Big FAT thank you shout out to the worlds best Beta ever glamourraisedfromperdition. Really, she deserves much worship. Without her most of this would just be drool.

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September and summer leave New York a sticky, sweltering cesspool of humidity and heat as thunderheads roll around the skyscrapers threatening to make it even more muggy, like everyone isn't already dripping with sweat and generally feeling disgusting. There's no relief from it as night lays her veil of darkness over the land. Fucking summer.

Tony spends time contemplating the clouds from inside his tower, a silver and glass and just a hint of electric blue because it makes his eyes shine monolith that rises up out of the belly of Manhattan. The climate control is run by Jarvis and keeps the building at a perfect 75 but it does no good when Tony leaves the glass doors out to the deck open. Picking his way carefully on wobbly coltish legs across the overhanging stretch that makes up his private deck and landing pad. Tilting his head up as the first hot drops of water patter on his forehead and nearly sizzle on the concrete under his feet.

He shouldn't be drinking. He'd promised every nagging mother fucker that he wouldn't drink. Even Pepper herself made him say he wouldn't, when it's her fault he's clutching the twelve year old bottle of Macallan in one hand and a tumbler in his other. Her fault because she left him hanging high and dry, her fault because she's still his CEO and still runs his company and still smiles and is friendly like nothing happened between them.

The glass decanter scrapes against the concrete as he sets it at his feet, vertigo grabbing him by the head as thunder rumbles with the city spread out below him.

His beautiful city. His; because he saved it, Tony Stark's fucking city, they should change the name. NY is living up to her reputation as indestructible. Terrorists couldn't knock her down, and prissy gods can't ether.

Not that anyone in the general public knows it was a scorned deity. Shield had taken care of everything in that creepy way that makes him wonder who JFK really was assassinated by and if MIB is real. No. Scratch that. Shield is the MIB, is the cigarette smoking man in his life, the shadowed figure that alters problems and makes bad guys disappear in the dark of night. And boy they pulled the wool over humanities eyes perfectly this time.

Psychopharmacology.

It's a big word, a mouthful even for the specialists, even Tony had to have Jarvis look it up and he thinks that's why Shield chose it. Because it sounded just as important as it is. The testing and study of drugs on the human mind. All an 'accident'; a truck tipping over and spilling hallucinogens all over lower Manhattan. The wide spread terror had spawned the destruction and violence like a cancer taking over clean cells.

It's a really good alibi for an alien invasion.

He almost wishes it was the truth; it's horrifying with just the right amount of forgiveness; everything the truth isn't.

Standing on his toes, he leans over the rail of the deck and lets the wind grab his hair, whipping it around as thunder rolls and lightning flashes making the city stand out in a momentary flash of black and white before dissolving back into the darker cool colors of dusk.

It's hard not to let the lightning take him back to the night when he'd first meet Thor. The adrenalin rush that burnt the memories into his mind in techno color quality.

God only knows Tony can't possibly think of Thor without thinking of Thor's adopted little brother. The way Loki had looked to him in Stuttgart, his eyes blazing with a familiar madness, as Tony automatically claiming him as his.

'Don't touch my stuff'.

Maybe it wasn't his idiotic, read heroic, attempt to ram a nuclear warhead into an interdimensional portal that had been the driving wedge between him and Pepper.

Maybe it had started way back when he'd first set eyes on Loki in his living room as he watched the surveillance video of him coming out of the portal like he'd just clawed his way out of a pit in hell. The look was the same Tony had when he'd stumbled out of the cave in Afghanistan.

Because Tony understood that look and Pepper didn't.

Tilting the tumbler to his lips he blinks as nothing comes out, empty. At least that's an easy fix. The decanter makes another soft scraping sound as he picks it up and fills his drink. The expensive liquid burns as it goes down and numbs his stomach.

How many times has Loki's haunted eyes played a roll in Tony's actions over the last month? The number is staggeringly high.

Every time he closes his eyes he can't seem to stop seeing the empty look Loki had on his face as he and Thor went back to Asgard. The blank acceptance of his fate. It's wasn't a white flag of surrender, it was a suicide note. Heart breaking and sad.

