My War Is Over (Original Unfinished Version)

Chapter Eighteen

After rummaging through the back of his closet and finding some old clothes from his teenage years, Tony hands them to Loki and disappears into his bathroom to let the god get dressed. He pulls on his own pair of jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt, lacing up a pair of black sneakers before beginning to pace the room, running his fingers through his tangled hair and freezing every few seconds at the paranoid thought that he smelled blood. 

How the fuck am I supposed to talk about this? 

He sighs, bracing himself against the sink counter. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly from his nose before leaving the room. Loki is sitting on the bed, seeming almost small in the baggy Queen t-shirt and black jeans. His hair is tangled and greasy, falling across his shoulders with a few strands hanging in front of his eyes. His nails are lined with dried blood and are picking at the bandages on his wrists, but he stops the moment as soon as he notices Tony's return. Tony swallows thickly. I am not cut out for this.

"Alright, Snowflake, I don't know about you but I'm starving. Let's get some breakfast," he says, injecting a casual flippant tone to his voice, pointing a finger vaguely towards the door. Loki doesn't move. 

"I'm not hungry, Stark," Loki mutters, eyes fixed intently on the floor. Tony cringes internally, feeling an odd sense of loss. Loki had been calling him Tony or Anthony for a week or so now. 

"Yeah, I really don't believe you. You've barely eaten anything since you got here, and Bruce ran the tests. You weren't eating anything before that either." Loki scowls at that. 

"I'm not hungry, leave me be." 

"C'mon Lokes," Tony sighs, moving away from the door and coming to sit beside the god, "why aren't you eating?" Loki growls.

"I thought we weren't talking about such things." 

"We weren't. I didn't want to push you, and I still don't. But you have to talk about shit at some point, Loki." 

"I'm perfectly fine, Stark." Loki snaps, beginning to scratch at his fingers. Tony takes a risk and reaches for Loki's hands, preventing him from scratching himself any further. 

"I will not hesitate to throw you out of your window again." The threat lacks any true passion behind the words, and to Tony's surprise, Loki doesn't pull his hands away. If anything he seems to relax just slightly. 

"Yeah, have fun with that. You nearly passed out just a second ago, I don't think you're in any shape to be chucking people off buildings yet. And I'd really rather not repeat that, thanks." Loki scowls. "Listen, Snowflake, I can't and will not try to make you talk. I may lack a healthy amount of common sense but I'm not stupid. I stand by my point that you need to let that shit out and admit you're damaged, 'cos I can see it plain as day and I know from experience that trying to pretend everything is fine only makes shit worse, but I know that feels stupid and embarrassing and exposing, and a shit ton of other crap that sucks. So no one is gonna make you. But you do need to eat unless you want a feeding tube or something."

"Why would you wish to hear of my troubles?" Loki murmurs, ignoring the last part.

"Because I care about you. Believe it or not, you scared me fucking shitless. I thought you were going to die and I don't want you to die." Loki narrows his eyes. 

"Thor insists that he cares, yet every time I have ever tried to explain to him my world he mocks and ridicules me. He says I am a liar and a trickster and can never see my words as truth, and yet he claims he is my brother, blood or not. Why should I believe that you care? I am far from stupid, Stark." Tony nods before leaning back and flopping down beside him on the bed, keeping Loki's left hand safely encased in his own while letting go of his right to run it through his hair. Loki arches a brow.