Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*

Tony woke gasping for air, his heart already beating a mile a minute. He tried to sit up, but something was holding him down—straps around his wrists and ankles, and another one over his chest. He pulled at them as hard as he could, bruising and tearing at his skin but he knew that pain would be nothing compared to what would happen if he didn’t get away.

But, get away from what, exactly? Another tribute? That didn’t make any sense—if someone had got close enough to tie him up, then why hadn’t they killed him?

“You must calm down,” someone said, their voice hard—and it was a voice he didn’t recognise, a voice with a posh Asgardian accent.

It was the accent more than the words themselves which managed to soothe him. While normally he hated those clipped vowels and lilting syllables, the sound of them was just enough to break through the panic and remind him of what had happened, because—

There weren’t any Asgardians in the Arena.

He was out, he had survived—

And he didn’t deserve it.

Tony lifted his head as best as he could, and looked down to his hands. They weren’t red, even though his mind told him that they should be. He could still remember the sensation of blood running through his fingers, the warm, smooth feel of it which hadn’t lasted long before it had turned sticky. He remembered staring at his hands, mesmerised—staring so long at the blood that should have been his own that he had almost missed the attacker coming from behind. 

Almost.

But not quite.

His breathing was shallow, and coming in and out in harsh pants. There were so many moments where he had almost died, so many moments where he had almost wanted to. When the only thing that had pushed him along was the memory of a few precious chances, and a vow that he couldn’t break.

Promise me.

The reminder was enough to make Tony try to sit again, the reactionary need to survive tearing through him faster than the words that streamed from that unknown source.

“Calm down! You’re safe, you need to relax!”

In his mind, Tony knew that he was out of the Arena, but it had been too long since he knew what safe was for him to even be able to remember what it felt like, let alone know how to respond to it. The only truth he could recognise was that someone was pushing at his shoulders, someone was standing over him, touching him—

Hurting him—

Tony yelled as he fought, trying to pull away, shouting at them to leave him alone, his rational mind overcome with the simple and devastating power of fear.

He felt something sharp in his arm and he pulled even harder at the restraints—but almost immediately his limbs began to feel leaden, and his mind grew heavier and heavier with an oppressive fog until fighting became impossible.

As Tony’s eyes fell closed, the last thing he thought was of the promise he’d made—and the last thing he felt was fear that he had not managed to keep it.

Chapter Text

“Tony, hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Tony grinned as he heard his best friend’s worried shout, though he didn’t quite tear his eyes from the metal he was working on as he gave his response.  

“Nah, we’re fine,” he called back. “The lines are always slow, we’ve got time.”

“Not if you can’t pull yourself away from that… what is it you’re making?”

Tony glanced up to see Rhodey in the doorway, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“It’s going to be a suit of armour,” Tony explained, turning the gauntlet he was working on so that Rhodey could see the shape of it. “For protection, but weaponised as well. And I kind of want to see if I can make it fly.”

Rhodey smiled fondly at that, though it did nothing to chase away the worry that flashed through his eyes. “The Asgardians won’t like that,” he warned.

“Yeah, well, fuck them,” Tony muttered.

“Tony—”

“I know, I know.” Tony sighed, and wiped his hands on his jeans as he got to his feet. “Sorry. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to say that to their face.”

“You tell me not to worry a lot,” Rhodey said, crossing his arms. “You do realise that it just makes me more worried, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony sighed as he glanced back to the gauntlet. He knew that what he was doing with it was dangerous, but he’d had an idea, and he’d never been able to resist following up on inspiration when it called.

But although he could fantasise about chasing the Einherjar ‘Peacekeepers’ out of Midgard, he knew that it could never be a reality. Asgard had ruled over the other eight realms with an iron fist for over one hundred years now, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“Tony,” Rhodey hissed. “Come on!”

“I’m coming!” Tony followed Rhodey out of the workshop and through the house, pausing at the front door to grab a better jacket. It wasn’t as nice as what most would wear, but it would be enough to cover the grease on his shirt, at least.

“What are they going to do to us if we are late, anyway?” Tony muttered as he pulled his arms through the sleeves and followed Rhodey out of the door. “It’s the reaping. It’s not like they can make it any worse.”

That earned him a glare, but Rhodey’s lips were turned up enough that Tony called it a victory. Smiles were rare enough in Midgard these days, almost as scarce as food.

As they walked toward the square, they joked and laughed as they always did– but there was a tension between them, the worry and fear cutting through every attempt to lighten the mood. Tony thought that Rhodey seemed even more worried than he was, even though Rhodey no longer had to worry about hearing his own name called.

The guilt of feeling relief at the sound of stranger’s name – someone else’s friend, someone else’s brother, anyone who was not you – was a shame that every person knew, but Tony had never felt it more keenly than he had the year before, when Rhodey passed through his seventh and final reaping unscathed.

Tony still had two more to go– this, and then next year’s.

Two more chances at being sent to the Arena, and likely to his death.

There was no need for Rhodey to worry, though. Tony had survived five reapings to date. He would survive this one as well.

When they arrived at the Town Square, they had to separate from each other– Rhodey to stand with the other adults, and Tony to sign in. He was then ushered to stand with all of the other seventeen-year-old boys from what was left of their realm, all of them pressed into a thin section between the sixteen- and eighteen-year-olds. The girls were on the other side of the square, similarly organised. The sections were cordoned off by rope, as if they truly were only animals, being lined up in preparation for slaughter. 

Tony glanced across the square, craning his neck as he looked for a flash of red hair. It didn’t take long to find her, pressed into the middle of her section, her chin tilted up as she stared almost defiantly toward the stage that sat at the head of the square. She was two years younger than Tony, but she looked like she wore the stress far better than he did.

Tony’s gaze snapped to the stage as well at the sound of fingers tapping against a microphone. Midgard’s escort, Fandral – an Asgardian with blonde hair and a cocky smirk which did not match the tone of the crowd – went through the usual spiel about how the Games kept peace and order throughout what was left of the broken realms. Tony barely listened, his eyes on the two glass bowls full of slips of paper.

When he was done with his speech, Fandral stepped toward the bowl on the left, the one containing the names of every single eligible girl on Midgard.

Tony held his breath—

And then let out the usual sigh of relief when the name was one he did not recognise. When it wasn’t Pepper. The girl was younger than Tony, but not by much– perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. She had blonde hair and brown eyes that glistened with tears, and her arms wrapped around her middle as she took her place on the stage. 

Despite the scene being hauntingly similar every year, Tony felt a pang of sympathy for her. It was more than likely that she wouldn’t live to see Midgard again.

Tony only looked away from her when Fandral moved across the stage and dipped his hand into the second bowl. “Now,” he said, drawing out a single slip, “for the boys.”

Tony’s hands were clenched in fists at his sides so that he would not wring his fingers, and his heart was loud enough in his ears that he wondered how no one else could hear it. His vision narrowed in on that slip, and on the sound of Fandral’s voice as he called out a single name.

“Anthony Stark!”

It was as if the world stopped, and everything closed in around him– like the only thing that existed was that slip of paper and the echo of Fandral’s fancy Asgardian accent—

Then he jerked back to reality as someone gently touched his shoulder.

It was Steve Rogers, his blue eyes almost devastated– but Tony could see that human touch of relief in them as well. “Tony,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony nodded sharply, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold his voice steady. He could feel the people around him staring now, and he absently wondered whether that would help the cameras find him amongst the crowd.

It was that thought which finally gave him the strength to move his feet. Every person in the Nine was watching him now, would be watching him for what little still remained of his life, and he refused to spend his final days being thought of as weak.

So even though he felt only terror as he walked up to the stage, Tony refused to let it show. He held his head high as his father had drilled into him before he’d died, and he painted his lips with an arrogant smirk that was more a lie than it had ever been before. 

As he made his way up the steps, his eyes caught on the man sitting at the back of the stage, entirely alone save a ginger cat that rested on his lap. His expression was hard, his single remaining eye – his left was covered by a patch, a souvenir of his time in the Arena – boring hard into Tony. Most would have flinched, but Tony just stared right back.

His name was Nick Fury, the only Midgardian to have ever won the Hunger Games. Most people were afraid of him, but that was only because they never saw him, save for on this single day of the year. Tony just supposed that coaching more than a hundred kids to their deaths over the past fifty or so years had to have paid its toll.

“Anthony, a pleasure to meet you!”

Tony spun as Fandral took his arm, and led him to the front of the stage.

“How lucky you are,” Fandral said brightly. “What an honour!”

Tony couldn’t find it in him to respond. He cast his eyes out over the crowd, finding Pepper again. Her face was bone white, her eyes entirely terrified. Tony tried to smile, tried to offer her some comfort at least– but although his lips moved, he thought it likely that he’d only managed a grimace.

Then he shifted his gaze, still searching until his eyes landed on Rhodey. Rhodey’s expression was blank, and in contrast to Pepper’s, his eyes were wide and sightless. It looked like he was struggling to process what had happened. Tony could understand that. They had been best friends their entire lives, and since Tony’s parents had died they had almost been like brothers. Now they were to be torn apart in the most brutal way possible.

And as Tony stood up there on that stage, feeling as if the world was falling apart, Fandral called out across the crowd in his bright and excited voice.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!”

Chapter Text

When Tony woke the second time, it was with far less panic and to a familiar face.

“Well,” Fury said the moment he saw Tony was properly conscious, his single eye dark and his expression impassive. “You’re alive.”

He didn’t seem overly happy about it, more like he was simply stating a fact—and Tony appreciated that. He didn’t want praise or celebration. Not now, so soon after what he’d done.

“I guess I am,” Tony replied, his voice hoarse. “How long was I…”

In a show of kindness Tony wasn’t used to from him, Fury retrieved a plastic cup from somewhere off to the side and helped Tony drink before giving his answer.

“It was just under two weeks,” Fury replied. “The fastest Games in over twenty years. You’ve got a lot of people disappointed, but many more impressed.” He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing, and he spoke as if he already knew the answer to what he was about to ask. “You’re either an incredibly lucky bastard, or you were keeping things from me.” 

Tony shook his head, knowing that Fury wasn’t talking about the bombs. “Nah,” he said. “It wasn’t luck. It was just…”

Fury let him trail off, and didn’t press for more. There was no doubt that Fury had worked it out by himself, if not in detail then at least the general gist of it. After all, the gifts Tony had received while in the Arena were exorbitant, and there was no way Fury would have been able to send them without an insane amount of sponsorship—sponsorship that shouldn’t have been possible for someone like Tony.

Tony instinctively reached up to press his hand to his chest, and even through the hospital gown, the feel of the familiar round shape of cold metal was a comfort.

No, it hadn’t been luck, and it hadn’t even been skill, but…

“I did keep it from you,” Tony said, his voice quiet. “I had to.” He met Fury’s gaze, and hoped he would understand why he couldn’t say anything else. Tony didn’t know where they were, other than the fact that it was a medical facility, but he was sure that there was someone listening in. He didn’t want to say anything about it until the whole thing had been properly discussed with the person who was most involved. 

Fury nodded slowly, but still didn’t say anything else. Once, Tony might have been glad for that silence, but… the silence only let the thoughts inside his head grow loud.

During the Games, Tony hadn’t seen the faces of most of the people he’d killed. He survived at first by being clever and keeping out of the way, and the gifts he’d received meant that he hadn’t had to come out of hiding much. But when he’d realised what he would be able to do…

Well, it hadn’t taken long after that. 

He’d done things, terrible things, things that would stick in his mind forever. Things that had changed him, things that he never would have thought himself capable of—and yet he’d done them in a heartbeat in order to survive.

He’d made a promise, and he’d done his best to keep it. But even though his mind was clearer than it had been when he’d first nurtured the thought, he felt than in trying he’d broken it regardless. 

When he was in the Arena, he’d known he didn’t have to worry about his actions quite as much as the other tributes. He doubted he’d won many friends among the Gamemakers when he’d torn hidden cameras out of their hidey-holes and turned them into weapons, yet he’d known that no matter what he did, he wouldn’t lose his sponsor money. But now, with his mind full of screams and the scent of burning flesh sticking in his nose, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he would still be wanted.

So, as he lay there in the silence of the medical facility, his body healed but his soul feeling torn to shreds—Tony closed his eyes once more, and he tried to forget.

Chapter Text

The waiting was the worst part.

As he sat in the tiny room in the Town Hall which had been designed for this exact purpose, Tony found he wasn’t sure whether he wanted his friends to hurry up and come to see him, or if he wanted the time to stretch. Because surely the moment they arrived would be a moment closer to never seeing them again.

And as he waited, Tony began to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better if they didn’t come at all, because to see them now would only be painful. Maybe it would be better if they remembered him as he was that morning—happy, and still with some remaining hope.

But just as he had that thought the door slammed open, and Pepper hurried inside with Rhodey on her heels. Tony only had the time to get to his feet before Pepper was in his arms, her face buried into his shoulder.

“Tony, you can’t give up,” she begged. “Please, you can’t.”

“I won’t,” he said, holding her tightly. He didn’t remind her that he’d be fighting kids who were stronger than him, that he would already be one of the most favoured to die just purely because of where he came from. He didn’t remind her that he didn’t have a chance.

But she reminded him that he couldn’t just let this beat him, because she and Rhodey would be watching every moment—and at least for them, he needed to do his best to come home, no matter how futile the attempt.

“I mean it,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze, her eyes narrowed sharply. “If you go in there expecting to lose, you will. You have to believe that you can do it.”

Tony nodded, and did his best to give her a smile. “I’m going to miss you, Pep,” he said. “How am I going to manage in Asgard without you? I’ll probably go insane before I even get to the Arena.”

“Probably,” she agreed. She hugged him again, her hands tight enough against his back that they might have left a bruise. Then she backed away.

Tony felt the loss keenly, but he could see the way her hands were shaking, and he knew what she was doing. Just as Tony had thought moments earlier, Pepper didn’t want this – hopefully not last – memory together to be a broken one.

“I’m not going to say goodbye,” she said, her voice steady despite the tear that tracked down her cheek. “Because we’re going to see each other again, okay? We are.”

Tony’s smile was watery, but it was still real—as real as the way his heart cracked as she turned on her heel and walked out of the door with hurried steps, leaving only Rhodey behind.

“You’ll look after her, won’t you?” Tony asked.

“Please,” Rhodey replied. “We both know that she’ll be the one looking after me.”

Tony couldn’t laugh. They stared at each other for a few moments, each drinking the other in—then they both strode forward in a few quick strides, and pulled each other into a hug even tighter than the one Tony had shared with Pepper.

“You need to come back,” Rhodey ordered. “Tell me that you’re going to come back.”

Tony’s arms tightened further around Rhodey, not wanting to let him go. “I’ll try.”

It was the best Tony could offer, and they both knew it. He would be fighting for his life against people from all of the other realms; light elves and dark elves, giants and draugr, vanir and dwarves—and, of course, the other human, the girl who had been reaped along with Tony.

Sixteen children between the ages of twelve and eighteen, all fighting to be the single survivor of the 104^th Annual Hunger Games.

Tony knew that even if he managed to survive, even if he came out of this as the Victor… he wouldn’t come out of the Arena whole. 

When the Einherjar came to take Tony away, he did not fight them. He gave Rhodey a small, stoic smile, and stepped out of the room with his head held high.

“Hey, Tones?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder, and caught Rhodey’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

Then the Einherjar ushered him forward, and Tony lost sight of him around the corner.

They led him through the Town Hall and out of a back door, to an open courtyard with a pattern burned into the ground. Tony recognised it from his studies at school.

He drew in a deep breath as he stepped into the centre of the burn mark, and then gasped as a torrent of colour crashed down from the heavens. And then it tore him away from Midgard and toward his fate—

Whatever that might turn out to be.

Chapter Text

Asgard was a beautiful place, Tony couldn’t deny that. He could remember the way he had felt when he’d first seen it, less than a month and yet a whole lifetime ago. It was stunning to the eye, with the tall gold towers that gleamed in the sunlight, and the beauty of the Bifröst Bridge which led the way over the eternal ocean and toward the city itself. Unlike the other eight realms, Asgard bore no scars from the war that had raged over a hundred years ago—it was smooth and gleaming and so very, very pretty.

But Tony knew that Asgard’s prettiness only hid the ugliness of her people, for while they sat happy in their gleaming towers, what was left of the other eight realms starved.

It was overwhelming, the sense of wrongness Tony had felt as Fury and Fandral had led Tony and his fellow tribute into the training centre. It had only intensified as Tony was poked and prodded, washed and plucked and coated with a cream to make sure hair would only grow in places the Asgardians deemed attractive. He was dressed in clothes which were finer than he had ever seen and yet entirely ridiculous, a parody of what these people thought Midgardians were like. And as he was paraded around in front of the cameras, he had felt like they had stripped away pieces of who he was with every passing moment.

Now, Tony just felt numb to it all, like there was nothing left of him for them to take away. He wasn’t the same person who’d said goodbye to Rhodey and Pepper that day on Midgard. He wasn’t even the same person who’d gone into the Arena, who’d sprinted away from the cornucopia at the end of the countdown rather than participate in a bloodbath.

He was different, now. He’d turned into something just like Asgard itself—pretty and smooth on the outside, but with a hidden darkness underneath which would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The thought kept him quiet as he stared out of the window and across the sparkling city. It felt strange, to be back. Just over two weeks ago, the Training Centre had been full of tributes, mentors, escorts, and prep teams, but now it felt empty. Of the sixteen kids who’d entered the Arena, he was the only one who’d made it back out alive.

They’d given him a couple of days to recover from his ordeal, but not many. The Asgardians had their Victor of the 104^th Hunger Games, and they wanted to celebrate.

Tony didn’t mind that his short respite was coming to an end, not really. As always, the waiting was still the worst.

He had been hoping that… well. It didn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter. If he wasn’t the same person, then perhaps the connection he’d made before the Games… well. Let’s just say he wasn’t entirely surprised that he hadn’t received any visitors.

“Tony!”

Tony closed his eyes at the sound of that familiar voice, steeling himself for the onslaught before turning with a well-practiced smile, his hand falling to his side from where it had been clenched tightly around his necklace.

“Fandral,” he greeted, trying not to show how Fandral’s golden suit stung his eyes. “Are you here to help me get ready for the ceremony?”

“Yes, of course. But first, just let me look at you.” Fandral was grinning as he ran his hands over Tony’s arms. Tony held himself still, fighting off the way that the contact made him want to run. But when it went on longer than he could bear, Tony had to take a step back—though he did so with an apologetic glance.

“It is good to see you, Fandral,” he said.

“Yes,” Fandral agreed. “I am so glad that you won.” There was something hidden in his eyes which suggested he didn’t only mean that for the praise he would receive for being the escort to this year’s winning realm.

Maybe there was a piece of humanity in him, after all.