Closing his eyes, he lets the soft splatter of rain slick his hair back and soak his clothes as the downpour starts, offering still no relief in the blazing heat but it seems to calm the storm of thoughts in Tony's mind better than the alcohol. Opening his mouth he tastes the rain, bitter and acidic, and he thinks it tastes like his city.

In that damn cave he had Yinsen. Someone to care for him, to guide him along his way. Loki had… a not quite brother whom he wanted nothing to do with. Understandably so in Tony's opinion. Thor was salt in a far too fresh wound to Loki, a golden reminder of a family he thought he had and didn't. At least Tony knew his family sucked and when it was gone it was good riddance. Not Loki though. From what few stories Thor had told, there had been love in Loki's life. Was. Not any more.

Hanging his head like the thoughts in it are a physical weight and it's too much for him to keep up Tony observes the city below him. Recovering and thriving through all differences. How unlike a human the city is, because if pushed too hard, too far, people break. It makes him sick to his stomach but that could just be the alcohol rotting a hole into his belly after all these years.

Turning and nearly loosing his balance at the sudden movement he strides back into the house, sneakers leaving wet footprints on the marble, not that he cares. Stumbling over to the white leather couch he sinks boneless against the uncomfortable furniture. Tony stabs his fingers into his temple and scratches at his hair line and tries really hard not to fall off the couch as he lies down.

"Turn the lights off, babe." He mutters, voice thick and lisped but Jarvis, always there, only true friend in Tony's life, always knows what he's trying to say and plunges the penthouse into darkness.

If dreams were like grains of sand in the sea, Tony keeps coming across the same damn one. A prickly little fucker that abrades his skin and mind and agitates his soul.

A strike of lightning on his balcony, a god of chaos appearing ethereal within the molten flame of white.

He keeps waiting for a day when he'll crack his eyes open and watch the deity stride into the room, whether to kill him or to… Tony's not sure. The dream never supplies anything beyond the bright flash of lightning, the green flash of eyes, and the ozone smell. All small details and no answers.

Tonight's no different, lightning speeding through pregnant clouds, spider webs of hot white light making them glow from the inside. Tony blinks slowly, his eyes dry and feeling so very awake and not very asleep as he watches the storm gather and the lightning concentrate in one central point.

He's dreamt it so many times he knows what's coming next, the window rattling crack that sets every hair on end. His eyes watering with the vivid flash of light, blinking back the blindness he sits up slowly, head swimming with the onset of a hangover. It's all just as vivid every time. Just as real.

Then he blinks again.

Thor?

Swinging his legs off the couch Tony scrubs his thumb knuckles into his eyes and tries to see straight. The dream's never gone this way before, it's an incomprehensible feeling. Somewhat like watching a favorite movie to see the ending's changed suddenly. Like having the ground ripped out from under your feet.

The thunder god looks soaked to the bone outside as steam rises from his armor, his cloak in his arms and snow clinging to the edges of his boots, which the heat is greedily melting away. This is most definitely not part of the dream.

"Sir, Master Thor Odinson is on the deck." Jarvis voices from all around him, and Tony's mind does a quick count of the number of times he's had this dream over the last month and never once has Jarvis interjected, never once has Thor appeared on the other end of that lighting bolt.

"Am I awake?" He blinks, rubbing his eyes again and stumbling to his feet. Thor on the other side of the glass watches him with a weary look in his eyes like one would a tiger at a zoo that really doesn't use fences. Shifting from one foot to the other slowly as he looks down at the cape in his hands.

"It would appear so sir." The AI says with an assumed voice of exasperation.

"Yeah. Lights on then." He regrets that, the blinding glare of the lights against the glass making him blink and swallow back a groan, his hangover threatening to rise to the forefront of his cranium, adrenalin the only thing beating it back.

Right. He's not asleep then. Edging around the recessed bit of flooring and fluffy white carpet, he approaches the glass doors and pushes it open. The muggy air and ozone smell pushing against his face and waking him up a little more.

Thor doesn't smile but does move a step closer, his azure eyes liquid with what can't be unshed tears because gods just don't cry, do they?

"Thor?"

