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“No-- No, you don’t get to do that,” Tony said as the mask flew up and he strode towards James as fast as he could in titanium gold. He shook open the whole top half of the armor and reached out with bare, warm hands to grip James firmly by frigid cheeks and to wrap his fingers around the back of his head. He hadn’t exactly intended on embracing James, but he pulled him into his arms just the same as the quinjet silently landed behind the man a hundred or so feet away.

Wind caught in James’ hair and Tony ignored the way it whipped against him as he exhaled on cold skin.

“I can’t lose you, even if you’re hellbent on losing yourself. Thirty years… Okay, I get that it wasn’t you, but sometimes it was. You made me feel safe. You protected me. And that wasn’t all the soldier… Let’s go somewhere warm, is that okay?”

James genuinely felt as if he had failed the first mission he had given himself, one that was a choice and not an order, and it was seriously fucking with his head. The touch of surprisingly warm fingers on his cheek and then the sensation of being pulled into someone's arms at least jolted him to life enough to speak.

"I hate the cold."

His voice was quiet, as if he were telling Tony another secret. Because even though it was a statement a lot of people might say, to James it was a reveal of one of his bigger vulnerabilities.

"I remember watching Steve struggle while we could both see our own breath in the apartment because we couldn't afford the heat, I remember fighting a battle where it was so cold that the blood froze to the snow, and I remember Siberia-- but it was when they put me under. It's a cold that should kill you and it doesn't, but all there ever was is darkness and cold and cold and cold that never ends. I hate it, I'm scared of it."

So yes, going somewhere warm would be okay.

With his eyes closed against the other’s neck, Tony nodded. He could see it, the way James painted all of it. The breath, the feel of a cheerful, but sickly man huddled beside him trying to keep your spirits up even when they themselves felt like they’d be going to meet God soon, likely, and maybe even tonight. And he could feel the loss of heat from the contact of the blood to the snow, the sizzle turned to a clink. He remembered Siberia. He had seen that place for himself, the dead soldiers, frozen, waiting to be revived. And he wasn’t even going to try to convey what he felt to think of himself being frozen into a block of ice.

Tony’s arms didn’t constrict so much as loosen, not to pull away, but to allow him to get James ot the quinjet. It only had seating for one, but he made it work.

The closest Stark property this far north was in New England, a research facility his father had used in Maine that Tony had never gotten rid of. FRIDAY had the place cleaned out ahead of his arrival and the two men landed in the back yard, facing nothing but three fingers of ocean all around them. It lapped, bitter cold, at the rocks but the mansion itself was warm, with wide windows that made the stormy sea actually look like something cozy instead of frightening.

“If it’s one thing I can attempt to deliver on, James, it’s that I can keep you warm.” It sounded cheesy and lame, but Tony Stark was a little beyond worrying about that right now. When he spoke with his heart, it was still full of innuendo, sure, but it was without the callousness he usually had.

Edited 2017-11-28 19:59 (UTC)

Lame and cheesy were things that James didn't care about either; in fact, after a life that had been mostly orders and hardship without any kindness shown, it was welcome. Perhaps it was overexaggerated, but it got the message across in a way that subtlety might now.

He slid down against the inside of the window with the stormy sea framing him at his back, head sinking down into his hands. Despite the fact that he had a good six guns and several knives on him right then, he looked utterly pitiable, like a lost dog that had been kicked too many times by a good owner.

"I can't, you have to stop doing this. You're-- you and Steve, you're the ones I want to protect more than anything, and you're not letting me do that. You told me that I hurt you, I make it worse, so why won't you let me go?"

Tony wanted to address that broken arm, he wanted to address the pain that James was in, but he didn’t, sucking it up with all of the other idiotic things on his mind right now. He did, however, bend to pick up the first aid kit that was under every kitchen sink he had ever been near. His mother insisted on it. He’d gotten hurt a lot as a child (and an adult) and it was good to know where to go for a bandage.

The kit was carried towards James and since Tony couldn’t let him sit on the floor alone, set down between them as he joined the man on the floor.