“Are you two going to just stand there, or are we going to get started?” Fury asked, striding into the room and taking a seat. Fandral smiled at Tony again, and then they both moved to join Fury on the couch.

“We were not simply standing, Nicholas,” Fandral said, the emphasis put on Fury’s first name quite clearly intentional. “We were reuniting after an absence. It’s what friends do, you know, rather than all of this… gruffness.”

“I told you to stop calling me that—”

“And I told you to be a little less gloomy all the time,” Fandral shot back. “Lighten up a bit, will you? Let yourself be happy for once.”

Fury, happy? Not likely. The bickering might have made Tony smile, once, but as it was it gave him something to focus on. He had always found the pair to be refreshing in their complete and utter difference. As they sat there on opposite ends of the couch, Fury in his dark coat and Fandral almost glowing gold—the contrast was as sharp as night and day. Similarly, Fandral’s endless optimism and Fury’s realism balanced each other out until Tony found it a little easier to breathe.

“So,” Tony said once he had steeled himself. “Come on, then. What do I have to look forward to this evening?”

Fury went through the process of the crowning ceremony in thorough detail, letting Tony know what to expect and what he would need to look out for. Fandral added in his two cents wherever he felt it necessary – which was actually rather less than one might expect – and by the end of it, Tony doubted it would be possible for him to put a single foot out of line.

“There is one thing that you need to remember, above all else,” Fandral said as Fury ended his speech. “You must make sure that you present yourself in a proper manner, and do not do anything that would reflect badly on Asgard or the Games.”

It was such an Asgardian thing to say, and Tony was about to respond with the usual simple nod, when—

“He’s right,” Fury said, looking like those words were a right bastard to say.

And, okay. Tony couldn’t help but rub it in, just a little. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard properly.”

Fury’s jaw clenched even as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“He said that I’m right,” Fandral said helpfully, his white teeth flashing as he grinned.

“That’s it,” Tony sighed. “I’m going to hang on to that memory for moments of sadness—”

“You’re going to need to calm down,” Fury interrupted.

“Calm down?” Tony asked. He’d heard those words enough. After all that had been done to him, he thought he deserved to be able to express himself.

“Yes.” The look in Fury’s eye proved that this truly was something serious. “You’ve made it out of the Arena, but the Games are far from over. You need to be careful and keep up the show. Play your part, or things might yet take a turn for the worse.”

“You mean they’re still going to be watching me?” Tony asked, his eyes widening. “But, I’m just a Midgardian, I’m no one to them—”

“You’re their Victor, and they’ll be watching you until another shiny toy comes around, perhaps even long after that if they like you enough, and longer again if they decide you’re trouble. That’s why the way you act these next few days is crucial, starting with this ceremony. All of the important people in Asgard will be there watching,” Fury said pointedly. Then, after a short pause, he added– “So make sure you watch your words.”

Despite the warning, despite the obvious gravity of what was still to come, Fury’s words lifted Tony’s spirit more than anything since he’d first woken outside of the Arena. He still didn’t quite smile—he was still not sure that he remembered how. But as he thought about the sorts of people that were going to be at the ceremony, the way that his lips twitched almost felt like something close.

Chapter Text

When he realised that they were going to have to complete four days in the training room, Tony’s first thought was that it was fairly useless—and he told Fury so. For what could they learn in a few days that could help them win against kids who had practically been trained for this from birth?

Fury, to put it lightly, did not look impressed.

“Plenty of tributes die from exposure, sickness, or starvation,” Fury said. “They’re called the Hunger Games for a reason. It’s not just about the killing. If you want to learn how to survive, then you’re going to go into those training sessions and you’re going to goddamn listen to what the instructors are teaching you.”

Tony glanced down to his hands, knowing that Fury had a point.

Jenny – as Tony had learned his fellow tribute was called – cleared her throat before speaking nervously. “Then we should focus on the survival skills? Not the weapons?”

“Correct,” Fury said. “Well, thank goodness, it seems like at least one of you owns half a brain.”

Tony grit his teeth at that, but didn’t make a comment. As satisfying as it would have been, he was all too aware of the fact that his life in the Arena would depend upon Fury—and it seemed he was already well on the way to making Fury dislike him.

During the training session, it became immediately apparent that not all of the other tributes had received the same advice. Tony couldn’t help but watch in undisguised awe as the giants from Jotunheim and Muspelheim – though they were only a foot or so taller than the average human – threw around weights like they were nothing, and then wrestled each other to the ground, their skin hissing as they touched from the difference in temperature. The two dark elves from Svartalfheim challenged each other to throw knives at targets—and then switched to various objects around the room when that became too easy for them. A draugr from Niflheim and a vanir from Vanaheim were practicing with swords, and while it was clear that neither of them had much skill, the snarls on their faces and the worried expression of the instructor proved their viciousness.

Tony kept his expression blank as he forced himself to turn from the weapons and toward the areas for survival skills, making his way first to where he could see some kids already learning how to identify different kinds of plants. It was something he knew would be tricky—he had a good head for memory, but he had never tried anything like that before. He lived in a world of metal and machines, and while he could better afford to buy vegetables from the shop than most, plants really weren’t something he had ever paid much attention to. To be honest, he’d hardly ever been able to distinguish between a lettuce and a cabbage.

But, if the Arena turned out to be a forest or – well, anything with plants, really – then knowing what was poisonous and what was not would probably end up being useful.

Setting a snare was easier for him, because that was just putting the parts together in a way that would move and catch something when a trigger was hit. It was far simpler than anything he was used to working with, and he was even able to picture in his head ways that he could make the system better still—though, admittedly, not with the materials on hand.

“You are a fast learner,” the instructor said as Tony set the snare perfectly on his first try.

“With some things,” Tony admitted, not able to help but glance over to where other tributes were still showing off with the weapons. Honestly, were they just trying to be intimidating?

Actually, now Tony thought about it—that was probably exactly what they were doing. 

The instructor’s voice brought his attention back. “It is more important to be able to feed yourself than it is to be able to kill people.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah. That’s what my mentor said.”

“Then he’s steering you in the right direction,” the instructor replied. She looked like she was about to go over and help another kid with what they were doing, but something about her words made Tony wonder—

“Do you know what the Arena will be like?” he asked. “Which types of plants or weather we’ll be facing, that kind of thing?”

The instructor almost seemed fond when she shook her head, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many tributes had asked her that question in the past.

“No,” she said. “The only people who know that are the Gamemakers.” She gestured to the viewing room set into the wall above them, where the Gamemakers were eating and drinking and enjoying themselves, as if they were watching a simple game of sport. They were meant to be paying attention, meant to be collecting initial impressions for the training scores, but it seemed they were more interested in their food.

As the instructor moved to help another tribute, Tony focused on recreating the snare once more, to make sure he could do it perfectly. Just as he was twisting the final piece of wire into place, he heard a sharp cry.

“Let go of me!”

Tony turned instinctively, along with everyone else in the room. The two fire giants and a dark elf were backing another tribute into a wall, their expressions twisted into snarls, hands gripping at the poor kid’s arms.

The instructors weren’t moving to intervene—they would if it looked like someone was about to be seriously harmed, because they could not risk one of the tributes’ chances being affected. Not when the betting had already begun. But otherwise… 

“You think that you’re better than me, huh?” one of the fire giants growled, towering a foot and a half over the other tribute, his black skin crackling with heat. Tony remembered taking note of him when he had watched the other tributes’ reapings—his name was Hrungnir, and he was a volunteer. Dangerous. “You think you know better than I do?”

“No,” the smaller boy said, shaking his head nervously. “I was only trying to help—”

“Trying to poison you, more like.” The giantess – Gullveig – turned to her realm partner, her grin vicious. “He could have been telling you the wrong thing, so you’d eat poison berries in the Arena.”

“That’s not what I was doing!”

The dark elf smirked as he urged the giants on with a hiss. “Liar.”

“I wasn’t!”

“I think maybe you were.” Hrungnir exchanged a glance with Gullveig before spitting out a threat. “The Games haven’t started yet, elf. If they had, you’d be dead already.”

“Hey!” Tony couldn’t say what made him do it. He knew that it was stupid, that making enemies right now was the exact opposite of smart—but that poor kid was terrified, as anyone would be with those giants in their face.

“This isn’t any of your business, human,” Gullveig spat. “Go back to your snares.”

“At least I’ve been learning not to eat poison berries,” Tony replied. “I guess we all know how you guys’ll be dying in the Arena.”

He turned his back on their complaints, knowing he’d just made things a whole lot worse for himself than he needed to. As he went to return to what he was doing, the kid that the others had been terrorising came up beside him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the elf whispered. Up close, he seemed even younger than Tony had realised before. Maybe thirteen at the most.

“I know I shouldn’t’ve,” Tony replied. “But I guess I’m just an idiot.”

“No.” The elf tilted his head. “I don’t think you are.” 

Tony smiled at him in thanks, and then moved to take his place back by the snares. As loath as he was to actually do what those bastards had said, he knew Fury was right.

He wasn’t going to be able to beat them in a fight, but by using other skills? That was how he had a chance. And after seeing the kind of people that they were, the way that they looked down upon those from the Realms less likely to win, those Realms that didn’t train kids specifically to come and fight in the Games—it made him want to win all the more, if only to prove them wrong.

Ha. He didn’t think he’d find an extra burst of motivation out of spite. But then again, if he were truly spiteful, he wouldn’t fight at all. All Asgard wanted was a show, and if no one fought in the Games—if they all just stood around and waited, then there wouldn’t be a Games. None of the Aesir would want to watch the tributes get slaughtered by whatever the Gamemakers did to them. There was no sport in that. But the giants and the dark elves would never go for it, and those in the more peaceful nations would be slaughtered—and then, the Asgardians would still have their entertainment.

With that thought in his mind, Tony unconsciously turned his head to look up toward the platform, where the Gamemakers were just starting to turn back away from watching the tributes, back to whatever other entertainment they had up there with them. Tony knew that they had all been looking during the fight, but… there was only one who still had his eyes on Tony. He looked younger than most of the others, closer to Tony’s age, rather than the older men that made up the majority of the demographic. The boy’s hair was dark and fell to his shoulders, and even from such a distance Tony could tell that his gaze was sharp.

“I still want to thank you, though.”

Tony glanced back to the elf, and found him looking at Tony with curious eyes.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Tony said. “But maybe you should stay away from that lot? Speaking to them probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“I really was only trying to help,” the elf muttered. Personally, Tony thought it would have been better to leave them to make mistakes, but perhaps the elf was just a better person than he was.

“I believe you,” Tony replied. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Lindir,” the boy said, holding out a hand. “Of Alfheim. And it’s Anthony, right? Of Midgard?”

Tony smiled as he returned the offered handshake. “Tony,” he corrected. “I would say that it’s nice to meet you, but… given the circumstances, I think I’d prefer it if everyone was like that lot.” He used his chin to gesture back to the fire giants.

“Oh, on the contrary,” Lindir replied. “I think, with everything happening, it’s good to meet someone friendly.” 

Tony sighed at that, not wanting to dispute it. If Lindir could find something good out of this mess, then who was Tony to ruin it for him? Naivety and innocence would not survive long, but… in a way, they were almost nice to see nonetheless.

So Tony merely quirked his lips and whispered, “I hope you’re right.”

After all, friendly or not—only one of them could survive, and no friendship forged here could last past the sound of their cannons in the Arena.

Tony glanced away, looking back up to the Gamemakers—half to avoid meeting Lindir’s gaze, and half to see if the black-haired boy was still watching. He wasn’t. He was talking to a bulky blonde – still young but perhaps a little older – though from the scowl on his face it didn’t seem like he was enjoying it. Tony shrugged it off. It was the Gamemakers’ job to watch—why should Tony take notice of the fact that one of them had actually done their job for point five seconds?

Then, as the blonde turned around… Tony recognised him as Prince Thor, son of King Odin.

Tony looked away immediately. Prince Thor played his own part in the Games, giving speeches and overseeing the presentation ceremony at the end to celebrate whoever made it out of the Arena alive. Tony hadn’t realised, though, that the prince watched the training sessions as well. Though he supposed, as the heir to the throne, Prince Thor could do whatever he liked.

*

Over the next few days, Tony did his best not to look at the viewing room too often. He tried to focus on the training itself, and attempted to learn as much as he could, to give himself the best chance. He had told Pepper that he wouldn’t give up, and he’d told Rhodey that he would try his best—so that was what he was going to do.

Generally, Tony found himself moving through the stations with Lindir. They still weren’t quite friends—the shadow of the Games loomed over them, and even with Lindir’s optimism they were both all too aware that one or both of them would be dead very soon. But Tony thought that maybe, if he ran into Lindir while they were in the Arena, they would at least be able to go their separate ways.

But as the few days of training passed, the day of the private sessions came closer and closer.

At dinner, the night before they were due to show their skills and receive their training score, Fury asked them what they were planning on doing. Jenny muttered about maybe setting a few snares, but Tony remained quiet—at least until Fury prompted him again, sounding impatient.

“I don’t really have a plan,” Tony said with a shrug. “Unless you count not having a plan as a plan.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t,” Fury said, sounding entirely unamused. “If you go in there and waste time trying to think of something, then you’re not going to get any better than the kid that does nothing more than throws a stone at a target. And misses.”

“I’m not being stupid, I just know I work best when I’m on my feet,” Tony cut in. “I’ll think of something when I get in there, okay?”

Fury narrowed his eye, but when he next spoke, his words were dismissive. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t come crying to me when you get a one or a two.”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” Tony shot back. “And besides. Maybe they’ll be impressed by my ability to think on my feet.”

Fury certainly seemed to think that they wouldn’t be, but Tony really didn’t believe he’d have much luck with any plan he could come up with. He didn’t even know what would be available. Well, he assumed likely everything in the training room would be there, but… surely they wouldn’t want to watch him just set some snares? And besides, he could do so much more than that.

He just wasn’t sure how he could show them, when all he had to work with were swords and pieces of wire.

The next morning meant the private sessions, and the private sessions meant more waiting. At least Tony didn’t have to wait until the very end—the boys went first, so the honour of going last was Jenny’s. Tony left her alone when his name was called, and drew in a deep breath before making his way through the door.

The room was familiar enough to him by then that he didn’t need to look around. His eyes were immediately on the Gamemakers, high up in their viewing room, sitting on couches, drinking coloured drinks, and engaging in conversation.

One, though, was paying more attention than any of the others—the boy Tony had seen a few days earlier, talking to Prince Thor. His eyes rested heavily on Tony’s, and he could feel the weight of his gaze as he moved into the middle of the room.

Well, Tony supposed. At least I have some audience.

Tony paused for a moment as he stood in front of them. He considered announcing himself, but—well, he still didn’t know what he was going to do, and a little extra thinking time might help. But that boy was still staring at him, and he didn’t want to look like an idiot—so he straightened his shoulders and spoke loud and clear.

“Tony Stark,” he said. “Of Midgard.”

He waited, for a few seconds—

“Well, go on then,” one of the older Gamemakers said, clearly impatient. “Get on with it.”

Tony grit his teeth in agitation.

If I had the right tools with me, Tony thought, I could blow all you to hell in an instant.

Even if he didn’t have the right tools, he could have done something, because he was more than well enough versed in explosives to be able to make something go boom with just the bare minimum.

…Hang on a moment.

And just like that, just as Tony had told Fury it would, a plan began to form in his mind and his lips turned up in a smile as he turned from the Gamemakers to make his way across the room.

He was all too aware of his limited time, and Tony knew that he would have to work fast—and that he would have to get this right on the very first go.

But hey, he was Tony freaking Stark. If anyone could pull this off, he could.

So he went first to the weapon stands, and picked up a sturdy looking knife. But rather than taking it toward the targets, he instead hurried to the electronic screen one could use to initiate a program to test reflexes—and then he slammed the knife directly into the edge of it.

Well, here’s to hoping the screen wasn’t what Jenny was hoping to use to show her skills. Too bad if it was. Tony waited as the screen flickered and died before grabbing the knife again, and then began to pry the outside casing away from the electronics underneath.

A shout paused his actions—

“Stop!”

“I’m just showing you what I can do,” Tony shot back, not even pausing to think whether it might be a good idea to yell at them.

“You cannot damage the equipment!”

“I thought I was allowed to use whatever was in this room to show you my skills?” Tony said. “And I am. Will you let me finish, or not?”

There seemed to be a little bit of discussion, their voices far lower than they had been before. There were a lot of shaking heads and angry faces—but then the dark-haired boy moved forward and said something Tony couldn’t hear, but which made several of the others lower their gaze.

Tony narrowed his eyes—

But then Tyr, the Head Gamemaker, nodded in agreement, and the teenaged boy who Tony was suddenly realising might actually be someone important gestured for Tony to continue.

Once he had pried the casing from the electronics, Tony realised that he had never seen tech quite exactly like this before. Asgard did things a little differently to Midgard, and some of the materials were unfamiliar. But physics was still the same as always, and it wasn’t too difficult for Tony to work out. He used the knife and his bare hands to twist metal together and placed things in a way that went against every safety manual Tony had ever ignored. When he needed more resources, he ran to the edges of the room to grab them, moving so quickly that his breath was coming in pants. He ended up destroying one more screen and grabbing some of the firelighters and herbs from the survival station, and by the time he had used eight of his allotted minutes, he had a small device in his hands.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “This had better work.”

As he placed the device down on the ground, his mind was already going through everything he might have done wrong, recalculating every wire, every element. He knew he could have done better with some proper materials, but considering he’d had to make do with scraps, he thought he had done all that he could.

There is something to be said for what a person can do with the right motivation. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Tony twisted the final wire into place, and backed away as quickly as he could.

Someone snorted. “Is that all?”

Tony turned his head up to the Gamemakers with a defiant stare—

And when his device exploded, he was able to watch the way their expressions froze, mouths gaped, eyes widened—the way that one almost fell off his chair, and another jumped from his seat so quickly he almost overturned the table before him.

The youngest Gamemaker, though, moved closer. He was standing almost right up against the glass, his lips pulling into a smirk—and as he spoke, he actually sounded amused.

“Thank you, Anthony Stark,” he said. “You may go.”

Tony nodded tersely, and then turned on his heel—and as he left the room, his smile grew into something that could only be described as satisfied.

Even if he ended up with a low score for destroying a good quarter of the training room with a few bits of electronics, a handful of fire starters, and his new knowledge of what kinds of chemicals could be found in different plants, the looks on their faces had certainly been worth the risk.

And besides. Surely that had to be more impressive than if he’d just set a couple of snares.

Chapter Text

The sound of the crowd was overwhelming. It probably should not have been, because he had faced crowds before the Games without this same level of nervousness—but this crowd was bigger, and he was far from used to this kind of noise.