"Man of Iron. May I come in; I am in urgent need of the doctor Banner." The god says slowly, tilting his head down a little to the cape in his arms and Tony has to blink a few times when he realizes it's not just limp fabric but shaped like it's bound around a mass. Rain and something that looks suspiciously like blood drips down from the fabric and patters onto the rain soaked concrete.

Maybe he hit a dog. And then it hits him that his mind has supplied him with the most unlikely of possibilities considering the Asgardian doesn't drive.

"Yeah." He draws the word out, scratching his bearded chin. "Bruce isn't here. What's up?" He asks, pushing the doorway open the rest of the way and backing away a little so the towering god can enter. If nothing but to get him in out of the muggy rain.

His mind is sluggish and too slow to keep up with what is going on, leaving him standing and watching as Thor trails blood and rain and snow across the floor and deposits the bundle of red onto Tony's couch. The thunder god's hands are gentle like he's handling a bundle of glass.

"I do not know who else to go to. I need a healer's aid; I have no knowledge or time." Thor says, his voice strained and soft unlike anything Tony's ever heard from before.

What the fuck is going on?

"Did'ya hit a dog?" He asks, wrinkling his nose as blood soaks into the leather couch and starts to permeate the air with a bitter coppery scent. Thor blinking dumbly and wiping his hand across his face to remove the rain water and maybe tears.

"A bea-no." the thunder god grunts and frowns, his blue eyes flashing with annoyance, Tony's sure that frown is going to give him a fair share of nightmares. "My brother…"

"Loki?" Tony asks, because he's not really sure if there's other little or big Thors running around. Mythology says so but from everything else Tony's seen, that's all bullshit.

Thor nods as he looks to the swatch of red on his white couch, bleeding and soaked. Tony's heart making a slow slide down, bottoming out somewhere near the basement of Stark Towers arc reactor. The thunder god doesn't stop him as he walks slowly closer and doesn't comment as his hand shakes before grabbing a fist full of wet red fabric and pulling it away.

It's nothing like ripping a band-aid away; painful for only a second, and more like stabbing yourself in the gut with a sword; a flash of pain that only builds the longer it festers. His throat working as he tries hard not to throw up, nausea gripping him by the head and shaking till the room is nearly spinning.

Oh god. Is he dead?

He must have said that aloud because Thor leans close and presses his thick fingers to the blood soaked column of Loki's throat before nodding slowly. "He lives still." The god breaths clearly in relief to learn his brother is still with the land of living.

Even as he's assured, Tony's not sure its true. No one can look that bad and still be kicking. The pale skin that Tony remembers is snow white under the streaks of red blood. Black hair matted and sticking to his forehead with what's rain, or fever sweats if the pink tinge to his sharp cheeks is anything to go by.

Tony's scared to know what other damage lays behind the red cape and torn leather of his clothes; his stomach already twisting and threatening to reject the alcohol he'd consumed earlier.

His fingers smooth back the matted locks before he even knows what he's doing, the skin under his fingers as cold as ice. Smoothing the back of his fingers slowly over the god's brow, watching his hand with a disconnected feeling before Thor clears his throat and jerks Tony to reality once more. Pulling his hand away quickly he stumbles back from the scene, his mind coming on like a computer that's taken it's time to reboot.

"Why is he here? What happened?" He asks shooting for a hard tone but it just comes out breathy, eyes on Thor for a quiet moment as the thunder god simply stares at his unmoving brother seeming to contemplate his words.

"My father had chosen Loki's punishment within days of arriving back home. He was to be stripped of his powers and banished from Asgard not unlike how I was."

Tony nods a little and tilts his head down to Loki, taking in the tremors that are shaking the lean frame. "Are you telling me New Mexico did that to him?"

"Father did not send Loki to Midgard." Thor's hands clench, his blue eyes as stormy as the angry sky's outside. "Father sent him to Jotunheim."

He's not sure what that place is but going by the tone of Thor's voice it's the Asgardian equivalent of hell.

