Title: Soul-Hurt

Series: The Avengers

Rating: T

Summary: AU in which Loki's staff works. It was decided then that they would not be equals. However who else but Tony Stark could so easily meet the gaze of a god?

Note: And love to my dearest, who is my beta and my Loki guru. This was inspired from multiple gifsets on tumblr and is my second frostiron project in the works. I own nothing, if I did, the tower scene would've been way longer. Thank you oh so very much for your attention and readership. Enjoy!

"How will your friends have time for me when they'll be so busy fighting you?"

It would be too kind to say that a shiver ran down Tony's spine, because that would imply that it was a fleeting feeling. No, it was something else entirely to have ice clutch at every nerve on his spinal cord and seize him. The god stepped forward, a mask in place of unyielding eyes, daring Tony to look away.

Perhaps the clearest indicator of fear was when Tony did just that.

Last he'd locked eyes with Loki, he was inviting him inside, beckoning him to follow Tony right into the tower that he called his home. He'd offered a drink and he'd allowed his mouth to ramble as it had, taunting the god and provoking him. There was no shame, there was no remorse. There was also no air left in Tony's lungs as he swiftly remembered Fury's secondary demand to finding the Tesseract.

"And can you tell me how it turned two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys?"

So he tore his eyes away, flickering down to the scepter that was approaching him and he quickly remembered something that he had read in a book. When he was a child, they said that responses to hazardous situations could be Fight or Flight. An amendment in later years had changed it to Fight, Flight, or Freeze. He'd tossed it aside thinking they were just trying to excuse what happened in horror movies where dumb teenagers would just stand in the same spot when something was coming at them.

This was hardly the way that Tony wanted to find truth to that statement, his joints completely locked up and he couldn't even take a step back. He needed the armor, where was his suit now? What was he without the suit? This is what he was without the suit. He was paralyzed, terrified, and ice cold.

Loki's staff gave off a flare like a will-o-wisp and a whisper that stood on the razor thin edge of a threat and a promise, its menacing glow reflecting right back in Tony's eyes as his breath hitched.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze. Fight, Flight, or Freeze. He was an Avenger, he should be flying or fighting—

Here he was freezing.

It shot at him like a rudely woken serpent, curling its way through the thin veneer of cloth right into the heart of his arc reactor and he could feel the energy coiling up tight. There was a flash of light from within his chest, as if there was a miniature Uni-beam right in Tony's own body, and if he was not suddenly shuddering from the intrusion of alien energy, he would have caught the surprised look in even the eyes of the god.

The snake continued to slither through his veins and he had not recalled a feeling like this – of rampant, searing, bone-chilling pain – since he last used Palladium in his chest. It reached every part of him, to the tips of his fingers, and he felt it nestle its way into his brain.

His brain, Tony Stark's brain, was the one that everyone wanted to get their hands on. He had created the finest weapons of mass destruction that the world had ever seen and he had tapped into what his father made – that unlimited power source that he had started to suspect ever since he had taken a good look at the Tessearct – and miniaturized it, making it so much more efficient for storing energy. 3 gigajoules per second was the crude creation that he came up with in a cave to save his own life. Then he moved on from there, privatizing world peace, and allowing the world to rest in the palm of his hand because he was Tony Stark and he was untouchable because everyone wanted him.

Tony Stark himself was not the golden goose; he had figured out so long ago that it was not him that everyone wanted. No, they could do without the husk of flesh that he inhabited and ruined every three months. All they wanted was his mind.

Now Loki had it.

A crude smile was back in place as he observed, looking at the bright blue of the mortal's eyes. It was a completely luminescent hue of blue—something that even the sea, for all its creative and provoking capabilities, could not compare to. The color was the best indicator that something had buried itself deep inside of Stark.

What happened when the windows to the soul simply reflected back?

twenty minutes earlier.

"Glad to see you back with us, Agent Barton," Tony chirped as he tore apart clouds, racing as fast as he could to get back to the tower. However there was still part of him that couldn't be completely at ease with settling in with someone who had taken multiple shots at them just a few hours prior. Natasha had given her okay, but Tony hadn't trusted her judgment since he was declined for the Avengers Initiative.

That was a little hard to forget, now especially as he was busting his ass to go save Manhattan.

"Well can't blame me to want to be on the winning team, Stark," his ear piece buzzed and Tony could at least appreciate that this guy could take what was probably a prelude to verbal thrashing in stride.

Maybe that's why he was able to tone it down a little. "Sensible. How're your vitals looking though? Every part of you working? No alien baby just waiting in your belly and dying to burst out of your chest mid-battle? Because I'd like a little notice in advance so I could take video and put it on YouTube, at least."

"Well, I don't think I'm an expecting mother," Barton replied from the Quinjet, not even a slight rustle in his voice, the bastard. "Just a residue feeling like I'm waking up from a long sleep."

