Chapter One

A/N: First of all, if you're reading this, thank you. This is my first fanfiction that will contain for than one chapter. I do not have a lot of experience in writing these yet, which you can probably tell, so if you have any suggestions or critiques I would love to hear them! I will try to post at least one chapter a week, but I make no promises. Thank you again, now enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own or pretend to own any marvel characters, and I do not make a profit from this story.

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles confusion-
Is nothing new
Flashback-warm nights-
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after-

The files flash, one by one, on the screen. Pages and pages of secrets, ones that, considering their importance, weren't very difficult to hijack.

At least, not for Tony Stark.

Tony has been called a lot of things: genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Of course, there were also the more… well known nicknames.

Iron man. Merchant of death. Although, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get people to forget that last one.

But let's focus on the genius aspect of Tony, for now at least.

It was almost two days ago that it had been brought to his attention that weapons shipments were mysteriously disappearing. Around the same time that a particular shipment would go missing, an anonymous donation for around the worth of the lost weapons would be added to Shield's private finances.

Obviously not so private that he had any trouble getting in.

Scrolling through the files that have already downloaded, he clicks a random one, pulling a long sip from his glass of scotch, and savoring the way it burns going down.

He doesn't exactly care for the way it feels coming back up, though, and unfortunately he experiences it firsthand as soon as the file finishes opening.

The first image that pops up is enough to make anyone choke with a mixture of disgust and sympathy.

If he's being honest, it was mostly disgust.

A figure, stained brown and red, is lying in a circular cell with walls of mirrors. Their arms and legs are bent at unnatural angles, and, upon further inspection, all ten fingers are bent backwards at their middle joint, rather than being curled halfway into a fist, as it appears at first glance.

The position reminds Tony of a spider that has been crushed under a shoe: all backwards angles and indistinct shapes.

Before he knew exactly what it was that he was planning on doing, his suit was on and he was on the roof, checking the location the picture was downloaded from. Because if he didn't put himself in danger to save the lives of complete strangers, what kind of superhero would he be? Even if they were a criminal, nobody deserved that kind of treatment.

It was actually surprisingly easy to get into Shield headquarters, and it wasn't much harder to find the cell in the picture. After all, he was Iron Man. He wasn't going to be refused access to criminal, as if he was going to do something stupid like rescue them.

Oh, right…

Shaking himself out of his internal monologue, he realizes he's standing in front of a cell with a sign labeling it "Top Priority".

For such an important prisoner, the Director was pretty lax on security. Or maybe they were just so incapacitated that Shield knew they weren't a threat.

Either way, he turned to face the unguarded cell before considering his options.

Option a) blow the door off its hinges, grab the prisoner, and get out. Unfortunately, he didn't know how much power would be needed to dispose of the barrier without hurting whoever was inside.

Option b) find Fury, demand to know who was in this cell, and what reason they had to treat human beings like they weren't…well…human beings. Of course, that would alert them to the fact that he had been snooping through their private files, and they would probably put up a stronger firewall. No more looking through top-secret Shield files without permission.

"Not an option," Tony heard himself mumble out loud in response to his own thoughts.

Now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn't planned past option b. Shit.

Okay, Tony's thoughts seem to organize themselves without him, this isn't that hard. Just think. Okay, so, no blowing up doors, no confronting suspicious authority figures. Those can't be the only two possible ways to go about this. Scanning the cell door, Jarvis informs him of the weaker metal used in the hinges and lock mechanisms along the outer rim. I can work with this. Okay. Let's go.

Holding his arm out and aiming with excruciating precision, even though if he was being honest, he wasn't doing any of the aiming.

Five minutes and an Iron Man-sized rectangle in the cell door later, Tony is stepping through the hole lasered (is that a word? Probably not) by the suit, avoiding the still red-hot edges where they glowed menacingly.

"Stark, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you whatthe fuck you think it is that you are doing, exactly." The all-too-familiar voice bounced off the mirrors, echoing and giving Tony multiple chances to listen to just how un-afraid it was.

Like all sarcastic idiots with, apparently, death wishes, Tony answered with an equally biting tone.

"Why don't you tell me why a prisoner is being tortured to the edge of dying, when there are laws against exactly that? You do realize that the only reason I contribute my money and efforts to Shield is because they're the good guys, right? You might want to consider that before you do shit like not be." Okay, so it may have gone a little downhill with the last bit, but overall it wasn't terrible.

With an exasperated roll of his eyes (or, eye, singular, I guess), Director Fury opens his mouth as if to continue speaking, but Tony (being an idiot with a death wish) raises a repulsor-armed hand in an unmistakable threat, saying, without actually saying anything, obviously: I swear to god, Fury, if you open your mouth one more fucking time I will end you.

Or, at least that what he means. Fury, on the other hand, ignores it with a long-suffering sigh, and continues speaking.

"Actually, there are only laws against such methods of torture towards human, or I suppose, Midguardian, prisoners. This man is most definitely not human. Perhaps if he were, Shield wouldn't need your efforts. We most certainly don't need your money anymore. Most of our funds are now being supplied from anonymous benefactors, so yours are no longer needed."

That made Tony drop his arm.

"Wait. No…this…this is Loki?" He gestures behind him, not bothering to mask the confusion in his eyes. "I thought Thor had taken him back to Asgard, after…after New York?"