Tony is more than willing to admit that his father had earned earth's title for most shitty father ever, but Odin takes the crown on a galactic level. Swearing heavily he turns away, rubbing his hand through his hair and trying to ignore the bile stinging at the back of his throat. "You think we can help? Shield is going to eat him alive for the damage he's done. Earth is a great place but not everyone is so forgiving."

"I think you can son of Stark." Thor says and when Tony glances back at him the god looks so sure of himself and his judgment call of Tony's inner character.

"Why do you say that? I'm not a shining image of morals." He sighs, eyes moving past Thor to Loki, the pale hand that's escaped the red cape hangs limp from the couch, cut and scraped but still elegant even in his death. It's cold to the touch as he places it over the unmoving deity's belly in a restful pose.

"When everyone was coming at my brother with anger and vengeance, you spoke to him. You approached him as a person." Thor says solemnly.

Tony flinches at that and settles on the idea that Thor really will make a great king some day, he's not sure what kind of man the god once was, but here and now he's wise far beyond what Tony had first thought him capable of.

"I did." Tony breaths out a breathy 'fuck', nodding his head slowly in recognition, his body kicking into motion as he walks away, down a short hall to the bathroom talking loud enough that Thor can still hear him as he starts to grab towels and what medical supplies he has. "Bruce is in Tonga right now, that's about a fourteen hour flight. Jarvis, call up his satellite cell in a moment. You and I are going to keep him as stable as we can till the real help can get here."

"Not I son of Stark. Just you." Thor says from were he's kneeling by his brothers side, those sad eyes memorizing every inch of the younger gods face like this will be the last time he will see it.

"Excuse me? What?" Tony blurts, his voice squeaking as drops the bundle of towels, bandages and few bottles of Neosporin on the glass table. Rounding on the thunder god with wide eyes. "You can't just leave!" His heart kicks in a panic and he's trying really hard not to throw a fit like a child.

"I must return to Asgard to talk to my father. This punishment has gone too far." Thor says, his voice leaving no room for argument as he stands, clasping a bear paw of a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Keep watch over my brother. Keep him safe, I beg of you. He has been through too much already."

Thor glances one last time to his brother before turning and leaving him alone on Tony's now ruined couch, striding out back to the overhanging patio were Tony follows him out.

"You'll be back right?"

"I will return as soon as I can." Thor nods, his eyes tracking the storm over head like the answers to the universe are written in the zigzags of lightning, maybe to him they are. When his azure eyes settle on Tony once more they're so brimmed with emotion that it nearly chokes Tony. "Care for my brother, please."

Tony nods his head softly. The responsibility of the satiation weighing heavy on his shoulders but there's no one else to do it. Not like he can. He'll get Bruce's help. He'll hide Loki from Shields unforgiving wrath and maybe, just maybe he can be a Yinsen to Loki.

"I will." He says softly, stepping back till the doorway is between he and Thor, the god looking up to the sky a moment before another flash of lighting pulls the god back to his home. Riding the electric current to god only knows where.

Blinking to clear his eyes of the white spots that dance in front of the world he slowly turns and gazes across the room to the swatch of red and blood on the couch. In hindsight Tony really should have been careful what he dreamt about…

First thing, he's sure is to examine the subject, like he's tinkering on his projects. Inspect the situation; see what needs to be done. It's no different than fixing an engine, he just needs to step away from the emotional side of it and look at it from nothing but a clinical way.

Stroking his hand over his bearded chin he contemplates the mess on his couch. Most of the chaos god is still covered in Thor's cape, a soaked red tragedy in rain and blood with just a hint of snow melting here and there. He needs to get that off and probably any clothes on Loki to see his wounds before he can call up Bruce because that's going to be the first thing the good man is going to ask. That is, after he asks what the hell is going on.

Tony has no clue how he's going to answer that question. He's not even sure what the hell he's doing… aside from loosing his mind.

Taking a deep breath he pulls the soaked red fabric away from the young god, trying hard to keep his professional air and failing as washed green eyes blink open, shocked awake from the pain.

"Oh fuck!" Tony blurts over the non sound of Loki's scream, the god struggling in a panic to flee. Mouth and eyes wide in a dread. The creepy as hell silence ending as Loki falls to the marble floor with a painful sounding crash of limbs. "Shit shit. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you! It's okay! Well, it's not okay, but I'm not going to hurt you?! Thor brought you here."