But he tried to remind himself that he had faced so much worse than this, that Amora’s interview questions did not have anything on the likes of what he had already survived.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe what Fury had warned him about, or that he was making light of the situation. He had outlasted the Hunger Games, he had better odds now than he ever had before. He could make the difference here, not luck, not the actions of the other tributes, not the whims of the Gamemakers. So long as he played this smart, he would be all right—and playing things smart was something that Tony was good at.

It helped that they’d dressed him a little more normally this time, compared to what he had been made to wear for his interview. Less flamboyant, and looking like they were aiming to reflect Midgardian fashion a little more than before—but still with that Asgardian flare. The burgundy suit glimmered where it caught the light and the delicate gold embroidery looked like, well, like it was sewn with actual gold, but the shape and feel was close enough to familiar that Tony almost felt comfortable in it.

Still, he had to pause and take a fortifying breath, the roar of the audience as Amora worked them up to excitement already enough to make the apprehension claw at the back of his throat.

But only for a moment—

Because then he heard Amora call his name, and it gave him something to focus on—a character to lose himself in, so that he could get through this without needing to worry about the turmoil within.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Nine, I give you your Victor of the one hundred and fourth Annual Hunger Games—Tony Stark!”

As he stepped out onto the stage, he raised his arms and accepted their thunderous applause with his trademark grin and arrogant lift of his chin. It was an entrance that had worked well in his first interview, and it worked just as well now.

Amora was grinning as well as she shook his hand, her green-painted lips curved in a manner that seemed mostly pleasant. Her trademark colour did suit her, and she looked as well put together as always—a professional at directing a crowd exactly where she wanted them to be. She had been the Hunger Games’ Master of Ceremonies for several years now, and had more than enough experience at putting scared kids at ease… as well as drawing any and every detail from unwilling tongues. 

Thankfully, she seemed to want to pick up where they had left off before the games, restarting the easy rapport and quick-witted banter they had managed to contrive. She wasted no time going through the whole speech about what an honour this was, and how Tony should be so proud of his achievements. Tony accepted it all, grinning and thanking, and announcing how grateful he was to be able to share this experience of winning with the whole of Asgard.

By the time Amora had led him over to the large throne in the centre of the stage and gestured for him to sit down for his crowning, Tony was feeling rather good about the whole thing. 

Then the time came for the actual crowning—and Tony’s breath caught, as if all of the bravado had been knocked out of him in one fell swoop. 

Years ago, King Odin used to be the one to crown the Victor, but he had passed the job on to his eldest son. The citizens of Asgard revered their king, but it was Prince Thor that they saw in the brightest of lights, that they held upon a pedestal and loved to cheer on. The first year that Thor performed the crowning in his father’s stead, the people had gone wild for it—and so Thor had done so every year since. 

But when Amora called for the crowning of the Victor, it was not Thor who approached from behind the throne—

It was Prince Loki who moved forward, the prince who usually never attended these ceremonies at all. 

Tony couldn’t help the way that his eyes widened, the way that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. It had been days since the end of the Games, and he hadn’t heard from Loki once—even though he knew Loki would have been able to make his way into the Training Centre without much difficulty. He had worried that Loki had changed his mind, that he – for whatever reason – no longer saw Tony as someone worth his time. That perhaps Loki hadn’t liked what he’d done to win the Games, had thought him too much of a monster.

But when Loki walked toward Tony now, his expression was gentle and his eyes held nothing but happiness at seeing Tony alive—

And just like that, Tony no longer felt like the Victor of the Hunger Games. He no longer felt like a killer, or like the person the audience down below believed him to be. As he held Loki’s gaze, as Loki moved closer—all of a sudden he was that kid from Midgard again, the scared boy who had stood on the roof of the Training Centre and spilled out his heart to someone he barely knew, but who it seemed knew him better than anyone else ever had.

Loki’s expression was soft as he leaned in, his fingers sliding along the edges of the golden crown in his hands, almost hesitating rather than quickly getting on with the job that he needed to do. As if he were trying to stretch the moment into something a little longer. 

“Anthony Stark,” Loki whispered, his voice caressing Tony’s name in a way that sent a shiver up his spine—though he said it quietly enough Tony wondered whether the cameras had even heard. “I am pleased to name you Victor.”

Tony felt the relief course through him more sharply than he felt the crown rest upon his head—for he could hear not just what Loki was saying, but also what he wasn’t. Tony appreciated the lack of congratulations, which he knew from watching the previous years’ Games that Thor would have given. Loki hadn’t said anything to indicate that he was proud, or that he was honoured. Nothing that said he supported the Games themselves.

Loki was pleased that Tony was alive, and for Tony... that was enough.

And as Loki held his gaze for a few more moments, his hands lingering on Tony’s shoulders in a gesture that might have appeared congratulatory but only felt comforting—

Even though the crowd was still roaring, even though the whole Nine was still watching, Tony actually began to relax.

“Thank you,” Tony whispered. 

Loki smiled. 

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of words and cheers and questions, and Tony answered all of them feeling a little like he was in a daze. He knew that Loki was sitting just behind him, and knowing that was enough to keep him going through it all. He managed to keep his character, kept Amora laughing brightly, and he could even see Fury almost smiling in the front row of the audience—as close as Fury could get to smiling, anyway. Fandral, at least, was certainly grinning, but that was a little more expected. 

Somehow, Tony was feeling like this had even gone well. At least until the ceremony ended, and he stood at Amora’s gesture to be led off the stage. Until he turned to find that Loki’s chair was empty—

And that the prince was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

Tony didn’t need Fury and Fandral to tell him how important the interview was.

They, of course, thought differently. The pair of them sat both he and Jenny down and spoke at great length about exactly why everything about the interview needed to go as perfectly as possible.

And, okay, so maybe there had been a lot of things Tony didn’t actually know about the Hunger Games before he had been entered into this mess—or, more accurately, there was a lot that he didn’t know he didn’t know. He had thought that after watching the Games on the TV once a year every year of his life, he knew the ins and outs of it fairly well—especially since he had been one of those kids to try and watch as closely as possible, no matter how much he hated it, just in case he ended up in the Arena himself.

But as a viewer at home, you get to see the reapings, then the announcements of the training scores, and then the interview. Until the start of the Games, that was it—and Tony hadn’t realised just how important these few days prior to the start of the Games were.

The interview, however—

Well.

Tony had already been told enough about sponsors to recognise their importance, and anyway, that was something which could not be missed in the slightest. He also knew that in order for a human to be seen as a good enough bet to rival the giants, draugr, and elves, they need to be truly stand-out spectacular.

Of course, Tony already had something of a leg-up there, due to the unexpected gift of his training score. As it turned out, blowing up a good portion of the training room had actually been a good idea. Who would have thought?

He could still remember the look on Fury’s face when Jenny had come running into their living space after her private session, demanding to know what Tony had done and how he had managed to create so much destruction.

“How do you even know it was me?” Tony had asked.

“I heard it,” Jenny replied. “And besides, everyone back home knows you’re the inventor. You’re to thank for half the tech we’ve got on Midgard.”

Fury’s eye didn’t widen, but it looked like a damn close thing. “You?” he asked.

Tony sighed. “I guess. I tried to take over from my father when he died, but, I won’t get all my inheritance until I turn eighteen. If I live that long.”

“Stark,” Fury whispered, staring at Tony with a new intensity. “Howard Stark. He was your father.”

It wasn’t a question, but Tony answered it anyway. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“But why didn’t you—”

“It’s not like being able to build a robot is going to help me with surviving in the Arena,” Tony snapped. “It’s not going to help me at all, is it?

Fury hadn’t argued that point, but when it was announced that Tony had been scored a ten out of twelve – on par with the other top scoring tribute – Fury had gained this sudden, determined look on his face that Tony had not seen before. Something that Tony almost, if he hadn’t known better, might have labelled as hope.

Tony wondered if Fury was just thinking whether he’d ever get another update on his TV if he didn’t help Tony get back home. Well, whatever helped, right?

Ha. That could practically be Tony’s motto these days.

But, regardless, training scores weren’t everything, Tony knew that. The Victor of the Games certainly wasn’t determined by who had the highest, because not even counting the tributes who purposefully scored low in a plan to fly under the radar, the things one could do in the safe environment of the training centre meant nothing when compared to what they might do under pressure. Maybe they would freeze, or maybe they would do things that they never could have imagined. And even then, there was the fact that the stuff they had in the training room just might not be available in the Arena.

Take Tony, for example. He had made a thing explode, but if the Arena turned out to be an Arctic Tundra without a scrap of wire in sight, he was fucked. And besides, it would be kind of hard to win a fight with an explosion if there was a giant or a draugr coming at him with a knife.

Jenny had received only a three, and Lindir a four. Maybe they would outlive him. Maybe he would get unlucky and fall off his pedestal and get himself blown up, and then what would his ten matter?

Whatever.

He supposed that it mattered because it helped him get sponsors. That seemed to be what it all came back to, didn’t it? And that, in turn, came back to the interview. Because the training score gave a suggestion of what a tribute could do, but… the interview was a tribute’s chance to make the sponsors like them.

So, yeah. Tony understood their importance. He wasn’t an idiot.

(Still didn’t mean he’d come up with a plan, though.)

Unlike the private sessions, the girls went first for the interviews—and that meant that Tony was dead last. Fury, upon grudgingly accepting that Tony refused to plan what he would say, had suggested that Tony use that time to watch the others and come up with something of a strategy. But watching the others and their obvious caricatures – some aiming for innocent, or sexy, clever, shrewd, strong, violent, or even scared – Tony couldn’t help the way that his lip curled. He was already pretty good at putting on a persona when he was out and about, and this would be no different.

Cocky, arrogant, charming.

Easy.

There was no need to give himself a script.

By the time it was his turn to head out, he already had that cocksure smirk painted over his lips– and even despite the ridiculous outfit they had forced him into, with the red-lined cloak and the shining gold make-up, he knew that he looked good.

He made the best of it, widening his smile and raising his arms, presenting himself in the most arrogant manner he could muster. 

“Anthony, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Amora greeted as he joined her at the two armchairs in front of the large audience—and, of course, the cameras which would broadcast the interviews to the rest of the Nine.

“Actually, Amora, you can call me Tony,” he said, the words falling easily from his lips. It was even easier to glance out over the audience and shoot them a wink as he added, “All of my friends do.”

The audience laughed at that, already won over.

See? Easy.

Tony tried not to wonder what his friends back home would be thinking as they watched this, as they saw the way that he was acting among the Asgardians, as if he were trying to please them. But the thought sat heavy, and he couldn’t dispel it.

No. He couldn’t let that distract him, not with what was at stake.

They’ll be thinking that you’re doing everything you can to win this thing, he told himself firmly. Just like you said you would.

Once the audience had settled a little and both he and Amora were sitting in their chairs, she moved toward the more serious questions.

“You had a rather impressive training score,” Amora said, leaning forward. “Do you think you could tell us how you managed it?” There was something conspiratorial in her smile, like they were talking about a secret that would stay only between them. But Tony wasn’t stupid enough to give all the other tributes an idea of what he could do.

“I’m just really good at setting snares, Amora,” Tony replied. “I suppose the Gamemakers thought I might be able to set one big enough to catch a person.”

Amora laughed at that, and so did the crowd. It was beyond easy from there. She asked questions about his family, and about what he liked to do for fun– steering the conversation away from the Games themselves so that he would not have to risk avoiding a question again. As much as he couldn’t like her on principle, Tony had to say this for Amora—she certainly tried to make it easier on the tributes. Tony didn’t find it difficult. The audience laughed at his jokes, and he managed to make a few ladies blush when he winked at them. (Which was slightly creepy, now that he thought about it but hey, whatever helped.) And by the time he took his bow and strode of the stage to applause – not as loud as some of the stronger tributes had received, but certainly not the quietest of the lot either – he was feeling confident that he at least had not messed up the good work done by his training score.

He paused backstage to catch his breath, though, not wanting to go back and meet Fury and Fandral immediately. He was sure that they would each have a lot to say, and he didn’t much fancy facing either of their chosen brands of encouragement right now.

“You would have gained more sponsors by telling them what you’re capable of.”

Tony froze, the voice sounding familiar though not to the extent that he could place it. But when he turned to see who had spoken, he recognised them immediately. It was the Gamemaker he had noticed staring at him during training, the one who had convinced the others to let him build the bomb out of electronics—the young one, with the dark hair and the piercing eyes. Up close, Tony noticed that they were a startling shade of green.

“I don’t think sponsors would help me much if I let the tributes know what I can do,” Tony pointed out. Then he arched a brow. “I’m not sure it would be worth the trade.”

“You think it would make you a target,” The Gamemaker observed.

Tony huffed. “Don’t you?” He knew that arguing with this boy was most likely not in his best interests, but… there was something about that smirk which made him not be able to help it. “If they thought there was a slightest chance of me being able to do that to them, they would try to take me out first. And who would want to sponsor a target?”

“Actually,” the boy said, “I was already thinking of sponsoring you. But if you’re so sure you’re going to die in the first five minutes then I might just have to find something else to spend my money on.”

Tony’s retort caught in his throat. “What?” he choked. “But—”

“Don’t act so surprised,” the young Gamemaker laughed, his eyes annoyingly amused. “You must have noticed me watching you.”

“That’s rather self-assured,” Tony spluttered– because yeah, he’d noticed, but he’d hardly expected to be called out on it. But—hang on a second— “I thought Gamemakers weren’t allowed to bet?” he asked, gaining better control over his voice as he narrowed his eyes. “I know Amora can’t, and the stylists—”

“They can’t,” the boy cut in, his brow creased with a frown. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Well, apparently you aren’t a Gamemaker,” Tony replied, frowning himself. “But then—how did you get back here? Did—are you friends with Amora?”

“Yes.” His lips turned up into another one of those annoying smiles, this one giving the impression that there was some important information that Tony was missing. “But I would have been allowed back here regardless.”

“Well, aren’t you full of secrets?” Tony muttered. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he was bothering with this conversation. This guy was just another Asgardian, one of the people who caused so much misery. But there was just… something here which drew Tony in.

“Perhaps,” the boy replied. “But then, perhaps I would have told you who I was if you had been polite enough to ask.”

“And that’s rather presumptuous,” Tony risked saying, “Since you already know my name, I’d say you should have introduced yourself first.”

The dark-haired boy grinned at that. “I suppose you’re right,” he allowed. “Very well. My name is Loki, at your—”

“Prince Loki?” Tony exclaimed—only to realise that in doing so, he had just interrupted literal Asgardian royalty. Oh, god, would they have his head for this?

Well, actually.

If they did have his head for it, it could hardly be any worse than what they were doing to him already, right?

It was just as that comforting thought came into Tony’s mind that Prince Loki began to laugh.

He had a nice laugh, Tony thought—it was a little sharp, and not at all sweet. Not what one would normally think of when imagining a laugh that was nice. But it made his green eyes gleam and crinkle at the corners, and it was the kind of laugh that felt like it wasn’t untainted by experience of the world, but not yet poisoned by it, either. Like Loki knew there wasn’t a reason to be carefree but… decided to be so anyway, if only for a moment.

And despite the fact that Loki was an Asgardian prince, it made Tony want to linger just a little longer, if only to learn how someone like Loki gained a laugh like that.

Tony wondered if it had something to do with the fact that the prince was not well known for attending Hunger Games events—in fact, he barely attended any event at all, to the point where he was hardly ever even photographed. Tony had known of his existence, of course, but not what he had looked like, not until now. And Tony couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had Loki attending this Games, when he never had before.

It was a dangerous thing, finding a puzzle. Tony never had been able to stop working on a puzzle once he had started, at least not until he’d finished it.

“I like you, Anthony,” Loki said, his chuckles still lingering in the brightness of his gaze. “And I meant it when I said that I would sponsor you. Not because I have placed a bet on you, but because I want you to live.”

Maybe it was rude, and he was rather sure he already knew the answer, but when he heard those words from the mouth of a prince there was only one thing that Tony could think of to say.

“If you’re the prince, can you get me out of it?” he asked. “Tell the Gamemakers to pull me from the Games and then I will live, for sure.”

“Not even my father could do that,” Loki replied—and he looked so honestly sorry about it that Tony actually believed him. “If he pulled a tribute from the Games, then not only would the citizens who have already placed bets and pledged sponsorship be upset, but the Realms may begin to think they could lobby for all of their tributes. The sanctity of the Games,” Loki said, his voice turning strained, “would be destroyed, and they would no longer work.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Yeah. I thought you might say something like that.”

Loki’s expression was pained. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that I cannot help. You have an incredible mind, and to see you be thrown into such a place…”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. “Right.”

Still, as bitter as he was, he couldn’t help taking note of the fact that Loki was the first Asgardian person Tony had ever seen express any kind of sorrow over the Games. Even when Amora spoke about how sorry she was that she would not be able to speak with all of the tributes again, she did not hide the excitement for the upcoming slaughter.

But Loki… well, maybe he wasn’t sorry for the Games as a whole, but he truly did seem to realise what a waste they were, at least when it came to thinking about losing Tony’s mind.

“I may not be able to get you out, but sponsorship does make a difference.” Loki tilted his head. “Perhaps if you had spoken of your talents I could have convinced some others.”

Tony rolled his eyes at that, smiling in spite of himself. “I think that ship has sailed.” He didn’t think he could bring himself to say thank you, not for this. Not when such a favour shouldn’t have to be necessary in the first place, and not knowing that he was speaking to the grandson of the man who had started all of this—and the son of the man who was still perpetuating it.

It had been said in Midgard too many times to count, muttered in dark, quiet corners where the Einherjar would not be able to hear—

The Hunger Games were written into law by people. Surely, after one hundred years, it was time to write them out again.

But the Asgardians loved their Games, and now, even over a century after the war which had devastated all the Realms bar one—the Games were still happening to promote peace.

What a joke. 

Tony sighed. “I should go,” he said. “I have been told that I need my rest, and my mentor will be waiting for me. I imagine he is plotting some horrible punishment for my lateness even now.”

Loki’s answering smile was sad, and Tony wondered if it was because he wanted to keep talking—or maybe he was thinking about how Tony could die in the next few days. Either way, it was another of many smiles that Tony had seen from Loki that evening, another confusing thing to decipher, if only he’d had the time.

“This will not be the last time we see each other, Anthony,” Loki said. Then he seemed to hesitate before saying—“Shall I look for you at the Final Farewell?”

It was certainly a question, not a statement of fact. A shall I, not an I shall. And even though Tony still felt a little strange about all of this, he found himself giving Loki a nod. 

“Then I shall look forward to it,” Loki said. “I will let you get some rest.” 

He did not wait for a goodbye, he simply turned on his heel and left. Tony watched him go before he turned in the opposite direction, toward the elevators that would take him to the tributes’ quarters.

He had no idea what he was going to say to Fury about all of this, if anything at all. He also had no idea whether the interview had gone well or not, but… he had the feeling that either way, he’d managed to make something of an ally in the most unlikely of places.