"Of course you didn't know. You don't have the clearance level required to have information on or access to the prisoners. You shouldn't be down here, and let's not even pretend that you would have been able to get in and get out with an A-list criminal. You and I both that your suit is just glorified armor, even if it does come with a few perks," Fury scoffs. That alone made Tony more determined to rescue Loki; if only to rub it in Fury's face that his cells weren't impenetrable.

Again, he raises his arm, and this time, he actually fires. It isn't charged enough to kill or severely injure, but Fury should be out cold for enough time to grab Loki and leave.

After hearing the satisfying thunk of Fury hitting the wall, Tony turns back around to face the scene. It was even more horrific in person, and that was with the suit filtering out the smell of blood, shit, and dirt. Even so, there was a hint of it in the air inside the suit.

"Okay, Lokes. Let's get you out of here," muttering softly, Tony bends over to lift the broken god off of the stained floor, hesitating for only a second before holding him bridal style and walking as quickly as he could out of the compound without jostling him too much.

He was doing the right thing, Tony knew. Yes, Loki had done horrible things, and he never seemed to feel guilty or regret anything he had done. But when Tony had talked to him in his mansion all those years ago (had it really been five years since the attack on New York?), he had seen something in his eyes. At the time, he had passed it off as insanity, lust for power, or maybe, maybe, desperation.

Unfortunately, Tony had had lots of time to mull it over during sleepless nights in the months that followed (the one pro of insomnia), and he realized that he had seen that same look before; the chaotic gleam in Loki's eye that could be so easily be confused with any of the other emotions that had been apparent in his face.

It had been unnerving, seeing the master of hiding his expressions so exposed; so vulnerable. Of course, he hadn't seemed nearly as vulnerable as he was now, limp in Tony's arms with no control over himself or what happens to him.

At first, he hadn't been able to place where he had seen it before, but then he remembered the way his mother had looked so helpless whenever Howard came home drunk, rambling about Captain America and collapsing on the piece of furniture nearest the front door.

That was what it had been: yes, there had been a bit of desperation as well, but it had been a cry for help. Maybe he had been in control, maybe he hadn't. Either way, Tony knew that he needed help, both mentally and physically, thanks to Shield and their fucking loopholes.

By the time he finished the train of thought, he realized he was outside and already in the air. Had nobody been sent after them? Unlikely. More likely was that they were luring him into a false sense of security (ironic, given the state of theirs), waiting until he let his guard own, and then they would swoop in and grab both him and Loki.

Don't think about that now. He mentally scolds himself. Right now, you need to help Loki. You can worry everything else later.

Landing on the roof was much harder than Tony made it look. Loki's extra weight, which was, admittedly, not much, threw off his balance and almost tipped him over as he slowed the repulsors on his feet. It didn't help matters that he had both arms occupied by the unconscious god.

After setting Loki down on the closest couch and removing the suit, Tony scoops him up again and carries him to the only guestroom on that floor without mirrors. He knew after being in that cell for just five minutes that they would have had a large effect on the god, and he likely would never be able to look at one again without being threatened with a panic attack.

He still felt that way when he felt any moisture on his face. Waterboarding has some pretty long-term effects, in terms of PTSD.

His attention was brought back to Loki when he frowned in his sleep, furrows forming between his eyebrows before giving way to an expression of disbelief and fear.

"No…what…what are you…no…stop…please...Thor?" the words escaped, halfway formed, from the god's lips. His body begins shaking; huge, shuddering convulsions that make Tony want to set him down, back away, and call a doctor.

Instead, he steps into the bathtub, laying Loki down the length of the tub and sits behind his head, supporting it on his lap.

After a moment of brief consideration, Tony leans over and pulls off the god's begrimed shirt, pausing for only a second to stare at the countless scars, both old and fresh, that gathered on his chest.

"What did they do to you, Lokes?" he murmurs softly, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. Some of the newer ones looked only weeks old, and considering the Asgardian's accelerated recovery, that meant they were likely even newer.

Blood stains most of his chest, along with the various spatters of dirt, and makes it difficult to tell where exactly he is still bleeding. Tony swallows and leans farther down to tug on Loki's pants.

"Who are…Stark? What are… what are you doing?" his whisper is feverish, but he is already attempting to pull away, curling in on himself in a way that couldn't possibly be good for the wounds just closing up on his chest. The position gave Tony a good look at his back, though, and he almost vomited at the sight. Lash marks were covering Loki's back, most scabbed over and mostly healed, but some swollen and purplish yellow.

An infection, then. And from the looks of it, a pretty serious one.

After he stops squirming, Tony straightens Loki out again and continues removing his pants. It wasn't very difficult, as they were several sizes too big due to lack of proper nutrition. Eyeing his pale form, Tony wonders if they ever fed Loki at all while holding him down there. Something tells him he doesn't want to know.

By the time he finishes scrubbing Loki's form clean of several years' worth of blood and grime, it has been hours since they first got in the bath. They water is opaque and glistening a threatening shade of brownish-black, and tony lifts the limp body up and into a dry towel, ignoring his…er…more private regions.

Laying Loki, now dressed in a pair of Iron Man pajamas and bandages dressing his wounds, down on the bed, Tony collapses into the chair in the corner and glances around before sighing one last time and tucking in the God of Lies.

"Goodnight Lokes. You're safe now." Walking out of the room with a sad smile, Tony wonders vaguely how Pepper would react to the new houseguest.

Not well, he decides, stumbling to his own shower and turning it to the hottest setting. Not well.