Loki stares at him with wide eyes and looks for all the world like a stray cat after being run over, blood dribbling from his panting open mouth, eyes washed out to the sickening color of cheep emeralds. The message of terror and pain written clearly in his body language, scratched long fingers trying to dig into the marble floor below him.

Kneeling slowly Tony holds up his hands and wonders if not for the morphine in his system when he woke up, if he'd have greeted Yinsen the same way. His heart kicking against the socket wall of the arc as he tries to look as relaxed and unthreatening as he can.

"'s okay. You're okay here." He whispers, keeping one hand up as he reaches out slowly with his other. Murmuring soft nonsense the whole time as his fingers brush gently over Loki's cold forehead. The god's body jerking like he's been electrocuted at the contact but as Tony talks slowly he relaxes, resting his forehead into Tony's palm and letting out a wet wheezed breath.

The blatant need of contact sending chills down Tony's spine. Where the hell has this guy been for the last month?

What little energy Loki had must be depleted after only a few seconds of panicked motion, shaking arms giving out and lowering himself till his blood streaked cheek is resting against the floor, eyes still on Tony. Weary, not quite as weary as before though.

"Fuck." Tony sighs, keeping his tone soft and gentle as he reaches to the table and grabs a towel ruining the white terrycloth with his bloody fingers and not giving a shit. Loki flinches weakly as he reaches out slowly and Tony goes back to murmuring softly to him. Calming him enough to clean the blood from his face with slow gentle swipes of the towel.

Under all that blood is ivory white skin and sunken eyes but not much more than a scratch or small bruise for a wound. Tony offering a weak smile at the sight trying to calm his own shaking hand and rattled nerves. "Hey, good lookin'."

Loki's look is genuinely quizzical for a second before his eyes close and his head turns away, closing Tony off from any other communication. Tony's okay with that. He's carried enough one sided conversations in his life, this is no different.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch he looks to Loki. "I need to get you undressed. I'm not going to hurt you though. I promise." He says, clutching the pillow to his chest a moment before reaching out and lifting Loki's head enough to get it under. Remembering how when he was in the caves, simple comforts meant the world.

He sweeps his eyes down the inert god's body, swallowing thickly as he can see areas where the leather and green fabric has been torn enough to see straight to the wounds. Loki's garments are different from the last time Tony saw him but just as complex. More buckles and straps then an S&M club.

This could take an hour. Fuck.

"I need scissors." He mutters, getting to his feet and turning away to the kitchen. Making it as far as the sink before his stomach coils, takes on a life of it's own and ends up emptying.

He's never been good at handling things like this. He never could keep a pet fish alive as a kid, he can't keep a steady relationship, and how is he supposed to keep Loki alive?! Rinsing his mouth out after spitting a few times into the sink he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, blocking the world out.

"think-think-think-think." he chants to himself, the rasp of his own voice like sand paper to his ears. "Jarvis, call up Bruce for me now, babe. I… yeah. Call up Bruce." He says, grabbing the heavy duty scissors from a knife block on the counter.

The sound of the phone ringing echoes around the penthouse's great open spaces as he walks back to the god in front of the couch. Loki's head turning slowly and those washed unfocused eyes take a moment to lock in on him. Coughing a mist of blood weakly as he struggles, eyeing the scissors.

The fear Tony sees in that look twists the engineers already knotted gut into a ball of steel.

"No no, it's okay. Not going to hurt you." Tony says, kneeling down at his side once more and setting a gentle hand on the deity's chest. Doing the most insane thing he could imagine, uncurling the clawed fingers and setting the scissors into Loki's hand. Letting the god take the situation into his hands and praying his show of trust is accepted.

Confusion battles with pain in the green eyes for a moment, fingers weakly curling around the cool metal of the scissors before finally relaxing. Slipping the scissors back from limp fingers as he watches Loki close his eyes and seem to at least surrender to his fate, Tony hopes it's trust though.

He's glad he's got the scissors from the god's hand because Bruce's gruff sounding 'hello' sends him into another panic.