Chapter Text

As Tony hurried backstage after the end of the ceremony, his eyes darted across every wall and into every corner, searching for that one person he was sure would be waiting. But no matter how desperately he looked, he didn’t see Loki anywhere.

To be honest, he was half expecting that Loki would come up behind him and whisper in his ear, just like he had once before. But as the crowds of officials and TV personnel began to thin, Tony’s hope dwindled, and once again he found himself wondering if he had begun to expect too much.

After all, they had only known each other for the couple of days before the Games, and even though he was sure they had both felt a connection which felt like it could be so much more, that was no promise of long-lasting feelings. He tried to remind himself of how Loki had smiled when he’d put the crown upon Tony’s head—how he had been so happy to see Tony again, alive and whole.

But… Loki hadn’t stayed. He wasn’t there. 

Tony was alone. 

Loki hadn’t even visited while Tony was recovering, had he? He hadn’t so much as looked in to say hello, to see the life that he had bought with his donations and encouraging words. Maybe he had merely played Tony so that he could claim some of the glory, claim to be the one who had known Tony would win, who had helped him get there and therefore helped all the other sponsors win their bets like advising on an investment.

No.

Tony remembered how much it hurt to say goodbye, remembered how desperate Loki had been in those final moments—and how it felt when they had touched. They might not have known each other long, but it had been long enough to know. Long enough to feel that potential, and to understand the depth of what could be. They had both admitted as much, and Tony refused to believe that Loki was avoiding him out of simple choice.

What they’d found, even in such a short time, had meant so much more than that.

A hand landing on Tony’s shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin—but when he spun around, he saw that it was only Fury.

“Good work,” Fury said, patting his shoulder once more before moving past him and leading the way back toward the elevators. “You laid the groundwork here, you’re doing well. Now you just have to keep it up for the party tomorrow night, and then the interview.”

“Another one?’ Tony groaned. “When can I just go home?”

“When they say you can,” Fury replied. He didn’t sound frustrated or impatient about Tony’s whining. He almost seemed… sad.

Tony sighed, knowing that there was no point in arguing. Fury was only speaking the truth—in this circumstance, anyway.

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little put out that when they made it to the elevator, they were the only ones to get inside. He supposed that Fandral must be hanging back to speak to some friends or something, but whatever the reason Tony kind of missed the chatter. He would have liked something to distract him from his thoughts right about then.

As it was, he couldn’t even stop himself from asking something he never would have if he’d been thinking a little more clearly.

“Hey, Fury,” he started. “You said that all the important people would be at the party, I mean, except for the king himself, obviously—”

“He has been reducing the number of events he goes to for years,” Fury cut in. “I think he’s getting old.”

“Right. But will, I mean…” Tony cleared his throat. “Will there still be, uh, important people there? I’m only asking because I want to make sure that I can plan what to say—”

“Both of the Princes will be at the party,” Fury said, rolling his eyes. “And, please, you haven’t planned a single thing in your life. Which might be more of a problem here than you realise, because—”

“You can’t tell me that I need to be careful, not about this, not now,” Tony complained. “He’s the Prince—”

“And you’re a Midgardian,” Fury cut in. “You know that’s not going to go over well, even if you are a Victor.”

“Then what if… I make them like me?” Tony asked. “If I do what they want, become popular enough—I mean, it would make a good story, right? Star crossed lovers, or something?”

“They already like you,” Fury said. “That’s part of the problem, don’t you see? Yes, it would make a good story. But that’s only going to make them watch you even more closely.”

“Do all of the Victors have to go through this?” Tony groaned. 

“Only the memorable ones,” Fury muttered.

Tony couldn’t let the opportunity pass. “Aww,” he said. “You think I’m memorable?”

“In this instance, Stark,” Fury muttered, shaking his head just as the doors finally opened to their floor. “That’s certainly not a good thing.” 

Snickering, Tony moved to exit the elevator, assuming that the conversation was done. But Fury grabbed his arm—and Tony startled, jerking out of his hold, good humour suddenly gone. 

“This is serious,” Fury said, his eye and his expression hard. “Listen to me. I’ve told you before, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking into your thick skull. The danger has not passed. Yes, they like you, but that just means that when they think they need to bring you back in line… it won’t be you who feels the bite of their lash.” 

Tony felt like his vocal cords had been cut. Fury sighed, and turned away—leaving Tony with a few last, terrifying words. 

“You asked me once why I don’t have to dress up and dance to their tune. The truth is simple, Tony. You see… they’ve already taken my family away.”

Chapter Text

The Final Farewell was, as the name suggests, the last thing the tributes did before being sent off to die.

It hadn’t always been—Fury told them that the tributes used to progress straight from the interview to the Arena the very next morning, but that there had been incidents of tributes tiring themselves out or injuring themselves during their training and private sessions—which made the viewers of the Games feel a little slighted. And so, to ensure that the tributes could give the private sessions their all and still be in fit shape for the Games, they were now allowed a few extra days of recuperation. It also provided sponsors more time to think over their decisions—and more time for Amora to hype up the Games themselves. As such, the Final Farewell served as both a way for Asgard to showcase the tributes as if they were an exhibition at the zoo, and to squeeze more money out of their richer citizens.

To the tributes, it was a meal unlike any other that they’d ever experienced.

When Tony saw the spread of food over the table, he felt a little faint. He hardly even noticed the people coming up to shake his hand, or the stares that followed him as they wondered once again how such a short human had managed such a high training score. He didn’t even notice that someone had approached right behind him until they placed a hand on the small of his back and leaned so close that when they spoke, their lips brushed over his ear.

“Come, Anthony,” Loki whispered. “You shall be sitting with me.”

That pulled Tony out of his thoughts, and he turned in surprise to see Loki watching him with a smile. There were more eyes than ever on him now, but despite them and the fact that Loki was prince, Tony felt rather relaxed in his presence.

Despite their parting words after the interview being a promise to see each other at the Final Farewell, they had in fact met a few times since. They ran into each other on several occasions over the past few days, in places Tony was fairly certain Loki would not normally be—such as the canteen and the hallway outside the training room. They had talked, and Tony had found that the more time he spent with the prince, the more he came to like him.

Even though Loki was Asgardian, he seemed a little different to the others. He was still impossibly arrogant of course, but even though he never said it aloud Tony could tell that Loki held a distaste for the Games that was pretty much unheard of in Asgard. The other realms, sure – at least where the Einherjar could not listen in – but here?

Never.

But it wasn’t even just that. Loki was smart, almost as smart as Tony—definitely one of the smartest people that Tony had ever known. He was funny, too, and there were things that he said which made Tony smile more honestly than he had since the reaping. So, yeah. Tony liked him. Actually, he really liked him, more than he knew that he should, considering what was going to happen the very next day. But hey, that just meant that he had nothing to lose, right? It wasn’t like they could lock him in a dungeon for thinking inappropriate things about the prince when he was going to go into the Arena tomorrow.

As Loki curled an arm around Tony’s waist and led him through the crowd, Tony could hear the other tributes being interrogated about their strategy, about what they had done in their private session, and about what they thought their chances were. All the rich people were vying for a place next to their favourite tribute at the table—but Loki led Tony right to the middle, sitting him down so that he was between Loki and Prince Thor. The large, oblong shape of the table meant that Tony had no hope of talking to any of the other sponsors, and he wondered whether he should be frustrated about that fact. After all, Loki had already pledged his sponsorship, so shouldn’t Tony be trying to convince others to support him in the Arena?

But, to be honest, Tony didn’t want to spend his final night talking to all of those people. He wanted to spend it with a friend—and Loki had, at least, become that.

Not all were particularly happy with the arrangement, however. Tony could feel Jenny’s hard, jealous stare from the other side of the table, where she was sat beside an Asgardian woman who had a look of disappointment painted over her face.

Lindir had fared a little better. The Asgardian beside him was at least engaging him in conversation, even if it did look like they were merely doing it to be polite.

In fact, almost everyone was talking with someone, because even if the Asgardians were not planning on sponsoring the tributes they were seated near, they no doubt had paid handsomely for the experience of attending tonight, and likely were making use of every moment they spent with the people they would be watching on the television the very next day.

On Tony’s right, Prince Thor was talking animatedly with the rather burly tribute from Vanaheim who was sitting on the prince’s other side. They were talking about fighting styles, about weapons and—whether a sword or a hammer was more efficient in melee combat. It left a heavy feeling in Tony’s throat, and right then, he wanted nothing more than to get up and leave. He also didn’t much fancy spending what was possibly his last night in the land of the living listening to people talk about the best way to kill someone else.

“Are you all right?”

Tony turned his head to find Loki watching him in concern, and raised his brow. “All right?” he asked, his laugh short and bitter. “Really?”

Loki smiled ruefully. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I can see why that question might seem a little ironic.”

“A little?”

“Perhaps a lot. But I do still mean it. Are you all right?”

Tony might have shrugged it off once again, but… Loki truly did sound like he meant it, like he wasn’t just asking to be polite. There was concern laced underneath the words, concern which Tony didn’t entirely understand—he was only a kid from Midgard, not the kind of person that an Asgardian prince should even notice, let alone speak to in such a way. And not only that, but Tony was a tribute about to go off to face his death.

Loki truly shouldn’t care about how Tony was feeling, but he so obviously did—and that made something go through Tony that he couldn’t quite explain. Something warm, perhaps, almost along the same lines as to how he felt when he managed to make Rhodey smile, or when Pepper said that she was proud of him for something, but at the same time... not quite.

Whatever it was, though, it made Tony smile.

“You know what?” he said. “Considering the circumstances, I’m actually doing pretty good.”

Loki matched Tony’s expression with a smile of his own, his eyes lighting up with genuine delight at the simple fact that his company had helped put Tony in a good mood.

During the meal, other people tried to draw Loki’s attention, either tributes trying to gain his sponsorship for themselves or Asgardians trying to gain extra sponsorship for a tribute that they themselves had placed a bet upon. But no matter how much they tried, Loki dismissed them all, and over the course of the evening there was only one other person he allowed to join their conversation—and that was Prince Thor.

Thor, it seemed, had grown bored of speaking with the Vanir beside him, and turned halfway through Loki and Tony’s discussion about the mechanics of the Bifröst to face them with an expectant smile. He did not interrupt, but he was so clearly waiting for them to include him in the conversation that he might as well have, and both Tony and Loki trailed off in a matter of moments.

“Yes?” Loki asked him.

“Brother,” Thor greeted, his voice almost vibrating with excitement, and loud enough that as he spoke, several others turned to listen in. “You have yet to introduce me to the tribute you have pledged so much money to!”

“You have been sitting beside him the entire night, Thor,” Loki said. “If you have not spoken to him yet, then it is through no fault of mine.”

Thor shot Loki a look that Tony couldn’t decipher—but Loki could, if the way that his cheeks flushed a light pink gave any indication. Still, the blush did nothing to soften the sharpness of the glare he pinned Thor with. It was the kind of glare that would have had anyone cowering. Well, anyone except for Thor, apparently, because he merely grinned before finally turning to Tony.

“Anthony Stark,” Thor greeted, holding out his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet—”

“He prefers Tony, actually,” Loki cut in.

Thor glanced to his brother with that universal expression for ‘are you serious right now?’, but he did amend his address as he continued.

“Tony,” he said. “You received a remarkable training score. I am sorry to have missed it, but I was otherwise engaged. Loki tells me that it was most impressive, though he would not tell me what it was you did which awed him so.”

“Well, he’s not supposed to,” Tony pointed out. “That would be against the rules.”

“If you think that my brother would allow rules to stop him, then I do not think you know him well at all.”

There were a few things Tony could have said to that – not the least of which being that he had only known Loki for a couple of days, but actually that was something he had been able to pick up anyway – but Loki beat him to him.

“Not when it would put Anthony’s chances in danger, brother,” Loki said.

And the way he said it, Tony could almost imagine Loki was actually worried about putting Tony in danger, and not just his own chances of winning back his cash.

“Of course,” Thor replied. “But, that does not mean that we cannot speculate. After all—” Thor offered Tony a smile. “My brother has urged me to sponsor you!”

“I’m flattered,” Tony said, not entirely sure what else he could say, since being humble wasn’t an option given the circumstance and yet he didn’t want to give anything away, or prompt anyone into asking—

“So what did you do, to get such a high score?” It was the vanir next to Thor who had spoken, leaning forward over the table so that he could see around Thor’s bulk. Tony thought the boy’s name might have been Sveig. 

“I don’t have to tell you,” Tony replied, the harsh tone that the vanir had used rubbing him the wrong way and raising his hackles.

“No, you certainly don’t,” Loki said. 

“That’s true,” Sveig agreed, lowering his head a little to Loki as a sign of respect—but then his eyes flashed with amusement as he turned back to Tony once more. “But she doesn’t have to keep quiet about it, either.”

For a moment Tony was confused, his brows furrowing as he tried to work out what the Vanir had meant. But then Sveig looked across the oblong table, and when Tony followed his gaze, his meaning became clear.

“Come on, human,” Sveig said, his tone dripping with enjoyment. “Tell us, what does he do back home?”

Jenny looked frightened. Her brown eyes were wide and shining with fear as the entire table turned to look at her—for everyone had been listening to Tony’s conversation now, drawn in by both the curiosity that surrounded the two princes and interest over Tony’s training score.

Tony could have buried his head in his hands. Perhaps he would end up being more of a target than he had hoped, after all. Maybe he shouldn’t have caused such a ruckus with his private session, maybe he just should have kept his head down. That explosion had caught Loki’s eye, sure—but it had also put a spotlight on him that might have been better avoided. Were Loki’s attentions worth the high chance of dying?

The fact that Tony suddenly found that a hard question to answer scared him a little more than it probably should have. Especially given that the thought of the benefits of Loki’s sponsorship only came to mind a moment later.

To Jenny’s credit though, despite her very clear discomfort, she managed to keep her head.

“I don’t know what he did,” she said. “He won’t tell me. And I don’t know him very well from home. Midgard’s a big place.”

Thankfully, Sveig dropped the point at that with only a sigh and an eye roll, and conversations rose up again all around the table. Tony was thankful that the waiters chose that moment to bring out dessert—it gave everyone something a little more positive to focus on.

It was then, while people were distracted, that Prince Thor leaned in and whispered into Tony’s ear. “I thought you preferred to be called Tony?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.  

“I do,” Tony said, not entirely sure what it was Thor was getting at. “Why?”

Rather than explain, Thor merely smiled—and then he turned back to talk to someone else. Tony turned to look back to Loki, and saw the tail-end of yet another glare that had been directed at Thor before it was replaced with a smile. They struck up the conversation about the Bifröst again, Tony rather enjoying having someone to discuss such things with, someone who would actually understand more than every third word that fell from Tony’s mouth.

But even though Tony was enjoying himself with Loki, there was a slight itch under his skin that grew worse with every tribute who asked for Loki’s sponsorship, and every sponsor who tried to talk to Tony themselves. He couldn’t quite drown out everyone else’s conversations, and try as he might the grim atmosphere that lay thick underneath the pretty dresses and fancy dishes felt pervasive and heavy, choking him with every breath.

Loki seemed to notice Tony’s discomfort, for it wasn’t much longer before he was putting down his fork and smiling conspiratorially as he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know somewhere quiet,” Loki said. “Somewhere we can talk without anyone else hearing us.”

“Won’t people notice that we’re gone?” Tony asked.

“Maybe,” Loki shrugged, glancing up to look around the room. Tony did as well, and he saw that most people had just finished their dessert, and were beginning to get up to mingle with everyone else, to talk to all the people they hadn’t been able to during the dinner. The table had been so large that there were dozens of people in the room—and it wouldn’t be difficult to get lost among them, even for the two of them. And when Loki caught Tony’s gaze once again, Tony didn’t even need Loki’s next words to convince him, but they made his smile widen nonetheless. “Even if they do,” Loki said, “What are they going to do about it?”

And when Loki stood and held out his hand, Tony took it without an ounce of hesitation.

It was the only kind of freedom that Tony had left—the knowledge that they couldn’t do anything to him that would make his fate even worse. Anything he did now didn’t matter, because either it would all be wiped away, or he would come back as someone they would be forced to have at least some level of respect for. Either way—right now, right here, in this moment, he was free to be himself.

Loki didn’t take Tony through the main door that they had entered—they went through a smaller one in the back, a door that Tony was rather sure was the one the waiters had been using, if the sounds of the kitchen he could hear down the hall were any indication. Loki led him in the other direction though, down the corridor and toward the elevator.

“You’ve got access to the penthouse,” Loki said, gesturing toward the buttons as the door slid closed. “You can get us up there.”

“You want to go to my room?” Tony asked, raising his brows.

Loki grinned in response, and reached past him to hit the button himself. “Not quite.”

And sure enough, when they reached the penthouse which served as the quarters for the Midgardian tributes, mentor, and escort, Loki didn’t head out toward the living room. Instead, he took Tony in the other direction, and through a door that Tony hadn’t actually noticed before. The door led to a set of stairs with another door at the top.

“You can get up here directly on the service elevator,” Loki explained as he tried the handle. “But I thought you would appreciate knowing how to get back to the penthouse.”

Then he pushed the door open, and Tony’s eyes widened as he felt the rush of fresh air.

Loki stepped out first, but Tony was right on his heels—and he didn’t pause as he let go of Loki’s hand and ran right across the roof to the very edge, leaning out and feeling the breeze ruffle through his hair.

As he stood up there, he realised that he hadn’t actually been outside since he’d arrived, spending all these days in the Training Centre, not allowed to leave. And Asgard really did look beautiful from this high, the gold shining in the moonlight looking striking rather than glaring as it did during the day.

And oh, he was standing so very high, the street far enough down that he couldn’t make out a single distinct feature of the few people still milling about below.

Standing there, looking down—with the wind in his hair and that sense of freedom still running through him—

There was a moment where Tony wondered what would happen if he just… jumped.

But then there was movement to his right as Loki came to lean against the wall beside him, and the urge melted away.

“Have you been up here before?” Loki asked, and Tony shook his head.

“I didn’t even know that I could,” he replied. “I’m glad I got to see it though. For Asgard, it’s actually kind of nice.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “It’s my favourite place in the Training Centre. I come up here sometimes, if I have to be at the centre for duties, just to get away from it all for a while.”

Tony watched him curiously, realising for a moment that for all he had come to like Loki, he actually didn’t know all that much about him. Oh, he knew his personality well by now, and he’d learned a few likes and dislikes—but there was so much more than that beneath the surface, so much more that Tony wanted to know.

“Hey, Loki?” Tony asked, turning so that he was leaning with one elbow on the wall, facing Loki. “Where would you rather be?”

“Right now?” Loki echoed, meeting Tony’s gaze with a soft smile. “I think I’m quite happy where I am.”

