This was vaguely inspired by a prompt I found, but it got so far away from said prompt you can't really tell lol. I may or may not continue this, enjoy. It's been a long time since I've written Marvel fanfic (never, on this account) so I hope I'm not too rusty!

Prior to 1991, two people knew Tony Stark was a mutant.

In 1992, after a car crash claimed two lives, only one person knew. And he was going to keep it that way.

"You're so fucking lucky-" Howard Stark had hissed at him, "-this would be a different conversation if you had a physical deformity ." He appreciates it now as well that his mutation is invisible, because it gives him the power to support and fund mutant rights almost obsessively without jeopardizing his life and his company.

(Professor Xavier had asked if he wanted to meet, once. He denied, citing a busy lifestyle and a company to run, but he privately suspected that maybe the other knew more than he let on… he'd heard he could sense mutants, after all. Xavier never pushed, to his relief)

He got used to the needles and experiments his father always insisted upon, after a while. But he didn't stand it for very long. The first opportunity he had to leave, he took. After he ran away to college, away from him and his attempts to 'cure' him, Tony replaced those needles with others, laced with drugs that made him forget about those memories for a little while. The vodka burning down his throat is nothing compared to the liquid fire that had been injected into his veins.

(He never cared for his screaming. Subject doesn't respond well to drug #72, off to #73- quiet, won't you, I'm recording!)

Mutants had been known for decades now, but luckily they weren't hugely discriminated against until he was older. However, that had never mattered to Howard Stark. How he'd reacted when he received a positive result when he tested his son for the X-gene made his feelings abruptly clear. He never liked them and wasn't afraid to say it, as any newspaper that reported his anti-mutant propaganda could tell you. He'd told him the day he'd left for college, in a hushed firm whisper, that if he ever told anyone about his 'deformity' he'd disown him. His only heir, be damned. He never doubted that, but even as the asshole is rotting away in a casket six feet under, it doesn't seem… pertinent to 'come out' as a mutant. He wasn't a strong one, to begin with.

It's just suggestions, really. Not mind control. Not strong enough that he could order someone without a thought, but a little too strong to be dismissed as something that came from oneself. It worked best on someone who was compromised, such as extreme tiredness (especially if they were asleep) or injury, or someone very young, such as a baby or a puppy. He'd used it to make a baby stop crying, once, before he knew that it was a mutation and not just a weird thing he could do. Almost anyone else could just shrug it off, but it didn't feel right to even try to use it on anyone anymore. So... he didn't.

What he'd always hated, though, was the other one. It was the first to develop. He'd been eight at the time, shying away from his dad's belt, but that wasn't surprising. They say trauma can spark the mutation to finally express. It had not been fun to suddenly feel Howard Stark's drunken rage, and hate. More scientifically, he was an empath, or at least had tendencies. It was entirely subconscious. Despite his attempts to block it out, he had no choice but to pick up on the emotions of those in close proximity, especially if they were feeling something very strongly. Negative emotions like fear and anger stood out the most. Being around the Hulk even gave him a headache sometimes, if he stood too close to him for too long. But being a bit (maybe more than a bit at times) of an empath wasn't very useful either. He could just feel the emotions, not read minds or intentions. it also was annoying. He hated crowds, hated being around others, because it was so overwhelming it overloaded everything else and he simply... couldn't function.

It's completely understandable that considers his mind more of a superpower than his mutations.

That said, there still isn't any point in telling anyone. It wasn't useful, and it certainly wasn't a secret he wanted to share. He'd never told Pepper, or Rhodey, or Stane (when he was in his inner circle), or anyone. Why the hell would he tell the teammates when he was fairly sure they didn't trust him? That was made very clear to him, since no one had argued his 'consultant' status, and never argued when he hid away for days at a time. He still wasn't sure why he let them live in the tower, but… oh well. Better they be here if something were to happen than the other way around.

Now, Loki of all people, being in his fucking living space? He was absolutely livid when both Thor and Fury had told him he didn't have a choice. Something about this being the only place he was safe, the only place where he could repent safely to some of the people he'd hurt, but he'd still been so angry. He'd stomped to the elevator as said god arrived, but as soon as he got close enough for him to feel his emotions (luckily before the elevator doors opened) he froze.