“I say a lot of things. Just that things seemed to pick up. Coincidence. It’s been getting worse for a long time now. Seeing things that aren’t there… That happened a long time ago too. I built DUM-E from a design I didn’t even know I had created when I was fifteen.” Right after his Nanny left. He couldn’t know that he normally, in other realities, didn’t built DUM-E until he was in MIT.

Things had happened differently here. More then usual. He was starting to get a taste of the fact that it wasn’t normal. That something was wrong. He just needed to really buckle down and think about it. And he would. Once James stopped wallowing.

“I don’t want to let you go. I was happy when you came back. And happy every time you showed up. And happiest when you stayed. You’re making me miserable with this disappearing act. Isn’t it easier to protect me if you’re around?”

"Sure, if I wasn't the reason you were suffering. If it wasn't me, then why did you say that?"

It seemed like a cruel thing to say to someone who already felt as though they were a monster, to blame him for the surge in voices and hallucinations. He wanted to be a help to Tony when that happened, not be an extra stress on that. Tony was a goddamn confusing man, he ran hot and cold like a faucet with no warning, and James couldn't always figure out which bits to discard.

"I don't want to leave. For the first time since I can really remember, I had a home. Those boxes you let me order? FRIDAY picked out all the clothes, but they were still the first ones I got to get for myself. You made me smile, and I think I love you a bit for that. That's why it was so important to leave if I hurt you, don't you understand that?"

“I shouldn’t have said any of that. I was just thinking out loud... I shouldn’t have. You looked so angry—. No. Hurt. You looked like I was just trying to purposefully make fun of you...” Tony pressed the heels of his hands into the pits of his eyes. “I try to have a filter, I just never turn it on. I didn’t want... I didn’t want any of this. I want you to have a hundred boxes of clothes that you don’t wear because you only like black hoodies. And I want you to humor me with video games you’re too good at but don’t like and I want to come home and find you in my lab. And knitting. I want to watch you knit.”

If this was Tony off of alcohol, the world had better watch out.

He tilted his head back against the wall and turned tired, lined eyes up to Bucky.

“I only pretend to understand stuff. And I love you more than a little bit. I have since I was five. Not the stoic, emotionless man I could get to carry me around like a Raja. The man that proved he cared. Even if he didn’t know it. And you— I’m going to stop now. I’m embarrassing us both.”

This was dangerous ground for James. He was stretched to the very edge of his ability to cope with pretty much everything, his world had crumbled around him several times over the past couple of years, and now he had somehow ended up attached to a guy who had absolutely no self preservation or tact at all.

He was still cold despite the warmth of the house, it sunk into his bones and took a long time to seep away, and that left fear tendrils creeping around the edges of his mind. Perhaps it was desperation for all of those things, where his life was nothing more complicated than padding through Tony's huge houses with knitting needles and soft clothes that were all his own, or perhaps it was just idiocy... but all of a sudden he just surged forwards and pressed a kiss to Tony's lips.

Dumb. So very dumb.

He pulled away as if scalded as soon as he realised what he was doing, shame flooding his face. "Sorry. Fuck, sorry."

Tony had been kissed many times. Generally, he encouraged it, sought it out, started the kiss or pursued it. This hadn’t been the case at all for James. A fourteen year old Tony had once thought long and hard about demanding kissing practice with the older man, but he had wisely not forced such a thing on a man who could never say no. It had never actually occurred to him that it might be all right to do it now, not because James had been brutalized or because he had trouble sometimes understanding his position in the lives of other people these days, but because he adored the guy, and James was obviously not disgusted by him either if what he had confessed was true.

Tony had written off being close to people. Three days ago he confessed to feeling a myriad of ways about his teammates, but that was just because he needed a sounding board to get his emotions out. He never actually wanted to be with Banner. Or with Rogers. He wasn’t trying to make James hurt or jealous. They had just gotten close. James had once again become his closest, truest friend.

But just because you’re friends doesn’t mean you should complicate it with more, right? Even if Tony invariably did.

