chair back on two legs and studied Loki.

           “You know, for someone known as the God of Lies, I don’t think you even bluffed through that whole game,” Tony mused.

          “It’s more fun to give people just the right amount of information and let them lie to themselves,” Loki said with satisfaction as he stacked up his poker chips.  However much money he may have on Asgard, he had just become a millionaire on Earth in one night.  There had been a $250,000 buy-in for this particular game and Tony was the only one besides Loki walking away with any chips, mostly because he had figured out Loki’s game before anyone else.  He had even virtuously refrained from trying to cheat through the soul bond, both out of fairness and because the only information coming across Loki Radio had been the emotional equivalent of tuneless humming. “So what do I do with these?”

          “Well, I can give you the cash equivalent, unless you want to keep a bunch of plastic chips that have no inherent value.  Has there been something you’ve wanted to buy?”

          Loki shrugged and toyed with one of the chips, running it between his fingers. “This was entertaining.  Is there someplace I can do more of this?”

          Tony blinked for a long moment, lost in the mental image of Loki in Vegas or Monte Carlo.  “You know what, yes. Yes there is.  Gimme a second to change clothes, because I want to see this.”

He is, however, aggravatingly smug and superior. Which I should have known.  How in the hell do you deal with that ‘know it all’ attitude, especially when it turns out that he’s right? Is this part of the reason why you guys fight so much?

           “This Accord is a farce,” Loki said, tapping the thick document resting on Tony’s dresser, leaning against the wall as he watched Tony get ready for the meeting on the Sokovia Accords. “You are one of the most powerful men on the planet. You should be dictating the rules, not having them dictated to you.”

          “First of all, I didn’t ask your opinion,” Tony said, frowning in concentration as he worked on a complicated knot in his tie.  “Second of all, I would expect nothing less from someone who grew up under an absolute monarchy.  In a democratic system I’m no more powerful than any other person.”

          Loki snorted at that and raised his eyebrow.  “Yes, I’m sure your wealth and status count for little,” he said dryly. “At least in Asgard no one suffers from poverty, starvation, or illness. Or is that part of why your political system is superior to mine? Your citizens have the freedom to die of easily preventable causes?”

          Tony scowled at Loki in the mirror.  “I didn’t say it was perfect.  Do you really think you could come in here knowing nothing about humanity and do better?”

          “Of course,” Loki said, giving Tony a condescending look. “Humans are like children. You can try to explain to them what is best but they can’t be trusted to actually do it; it is far preferable to trick them into doing what they should be doing anyway.”

          Tony rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, ok.  That’s not an option on the table here.  And remember, not trying to take over the world was a specific clause in your contract.”

          Loki airily waived the comment away. “What are Captain Rogers’ objections then?”

          “He believes that the system can’t be trusted to make the right call.  But you can't say that you're defending the system and then act like you're above the system. It can't be ‘do as I say not as I do’ because that makes you no better than any garden-variety vigilante.”

          Loki shrugged. “If that’s how you feel. It's not as if I need to agree with you. Since I'm not a citizen of Earth, this agreement has no jurisdiction over me.”

          Tony turned to look at him suspiciously. “That is an extremely specific comment to add to this conversation. Who have you been talking to?”

          Loki smiled and changed the subject. “Are you bringing a suit?”

          Tony gestured to himself, straightening his cuffs. “I'm wearing a suit.”

          “I would suggest you bring something a little more robust,” Loki said, pushing himself away from the wall. “I get the feeling that there will be bloodshed before this is all over.”

And you know how they say it’s always the quiet ones that surprise you?  Here I thought Bruce had a temper.  I’ve seen Loki aggravated, impatient, and cross, but there’s only been one time that I’ve seen him really lose his temper.  Gotta admit, it was pretty terrifying, even if I wasn’t on the receiving end.

          Steve knelt over him, eyes wild, shield raised.

          “No! No!” Tony raised his arms to protect his face, flinching as Steve brought the shield down.

          Between one moment and the next Loki appeared and caught the shield before it could fall. His eyes flared green, incandescent with rage.  He bared his teeth at Steve as the building around them shook, dust raining from the ceiling.

          “You would dare,” Loki said dangerously, ripping the shield from Steve’s hands and flinging it across the room. It barely missed Barnes and embedded itself into the wall with a sharp, echoing tone that seemed to echo absurdly long in the concrete bunker.  Steve scrambled to his feet and backed away.

          “I wasn’t-” Steve ducked and threw himself to the side as the shield came slicing through the air towards him, gouging another gash in the concrete.

          Loki took a step forward, lips flat and green light coiling tightly around his hands and arms.  He spread his hands and the concrete rippled and shook, throwing Steve off his feet.  Barnes staggered towards a fallen pistol and a flick of Loki’s fingers slammed him against the wall and kept him there.  Steve climbed to his feet again, fists raised with a look of resolution on his face.

          Loki’s eyes narrowed and turned his wrists, facing his palms towards the floor.  Steve staggered and fell as Loki’s magic forced him to his knees. “Beg for a forgiveness you do not deserve,” Loki snarled.  “And you may die quickly.” Steve let out a groan from behind clenched teeth as he fought against the force holding him down.

          “Stop!” Tony sat up with a scrape of metal against concrete. “Loki, don’t,” he said tiredly, letting his head fall back against the concrete column.  “Just…send them away.”  When Loki nodded and raised his hands Tony added, “Somewhere on Earth. Just not here.”

          Loki’s jaw tightened as if to argue but he reluctantly complied; with a gesture Steve vanished, and then Barnes was gone a moment later. When they were alone he knelt at Tony’s side, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes skimmed over the bruises and blood on Tony’s face.   His hands hovered over Tony as if looking for a safe place to touch while the soul bond thrummed with concern and smothered rage.

          “I’m ok,” Tony said, knowing even as he said it that he probably sounded far from ok, which was fair, because he really was. “Help me out of this, will you?”  Loki nodded and followed Tony’s instructions, fingertips skimming over damaged plates as he set them aside.

          Finally Tony was freed from the heavy weight of the armor, which had become suffocating as the systems failed, one by one.  He buried his head in his hands and sat back against the cement pillar, breathing in the frigid air, and after a minute, Loki joined him, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.  As they sat in silence, Tony realized that at some point over the past year, Loki’s presence had become comforting rather than aggravating.  He let himself lean against him, borrowing Loki’s strength until he felt steadier.  Eventually, he turned his head to catch Loki’s eye and held out a hand.  “Let’s go home?”

All in all, I guess what I’m saying is, I understand why you pulled a fast one over on me with regards to the terms of this agreement in order to save his life.  And not just because he's family.  Tony tapped the pen on the desk for a while, trying to figure out what to say.  So come by when you have a chance.  We’ll have some mead and catch up.

                     -Tony S

          "Good enough," Tony told the raven as he signed the letter and folded it into thirds.  He opened the top drawer to his desk, full of nuts and seeds, and let the raven eat its fill as he taped up the edges of the letter.   "Thanks, Ed," he said as the raven took the letter carefully in its beak, flapped its wings a couple of times, and disappeared.