"Shit!"

"Tony?"

"Give me a moment." He snaps to Bruce, before clasping Loki's hands in a loose hold and trying to stop the god from struggling hard enough to wound himself even more than he already is. "Its okay." He says softly like a mantra to the god.

Bruce's psychic powers must be working, or he's far more apt at deduction than Tony ever has been because his next words are in the same soft tone that Tony's speaking to Loki in. "What is going on Stark?"

"I need your help. First of all I need you to call up the number I gave you for Happy and schedule the first flight out here you can."

"Why?"

Tony swallows, and looks down at the shaking god who seems to have crammed himself between the couch and Tony's lap. Trying and unable to find the wrathful god in the long limbs and black hair. It's all the same yet so different this time around. Maybe that's all the Why Tony needs, but Bruce will want more.

He can't stop himself from reaching down and running a gentle hand up and down the lean side, trying to comfort the best he can.

"I can't tell you yet. Schedule the flight with Happy, call me in an hour when you're on the plane." He says, moving slow as he pushes the leather of Loki's ruined jacket off his shoulders. Thin weak fingers reaching up to grab his wrist and stop him with the most pathetic wet clicking sound from the god's throat.

"Tony, this is crazy sounding. Crazier than your normal crazy."

"Just call me, Bruce." He demands letting Loki stop his prodding for a moment, satisfying himself by simply holding his cold shaking hand.

"Okay, an hour then but you owe me a lot of explanations." Bruce warns, his tone low and a little dangerous as the line cuts out with a beep and the rough sounds of Loki's breathing is once more the only noise in the penthouse.

Tony would love to just sit and let his mind devour itself in the quiet, drink and swear and pace too, but there's things to be done still and he now has a deadline.

"I've got to get all this off of you. I am not going to hurt you." He says in what he hopes is his most assuring tone, Loki doesn't nod or voice his opinion but his eyes close and he slowly lets go of Tony's hand. Ignoring the mocking voice at his sentiment as he moves Loki's hand so it can loosely hold the fabric of his jeans before starting to scissor through the wet leather and fabric.

Even with how carefully he's being there's times when Loki's breath hitches and his knuckles go white, gripping Tony's jeans tight. Never once does he cry out and Tony's got to hand it to him for keeping that little shred of pride in what must be an incredibly degrading moment.

The scissors make everything a little easier though, damn Asgardians and their love for complicated clothing. He manages to get everything off and most of the blood cleaned away from all that lovely pale skin, wrapping a towel around the shivering god's waist as he curls onto his side once more.

Tony eyes the wounds wearily, concerned over the still seeping ones on his belly and chest, rubbing his hand over his own throat as he glances to the one there. Pain dulled eyes blink open slowly as he reaches down and strokes black hair back from his face.

"Rest. Bruce will be calling soon and then I'll figure out how to help you more." He explains softly, getting lost in his thoughts as he detangles the inky hair with his fingers the best he can.

He's only got twenty minutes or so before Bruce calls back up demanding answers that Tony doesn't have any responses for. Rubbing his hands through his hair, he's disgusted to see them dirty with Loki's blood.

Sometimes the honest truth is the only way to go, he'll just tell Bruce that Thor brought Loki to him looking like road kill and Tony willingly accepted the job because… because he's just that outstanding of a person. No need to mention haunting dreams and watered down feelings of PTSD.

Sighing heavily he snatches another large towel from his stack and uses it to cover Loki's shoulders. The chaos god seems to have settled into a fitful sleep once more, his hand still gripped weakly to Tony's jeans effectively stopping him from getting up and pacing as much as he wants to.

Trapped here with nothing but his thoughts he breaths out a sigh. If Tony had told Thor no; Loki would be where? Would he have taken his brother to Shield or did he have enough sense to him to know that the organization would have just finished off the job? He'd rather not mull over what Fury and his team of witch doctors would be doing to the god.

Shifting a little to make himself more comfortable on the floor he eyes the blanket over on the other end of the couch, just past arms reach and kicks himself for not being gangly. Stretching slowly he tries hard not to disturb the resting god and after straining hard enough his brow is slick with sweat he grasps the cobalt knit afghan.