Tony felt his cheeks warm, but he pressed on regardless. “No,” he said. “I mean, what do you do when you’re not here?”

“I help with the running of the Nine, mostly,” Loki said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m better with words than my brother is, and my father usually sends me to speak to the politicians and such.”

“Aw, come on,” Tony teased. “You have to give Thor some credit. Some of his speeches have been pretty decent.”

“And who do you think writes most of those speeches?” Loki asked. “Admittedly, he is rather good on the fly, especially when he’s trying to motivate someone. But speeches truly aren’t his forte.”

Tony chuckled at that.

“I don’t particularly enjoy that, though,” Loki admitted. “Where would I rather… well. I do like to read, and I suppose I spend a lot of my limited free time inside the palace library. I also like to walk through my mother’s gardens.” Loki’s smile turned a little sad at that, and Tony didn’t have to think long to work out why. Queen Frigga had died a couple of years earlier. “Yes,” Loki sighed. “I think that’s where I’d choose to go, if I could go anywhere.” Then his smile softened again as he nudged Tony’s shoulder with his own. “Maybe I’ll show them to you, one day.”

And despite knowing just how unlikely that was, Tony couldn’t help but smile as well. “I’d like that,” he said.

After all, it might be nice to be able to pretend, for a while.

“What about you?” Loki asked curiously. “Go on, it’s your turn. Where would you rather be, right now?”

“Home,” Tony said easily. “Back in my workshop, building something. I left a project unfinished, you know? I was making—” he cut himself off, remembering that such things would likely get him killed. And while that wasn’t exactly something he was worrying about right now, he was a little concerned about what might happen to Rhodey, since he was perfectly aware of what Tony had been doing and so was technically complicit in it.

Loki smirked, somehow working out why Tony had stopped. “You don’t need to worry about what you say up here,” he said. “There aren’t any cameras.”

“Really?” Tony asked, his eyes widening.

“I suppose it’s just another reason why I like it so much,” Loki said. “So, go on. What were you making?”

Tony didn’t even consider that Loki, an Asgardian, might be lying to make him admit a crime. He just talked.

“It was a suit of armour, one that could fly,” Tony said. “With it, I would have been able to see the whole world.”

“That sounds amazing,” Loki said. “You really could have made that?”

“Of course I could have,” Tony said. “It was almost finished, too. I might have got it done that day, if it wasn’t for… well. Rhodey interrupted me, he does that pretty regularly.” Tony smiled, much preferring to talk about his friend than mentioning the Reaping. It made it easier to pretend. “He, uh. He usually comes in to remind me to eat, because I get lost in my work a lot.”

“He’s a friend?” Loki asked, his voice soft.

“The best. Him, and Pep– they’re really all I’ve got back home, you know? My parents died a while back, and I got the company – mostly – but other than that… well, they’re all I’ve ever needed. I just like building things. I like being able to take a piece of metal, and turn it into something amazing. There’s not much that’s better than having an idea in my head, and then watching it take shape in my hands.” He couldn’t help the sad smile. He really had missed building things, these past few days. “I know Midgard probably doesn’t sound like much compared to Asgard, since. You know. It’s mostly destroyed and all. But it is beautiful.”

Loki remained quiet at that, and Tony wondered if it was that reference to the end of the war. He hadn’t meant it that way, but… well. Loki was Asgardian, and he had to have realised how the rest of the Nine viewed his people.

The official histories taught in schools said that Asgard had used the Bifröst as a weapon as a last resort, that they hadn’t had a choice—that if they had not restored order, all of the Nine would have fallen from the branches of Yggdrasil and plunged into the darkness of Ginnungagap. But the stories whispered over fireplaces, those passed down from parent to child… they told a different tale, one where Asgard had been about to lose the war and had struck the only blow they had left in their arsenal—using the Bifröst to cripple their enemies forever, causing terrible and irreparable damage to all of the realms bar Asgard itself.

For a second, Tony wondered which story Loki had been told, wondered which one Loki believed. But it didn’t matter—they weren’t talking about politics, not right now. And besides, Tony already knew enough about Loki that he could make an educated guess on the matter.

But then when Loki spoke, Tony realised that it hadn’t been his comment that had caused Loki’s silence at all. Loki had just been remembering.

“I did go to Midgard once,” Loki said, pulling Tony from his thoughts. “It was a few years ago, and I was fairly young. But I remember that there were so many trees, so many more than we have here.”

“People can’t build on the lands that were torn apart by the Bifröst, not anymore,” Tony explained. “But plants can still grow. And sometimes, if you’re brave enough to risk walking away from the town at night, if you go far enough, and you can find a clearing in the trees… then you can see the stars.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Loki said.

“They are,” Tony agreed, turning his face up to the sky. “You can’t see them from here, can you?” The gleam from the gold buildings really was bright, after all, and Asgard had an awful lot of lights. The moon was bright, and the sky wasn’t just an expanse of black—there were swirls of purple up there, mixed in with dark blues. But there weren’t any stars to be seen, and Tony felt the loss of them more keenly than he had before.

“I should have gone to see them more often,” Tony said sadly. “I suppose I won’t have the chance, now.”

When Loki didn’t respond, Tony glanced back down—and was surprised to find that Loki was watching him with an odd kind of expression on his face. But before Tony could ask if everything was okay, Loki reached into his pocket and pulled out a—well, it was Asgardian tech, but a phone is a phone no matter where it comes from, right?

Tony watched, a little confused, as Loki tapped a message into it.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked. 

Loki put his phone back in his pocket, and leaned his hands against the wall once more. “Just wait a moment,” he said, nodding back out over Asgard. “And watch.”

Tony felt a little confused, but did as Loki suggested, and turned his eyes back out over the city. But even though his eyes were on Asgard, his mind was somewhere else entirely, because he and Loki were standing so close together, now. Their arms brushed together with almost every breath, and a shiver ran right up Tony’s spine.

Loki noticed, just like he always did—and then he shifted closer still, wrapping an arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulling him close. “My apologies,” he said softly. “I should have let you collect a better coat. Is this all right?”

“Yes,” Tony breathed. “Yeah, uh. This is good. You know, this wouldn’t have been a problem if my stylist actually dressed me properly,” he muttered. He picked at the ridiculously thin and even more ridiculously poofy sleeves of his light gold shirt. It wasn’t actually that he was overly cold, of course – standing this close to Loki he felt a little closer to being on fire – but those thin sleeves did very little to disrupt the feel of Loki’s hand smoothing over his skin as stroked Tony’s upper arm, which of course was not helping to reduce the goose bumps prickling all over him. 

“I think you look rather dashing in it, though,” Loki teased.

“Well, I guess you’re more used to it than me,” Tony said. “I would prefer a good suit, to be honest. What is so wrong with Midgardian fashion that they won’t let me wear any of it? Even the suit they tried to put me in for the Parade was nothing like what I would wear at home.”

“I understand why you dislike it so much,” Loki said. “If I could get away with wearing black, I would. In fact, I do, most of the time, but Thor tells me it’s not cheerful enough for the Games.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said with a significant helping of faux seriousness. “Because that’s exactly what the Hunger Games are. Cheerful.”

Loki snorted at that—and then he paused, and leaned forward just a little, pressing their bodies even closer together than before.

“Look,” he said. “Maybe this will help to cheer you up a little.”

Tony frowned as he looked away from Loki once again—but then, when he saw what was happening, his eyes widened.

The lights of the city were all going out, every single one of them– darkness spreading from one side of Asgard and right across Tony’s line of sight, until there was not a single light left… At least, not on the ground.

Because with the city in darkness, the sky was suddenly alight with a thousand bright pinpricks, as if someone had taken every ounce of glitter from every one of Tony’s Asgardian outfits and had sprinkled it across the purple-blue sky.

“Did you do this?” Tony whispered, his voice full of awe.

“Do you like it?”

“Is my answer going to change yours?” Tony asked amusedly.

“Yes,” Loki said. “If you don’t like it, it was definitely Thor’s fault.”

Tony smiled at that, and tore his eyes from the stars to meet Loki’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said. “Loki, I… I don’t know how you did this, but…”

“There are certain benefits to being a prince,” Loki said. “Lots of paperwork and dinners, yes, but also, when you ask for all non-essential power to be cut from the whole city for twenty minutes, people actually listen.”

“You’re probably going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you?” Tony asked.

“Probably,” Loki agreed. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Their eyes met for what must have been the thousandth time that night, and Tony didn’t want to look away. The way that Loki was looking at him, the way that he wet his lips and leaned down just a little, close enough that Tony could feel his breath on his cheek… it was almost enough to make Tony wonder.

But for all that Tony had thought this night could be one of freedom, he realised that there were still a few shackles that he couldn’t shake off.

Tony’s eyes closed, and he pressed his lips tightly together as he leaned forward to rest his head on Loki’s shoulder. He stayed there for a moment, steeling himself– before turning just slightly so that when he opened his eyes, he was looking back up at the starry sky.

“I wish I could have met you some other way,” Tony whispered, his eyes finding the faint glow of colour which was all he could see of the rainbow Bifröst bridge. “I think… we would have…”

“We would have been friends,” Loki said—and maybe Tony was imagining it, maybe his own feelings – slow and sudden as they had been, creeping up out of nowhere and yet feeling like they had been part of him all along – were making him see things that weren’t there. But when Tony looked back to him again, he thought he saw something in Loki’s eyes that echoed his own unspoken thoughts.

Because yeah, they almost certainly would have been friends, because they had managed that now even with everything between them. But perhaps, had things been different… perhaps they would have been even more than that.

For now, though, this was what they had—and for now, it would have to be enough, because they couldn’t change where they were, no matter how much either of them wanted to pretend.

Loki sighed, and placed his free hand on top of the wall in front of them, following Tony’s gaze up to the sky. “Do the stars look different from Midgard?” Loki asked.

“A little,” Tony replied. Then, he shifted his hand so it lay beside Loki’s, their fingers brushing as he echoed the other’s earlier words. “Maybe one day, I’ll show you.”

Loki shifted slightly, so that his head was leaning on top of Tony’s. “I’d like that,” he said.

And standing there with one of his hands resting on Loki’s atop the wall, his other arm curled underneath Loki’s green coat… with the sky full of stars and the warmth of Loki’s arm around his shoulders, Tony could almost pretend that moment could last forever.

Chapter Text

You know, there was a time not so long ago – well, that morning, really – when Tony would have said that he was so done with the Asgardian outfits. They’d improved a little since his stylist, Freyja, seemed to have decided that adding a bit more Midgard into the mix was a good idea, and Tony had certainly been glad for the lack of capes. But the colours had still seemed a little over the top, and the materials? Why so much satin and silk? Did she want to cause a glare in the camera lens?

Honestly, it had reached the point where Tony thought it would be better not to look, because it was all the same, all just a mess of glitter and gold. And he had sighed as Freyja gestured for him to look into the mirror once he’d been dressed in his outfit for the Victory Party, preparing for the worst—

But actually… he looked good.

It was still velvet, still that red and gold colouring that Tony was almost starting to regret telling his stylist was his favourite, because ever since then it felt a bit like he hadn’t been allowed to wear anything else. But the red velvet tailcoat somehow managed to make him look a little taller, and the gold embroidery over the black cuffs and lapels was not the usual flamboyance he had been subjected to for all of his interviews. The coat even made the gold shirt look a little less bright, and the black trousers were decorated only with a faint pattern, rather than anything overly eye-catching.

It was the most Midgardian thing he had worn since… well, since leaving Midgard, and Tony had even offered Freyja a grateful smile.

The shape and feel of these clothes was even familiar enough to be comfortable, and Tony moved with far more ease than he had in a while as he climbed the steps to the palace, Fandral and Fury walking on either side of him.  

Though, despite that comfort, when they reached the top of the steps he had to pause and draw in a breath, his hand lifting up to close around the necklace he was wearing openly over his shirt.

When Fury had told him that he was going to have to go to another dinner party, he had expected that it would be in the same room as the Final Farewell had been, back at the Training Centre. But then Fandral had mentioned the palace, and Tony had near frozen solid.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The Training Centre was meant for tributes, and he wasn’t a tribute anymore. The Victory Party was far larger than the Final Farewell, and far more of a spectacle. So of course it was being held in the palace—

The palace, which was where Loki had grown up. Where Loki still lived.

Tony had hoped that Loki would be at the party, but he supposed that this would have to be a confirmation. He’d wanted to speak to Loki properly ever since he’d woken up in the hovercraft after the Games, but now that the moment was here, he felt more than a little nervous.

But rather than letting his mind fall back into insecurity, he closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the way that Loki had looked at him before the Games, the way that they’d leaned against each other that night on the roof. He held onto the image of Loki’s smile during the crowning ceremony, to the way that Loki had spent so much money during the Games to help Tony make it out alive, to the desperation that had been in Loki’s voice when they had said goodbye… and to the memory of how it had felt when Loki kissed him.

And then, with a burst of confidence and the sure knowledge that he could do this, Tony pushed through the doors to the palace and followed the footmen’s instructions to the main ballroom.

The setup for the party was very different to the room where the Farewell had taken place. It was far larger for one, and rather than a large table in the middle of the room there were long ones around the outside. There were also servers wandering about with nibbles through the masses of people milling around on the edges of the dance floor. 

In a way, Tony thought that it was better, because it would be easier for him to get lost among the crowd—at least, he did when he, Fury, and Fandral first entered.

But then his presence was announced very loudly by a guy standing next to the door, and every single face in the ballroom turned to stare. Still—even though he felt a bit like a deer in headlights, Tony plastered his lips with a bright grin and dove into the fray. 

The first line of people all wanted to shake his hand, all wanted to touch the guy who’d just killed a whole bunch of people on television and made it out alive. Fury vanished almost right away, and although Fandral stayed by Tony for a while he was quickly drawn into a conversation with a dark-haired woman and a guy whose beard was almost as red as Tony’s coat, leaving Tony to deal with the sharks alone. Thankfully, a familiar face pushed his way through the crowd not long after, and Tony almost sighed with relief.

“Tony, it is a pleasure to have you here,” Thor exclaimed, clapping Tony on the back with enough force that his knees almost buckled.

“Thanks,” Tony said. “I couldn’t say no to a party like this.”

“That’s true,” Thor laughed. “This is your party after all!” He grinned then, and leaned a little closer. “I suppose that we can all stop wondering what you did in your training session now. I suppose you were responsible for the rumoured damage to the training room?”

“I was, yeah,” Tony said. “I hope it wasn’t a trouble to fix—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You showed the Gamemakers what you could do, and then by the Norns did you give us a show in the Arena,” Thor exclaimed. “It was a Games unlike any others we’ve seen. I am sorry that I wasn’t the one to crown you yesterday, but my brother asked that I allow him the honour.” Thor’s smile had turned more into a smirk by the end of his little speech, and Tony cleared his throat.

“He did?” Tony asked, trying not to sound overly interested in that fact—but from the way that Thor’s smirk deepened, he didn’t quite think that he’d succeeded.

“Yes,” Thor said. “He did.” He looked rather like he wanted to say something else on the matter, but then his eyes flickered to the crowd, and he changed the subject entirely by greeting one of the people standing nearby.

Tony supposed that even the future king couldn’t speak openly where he might be heard. What kind of life must Loki have had, growing up in a place like this?

After that, Tony was drawn back into the tiring conversations, but thankfully, Thor stayed by his side. He introduced him to a lot of people, sometimes letting him know that they had helped to sponsor him during the Games—and if that was the case, they almost always then cited either Thor’s or Loki’s confidence in him as being the reason for their decision to do so. Tony might have grown frustrated with Thor for introducing him to so many people, but then he realised what Thor was doing—by moving through the room so quickly, they weren’t giving anyone enough time to ask deep questions. And yeah, answering the same, trivial stuff over and over was annoying and tedious, but it was not as bad as it could have been, if the Asgardians had the opportunity to think of questions like how he had felt when… when something particularly upsetting had happened, for example.

As it was, he was rather happy to answer how he got the idea to repurpose the mines eight hundred times, if it meant that he didn’t have to talk about Lindir.

But by the time he and Thor had circled the room, Tony’s answer to the obvious questions was quite well rehearsed, and his mind was wandering—as were his eyes. Every time he saw a flash of emerald satin or dark hair his heart leapt, but it would never be the person he hoped it was. Every time it turned out to be another sponsor or Gamemaker or fan Tony’s spirits fell just a little further, and smiling for the crowd became just a little harder.

When Thor introduced Tony to Tyr, the Head Gamemaker, Tony had to try really hard not to deck the guy in his overly smug face for all that he had done during the Games. In every word that Tyr said, all Tony could hear were the screams—and he was probably imagining it but he couldn’t help but think that the man’s breath smelt a little like blood.

But he kept his smile bright, and nodded along to Tyr’s embellished recount of what it had been like to watch Tony’s exploits from the Control Room. It truly was a struggle though. Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly, his focus so much on keeping himself under control that he almost jumped when Thor nudged him in the arm right in the middle of one of Tyr’s sentences.

“Tony,” Thor said, not caring that he was interrupting as he gestured to something over Tyr’s shoulder. “Over there.”  

Tony’s gaze flickered to where Thor had gestured—and then his eyes widened.

He was just as tall as Tony remembered, and the shape of his tailcoat somehow made him look even taller—a coat which, Tony noticed, was almost exactly the same as his own. It was black instead of red, but the gold embroidery was the same—and his lapels were his favourite shade of green. Around his neck he wore a gold and green scarf, but below it Tony could see that his shirt was black as well.

But even though the sight made Tony’s breath catch, he knew it would have done so regardless of what he was wearing.

“Loki,” Tony whispered—

And then, before he even had a moment to contemplate what he was doing, he was pushing his way through the crowd as quickly as he could, not caring enough to be polite or even to walk at a proper pace—because all he wanted in that moment was to get across the room, and to throw himself into Loki’s arms.

Chapter Text

The flight in the hovercraft was probably long, but to Tony, it could have lasted a lifetime and not been long enough.

Once, he might have questioned why they didn’t just send the tributes on the Bifröst, but his conversation at dinner with Loki the night before told him that the Bifröst worked best when it could be opened in a place where it had been opened before, such as the landing points in each of the other Nine Realms. Doing it that way used only a little energy, but to open a new Bifröst point at each Arena every year was just not efficient, and would use up power that Asgard would rather have stored for emergencies.

When they arrived at the Arena, they stepped out of the hovercraft and into an underground hallway, one Tony thought must be circular in shape, given the curve of it. Then each tribute was led into a separate room for the final preparations.

The room was bare, just plain concrete, with a glass tube in the far corner—the ominous entry to where Tony was to go next. Clearly no one had seen a need to waste money on it—these rooms would only be used just this once, and they would not appear on television.

The moment Tony was inside, a woman grabbed his wrist and jammed a device against his forearm. It hurt like hell, and Tony snatched his arm away with a glare.