Fear. Emptiness. Resignation. Despair.

Not a single one of those emotions had been remotely what he'd been expecting.

His heart jumped to his throat, and before he even registered that he was moving, he'd been down the hallway and locked himself in his room. He told JARVIS to send a message to Thor, some bullshit about him not feeling well, but it wasn't completely a lie.

Those emotions… They were the same that he'd felt in Afghanistan.

It wasn't entirely untriggering.

"JARVIS, turn down the heat ten degrees," he forced out of clenched teeth as he put his head between his legs and tried to ward off the panic attack threatening to crawl from his throat.

For the next week, Tony (with the help of his trusty AI) avoids Loki completely, to the point he's completely impressed with himself. It's stupid, really, to push away his problems like they don't exist, but it's something he's done his entire life. Besides, just because Loki had to live with him doesn't mean they had to interact. That was never a part of this situation.

The only problem with his plan is what happens at night.

There's this fear, this fear that is so strong it penetrates the entire tower. It screams at him, agony, and wakes him up from a dead sleep once. It doesn't take long to realize who it belongs to. Loki constantly goes to sleep pretty late, when Tony is up working and inventing, so most of the time it just makes him drop a wrench or accidentally burn himself with his torch. That said, it's extremely distracting. Every day it gets worse and worse, and the night of the one week anniversary of his arrival, he decides enough is enough.

That familiar emotion creeps up on the edge of his senses, and he immediately wipes the oil from his hands, washes them thoroughly and gives his armpits a sniff to make sure he's not too smelly. Luckily, he passes the test, and all there is now is to make a move. Before he can change his mind, he makes his way to Loki's room.

The door quietly slides open when he arrives, the hallway lights dimming as he walks in. He's sure it's JARVIS who did so, but he plans to thank him later. Right now, his focus is on the clearly distressed male curled in a ball on the bed.

Loki hadn't even bothered with the blankets, simply lying on top. It was probably best, with the clear shine of sweat on his face and arms and the way he trembles, even in sleep. Before walking in, he thought the fear he'd felt from the workshop was too much, but in the same room, it's… overpowering. His hands clench. He needs to do this quickly, he thinks as he carefully tiptoes up to the bed.

His first move is to slowly, carefully touch Loki's forehead. His calloused fingers very softly rested on his clammy, surprisingly cold skin. Luckily, he doesn't stir. Though he doesn't need physical contact to make a suggestion, touch makes said suggestion stronger and therefore, more effective to do so. Even if the other is asleep, he has a feeling he'll need the extra power. Loki has proven himself to be a strong willed individual, after all. The ethical part of this is... admittedly dodgy, but he's felt his fear every night for a week now. Frankly, it's as distracting for him just as much as it was bothering Loki, he tried to convince himself. That's why he was doing this. Definitely for no other reason. He takes a deep breath.

"Abandon this nightmare," he whispers, and he swears it sounds like he's speaking in two octaves when he does this, his normal tenor tones and one below, in the bass range. He hesitates for a moment, before deciding to wish him a good dream would be far too suspicious. He's had nothing but nightmares, all week. A reprieve would be more than good enough. "Dream of nothing instead, and wake refreshed."

He carefully removed his hand, and inspected the other's face. The slight, tortured grimace that his features have been twisted into quickly relaxes and softens, and it finally looks like he's at peace. The fear dissipates as well, replaced by blissful nothing. Tony smiles a little, before he realizes what he's doing and turns on his heel.

Once the door closes, he stands for a few moments outside his door.

"JARVIS," he finally says after god knows how long, "Delete any footage of me in Loki's room, as well as me entering and leaving. If anyone asks, I was never here."

"Of course, Sir," JARVIS replies, as expected, and he makes a quick pace towards his said, it can't be argued he isn't in a fantastic mood for the next couple hours, at least until he collapsed on the oil-stained cot in the corner of his workshop.

Ha, maybe his mutation wasn't so useless after all.