"Shit, I need stretchy arms. Jarvis, and that to my queue." He huffs under his breath, not expecting the AI to answer. Shaking out the blanket that was probably expensive and is about to be ruined before draping it gently over Loki's body, smiling down at him as green eyes tiredly blink open.

"Sir, there is an incoming call from Mr. Banner."

"He's early." Tony sighs, watching what little light in Loki's eyes fade a little as fear takes over curling in on himself under the blanket. "Put him though damn-it."

"Tony."

"Bruce. Buddy. How was Tonga?" He asks as cheerful as he can setting a hand on the side of Loki's shoulder, circling his thumb over the lean muscle under the blanket.

"Humid. What the hell is going on Tony?"

"If you wanted humid you could have just stayed here. Weather's been otherworldly." He chuckles at his joke, looking down at Loki but the god is slumbering again, he'd much prefer to think that than passed out. It's a sobering sight.

Breathing out a heavy sigh he lifts his head to look up at the ceiling. "Shit, sorry. That was a stupid joke."

"What's wrong? You just apologized." Bruce asks his vice thick with worry.

"Loki is what's wrong, he's so fucked up." He groans, pinching his nose with his free hand. "I need you here man, I can't. I could take him down to the med floor but I don't even know how to use half that shit." He croaks, his voice giving out as frustration squeezes his throat. A flood gate opening that he's afraid he'll never get closed again. "I'd just end up stabbing myself and Dummy's not trained to handle things like this. I'm not trained to handle things like this. I don't even know where to start, there's so much bl-"

"Breath Tony, you sound like your having a panic attack." Bruce says calmly, the voice of reason over the airwaves. He's probably right too. Tony's heart feels like it's leaping out his throat and his lungs aren't getting enough air. Pressing his head back against the couch's armrest he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few measured breaths.

"Better?" the doctor says after a moment.

"Still fucked, yeah. But I'm better." He says, rubbing his temple to relieve some of the pressure there. His hangover having mixed with his migraine into a violent attack of pain behind his eyes.

"Now what about Loki?"

Glancing down to the unmoving god he breaths out a heart felt sigh and collects his senses. "Where are you?"

"I'm on your company jet." Bruce says with a muffled sound over the line. "It's a secure line if that's what you're asking, talk."

"Thor dropped by about an hour ago. Passed off his little brother for me to care for."

"In chains, right. Are you okay?"

"No chains. Shit. No chains. He's beat up bad, Bruce." He groans, gripping a little tighter to Loki's shoulder as the god tenses. Not as asleep as he looks to be than. "Thor says his dad took all of his powers from him or some shit like that, sent him to Hohothum. I think they eat their guests alive there."

There's a silence through the line and Tony can almost see the man pushing his glasses up his nose. In the quiet, Tony smoothes the blanket over Loki's hip, the god actually tries shifting a little to worm closer. Giving a muted hiss of pain with the failed move so Tony crosses the distance for him till the trickster gods bony spine is pressed to his hip.

"So you've got a chaos god hanging out at your pad and invited me to what, rework your floor again?" Bruce says after a moment, his voice thick with sarcasm and confusion. Tony knows he'd be feeling the same way if situations were different so he doesn't judge too hard.

"No. I'm saying I've got a chaos god bleeding to death on my floor and I'm asking for help. Friend to friend."

Bruce snorts, "Well that changes everything. Fine, give me what you know." There's a bit of humor in his voice and it makes Tony blink a little, drawing a soft smile onto his face.

"Not going to argue?" the relief in his heart comes though his voice.

"It's you. You've never done anything normal Tony. You can play nurse; just tell me what you can see."

Sitting back up strait he smoothes his hand down Loki's side in an attempt to get him to roll over. "I can wear one of those little hats and mini skirts. Very kinky." He says the second part with a grin aimed down at Loki but the humor is lost to the god as he simply bares his teeth in pain and turns onto his back.

Taking a deep breath he nods his head to himself and scratches his hairline. "What do you want to know first?"

"Be my eyes for me Tony, what do you see?"