“It’s just your tracker.”

Tony turned to see that Freyja was the only other person present, and he stepped toward her with a grimace. He hadn’t quite been able to see eye to eye with Freyja—she was as Asgardian as they came, and overly excited about dressing him up in as many colours and frills as she could. Though, he had to admit, she did a better job than what some of the other tributes ended up with.

“A warning would have been nice,” he muttered, pressing his hand against his arm as he came to a stop at her side. “Jesus Christ, that fucking hurt.”

“It’s necessary,” Freyja tutted. “The Gamemakers need to be able to find you in the Arena, and they need to be able to track your vitals.”

“Yeah, so they know whether I’ve died or not.”

“Certainly,” Freyja said. “And to keep the betting odds up to date, of course.”

“Of course,” Tony sighed.

Freyja continued chatting as she helped Tony dress, though Tony mostly tuned her out and focused on the clothes. They were sturdy enough to last several days of wear, as they would need to be, since the tributes were not provided with spares.

Tony’s pants were dark in colour, and neither particularly warm nor thin– they would leave him vulnerable to almost every weather. The leather boots almost reached his knees, however, and would protect him against any underbrush he might need to run through, if the Arena had trees and bushes. His shirt was white – which seemed rather impractical – with long sleeves, and over the top of that went a thin black waistcoat type thing, the only purpose for which being that it would mask some of his shirt’s glaring whiteness. Over that was a leather coat which fell just to the middle of his thighs, and had sleeves that went just past his elbows. Again– they got so close to dressing him in something practical, and fell just short of it. To add insult to injury, Freyja rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and strapped leather vambraces to his forearms – vambraces, armour, almost unheard of in the Games – but these were coloured a bright red, as was the pauldron made of interlocked leather pieces which went on his right shoulder.

The leather would provide some protection, yes, but the red would be visible from a mile away. It was cruel in a way that only the Hunger Games could manage, giving the tributes a taste of protection, but making them exchange their ability to effectively hide in the process—forcing them all to make a choice.

It might be interesting, at least, to see who would go for which option once the Games had begun. Still, the armour would at the very least be useful to have in the Bloodbath.

Once Tony was finished, Freyja smoothed her hands down over Tony’s jacket.

“I’m proud to be your stylist, Tony,” she said, offering him a smile that wasn’t as chirpy as her usual. “I wish you the very best.”

“Thank you,” Tony said—though the words felt a little odd. Was it right to thank someone who he knew would be excitedly watching the Games in a few minutes time?

Her words had been meant well, at least.

After that, Freyja gathered her things, and moved toward the door. Tony didn’t watch her leave, but instead turned to face the glass tube with a sigh. As much as he didn’t really like her, he would have appreciated her company. He just… didn’t really want to be alone.

There was a clock on the wall beside the glass, counting down. It told Tony that he had just under fifteen minutes left to go before he would need to be inside the tube and on his way up to the Arena, and just like the trip on the hovercraft, it felt both far too long and far too little.

The sound of the door opening gave him something else to focus on, and he turned to look, wondering if maybe Freyja had left something behind—but it wasn’t Freyja who had entered.

“Hello, Anthony,” Loki greeted quietly, closing the door behind him but not moving forward.

Tony couldn’t bring himself to respond, anything he could think to say catching in his throat and making him feel a little choked. So he just… stared, and somehow, Loki seemed to think that meant that he didn’t want him there.

“I asked Freyja to let me know when you were done, and to allow us a few minutes,” Loki said, his voice a little hesitant. “Is that all right?”

Tony still couldn’t find the words—but his feet carried him forward until he was almost running, and he hardly slowed as he threw his arms around Loki’s shoulders and buried his face into the curve of Loki’s neck.

“Loki,” he gasped. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Loki said, his hands pressing against Tony’s back, holding him tight. “There’s nowhere else that I would rather be.”

Tony just held on even tighter at that, a sound that was high-pitched and quite close to a whine escaping him. He knew that he was being stupid, that he should be mentally preparing himself and not clinging on to Loki with the grip of an octopus, but… even just seeing Loki really hit him hard with what was about to happen.

“I wish that you didn’t have to go in there,” Loki whispered, turning his head so that—well, Tony must have imagined it, because that wasn’t Loki’s lips pressing against his hair. “I wish there was something more that I could do.”

“So do I,” Tony muttered, his words muffled against Loki’s shoulder. “I wish that these fucking Games didn’t exist.”

“Shh,” Loki hissed. “You must not say things like that.”

Tony wanted to point out that he could say whatever he liked, that they could hardly make things worse—but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He had seen the horrors that the Gamemakers were capable of creating.

So instead, he just held Loki a little tighter, as tight as he could. He had to be close to crushing him, but Loki didn’t complain at all. 

“Do not worry, Anthony. I will do everything that I can to see you home safely,” Loki swore, voice low. “I do not care how much it will cost me. I could have all the money in the world, and it would still not be worth as much as bringing you back alive.”

“Loki,” Tony whispered, looking up so that he could catch Loki’s gaze—and what he saw there cut off what he was going to say before he’d even really begun to say it. “I…”

“Anthony, I mean it,” Loki said. “As I told you before, I cannot prevent you from going into that Arena, I cannot stop this, but anything that’s within my power to help—I will do it.”

Tony’s eyes were wide, the deep emotion surging through Loki’s words entirely unmistakeable. He didn’t understand. He knew that he had developed a dangerous level of fondness for Loki, but… he didn’t have anything to lose. Surely, Loki had been smarter than that? Surely he had just been enjoying Tony’s company, but nothing more—because surely he knew the likelihood of never seeing Tony again after today?

And it hurt to say it, it did, but Tony steeled himself and said it anyway. “Loki, you can’t. We’ve only known each other for, what, just over a week—”

“That’s enough time for me to know that I want to know you longer,” Loki said. “I know… I know that what I’m feeling now is more powerful than how I’ve felt for another person before. I knew you were something special the first time I saw you during your training, and even though I knew that I should keep my distance, I couldn’t help myself. You just… you drew me in like nothing ever has before, and I knew that if you were to—if this was to be your last few days, I thought it would be better to have known you and lose you than not to have known you at all. But now, I cannot bear the thought of losing you, and I will make sure you return, because I cannot live with anything else myself. Anthony, even if I did not… even if you choose to never talk to me again—even if you tell me to go now, I will still help you. Because even if I did not feel this way, the world would be a darker place without you in it.”

Tony felt like a vice had closed around his chest, or like Loki had reached between his ribs and closed his hands around Tony’s heart. It was constricting, it ached, but not quite in a way that hurt. Not yet, at least—but Tony knew that it would, and his voice was thick with emotion as he spoke.

“Loki, I… I could die in the bloodbath, I could be dead in twenty minutes,” Tony said. “You can’t… you can’t have too much false hope, okay? And I’m going to need you to promise that—that if I do die, you’re not going to do anything stupid like condemning the Games on the TV—”

“You won’t die in the bloodbath,” Loki cut in fiercely, moving his hands from Tony’s back to hold the tops of his arms instead. “Do you hear me, Anthony? You won’t. Because no matter what you see in front of you when you get up there, no matter what temptations they’ve placed at the cornucopia, the moment that cannon sounds you are going to turn around and run.”

“Even if there’s a full on machine gun three inches from my feet?” Tony asked, trying to lighten the mood a little—as well as trying to deflect, because no matter how much he admired Loki, he couldn’t make a judgement now before he had even seen the Arena.

But Loki remained firm. “Even then. There will be nothing there that will be worth risking your life for, because you’ll be able to get any of it later.”

Tony frowned, and lifted his head so that he could look Loki in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“When I told you I will sponsor you, I did not mean that half-heartedly,” Loki said. “I have already told Fury that he can ask me for whatever he will need to get you through this, regardless of cost.”

“You… Loki,” Tony said, “I don’t know how I can—”

“Accept it? How about gracefully and without argument?” Loki asked, his tone finally lightening just a little. “You’re not in a position where you can refuse help—”

“I wasn’t going to,” Tony said. “I just… are you sure? I know that the gifts can get pretty expensive—”

“Anthony, I am a prince,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “I can afford whatever I need to. And if that was not enough, Thor is also going to sponsor you. You, and no one else. He has also agreed to publicly pledge his support to you in an interview this afternoon, after the Bloodbath – which you will survive – and that will surely bring in others wanting to sponsor you, because the people love Thor for some reason.”

“I’m thinking right now that there are quite a few reasons to love Thor,” Tony said, his voice a little weak. “I, uh. Is this even allowed—”

“Stop complaining,” Loki said. “There is nothing that you can do or say that is going to change my mind, do you understand? For that matter, why are you trying to change my mind? I thought—”

“I don’t want you to change your mind,” Tony interrupted. “I am grateful, but…”

“But nothing,” Loki snapped. “You are going to go back home to Midgard, back home to your friends, and to your workshop.”

“Home,” Tony sighed. “It seems so far away, you know?”

“I know,” Loki replied—though how could he? His home was the palace, only a hovercraft ride away.

“I miss them,” Tony said. “I miss Rhodey, and I miss Pep. I wonder what they think about everything I said in the interview.” He snorted. “I wonder what they thought of that ridiculous outfit.”

“Personally, I thought it rather suited you,” Loki replied, his tone lightening a little. “Although, I suppose you would have preferred something a little more Midgardian?”

The words held an echo of their conversation on the roof the night before, and almost brought a smile to Tony’s lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “It would have been nice, even just… something to remind me of home. I didn’t—I don’t have anything from home to take with me up there,” he realised. “I know that we’re allowed to bring a token into the Arena, but… I didn’t think to grab anything from home before I left. I wish that I had, I know it’s stupid but… it would have been nice, I think, to have something with me to remind me of why I need to keep going.”

Strangely, Loki looked like he was thinking hard by the time Tony was done talking, his brow creased in a frown.

“Loki?” Tony asked. “Are you okay?”

At Tony’s question, something in Loki’s expression shifted—and then he raised his hands from where they had come to rest on Tony’s hips. Loki hooked his fingers under the collar of his own shirt, and pulled up a thin leather cord that Tony hadn’t noticed before—and then he lifted it over his head. There was a circular pendant attached, and when Loki placed it on his palm and held it out, Tony leaned down to have a better look.

The pattern in the middle was rather simple, a series of crossed lines forming an asterisk shape, each of the eight points intersected by three lines and forking into three prongs of their own at the end. Around the edge of the pendant were a series of ancient runes, not one the same.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“It’s supposed to be for protection,” Loki said. “My mother gave it to me a few years ago, and I... would like you to have it.”

Tony immediately shook his head. “Loki, I can’t—”

“You can,” Loki replied, bypassing Tony’s hands entirely and looping the leather cord around Tony’s neck himself. “And you will. Maybe it will help, and even if it doesn’t… I know it isn’t from your home, but hopefully it will give you a reminder. Like you said.”

“I thought tokens had to be approved, to make sure they couldn’t get used as a weapon,” Tony whispered—though his hand closed around the circular pendant as he spoke, and he knew that even though he had protested, he did not want to let it go.

“Don’t worry,” Loki said. “They cannot take it off you now, and they will not argue when I tell them that I gave it to you.”

“Another perk of being a prince?” Tony asked.

“Of course,” Loki said. “Aren’t you glad you met me?”

“Yes,” Tony said without hesitation, and with none of the teasing tone they had been using. “No matter what happens, yes, I am.”

Loki’s expression softened at that, his eyes so tender and his touch so gentle as he reached up to brush his fingers along the line of Tony’s jaw.

Tony leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment—and then he felt Loki’s cool breath on his cheek, and he opened them again to find that Loki was so, so close. He knew it would be easy to kiss Loki now, the easiest thing in the world. And he was quite sure that if he did, Loki would kiss him back, because Loki’s eyes were flicking down to Tony’s lips. Tony knew that he had not misread the things that Loki had said, the things that he had done, and he was sure that they were both feeling the same. Perhaps it was fast, this thing that had grown between them, but Loki was right. It had been enough time to see what could be, but they didn’t have the time to wait that long.

Tony’s breath caught as Loki tilted his head and leaned in just a little closer, the space between their lips so small now that all it would take would be to lift his chin, to brush his lips over Loki’s. He would do it sweetly, at first. Chastely. Then maybe when Loki kissed him back, they would deepen the kiss into something more, clinging to each other and taking the only moment they had left—

“One. Minute.”

The electronic voice was jarring, and it slammed Tony back down to reality with a sharp effectiveness. He tore his gaze away from Loki, his hands falling from Loki’s shoulders to clench into fists at his sides.

“I guess I should go,” he said, looking reluctantly to the glass tube at the back of the room.

Loki’s voice was quiet. “Yes. I suppose you should.”

Tony drew in a breath, and took a step toward the tube, a step away from Loki—

But then Loki grabbed his arm and pulled him back—and then Loki’s lips were suddenly upon his. It was just for a second, just for the briefest of moments, but it was still certainly a kiss. Loki’s hands slid down Tony’s arms until their fingers were entwined, and when the kiss ended, Loki leaned their foreheads together for a moment, lingering close.

Tony was the one who leaned in next, touching his lips to Loki’s again—and then again. The kisses were only light touches, barely a brush of skin, and every single one just left Tony wanting another, wanting more, sending shivers up his spine and warmth curling through his chest. But he knew that if he were to do anything more, if he were to kiss Loki even as firmly as Loki had kissed him that first time, then he wouldn’t be able to let go.

They didn’t stop as Loki gently pushed at Tony’s hands—Tony just moved backwards, his hands still curled into Loki’s, their lips still brushing in those not-quite kisses that weren’t enough, but all either of them were brave enough to take. Tony’s eyes stayed closed, trusting Loki to guide him where he needed to go. And sure enough, he heard the change in his footsteps when his heavy boots shifted from concrete to metal, and he held Loki tighter, just for half a moment.

“Thirty. Seconds.”

Tony shook his head and tried to draw Loki even closer, but Loki was leaning away, both hands squeezing Tony’s as he held his gaze.

“Promise that you will return to me,” Loki pleaded, his green eyes hard as they bore into Tony’s. “Promise that you will survive.”

“Loki…” Tony didn’t want to give Loki the same answer he’d given Rhodey, because he knew that this time, it wouldn’t be enough. And he wasn’t sure that he would be able to give anything more than that. But then—

“Anthony,” Loki whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please. Promise me.”

“All right,” Tony replied, holding Loki’s gaze and leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Loki smiled – a harsh, broken smile, but a smile nonetheless – and then leaned in to kiss Tony one more time before pulling away.

“Ten. Seconds.”

Tony kept his gaze locked with Loki’s as he took a step back, and their hands remained entwined between them until the very last moment.

Even when the glass slid down between them and the clock counted down the last couple of seconds, Tony didn’t look away.

“Come back to me,” Loki whispered.

“I will.”

And as the ground began to move beneath his feet, the miniature elevator lifting him up to the Arena, Tony drew in a steadying breath and focused all the emotions coursing through his veins toward fierce determination.

Despite the horrors that awaited him, despite the odds, Tony knew that it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other.

It wouldn’t be.

Tony had made a promise to survive—a promise to return. And by any god that was still living in this godforsaken world, Tony swore that he would not break it.

Chapter Text

The noise of the party felt like it was fading away, the people and the colours and the whole Asgardian mess all closing down until the only thing Tony could see – the only thing that mattered – was Loki.

The crowd must have begun to move out of his way, because in moments he was no longer pushing through them, but rather moving past them, his steps quickening until he was running toward Loki, his hands reaching out. He wanted to hold him, he wanted to be held by him—wanted to run his hands through Loki’s hair and kiss his lips with the kind of passion he had been denied before he’d been thrown into the Arena.

But when Tony reached him, Loki lifted his hands and placed them firmly on Tony’s shoulders, bringing him to a halt. Tony’s hands came to rest on Loki’s sides, but it would seem that there was to be no hug, and no kiss. Yet Loki’s smile was as warm as always, and when he spoke, he sounded almost as relieved as Tony had been moments before.

“Anthony,” Loki breathed, his hands sliding over Tony’s shoulders to cup both of his cheeks instead—but it didn’t feel like an affectionate gesture. It felt more like someone conducting an examination, as if Loki were checking for injuries out of… well, out of something other than fondness.

“Loki, what—”

“I am glad that my donations were able to help bring you home,” Loki said loudly—and Tony frowned, because… this wasn’t his home. And maybe the word had simply slipped out unthinkingly, but Loki should have known the way that Tony felt about that. But before Tony could feel too hurt, he noticed that there was something in Loki’s gaze, something that he wasn’t saying.

So Tony didn’t make the comment, and although the answer he gave instead was a little stiff, it wasn’t anything close to upset, rather teetering on the edge of curious. “I’m glad, too,” he said, and then his voice softened as he added words that he absolutely meant. “Thank you, for everything you did for me. I know that I wouldn’t have got out without you. If there is anything that I can do—”

“There is one thing,” Loki interrupted, as absolutely polite as always. “Dance with me?”

Tony nodded. “Of course.”

Loki stepped back and offered Tony his hand, and as Tony took it, his heart was hammering in his chest. He wasn’t sure what this meant, but… he knew that it didn’t mean nothing. Loki had been acting oddly ever since the end of the Games, and Tony knew that the only explanation for it must be that there was something he didn’t know. And yet, that wasn’t the only reason for the way that his heart felt about to leap from his chest.

Tony was about to dance with Loki, in front of… well, pretty much all of Asgard. And he wasn’t sure if this was being televised, but it probably was, so there might even be more people watching than that.

Loki’s hands were gentle as he drew Tony into his arms, and the soft, slow beat of the music meant that they were able to hold each other close, far closer than when they had simply been standing and speaking to one another. Tony felt himself relaxing, leaning into Loki’s arms, but then Loki leaned down to whisper into his ear and everything went tense once again.

“We will have this dance, and perhaps the next,” Loki whispered, his words quiet but quick. “We will dance as long as you want, but we must not do any more than that. Once people are drunk enough not to notice, we will slip out and go somewhere a little quieter.” He leaned back, and offered a small smile that held a touch of nervousness. “If… that is something you want?”

Tony’s lips curved into a smile that was more real than even their dance was. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d definitely want that.”

Loki’s breath left him in an audible sigh, and then his grip on Tony tightened just a little. Tony knew then that he had been right—Loki still wanted him. And hopefully, by quieter, Loki also meant somewhere that they would not need to worry about being overheard, for Tony was sure that was the problem here.

And dancing with Loki… well, Tony couldn’t forget the fact that everyone else was still watching, not with the way that Loki carefully stopped Tony from leaning his head on Loki’s shoulder. But it was nice, nice in a way that Tony hadn’t been sure he would be able to feel again, and when the song ended and Loki looked at him with a question in his gaze, Tony did not move away.