To have James kiss him now, leaning over the first aid kit with a broken arm, as a storm threatened to blow up the coast, was cathartic in many ways. Tony hadn’t been surprised, not because he had seen It happen, or heard the voices whisper, but because it felt like a good thing to do in the moment. He’d closed his eyes. And now, at the cursing, they opened slowly and Tony lifted a hand to James’ cheek. This wasn’t a quick fling. “You should be sorry,” Tony mused, smirking. “I’ve been waiting thirty years for that. I mean, it’s way more appropriate now so I guess don’t be too sorry,” he yammered on. His mouth and brain were two things that he couldn’t stop running, even if he wanted to.

Tony really didn't want to get into this with James, not when he had so many issues of his own to deal with, adding in the trauma of everything that James had gone through would just make this messy and difficult for them both. Even just as friends they had managed to hurt one another deeply many times in just a few days, that would get worse if other barriers went down.

"I don't know--"

He didn't know whether he had done that because he was attracted to Tony, or because he was in a weird place, or just because he was temporarily fucking insane. Nor did he know how to vocalise any of this panic that he was feeling, because sex and especially attraction to men was still a deeply knotted issue for him.

"I don't want to hurt you, I think this might do that."

“I think you do know. Knowing isn’t the problem.”

None of that made Tony drop his hand. None of it made him move away. He was having his own emotional and mental crises right now. He was poor footing with his teammates, he was constantly messing up friendships, but he didn’t quite think about it as deeply as James was right now. He didn’t have the same hang-ups. All Tony knew was that he was entitled to the things he wanted, even when he actually wasn’t. And he never stopped to think things through before he took pretty desperate leaps of faith. They usually worked out for him, but he had the scars just the same.

“I also think I’m going to get hurt no matter what,” Tony voiced. “And I’m okay with that.”

But he was also understanding if James couldn’t. He never forced anyone to follow through, even when he was sure he was doing and wanting the right thing. He might be a selfish, arrogant bastard, but he wasn’t evil. Tony tucked long hair behind James’ ear and sat back, shoulders against the window. This wasn’t because he was giving up, or because he understand anything…he was just trying not to crowd into the other man’s space.

“It’s pretty much the way life goes. You do something, you get hurt. You learn from it. You get hurt. Never really been my style to try to avoid it if I want something. Not if it’s a hurt that I can bear.”

Perhaps a relationship like this would be good for Tony, he'd have to learn patience and compromise in a way that he hadn't really had to with anyone except, perhaps, with Pepper. James wasn't the sort of person to let himself be walked all over just because Tony was rich and successful, but on the flip side at least Tony would know that James wasn't just with him because of his money.

"I think you're attractive, God forgive me, and I feel safe around you. But I don't even know what I could offer you. I don't think I could have sex with you, I don't even know if I could kiss you that often."

Did Tony really want this enough to put up with a very slow burning sort of deal, where all he might have to go on for a while was fleeting touches?

"You deserve better than that, Tony."

It was a strange, soft sort of sigh that came from Tony. This felt familiar. This conversation felt…like he’d had it before. But not with James. There had been brown eyes at the other end of the couch, offering him hand holding and not much else. He didn’t want to equate that mouth with this one, but it was hard not to feel the moment blurring. “You don’t even have to kiss me. Just stay with me.”

At his age, at his current lot in life, that was what Tony needed most of all. It was ridiculous to expect stability from a guy with triggered violent episodes, who needed constant, physical upkeep of his brain to keep functioning, and who couldn’t remember large portions of his life, but he was still Tony’s best bet here.

Tony glanced at his palm before he offered it to James. They could hold hands, just like in his memory-hallucination. It had been good enough for awhile before, Tony thought, looking up at James thoughtfully, lower lip caught between his teeth. And if this didn’t work out…then it didn’t. They could only try. “No one deserves anything. All I know is that I like it when you’re around. It’s easy. That’s more than I thought I could have.”

James was honestly torn. He felt like he should keep arguing against this or run away again, but he was so tired of running. He had been running since he got drafted into the war decades before, and he hadn't had chance to stop. He was being offered a chance at something that wasn't blood or death or pain, so why the hell shouldn't he take that chance?

There was a long pause, but finally he slid his fingers into Tony's and interlocked their hands together. It was strange, the weight of someone else's hand in his felt more than it should be, as if the symbolism of the moment needed to be expressed physically.

"Okay."

Just that. Just okay.

"I'll stay with you and hold your hand and knit you a scarf and try not to fuck up too badly."