"I don't think you're authorized to operate heavy machinery then, sir. If we wanted to crash, we would've had Cap drive," Tony quipped and ignored the injured noise that came in through his ear. "But what, you went Sleeping Beauty on us even when your body was being used?"

"No… not quite." And for the first time there was a pause in between Barton's sentences. His voice came in a few seconds later, "It feels like they pull you out. Stuff a bunch of other stuff inside of your head, force you to obey… I've got vague glimpses of what I did, but everything's still trying to rearrange itself in my head. Like puzzle pieces trying to order themselves. I'm back in, but everything else is still trying to accommodate me."

Tony made a vague noise of acknowledgement, but his thoughts were suddenly refocused as the New York skyline came into view. "Then I think you're going to have a double-date with me, Banner, and an MRI when we're done with this, Mister."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Stark. If we've still got one anyway."

"Cute," Tony snorted right before he ended that communication line. It took only a moment for him to open up another one, but to someone that he couldn't help but trust infinitely more.

"Did Barton's story seem to correspond with the SHIELD security feed we had on his room, JARVIS?"

"He said much of the same effect to Miss Romanoff, sir. We have no cause to believe that he lied to her and she did not report any strange behavior to Mister Rogers, either," the familiar voice relayed information. Tony had him going through all the security feeds since the attack on the Helicarrier to bring him up to speed.

A noise that was a clear cross between an exhale and a sigh escaped Tony's mouth, leaving him just murmuring, "I guess I'll have to accept that. So what's your take on his story about getting pulled out and put back together?"

"Even I have only had my consciousness downloaded into other surfaces, sir. I have not quite been dismantled in such a way." And only true Artificial Intelligence could give Tony a metaphor like that, so he just gave a soft 'heh' in response.

"No, it doesn't sound comfortable, does it?

This wasn't the first time that Tony had been held captive, not by a long shot.

He could remember when he was a little boy and got kidnapped, restrained by nothing more than rope and a blindfold as the villainous men who took him sent a ransom out to his father. In comparison, the memory of being trapped in the dank cave, having been in chains momentarily and held at gunpoint as there was no one left to send a ransom to, was a lot more familiar. Tony was held prisoner by the world enough.

Even more recent still, he recalled a piece of him being yanked right out of his chest. The terrible privilege that he only acknowledged as terrible at the time was taken from him as his body shut down in response. There were the aching, precious minutes in the elevator until he stumbled out into his lab, burdened by his own weakness and the shrapnel that his hands touched in creation, after his heart in keen pursuit to bring about his destruction. Tony had been bound in chains by his own body.

None of it compared to this. There was no comparison to watching a predator take a curious step closer, hearing the words slip off of that silver tongue and feeling the fright crawl into his nerves but not being able to respond to it. Words rattled off of Tony's own tongue and he would have said before in jest that 'sometimes, I don't think about what comes out of my mouth.' This was something else bypassing his will completely.

It was the first time in which Tony was completely trapped in the cage of his own mind.

There was something wrong, he decided. This was not what Barton meant when he said that he got pulled out, because here was everything perfect in Tony's head. There was his consciousness, not even drifting off for a nap, forced to watch as he acted subserviently to the one that they had identified as a threat. The bile worked its way up his throat, but he knew that there would be nothing done about it.

It was a mental feeling of sickness, not a physical manifestation of it. It was vertigo as opposed to an ear infection. It was a headache as opposed to a concussion. It was heartbreak as opposed to a stab wound.

He knew which he would've preferred.

"I do applaud the entertaining light show," Loki began in a slow drawl, his eyes slipping over the man that stood before him now, "but are you quite done?"

Identifying the cause of the sudden display wasn't hard upon closer inspection. Despite the dark shirt that the man wore, now that Loki was seeking to look for it, there was the soft dent against the fabric that denoted metal that lay beneath. Oh, how little he knew about this ironed one. It would seem that he was half-made of the machines that he was so fond of. Why, it was almost hypocritical all the grief that he had given Loki for being foreign when he was acting as a monstrosity walking his own streets.

"Should be," the other responded, voice just as chipper and seemingly nonchalant as it always was. But now it lacked the tone of defiance that he had been addressing Loki with, and good for him. Perhaps now he would live through the time they would be speaking. "It was just your disco stick interfering with the arc reactor."

Clear, green eyes surveyed the landscape. None of the pesky SHIELD contraptions were coming hurtling just yet and it was still a few minutes before Selvig would open the portal under Loki's command. His gaze swept again to the man who was now looking at him eagerly, though remarkably obediently. First, he decided that subservience was quite the good look on him. Second, he thought that a bit more information reconnaissance wouldn't do him any harm.

So with a light lilt in his tone, he questioned, "Arc reactor?"