They had the second dance, and then a third—and by then, Tony noted that the crowd was beginning to grow a little rowdy. As Loki had predicted, they were all starting to get drunk, and were so busy with their own conversations that they wouldn’t notice if their Victor and one of the princes slipped out of the room.

Loki, it seemed, noticed as well, for as the fourth tune began to near its end, he leaned down to whisper to Tony once more. “We will part now,” he said. “Meet me by the south door, after the next dance.”

“South?” Tony asked, arching a brow. How the heck was he meant to know which one was south?

Loki rolled his eyes good naturedly, then turned them so that Tony could see the glass door set into the tall windows on the far side of the ballroom.

“Right,” Tony said. “Okay. But… what if one of these others asks me to dance, and I can’t get away? They didn’t before when I was with Thor, but… they might think it’s okay now, now that I’ve danced with you.”

“They won’t,” Loki said simply. He let go of Tony for a moment, and took hold of his gold and green scarf in both of his hands. Tony had wondered about it, because the scarf had seemed like a bit of an odd choice for an indoor dance—but then, he often wondered things about the practicalities of Asgardian fashion. But when Loki lifted the scarf from his neck and placed it around Tony’s instead, Tony realised that Loki had been intending on doing this all along.

It made a statement even clearer than their matching jackets—a statement that even the drunker patrons would not be able to miss. But it also brought forth a question, because—

“If you didn’t want everyone to know,” Tony said, “Then why are you wearing the same clothes as me? Why are you…” Tony sifted his hand from Loki’s waist to run his fingers over the soft material of the scarf. The colours clashed with his bright red jacket, but he didn’t really care.

“It is certainly not that I don’t want anyone to know,” Loki said, suddenly sounding a little sour—but then he smirked. “I was told not to make a scene, but of course, it is not my fault that your stylist happened to choose the same jacket for you as mine did for me.”

Tony blinked, suddenly wondering—

“Are you the reason why Freyja suddenly decided that Midgardian fashion is in?” he asked, feeling a little like he couldn’t catch his breath. He’d mentioned his dislike for Asgardian fashion once, and yet…

“These clothes certainly flatter you more,” Loki replied. Tony figured that would be about as close to an admission as he’d get, and it settled warmly in his chest.

But, Tony still had to ask. “Will Freyja get in trouble, and your stylist? For matching our outfits? Won’t they affect their reputation, or something?”

“Of course not,” Loki said. “If asked, they will simply say that I told them to do it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tony said. “If you blame them and they blame you, that just makes it all circular—”

“Rumours always are,” Loki interrupted. “And so long as it is only a rumour, then eventually it will be discounted, and it will not hurt us. But tonight, right here and now, everyone will see us wearing the same clothes, and they will know the truth. If only for a little while.”

A little while.

It felt like the words echoed, even though they had barely been a whisper, quiet enough that no one else in the room would have been able to hear. And Tony realised that Loki had set this up so that they could have a night, one night that they could spend together—but after that, things were a little more uncertain, and they would each still be able to go their own way. Or not, if they wished. 

Hopefully, by the time the night came to an end, they would be on clearer footing.

When the song faded into another, they reluctantly stepped back away from each other. In an echo of the way they had parted before the Games, their hands remained entwined to the very last, the tips of their fingers brushing for a few moments longer than necessary—

Then, as if he were forcibly tearing himself away, Loki turned on his heel and melted back into the crowd, his dark coloured jacket vanishing easily amongst the bright rainbow of the other Asgardians.

Tony moved back toward the side of the room, and it didn’t take him long to find Thor again—even amidst the noise of the party, Thor’s booming laugh was easily heard. There were a few people who approached him as he walked, but Loki was right—the moment they saw the scarf, their offer would halt on their lips, and they would respectfully leave him alone.

Thor grinned when he saw Tony approach, and respectfully disengaged himself from his current conversation to go and meet him.

“Nice scarf,” Thor said teasingly—although his smile was warmer than the words.

“Thank you,” Tony said. “I, uh. I can’t stay for long, I’m going to go and get a drink. I just, wanted to say thanks, for earlier. Just, uh, in case I don’t—”

“Don’t worry,” Thor said, still smiling. “I will spread the word that you retired, still recovering from the Games. It is not unusual.”

Another lie, another manipulation—another rumour. Tony supposed that it must just be how Asgard operated, but it left something of an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Oh, well. He was going to have to get used to it, especially if he wanted to be with Loki—and yeah, he knew that Thor meant the best.

So—

“Thank you,” Tony said again, a little firmer this time.

“You’re more than welcome,” Thor replied. “Now, go. Move toward the door, speak to as many people as you can, then come back quietly while sticking to the walls.”

Tony thanked him again, and then moved to follow his advice. As he did so, he couldn’t help but think that Loki was rather lucky to have a brother such as Thor. The way that they were with each other, that even though they seemed to disagree more often than not, they always had each other’s backs… well, it was kind of the way that Tony was with Rhodey. The thought made him miss home with a yearning he hadn’t let himself feel in quite some time, and he pushed it away as he focused on making his way through the room.

He did as Thor suggested, and let himself be seen heading toward the door—then he moved back to the windows along the wall, ducking his head and walking smoothly past the men and women lined up there who only had eyes for the dancefloor, hoping someone would ask them and therefore were not looking at Tony.

Tony felt a little disappointed when he saw that Loki wasn’t already waiting for him by the south door, but the moment he reached it, he felt a hand slide into his, and then Loki was tugging him outside with the kind of swiftness that would have been difficult for anyone to notice.

Unlike what would have happened had this party taken place on Midgard, the courtyard outside the ballroom was empty and quiet. Tony supposed that he should not have been so surprised—after all, the purpose of an Asgardian party was to speak with the people who were of importance, to climb the social ladder, to make connections and enjoy the opulent food while being seen. Anyone who wanted to spend the night in the dark gardens would have just stayed at home rather than risk a scandal.

It meant that he and Loki were able to move past the potted plants and then out into the garden proper without being noticed, running hand in hand as if they truly were doing something wrong. Loki led the way past the hedgerows, through lines of rose bushes, along the side of a greenhouse and then out beyond a line of trees. Once there, they headed toward a fountain surrounded by flowering bushes—it was circular, lined with a low wall and topped with the figure of a rearing horse.

But Tony was not given long to admire it, for the very moment they stopped running Loki buried his hands into Tony’s hair and crashed their lips together in a kiss.

Tony groaned into it, his hands digging into Loki’s back as he tried to pull him as close as he could. It was everything that Tony had wanted their reunion in the party to be—but perhaps it was even better, because the tension that had been between them in the ballroom cracked in the most perfect of ways, allowing emotion to spill over until they were both gasping with it. Loki kissed like he wasn’t sure how long they had, and Tony followed suit– their lips and tongues sliding together with a kind of urgency that tasted sweet. They only broke apart when they were in desperate need of air, but even so they held each other tightly, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes remaining closed as they fought to make the moment linger.

Loki even leaned in again after a few seconds, touching his lips to Tony’s once more, and they came together lightly again and again as if neither of them could stop.

“I have waited so long to do that,” Loki whispered. “There were moments where… I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to do it again.”

Tony didn’t know how to respond to that, feeling like Loki’s admission had stolen all of his words away.

There had been moments for him as well, where he had clutched at the necklace that he still wore even now, wondering if he would ever be able to give it back in person. And to be here, in Loki’s arms, having survived all that he had—it was like something had broken down inside him, and there was no longer any reason to hold back from doing what he wanted.

So he just tightened his hold on Loki, and leaned up to kiss him again, hoping that would be enough of a response. And it was only when they were just holding each other, the soft kisses dwindling, their breathing slowing back down—just feeling comfortable in the closeness they had found that Loki spoke again.

“I truly am grateful,” he said, “That you are back with me.”

“I did mean it when I said that I couldn’t have got out without you,” Tony whispered. “I could never thank you enough for what you did.”

“No,” Loki said. “You don’t need to thank me. You could say that my reasoning was not entirely selfless, and besides. It wasn’t just me. There were plenty of others who—”

“I bet I wouldn’t have had half as many sponsors if you hadn’t given me your support, though. And if you hadn’t been able to convince Thor,” Tony said. “Besides, I wouldn’t care if you only saved me to use me as bragging rights. You still saved me.”

“Well,” Loki said, his mouth curving into a smile as he leaned closer still. “I hope that you would care at least a little.”

“Perhaps,” Tony admitted, titling his head and allowing his eyes to flutter closed as his lips brushed against Loki’s at the movement. It was like… he’d waited so long to feel this again that now he was here, he just couldn’t help it.

“Truly, Anthony,” Loki said, his mouth still touching Tony’s. “What I did was—”

“Don’t try to tell me it was nothing,” Tony whispered. “Please, just… please, don’t do that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Loki promised. “I was going to say that I would do it again. I was willing to pay any price to ensure that you got out of that Arena. That you came back to me.”

Tony knew that Loki probably meant his words to be comforting, but… they sat heavily in his chest, weighing him down and causing an ache where he should have just been grateful.  

And suddenly, Tony felt a little like an imposter. The moment between them, their reunion had been so perfect, but… there had been a reason that he’d been worried when he’d come out of the Arena, and it wasn’t just that Loki hadn’t come to visit.

“Anthony?” Loki asked, sounding concerned now, and Tony realised that he had just been staring at a spot over Loki’s shoulder, lost in his thoughts as he tried to work through everything that had happened. He had got so caught up in the wondering, in trying to work out why Loki seemed to be avoiding him when he still wanted him—and then after that, the excitement of seeing Loki across the ballroom had been all-encompassing. Through it all, he had almost forgotten the worry that had felt so important when he had first woken up in the medical facility, the worry that crashed back down on him now in a wave that almost buckled his knees and had him pulling away from Loki in a sudden flinch.

“I’m not sure that I did,” Tony croaked.

“What do you mean?” Loki asked—and when he reached out, Tony took a step back, shaking his head and averting his gaze.

As he sat down heavily on the edge of the fountain, he couldn’t help running through it all in his mind. He knew that he wasn’t the same person as he used to be. The things he had seen, the things he had done had changed him, and he knew that he would never be able to go back to being who he was. To being the person Loki had come to care for.

In the short time they’d had together thus far since the Games, all they had been able to do had been to look, to smile, to dance, and then to kiss each other with a passion based on a memory. They hadn’t had the chance to actually talk, to learn each other again in the way that they would need to—because the Tony who had made that promise hadn’t come back, and if that was what Loki wanted from him then… the only way that this could end would be in pain and tears.

“Loki,” Tony whispered, his head in his hands, his fingers burying deep into his hair.  “I… I don’t think I kept my promise.” His voice felt like it was cracking, like it was breaking into a thousand pieces and tearing at his throat with every word.

And this time, Loki didn’t ask to know what Tony meant, and he didn’t try to push. He just sat down beside Tony on the edge of the fountain, an inch or so of space between them—and somehow, that felt like far too much and yet far too little all at the same time. But Loki waited, and it was Tony who ended up moving first, leaning a little closer so that their arms brushed together. Then when Loki tentatively moved to put an arm around him he turned his head to bury his face into Loki’s shoulder, not wanting Loki to let go even though he was about to tell him why he should.

“I didn’t come back, at least, not the same as I was. The things I did in the Arena, they were… I—” Tony cut himself off, gritting his teeth as his hand clenched in Loki’s shirt. “I just—”

He couldn’t.

Again, Loki didn’t try to tell him to shush, and didn’t tell him to calm down. He just held him, his arms tight around Tony’s back, and his lips pressed to Tony’s hair.

It was a few moments before Tony managed to find his voice again, but when he did it was much steadier, Loki’s embrace grounding him enough to the now that he could tear his mind back out of the Games.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” Tony whispered.

“You won’t,” Loki said softly. “Not over this.”

But Tony couldn’t accept that, not when he wasn’t sure that Loki understood what it was he was trying to say.

“You can’t know that,” Tony said. “And I’m worried, because I’m not the same person, and I don’t want you thinking that I’m someone I’m not.”

“Then let’s talk,” Loki said softly. “That is how we came to know one another before the Games. Not entirely, not in that short time, but…”

“Enough,” Tony whispered, echoing their conversation in the room below the Arena before Tony had gone in to face the Games. “Enough to know what could be, and to want to see where things might go.”

“Exactly,” Loki agreed. “I still want to find out what might happen next.”

“And what do you hope that will be?” Tony asked, leaning back just enough so that he could meet Loki’s gaze.

“I still want more with you,” Loki said firmly. “I know that you have been through a lot, and I’m not expecting anything right away. But I want to be there to help you through it, for as long as I…” Loki trailed off then, his expression closing. Tony could even feel tension in the rest of Loki’s body, and he realised that Loki had been about to say something that he hadn’t wanted Tony to hear.

“Loki?” Tony asked. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing that we need to speak about now,” Loki said. “Don’t worry.”

“No, there is something,” Tony said—and when Loki still looked like he was hesitating, Tony thought he might know what the problem was. “You know what? Yeah, you’re right, I have been through a lot, but that’s also just all stuff that I’ve survived. You don’t need to treat me like I’m made of glass. You said that you still want to give this a go, but if that’s the case, then… don’t treat me like I’m about to break, because I’m not.” And okay, so maybe Tony had just had half a moment of shaking hands and broken words, but… that was expected, right? And he’d bounced back.

But Loki looked like his own words were stuck in his throat, like it was physically paining him to stop them from escaping—but why would he do that? What could he be trying to hide that could hurt him so much?

“Loki, please,” Tony said, a little softer. “Please, don’t you think I deserve to know the truth?”

“Of course I do,” Loki said, sounding a little choked. “But I—”

“Then tell me,” Tony said. “What’s going on? Why wouldn’t you let me kiss you in there even though you gave me your scarf? Why did we have to come all the way out here? I mean, Thor knows, so why can’t everyone else?”

“Thor would never break my trust,” Loki said, his voice a little steadier as if he had found more familiar footing. “He’s not going to tell our secret.”

“Okay.” Tony drew the word out, his brows pulling down into a frown. “And… why did it need to be a secret? I won the Games, they can’t claim I’m getting any special treatment now or anything, and people must have noticed what you were doing.”

“Yes,” Loki sighed. “People noticed, but… not in the way that you’re thinking.” He paused, for a moment, before—“There were cameras,” he said. “Before you went into the Arena.”

“And whoever saw it didn’t like it,” Tony realised, his eyes widening as he suddenly understood. “Did you—”

“I am fine,” Loki said. “Thor told my father that it was an infatuation, that nothing would come of it if you died. And father does not care what I spend my money on. But if he thinks it is more than that, then…”

“He doesn’t want you to be with me?” Tony asked, frowning. “I mean, you’re the prince, does he have someone else in mind for you, or something?”

“It’s not just me,” Loki said, clearly pained. “You are a Victor.”

“And that makes me important?” Tony asked, still confused. “I thought that would have helped? I know you’re probably not going to be allowed to be with anyone, but I’m not just a Midgardian anymore.”

Loki closed his eyes, his expression tortured. His hands were clutching the back of Tony’s coat so tightly that Tony could feel it pulling at his shoulders, and when he spoke, Loki’s voice took on that broken tone again. “I… I was not meant to know, but Thor found out some time ago, and he told me because he wanted to put a plan in place to stop it when he became king. And Anthony, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, to stop this, but to do that I might have to stay in Asgard with my father. But whatever the cost, I will always keep you safe. I will not let them do that to you.”

“I don’t understand,” Tony admitted.

“I know,” Loki sighed. “And I did not wish to speak of such things tonight. I just wanted a night where we could be together, away from everyone else. Where it could be just us.” As he finished he lifted his head, and while Loki glanced around the garden, around at the flowers and the leaves, Tony just watched Loki. “This was my mother’s garden,” Loki said, his eyes almost distant. “I meant to show it to you, not just because it doesn’t have any cameras but because you said that you’d like to.”

Tony’s eyes widened, because they had talked about that, hadn’t they? That maybe one day, Loki would show Tony the places that he loved, like the library and his mother’s gardens.

“I thought that maybe, we could get away from all the terrible things that have happened, all the terrible things that still might, so that we can just be us.” Loki sighed, and shook his head as his eyes fell closed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have known better.”

“No,” Tony said, reaching up to cup Loki’s cheek. “You know what? Fuck everyone inside that palace, and fuck the Hunger Games. You’re right, just… for tonight, let’s let it just be the two of us, just like it was that night on the roof of the Training Centre.”

Loki’s green eyes opened at that, and he stared down at Tony in surprise. Tony smiled softly, and stroked Loki’s skin with his thumb, because–

Yeah, it was clear as day that there was something Loki wasn’t telling him, he’d all but admitted it—something that Fury knew as well, Tony realised, because Fury had been hinting, warning him about something that… well, perhaps he had been afraid to mention it in the Training Centre, where they all knew the walls were lined with cameras. And Tony ached with the need to know what it was, and the fact that Loki was keeping secrets certainly rubbed him the wrong way. But it was clearly something big, and maybe… maybe a quiet night together was just exactly what they both needed, so they could reset before going back out to face the world.

There would be more time for talking about the bad things later. From now on, tonight would only be about the good. Because how long had Tony wished for this moment, to feel Loki in his arms, alive and real and holding Tony safe and close?

And yeah, it was impossible to entirely forget everything that was going on, because it felt like every worry in his head was swirling around and around in a never-ending loop—

But the sound of the fountain gave Tony something to focus on, and the feel of Loki’s hands on his skin and the sight of the happiness slowly coming back into his green eyes made Tony feel like his heart was fit to burst. And when Loki leaned down to kiss him again, it was almost enough to make the worries of the world melt away.

Almost, but not quite.

Chapter Text

As Tony rose up into the open air of the Arena he had to close his eyes, the sun so bright it was blinding even then. But despite the pain he blinked rapidly, trying to squint to see something, knowing that he couldn’t afford to waste those precious seconds before the gong sounded and the Games began.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he was able to make out the shapes of the things around him. As per usual, he and the other tributes were standing on raised platforms arranged in a circle around the large, golden cornucopia. The platforms were easily wide enough to stand on, but the simple knowledge that if he stepped off too early the mines below would blow him sky high was more than enough to make him feel a little dizzy.

Forcing his gaze back up, Tony noted that instead of the bounty of items being spread around as they sometimes were, it seemed that this year, the Gamemakers had opted to place every item, big or small, right at the mouth of the cornucopia. Food, weapons, tools, all of it—a pretty pile, a long way out of reach. 

If anyone wanted anything at all, then they would have to run all the way into the middle.

And to make matters worse, the sunlight was glaring so brightly from the hot metal that Tony could hardly see the items at all, couldn’t tell exactly what was there and if there was anything worth running in to grab.

He could see the clock, though, the numbers hovering in the air above the cornucopia, counting down the moments before the gong would sound, telling him that he had just under half a minute left to take in the rest of his surroundings. And as his eyes finally adjusted the rest of the way, he turned his gaze outward—

And when he saw where he was, Tony started to feel a little bit of hope.