For a man that had been too in the physical, this mental sort of relationship felt refreshing. It might not be the way it had always been for him, but he’d have someone that understand the emotional rollercoaster he hid from everyone else, who knew about the hallucinations, and who accepted him for all of that insanity. It also really helped that James wasn’t going to take any of Tony’s shit. He was right that he needed that particular kind of structure. He wasn’t too old to learn new tricks.

“And you can stay with me, I’ll wear your scarf and try just as hard as you not to fuck up too badly either.”

It was easier after that, for the full day that they spent together in New England. No one bothered them, they made spaghetti together, and Tony plopped his head in James’ lap to rub his temples for a little while in lieu of having knitting needles handy. Not everything could be unwrinkled, however, in just one day of two people coming to an easy understanding of what life could be like when the fighting stopped.

High above the Tower, Thor was starting to wonder just where his brother went to and in DC, Steve was busy fighting for the rights of people with the best in mind for their neighborhoods and their countries. Leave it to Stark to miss out on the important stuff.

Where, indeed, was Loki?

He had sworn to have some vengeance on the one who shot at him; for the insult of it, rather than because it had hurt him, but he had found himself rather... sidetracked. He had been plucked through the veil of space and time in a way that proved to him how amateur his own magic was, and reprimanded by the Norns of his Yggdrasil.

By the time he returned it was late, almost three days later, and with a wish to make someone else feel humiliated in order to lessen his own embarrassment. Which was why he slithered onto the ship as a snake and sought out his brother. He might as well make Thor suffer for his love of snakes, there was no target better suited to his vitriol.

Despite the small bump in the road sneaking away from yet another of Loki’s enemies with a ship easily swallowed up the massive fleet in the general vicinity of Earth, Thor was not worried that they would encounter it again. Earth was beautiful, it was large, but it was no Xandar on the galactical side of the scale. There would be no reason at all for that fleet to come to Earth, save the stones that Loki neglected to inform Thor was Thanos’ entire purpose in life and which nearly all were located right on the planet they were in discussion to colonize.

Thor strode up and down the vessel in good spirits, chest puffed out, the plate that made him far too All-Father like shining as he passed illuminated panels. He waved or pointed everyone that passed him-- It was good to be the king, it was good to be alive, and Thor was quite happy with his current lot in life.

He had more or less reconciled with his brother, he had more or less saved a far number of his people-- And sure, his friends were dead, but the Avengers had welcomed him back…

Thor dashed the thoughts away as a large snake undulated down the hallway towards him. Thor loved snakes. But he was always well aware of his brother’s tricks and the serpent caused him to laugh out loud. “Loki, if you do not change back, I will hug you.”

Despite his very recent humiliation in front of the Norns, Loki was also surprisingly content with his lot in life at the moment. He and Thor were on better terms than they had been on in years, with his brother seeming to understand that Loki would always be the God of tricks and lies, and that did not necessarily make him evil. The acceptance of Asgard in thanks for his part in the last battle went a long way to soothing him as well.

But he was still chaos, and he was still secretive, and that was why he hid Thanos' purpose and his own possession of both Tesseract and Casket from his brother.

The snake coiled up at Thor's feet, a beauty with red and gold patterns adorning its scales and a sleepy look in beady eyes. It seemed docile, but if Thor went in for that hug then he would find his arms passing right through the illusion of a snake, and a different snake biting him hard on the behind once it was presented out during him bending down.

If Loki dared tempted him to be hugged, then hugged he would be! Thor merrily bent to scoop the snake up and the serpent dripped through his fingers like water or smoke or sand. There was confusion on the Thunderer’s face for just a moment before he felt the bite on his bottom. With a yelp, Thor turned and wrapped his hands around the actual snake to give it a tug. His skin vibrated, not a good sign these days, and he dug his fingers into the tail of the offender.

Snakes were so delightful! Why then did this one seek him harm? And why did his brother seem to think it was all right to ruin the image of a wonderful creature like a snake!?

His howling caused others to gather and then to laugh as they caught sight of their king swinging a serpent around over his head like some sort of scarf, cursing up a storm that made the ship rock and act as sponge for the sparks rising from his skin. It was a good thing that the vessel was capable of righting itself and keeping itself airborne from the mischief his brother insisted on performing!

