Fandom: Marvel's The Avengers

Rated: T

Pairing: FrostIron – Loki Laufeyson / Tony Stark

Warnings: Soft slash, sentimentality, tragedy and feels

Author's Note: So, I don't know where this came from really, especially since I'm still working on the next chapter of Just a Rose for a Star which is nowhere near this depressing. I guess angsty moods lead to death fics. This is more a character study than anything, exploring a 'what if' of Tony and Loki falling in battle together after a last minute surrender to honor and something far more powerful. Includes introspection on a pre-existing relationship; don't like, don't read. Comments and commentary are most welcome. Please enjoy.

Enough

"Hann var numinn til himnaskara

hvar hann tilbiður sinn lausnara;

Þar enginn gratur mæðir meir.

He was summoned to the heavens above

where he worships his Redeemer;

and there is no more sorrow."

~ Icelandic Folk Song

"I guess... this is it then?" Tony hums as Loki finishes removing the red and gold faceplate, a soft spark of laughter cutting through the haze of pain in his eyes. Loki says nothing and sends the iconic face of the Man of Iron skidding across the ground with a flick of his wrist, careening into an overturned car. Usually Tony would berate him for treating his work with such careless actions but this time no words come. Tony seems content in holding him, studying his face as Loki removes his own helmet and lets it fall to the ground next to them. In the distance, the battle wages on. From here Loki can hear the screeching of metal as the Avengers' master assassins rend Victor's Doombots to scraps and farther on the unmistakable rage of Hulk sounds over the city while he smashes Skurge into the ground. Elsewhere his brother's lightning shrieks, hammer slicing through Enchantress' magic, and in the opening it brings, the Captain's shield strikes true, rebounding hard off her armor with a metallic clang.

He was foolish to fight, Loki knows that now, because for all his posturing, for all his adament belief that he has not compromised himself, the lines have blurred for him. Friend becomes foe in the blink of an eye and foe becomes something distinctively tolerable. But it matters little now, for this small secluded place where they've fallen is far from the fighting and Tony's arms are still firmly wrapped about him after catching him from the air, crash-landing them just outside the warzone. Tony's suit is a battered mess beneath him, the chest plates caved in and grinded down. Warning sparks flare out of every crevice and joint but Tony doesn't seem to notice, holding Loki's weight as though he is a blanket of feathers, focused more on breathing and the growing red stain on Loki's once flawless leather.

"You saved me," he says and he sounds amused, as though the prospect of an enemy taking a hit for him is so wonderfully strange. The weeping hole in Loki's heart is testament enough and the god can't stop the smile that comes.

"A lapse in reason, I assure you," he offers but Tony knows better and they both know it. Loki has long lost the ability to lie convincingly to him.

Tony's arm lifts from his shoulder, hand reaching to trace his jaw line, cup his cheek. The metal gauntlet is cold and rough against his skin but Loki leans into the touch, imagining the well-known heat that lies within. Tony has never been afraid to do this, to so freely touch him in such an intimate manner. It will always be far from Loki's understanding as to why, but there is no denying how much he's come to crave such contact, these touches that will forever leave him burning and nearly mad with desire and something far more painful. These touches that reach into his world of never enough and lift him to an alien place of just as you are.

It was for this he had sought out and cornered Tony in his workshop so many times, drunk off the pleasure and risk of each meeting. It was what left him breathless in the aftermath, tangled in warm sheets and pillows. Tony would always stare at him, through him, and cradle his face in his hands like he was valued, something truly worth admiring and puzzling out, leaving him besotted, his world closing in until it encompassed only them and the room, highlighted by the glow of the device in Tony's chest.

But it is no longer glowing, he notices. The light wavers ominously beneath his fingers, sparking between cracks and broken edges. He wonders if Tony has observed it yet as Tony's thumb smoothes over his cheekbone.

"Figures, I end up dying for the greater good. And to think we could be in the Caribbean right now." He laughs and it's a broken sound, choked and raw. Blood bubbles and oozes on his lips with each word, tears wrenching free from the corners of his eyes. Still, despite the pain, Tony manages a softness that Loki will never master. "I'm not sure if I should be sorry I killed you too though..."

"I always wondered if I were truly immortal," Loki hears himself say. His voice is low and rough in a tenor he never knew he was capable of creating. "It appears even gods can be killed. I suppose I should thank you for the final proof."

Tony's finger drags over his lower lip as he speaks and his gaze drops there just when the arc reactor finally flickers out. His body arches in pain, face contorting in agony, hissing through his teeth. Loki leans forward to capture his mouth and muffle his silent scream. It must be killing Tony faster, Loki speculates, holding him so tightly, but Tony's fingers pull him in, arms embracing him fully with whatever is left of his strength. The kiss is gentle, a familiar, slow mesh of lips and breaths, Tony's grip curling into his nape, tilting his head just so.

He should not matter this much, this human, this mortal man amongst a sea of ants of no true significance. They have never been more than enemies and at times, strange, similar creatures that could share hours of wit and banter, jokes and a good laugh to pass the time. Loki isn't sure when it happened, when Tony Stark looked at him and saw someone worth smiling at, worth kissing and touching and whispering things that never should've been whispered to a monster such as him, but none of that matters as much as the fact that it happened at all. They never should've had a beginning, not when they knew it would someday lead to this, when it meant an ending.

Tony murmurs words too quiet for Loki to hear, but he can feel each utterance, taste the honesty, the genuine quality of this gift Tony is leaving him with. He can sense the life parting from Tony's body but still the smaller man hangs on, laughing without sound into each shared exhale. Bittersweet and content and full of goodbye; Loki has never been kissed like this.