Channeling every crime scene and ER show he's ever been forced to sit through he gently eases the blanket back from Loki's body, tipping his head in a silent apology as the god shivers. "He's pale, ah. Cold. I had a blanket around him but he's shivering now."

"Sounds like shock, you said he's bleeding? From where, describe the wounds. Detail Tony."

"Yeah. Sorry. I forgot to study the Grays Anatomy before calling you." He grumbles, lips twisting into a frown as Loki flinches from his touch as he tries to feel the wound on his throat. "Top to bottom he's got about a two inch gash just above his collar bones on his throat that looks deep. Then down on his left side, ah… couple ribs up looks like a stab wound. That…" He swallows and glances away, fighting the bile burning the back of his throat, the pale view of bone too much for him. Scrubbing his hands over his face.

"You're doing good Tony. Just give me a general idea; how many wounds and how much blood do you think he's lost?"

"There are about three others around his abdomen and belly, one longer gash across his back. All of those have yet to stop bleeding. I- I don't know how much blood he's got left in him." Tony admits in a small voice, letting Loki curl back onto his side and covering him with the blanket again.

He nearly jumps out of his skin as the gods hand snakes out and grips onto his once more. He couldn't be saying that he wants Tony to stay close any louder if he was yelling it.

"Okay, I want you to keep him warm."

"And… bind the wounds or something like that?" He asks, not looking foreword to the thought.

"No because when I come I'll have to take the bandages off, there's chances of them wicking more blood than he's actually bleeding, or of it sticking to the gauze meaning pain when it's removed." Bruce explains, a tapping over the line coming though soft and dull. A drum beat that's probably the doctor's fingers against the leather seat he's sitting in. Clearly deep in thought about what paths to take for his new patient. Or how to deal with Tony's psychosis.

"For now I think the best course of action would be to keep him warm and comfortable as you can. Try to get him to drink, Orange Juice and something strong like rum. Not water."

"You want me to get him drunk, doesn't that make people bleed more?" He blinks his eyes and glancing up to the ceiling, wishing he could see Bruce just so he can know if his leg is being pulled.

Banner has the gull to chuckle too. "Trust me; it will only be a few table spoons at the most. The alcohol will help keep him warm and the OJ will bring up his blood sugar levels and reduce the risk of shock."

"Huh." Tony blinks and his eyebrows bounce to his hairline, who knew that every time he was making sunrises he was saving his own life. Another grand reason to keep drinking. "Listen, ah, I'd appreciate it if this was kept between me and you for a while." He says, dropping his eyes back down to Loki. Rubbing his thumb over the bruised wrist gently.

"I kind of figured this was under Shield's radar."

"Are you questioning my logic?" Tony asks, a flare of protective instinct lighting off in his belly, that 'mine' rising to the front once more.

Bruce sighs over the line, heavy and deep. "I wouldn't have been in Tonga if I trusted the bastards."

And if that doesn't sum up the standing of the Avengers.

Tony, Bruce, apparently even Thor trust the marry band of spies about as far as they can throw the earth. Steve's torn between the deep rooted beliefs that a government stands for the good of its people and the brutal truth that's so many shades of gray it's a teen mommy novel. Clint had flown the coop to ends only Tony knows to find himself after Loki had rattled his mind. Leaving Nat the only member still disgustingly loyal to Fury.

"Go on Tony, You've got work to do and I've got to think over all of this. I'll see you in roughly ten hours."

"Right. See you then buddy." Tony huffs out a breath hard enough to ruffle Loki's hair and stir the god into opening his eyes, equal parts crystalline silver and spring green now that Tony's close enough to really see them.

The line beeps as it cuts off a disturbingly chipper tone that Tony's sure he didn't program. Watching shivers chase down the gods lean spine despite the summer heat just a plate of glass away.

"Just me and you for now. Nothing's going to hurt you here." He says again, feeling like he can't get that message out enough, giving the hand in his a gentle squeeze.

He's not sure how his life got so fucked up so quickly or why it gives him a warm comfort inside. Like a puzzle piece that's been missing was just found, a little worn and sticky from life under a table, but it fits. Locks right into place and makes him feel like the picture that is his life might become a little clearer.