“Loki!”

This definitely put him in a better mood.

He wound his coils around his brother's arm to keep himself from being flailed, and bit into his hand with long, sharp fangs. There was no venom in there, he was only playing a trick and not actually trying to kill, but it might sting all the same. Only after he had done that did he turn back into his human form and slide down to the ground, laughing merrily.

"My poor brother, you look as though you had the worst of a fight with a snake, whatever happened?"

There was nothing at all amusing about this! Thor moved his arm once more as if shaking the creature that no longer existed off of his arm and turned his anger towards his brother. As usual, however, Loki’s true belly laughs made it impossible for Thor to stay mad and so his face shifted towards testy rather than anything else. “You have spent three days planning this insult?” Thor reached forward and grabbed Loki by the shoulder. “Surely there is much better things to do!”

He gave his brother a shove to break up the little fest at the end of the hall, the women covering their mouths in mirth, the men clearing their throats, as the king and the prince headed towards the All-Father’s chambers.

“You may have proven difficult to perish in the past, but do not try me, brother,” Thor called out as he gave Loki a little shove into his room. It was all for show, Thor bore no ill will towards this more innocuous of jokes. “I had feared Strange stole you once more for poking at Stark.”

Thor's bluster and faux anger only made this a greater victory for Loki, and he was in truly high spirits as he allowed himself to be pushed into the All-Father's chambers on the ship and jumped onto the bed, reclining as though he were the one who belonged there and not his brother.

"I feared how you might fare with one eye gone, but I forgot that you had always been blind and so it will not make a difference at all."

This was wonderful. For now. He knew he would have to admit where he had been until this point, otherwise he would disappoint the one person in all Nine Realms that he had never wanted to disappoint.

"Such a jest was fine, but it was the work of moments, I have been elsewhere and come with a message." His expression sobered. "Mother wishes to speak with you, she resides with the Norns now, one of them in death."

Thor’s amusement faded almost immediately at the mention of their mother. He’d paused to light on the edge of a remarkably well built chest of drawers, opposite his brother’s leather clad feet when the man’s words stirred him. “Do not jest about these things,” Thor replied, voice waivering ever so slightly. The death and absense of their mother had pained him, and still pained him. To hear she was with the Norns was bolstering but to know that she may not be either their father in death-- Well how could they be together if Hela no longer guarded that particular Realm? Who did guard Helheim, who guided the dead?

It took very little to throw Thor deep into thought these days and this particular news left him with a deep ache in his chest and a brooding look on his rugged face.

“Even should I believe you,” and from the looks of it, Thor wanted to believe Loki so very badly, “I can not simply travel to the Norns, Loki. If you wish to make me the fool in front of our people, so be it and I shall deliver it back as it comes, but do not attempt to wound me when it is simply us. I had hoped we moved beyong this.”

Loki could forgive him for being skeptical. He’d cried wolf too many times when there was none in the pasture with the sheep.

"I do not lie."

He wasn't particularly offended at Thor not believing him, his deceptions were so egregious that he had earned himself the title of God of Lies in addition to his other titles, but in this he was being serious.

"But I do not need to offer you proof. Heimdall has the sword, he can send you to the Norns with enough effort and my meeting with them was not shielded from his eyes. Should you distrust what I say, then verify it with him."

Loki knew that Thor would never distrust the word of Heimdall, not after so many years of loyal service to the throne of Asgard.

Thor said nothing more to Loki until he was once again in the hall. He paused, only then, and glanced at his brother over his shoulder. “You will come with me?” A question, not an order. It wasn’t that Thor was afraid to go alone, but rather, or that he needed his brother with him. Once, he’d told the dark haired man, he’d thought the world of him. Well, after Ragnarok, he did again.

And that meant that he wanted to be with him, when possible, to share in triumphs or follies. It mattered not.

What did matter was that Loki stay at his side. And it helped to keep his brother honest with him. There was always that.

To Heimdall they would go and together, they would travel between Realms to stand at the feet of the Norns. To see their mother…and to be told whatever secrets that needed to be told.

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