"It's a generator," was the immediate answer. "Technology from my father for clean, sustainable energy. The one that I have right here," he tapped the hard surface that Loki had only heard earlier, "is said to be able to power my heart for… what, twenty lifetimes now? Something like that. Except… now that I think about it, my old man was the one who found your little blue and glowing box of magic. Chances are that he probably reverse-engineered what he found from that and harnessed the huge expanse of energy, mimicking it with Earth metals and materials to create the arc reactor. The energy from the original and the duplicate probably clashed, producing excess photons as they tried to accommodate each other, resulting in temporarily making me a lava lamp."

Perhaps this one wouldn't be impossible to deal with, even with the mouth that he had. So Loki merely narrowed his eyes and sunk his teeth into the meat of the subject, "And what effect will that have on you?" If Iron Man would not obey, he might as well be thrown out one of his gaudy glass windows.

"None that stop me from loving you head to toe, honey." Mind control apparently had no effect on Tony's actual speech patterns, though he at least sought amendment when Loki did not seem impressed with his answer. "Genuinely speaking, I should still follow orders but there will be inner turmoil. I'm not in LaLaLand like Barton was. Wide awake and a little horrified, really."

There was really no way to make Loki smile quite like being told that he not only had a slave, but a slave who absolutely hated it but was obedient nonetheless. He could not see into Stark's soul and pick out the broken pieces of the man he was, now having to answer to the one he was threatening just moments ago, and there wasn't a single ounce of regret or remorse on his face. No, the man's lips were still curled into an easy-going smile, his eyes trained upon Loki as he remained the perfect picture of wealth, luxury, and relaxation.

"While I think I can go without your love," Loki's voice took on the aggression of a lion for all of a second at the word. Oh, all the love he had known was a lie, after all. He would accept no more façade or semblance of it, especially not from this man who likely knew love even less than him. (Except that was a lie because Loki knew. Loki knew that none would ever be so unloved as him.) "I suppose I can take your devotion, if you would be so kind to give it, Stark."

"Tony."

The god's brows knitted together, the mask slipped for just a moment at the sudden response that was not immediate acceptance or understanding. His mouth found the word that he had already repeated too many times that day. "What?"

"Call me Tony," the man prompted as he tilted his chin upwards toward Loki.

Ah, that wasn't particularly fair now, was it?

Some piece of Loki seized. Not even Barton had dared to be this familiar with him, sticking strictly professionally to Agent Barton. Yet if he sought it out enough, he could see the softening of Stark's features. It was an innocent prompt. Innocence had no place here, Loki was certain. It could only be a lie, a ruse, something to perhaps ease the tension and therefore the god into a false sense of security.

Failing to acknowledge that none could lie or disobey under the control of his staff, Loki refused to be lied to. After all, the times when you believed were the times when you hoped, and hope had allowed the glass floor beneath his feet to shatter and welcomed him straight into the abyss.

"Stark," and he glowered, pointedly meeting the disappointed look that the man gave him and further crushing it beneath his feet. "Your orders are simple. Obliterate this city and kill the rest that you called the Avengers. Do we have an accord?"

"You know, you could really take a few classes in modern English. If you flit your way down the street, you may be able to squeeze a class or two at NYU before it gets destroyed," the man chirped, quick to come back from being kicked down it would seem. "But yeah, I get it. Wreak a little havoc, cause a little mayhem. What after that?"

Loki gave a slight inclination of his head. "Do you truly believe that I would tell you?"

"Well you know, business partners and all, even though I guess cartels are pretty illegal so it's not like we can start any real canoodling—"

"We are not partners," hissed the god as he took another step forward and glowered down upon Tony. "There is nothing even remotely resembling equal footing between you and I. You, you are nothing more than the ground beneath my feet. A stepping stone in order for me to stand properly atop this wretched rock that you call Earth. So do not dare think for even a moment that you and I are on the same level. No, you are so beneath me that the very idea is laughable. So humble yourself and pledge your absolute allegiance to me like the sniveling, groveling dog that you are."

The expression on Stark's face was surprised for a long, long moment. Stupefied into a state of shock before the understanding finally seemed to dawn upon his paltry, mortal mind. That was when Loki welcomed it; he welcomed the crumbling look on Tony's face even as he managed to hold it all together. Ah, it was something that Loki had seen in the mirror too many times to not enjoy on someone else. Rich and fatal like a vial of poison.

Loki drank it all in with a satisfied smirk, right until the other fell to one knee and sought a grasp of his hand. Able to respect a healthy taste for the dramatic, Loki deigned to settle his fingers in the rough palm of the worker.

"I will serve you," the words sounding foreign to both of them on the slick tongue of Stark. It was a delight to imagine just how sick Tony's suppressed soul must feel, forced to watch the show of subservience.

Taking no consideration for that, the kneeling man took the deity's hand, pressing the knuckles of it to his forehead. It took a moment for Loki to reach far into the recesses of his experience with Midgard, searching for the understanding of this action before it struck him.

A blessing from god.

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