"Await me in Valhalla," he commands on Tony's lips. It is nothing less than a vain wish at best that Tony would allow his soul to go there, to any form of heaven when he doesn't believe in the God of this world or the next. But, then again, Tony has come to believe in him, so perhaps, for once in his life, that can be enough.

Tony grins wide against his mouth, brown eyes sharpening to a lighter hue than Loki has ever seen. For a moment the nightmare lifts into a dreamscape and Tony steals a tenderly bruising kiss. Then, in stubborn, unspoken promise, his fingers slip down Loki's jaw and he surrenders his final breath.

Loki does not pull away until Tony's hand falls from his face, tumbling to the ground in a lifeless heap. He watches the color drain from Tony's cheeks in silence, the cold pallor of death settling in around his lifted mouth, freezing his last smile in place. Only when he kisses those lips one last time does he realize the chill creeping up his own body. His chest is the only furnace, a twisted coil of pain pooling blood over the ice of his skin and onto the wrecked Man of Iron's suit supporting him, flowing in rivers to the rubble below. Stinging wetness trails down his cheeks, catching in the corners of his mouth, mingling with the blood smeared there, dripping down his chin. He is not long for this world, he realizes, and the relief is of no small quantity.

Perhaps he is beyond exhaustion, for surely he is a fool for indulging in such sentiment, but Loki cannot stop himself from reaching forward to cradle Tony's face between his hands, an intimacy he'd never revealed when Tony had still been breathing. He's never thought he'd regret it until now and he traces Tony's brow with barely shaking fingers, memorizing every line, every texture and structure, smoothing the lines deepened by laughter and fatigue and complicated thinking. He trails his fingertips over Tony's temples, his cheeks, his chin and strong jaw, caressing over his nose and mouth. If nothing else, he will remember this, how each facet and line blends into another, creating such imperfection it is almost too beautiful to look at. And that is the hard truth of the matter: Tony had been truly beautiful, in more ways than one, and the way the sunlight overhead highlights his dark hair, glows on his pale skin, threatens to steal the last of Loki's breath.

It should be raining, he thinks, his hand sweeping a cluster of damp tresses off Tony's forehead. The sky should be crying while the heavens tear open with a boom of thunder and the earth shatters below. The world should be shaking, falling in upon itself, crumbling mountains and hurricane seas. But he has never held the power over the weather, never has had much control of anything, not even himself, especially the traitorous beating in his chest losing its vigor but not its yearning call, its complete fixation to the mortal laying slain and broken beneath his hands. His own world, this world Tony had forced himself into and shared with him this past year is spinning in a slow circle around him, constricting and aching. He should never have allowed Tony to teach him to experience, all senses open, so much for so great a loss. His body feels heavy and every pore is screaming as his mind caves in and all thoughts stop, utterly lost in the peaceful lift in Tony's face, ignorant to all else because there is simply nothing left to behold anymore.

"Allfather," he whispers and for a moment he can almost feel the thunder that always permeates Odin's presence through the harsh sun, "let him dine in Valhalla's halls. Let him bask in the glory of the never-ending sunrise."

He has no right to ask this. His own soul will remain in Odin's hands until the one he once called father decided his punishment, of that he is sure. Not being granted the privilege and peace of Valhalla is a very real possibility he must consider and it hurts far more than it should for Loki to think that this may truly be the last time he can hold Tony like this. To never hear his laughter, see his devil-may-care grins and know it is he and no other that can make Tony create such expressions and sounds sends a cold tremor through his palms. But, above all else, his path has led him to this moment, where everything he thought he was and could be was rendered worthless beneath a laughing mouth. His father and brother's retribution upon him is warranted and expected. Loki would only be so lucky to gaze upon such smiles again and he has never been a lucky creature.

"Father… brother," he rasps, his breath rattling in his ribs. The edges of his vision blur and he closes his eyes, head bowing until his forehead rests upon Tony's. It is awkward and painful, broken armor pressing harshly against his wounds, gauging into his chest. But the pain tells him he is still here, still alive. The sky isn't opening and thunder and fire aren't raining down upon him in a cascade of rainbow light. He hasn't been taken yet. "Allow me this, if I may gain nothing else."

The sounds of battle are fainter now, easing into the hard earned shouts of victory. Soon, Tony's comrades will come looking for their fallen Man of Iron just as his own brother will come to save him. But he will be too late to even try. Thor has forever been far too late.

Loki always thought himself beyond redemption, but now, gazing down at Tony's face, the darkness sinking in, the numbness slowly spreading through limbs taxed far beyond limitation, he begins to wonder if maybe he has already been saved.

Of all the uncertainties that have fashioned his life, only one thing now is certainty: that this man, this fearless love and beloved enemy of his, will be the last thing he sees on this wretched earth. Not his brother or his Avengers, nor Odin or any of the gods. Just this Midgardian who took everything and was everything and will forever be everything.

Because indulging in moments with Tony Stark has been the greatest and most worthwhile and devastating of all Loki's gambles, and knowing that such a man as this once held his heart in his hands and whispered I think I love you against his lips in the obscurity and safety of the night will always be enough.

El Fin.

So, yeah, I don't know what the heck this is. Loki's POV though, for a change. A very interesting perspective after indulging myself in Tony for so long, to be sure. For all you Just a Rose on a Star readers, the next chapter should be out by the end of the week if all goes well! Thank you for your patience.

I hope you all enjoyed this random sadness that has a strange air of hopefulness to it. I'm rather pleased with it myself. Second published death fiction. Hope it was okay. Until next time my lovelies. Stay awesome.