The Arena this year was not a rolling landscape, no hills or rocks or rivers. It wasn’t a desert or a tundra, and there was hardly a tree in sight.

Oh, no.

This year, the Arena was a city.

A broken, ruined city, looking like something from a book on Midgard’s history. Perhaps they were even in Midgard, in one of the old places that had been destroyed when Asgard had turned the Bifröst upon them at the end of the war—or perhaps the Gamemakers had simply taken inspiration. But either way… this was an Arena Tony would be able to survive in. There would be places to hide, familiar resources, and buildings with layouts that he might just know better than the other tributes—assuming the Gamemakers hadn’t moved too much around.

And, more importantly—

There would be things he could use to build.

Ten.

The sound of Heimdall’s voice announcing the final few seconds had Tony snapping his head back to the cornucopia in horror as he realised that he had yet to make a plan.

Nine.

The items piled in the mouth of the cornucopia were tempting. After all, Tony’d received a better than average training score, and there was likely to be something for him in the pile of goods, because—

Eight.

—the Gamemakers – and more importantly, the audience – liked to see the tributes use their skills.

Seven.

But Loki’s advice ran through his mind, and as he looked at the tributes either side of him, their lips twisting into vicious snarls, he knew that Loki had probably been right to tell him to run.

Six.

Hmm. Perhaps he could take out the tributes directly beside him by throwing something at the ground by their pedestal, and exploding the mines that were set to make sure no one was tempted to jump the gun.

It would only take a shoe, right? Or maybe his brightly coloured vambrace—

Five.

But he didn’t know if a shoe would exert enough pressure to even set off the mine, and then he would just be seen as the idiot who threw away their shoe before the game had even begun. The ground was rough and broken concrete, and Tony knew he wouldn’t survive racing through the Arena on foot without his shoes. If he wanted to use the mines, then… well. He might just have to go back for them later.

Four.

Okay, but that meant that he would still have the tributes beside him to worry about. To his left was Sveig, who looked more than capable of snapping Tony’s neck with his pinkie, and to Tony’s right was Rinda, the girl from Jotunheim, who was staring at the pile of goods like they would come to her. There was no way Tony could take either of them in a fight.

Three.

Still. The thought of running away rubbed Tony raw. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to go forward, to face this head on like he always did. But he knew the bloodbath was the most vicious moment of the whole Games, and besides—

Two.

—Fury had told him not to be an idiot.

One.

He’d also made a promise to Loki, not three minutes earlier.

Pride would no longer matter if Tony was dead. 

The blast of the cannon echoed across the arena—

And then, Tony ran.

He ran faster than he ever thought he could, pushing himself to his absolute limit. He could hear the thundering footsteps of the other tributes who chose to run away, but they were quickly drowned out by the bloodcurdling screams of those who had chosen the opposite decision. They rang in his ears and urged him to run faster, to run further. The ground beneath his feet was uneven and cracked, but he couldn’t worry about tripping and falling.

Sure, if he did, he was dead. But if he slowed, then… well. He was dead anyway.

There was no way to tell how many tributes had died already, but he was willing to bet that not many had risked running into the centre with the way the items were clustered together. That meant there would be a lot running with him, and he was sure a few would be willing to risk stopping for a moment to snap a bone or two with their heavy boots.

So Tony just kept on running, until his limbs were on fire and his feet ached—and then he went on a little further still, slowing his pace to a brisk walk that he hoped would still get him far enough away without tiring himself out.

When he was a long way out, he ducked into one of the tall buildings and pushed his way into the stairwell. He was careful as he went in—he thought it unlikely that there were any tributes here before him, but there was always the possibility of traps laid by the Gamemakers. He made his way up to the upper floors, sticking his head out a few times to see abandoned offices with broken bits of century-old tech, and as he rose higher those gave way to a few apartments. He stepped out into one, moving slowly, cautiously as he continued his exploration.

And it was just as he was inspecting the broken kitchen and trying the rusty tap – because why not, right? – that he heard the first cannon blast.

He paused, and counted, his lips whispering the numbers, knowing that every blast meant another life lost.

There were five blasts—five dead already.

Eleven left alive.

He tried not to let himself think of the horror of it all, and focused instead on the logic. Eleven alive meant ten more people who had to die before he could make it back home—ten more people that he had to outlive.

In order to do that, Tony knew that his most immediate concerns were going to be food and water. He didn’t have any weapons, and he knew that he would be in trouble if someone else found him—but he also knew that killing was not all there was to these Games.

The pantry, unfortunately, had nothing in it other than a few rat droppings—but the tap, to his surprise, actually worked. He cautiously poked at the stream of water with the tip of his finger, nervous, and when it didn’t hurt or seem overly strange he cupped his hands underneath it and then brought the water up to his face for a sniff. It seemed fine—it was clear, odourless, and it didn’t feel too warm. And besides, he was thirsty enough after the long run that he didn’t think he had much of a choice. So he took a small sip, and then another, and then began gulping it down in a manner that would have had Fandral complaining about his table manners.

It would seem that water wasn’t going to be a problem in this Arena. Well, at least Tony wouldn’t be dying of thirst, though he was sure that there were plenty of worse ways to go.

Once he’d had enough to drink and checked a few of the other apartments for food – and had no luck at all – Tony made his way back down a few flights of stairs. His legs complained, but he didn’t want to risk staying near the top of the building, because it would be too difficult to escape if someone else came inside. But he didn’t want to stay down on the streets, either—he’d watched enough Hunger Games in his lifetime to know that the Gamemakers would not let such an opportunity pass, and that there would likely be some kind of horror prowling down below.

So, he picked a floor, one not too far down from the apartment where he’d found his water.

It was certainly an office rather than a living space, and it wouldn’t be particularly comfortable. But it was safer, and the window by the fire-escape was the kind that opened all the way. He checked the metal stairs that crisscrossed down the side of the building for damage, and once he was sure he would be able to get out that way – and therefore had more than one exit – he decided that the place would do.

But he still did not feel comfortable just going straight to sleep. It was the first night, and he knew that there would be other tributes on the prowl. It was tradition, after all, for the four giants to form an alliance and hunt down the weaker tributes the moment that things began to settle.

So, rather than leaving himself exposed, Tony collected anything he could find—bits of broken metal, wheels off broken roller chairs, shards of glass, smallish flakes of concrete, anything that would make a noise if someone tried to walk past a pile of it on the stairs. Once that was laid out in an early-warning system, he then settled himself down away from the window, leaning against a wall and trying to get in a position that would be comfortable enough to sleep in.

It was hard though, because he had nothing on him—all he had to curl beneath was the leather coat, which did not provide as much warmth as it looked like it should. Or, well, more likely, the Gamemakers had decided to lower the thermostat during the night, and with darkness approaching, the temperature was beginning to fall.

Tony knew it wouldn’t get too low though—the Gamemakers didn’t like freezing their tributes to death, because that was deemed too boring by the Asgardian audience. They wanted to see blood, something which, in this case, actually worked in Tony’s favour.

But cold could keep you awake, and rest was needed to be alert—and alertness would be needed to survive.

There was nothing Tony could do about it, though. Lighting a fire would be suicide, and he didn’t have anything to start one with anyway. So he wrapped his coat as tightly around him as he could, and—

Wait a minute.

The room was an office, right? And there were still bits of ancient computer screens and stuff hanging around. And if this was an office where people had once worked – or at least if it was pretending to be…. Well, if the Gamemakers cared about authenticity then it had to have something in here which would have made it liveable.

Thinking that he was probably being overly optimistic but figuring he didn’t have anything to lose, Tony pushed back up to a standing position, and searched through the room.  

And, amazingly, it actually didn’t take him all that long to find what he was looking for.

It was small, and it was broken, but it was definitely a heater.

Tony didn’t know a whole lot about heaters, but he knew enough to be able to press a button and see that it wouldn’t turn on—and you know, the wiring in the back looked pretty dodgy, as well.

Of course, if he wanted to know exactly what was wrong with it then it would help to have some electricity, but none of the lights he’d tried in any of the rooms had worked.

But… that didn’t mean that there wasn’t any electricity at all, right? In fact, logically, there had to be.

What followed must have been ridiculous to watch, and Tony rather hoped that something interesting was going on somewhere else in the Arena, and that no one other than the Gamemakers actually saw him running his hands over absolutely every surface he could reach, from the walls to the overturned desks to the floor. He wasn’t having much luck, and honestly, he was just about to give up and go back to trying to sleep with only his clothes to keep warm when his hands hit a vent that didn’t seem to have any airflow.

And then, he smiled.

The vent cover was a nightmare to try and pry out of the wall, but a piece of broken chair worked well enough for leverage—and inside was exactly what he was looking for.

A state of the art, electrically powered camera.

And okay, look. He knew that maybe pulling the camera out of the wall was a bad idea, because the Gamemakers probably wouldn’t like losing this angle. But he was willing to bet there were like fifteen more of the damn things in there that he just hadn’t been able to find, and besides.

He needed a power-source for his heater, and the only power source he was going to get in here was going to be from the Arena itself.

Once the camera was tugged out of the wall and Tony had used his trusty broken chair and his abused fingernails to strip down the wiring enough to be able to tap into its power source, he turned back to the heater.

And that was where the plan hit a little bit of a snag.

You see, attaching the state-of-the-art Asgardian wiring to the ancient stuff was easy enough, because the heater would need such a small amount of power compared to the camera. He even managed it without electrocuting himself. But the problem lay with the heater itself, because it was clear that there was something broken on the inside, under the plastic panels. But they were held down tight with small screws Tony couldn’t loosen, and he couldn’t risk prying them off or breaking them, because that would surely damage the inside further.

And short of trying over and over to find pieces of broken stuff in the office small enough to get those screws out, it didn’t seem like there was anything else he was going to be able to do.

But he had to keep trying.

It was growing dark, he was losing daylight, and the temperature was still dropping. His fingers were sore enough from scratching at the screws that they were on the verge of starting to bleed, and he didn’t want to injure himself before the Games had hardly even begun.

He had come so very close to being able to fix that heater, and if he gave up now—

Tony almost jumped out of his skin as he heard something clatter outside the window on the fire escape. He was immediately on his feet and getting ready to run, his heart already beating a mile a minute—

But then he risked glancing over to the window before he turned to leave, and there, sitting on the metal railing... was a silver parachute. As the panic subsided, he even heard the soft, tell-tale beeping. 

Tony was over by the fire escape immediately, pulling the parachute inside and tearing apart the package it had carried down to him.

The box was small, barely the length of his hand—certainly not large enough to carry a sweater or something, and if it was food then it certainly wasn’t much. But when Tony opened it, he saw that it was something he never would have asked for and yet he had sorely needed—

A small Phillips head screwdriver, with a red and black plastic handle. It was tiny, and would not have been much use at all if Tony had tried to stab anyone with it—but it was just the right size to get the panelling off the heater.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, glancing down to the disassembled camera—even though it would no longer be recording, he was sure anyone watching from a different angle would get the message.

With the screwdriver in hand, it was almost too easy. The problem inside the heater was just a little damage to the wiring, nothing that Tony couldn’t fix. It was becoming more and more clear that this wasn’t an authentic destroyed city, since there was no way this heater had managed a hundred years without rotting away to a much greater extent. But this time, that fact was a good one, because it meant that in only minutes Tony had the repaired heater hooked up to the wall. 

And when he pressed the on button, the thing lit up and fired out a blast of warm air that felt more heavenly than… well, more than almost anything else Tony could imagine feeling in that moment.

“Oh, yes,” Tony drawled, his lips pulling into a grin. “Let there be heat.”

He fiddled with it for a few more moments before pushing it against the wall and leaving it be, feeling rather proud of himself. Everyone else would probably be freezing out there tonight – well, probably not the frost giants, but, everyone else – but Tony would be next to his heater, toasty and warm. How was that for survival skills?

But just before Tony could try to settle down to sleep, he was interrupted by the sudden blaring sound of the Asgardian anthem, and he risked going back to the window to glance up at the sky. He made it just in time to see the words ‘The Fallen’ flash across the inky expanse before the first face was shown.

There were, of course, eight realms in the Hunger Games, and the fallen tributes would be listed in a certain order—the same order they had been in for the private sessions, and for the interviews.

Jotunheim, Muspelheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Niðavellir, Niflheim, and Midgard.

So when the first face flickering across the sky was that of the girl from Alfheim, it let Tony know that all four of the giants were still alive. She was followed by the girl from Svartalfheim, and then both the boy and the girl from Niðavellir.

That left only one more fallen tribute, and when their face flashed into view… it was a face that Tony recognised more than he would have the others. A young girl, a little younger than Tony, with blonde hair and frightened brown eyes.

They did not even show her name—just her picture, and the word ‘Midgard’ stretched across the bottom of it so that the other tributes and the audience would know which Realm she hailed from.

Tony closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

Poor Jenny.

He realised with a jolt that he hadn’t even known any of the other fallen tributes’ names, and how likely it was that none of the others still living knew Jenny’s. She would be forgotten by them, just as she would be forgotten by Asgard, just another nameless tribute to fall in the bloodbath of the Games. He was sure that her family would remember, and her friends, but they would have to go on living, and she would stay here, in this Arena. Never growing older, never moving on.

He didn’t want that to happen to him.

So he opened his eyes, drew in a breath, and kept on going. He turned the heater up just high enough to keep him warm without attracting any unwanted attention, and then he settled down beside it and tried to get some rest, pushing away any thoughts of Jenny and the other tributes.

He knew that if he wanted to get through this, then he wasn’t going to be able to be affected by the other tributes’ deaths. If he wanted to survive, then he was going to have to be strong.

And he knew it would be hard—hell, he knew all of this would be hard. The screwdriver coming this early in the Games told him that Loki’s sponsorship money must have already gone through – although, thinking about it, that might have been a calculated move on Fury’s part, to allow Tony to show the audience what he could do and therefore attract a bit more attention – but fixing a heater was easy. He hadn’t even seen another tribute since the bloodbath, and when he did…

Well, it certainly wasn’t the most pleasant thing to think about, but…

Promise me.

Tony closed his hand around the necklace Loki had given him, and felt his expression harden into something determined.

When it came down to it, Tony knew that he would do whatever he had to, whatever was needed so that he could get back home.

He would keep his promise, whatever the cost. 

Chapter Text

As much as Tony would have loved to spend the remainder of his life wrapped in Loki’s arms in the peaceful confines of Queen Frigga’s gardens, the moment, unfortunately, came to an end. 

It was Thor who found them, his expression something soft as he interrupted with a gentle clearing of his throat. 

“You’re being asked for, brother,” he said, truly looking like he was regretful for breaking their peace. “If I might make a suggestion, it may be wise to speak with those who require your presence now, so that you shall not be interrupted later.” 

Tony wanted to make a comment about how actually, Loki probably did not want to be interrupted now, but Loki replied before the words could even form on Tony’s tongue. 

“You are right,” Loki said. Then he looked back to Tony, his sigh of annoyance at odds with the gentle fondness in his gaze. “I am sorry, Anthony. I will rejoin you in a moment.” 

“Come with me, Tony,” Thor said. “I’ll keep you company while my brother is busy.” 

Loki’s gaze darted to Thor once more, and Tony was sure that something passed between them, something that he did not understand. But Thor gave a solemn nod, and then Loki gave a sigh. “Very well,” he said. And then, uncaring that Thor was watching, he leaned down to press one more kiss to Tony’s lips. “I won’t be long.” 

Tony watched him as he disappeared back between the hedgerows, feeling the cold air against his skin in a way that he hadn’t while in Loki’s embrace. He was thus distracted when a hand landed on his shoulder—and Tony jumped away with a terrified hiss. 

“Sorry,” said Thor, holding up his hands. There was a frown creasing his brow which indicated that he didn’t really know what he was apologising for, but Tony supposed Thor deserved a point for even recognising the need to apologise in the first place. 

Tony straightened, and regained what he could of his composure. “It’s okay,” he said, even though he felt like it really wasn’t. Goddamn, he knew Thor wasn’t trying to hurt him. “What are we going to do while we wait for Loki?” 

Thor shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the party? I don’t know about you, but I certainly haven’t eaten my fill.”

If he ate anything in that moment – especially if it was some of that too-rich Asgardian food – Tony thought he might throw up. But, he had been fine only minutes before, and he knew that what he needed more than anything was a distraction from the pounding of his heart and the nightmares in his mind, so that he could go back to feeling as he had been earlier in the evening.

So, he shrugged. “Yeah, all right.” 

Thor narrowed his eyes. “I may not be as shrewd as my brother is, Tony,” he said, “But having lived with him my entire life, I am more than capable of determining when I am being lied to.” Thor’s expression lightened a little. “If you do not wish to return to the party, just say so.” 

Tony couldn’t help the small chuckle. “Thanks. Isn’t it expected of me, though? Fandral made it seem like the world would end if I wasn’t there, and you—”

“You were there for the important parts, you spoke with almost everyone, and you made it clear when you left,” Thor shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that it is expected of you to return at all. I did wonder, however, if you wanted to take your mind off... things?” 

Tony sighed. “Yeah, fair enough.” 

Decision made, Thor led the way, following the path that Loki had taken only moments before. Without Loki by his side, Tony took the time to examine the route a little more clearly, taking in the cared-for rows of plants, the coordinated colours and beautifully straight lines. It was like nothing he had ever seen back home—gardening with this kind of precision was only ever worth it if what one was growing was edible. 

“My mother loved the flowers,” Thor said as they walked, clearly  noticing Tony’s interest. “I know that Loki enjoys spending time out here, as well. I am surprised that he brought you here, especially to that fountain.” 

“Surprised?” Tony asked.

It was Thor’s turn to give a shrug. “I knew that he cared for you, of course. And I knew that when I defended him in front of our father by saying that what he felt for you was mere infatuation that I was speaking a lie. But… for him to take you to the place he shared with our mother, after knowing you for such a short time… this more than I think I’ve seen him feel in a while.”

Tony glanced away, feeling a heavy lump form in his throat. But that was fine—he didn’t think he’d know what to say, anyway. 

Thor, however, was not done. 

“He is doing what he is doing to keep you safe, do you understand that?” Thor asked, his voice suddenly harder than a piece of steel and drawing Tony’s gaze once more. “Everything that he’s doing. I don’t want that thrown back in his face just because you’ve survived your Games. Do not hurt him.”

“I know,” Tony said—feeling more than a little confused. Of course he knew that Loki had protected him. He wouldn’t have survived the Arena without Loki’s help, he’d have to be an idiot not to see that. “And I won’t.” 

“Good.” Thor’s blue eyes remained as cold as ice for a moment longer before he turned back forward and pushed open the large glass doors which led the pair back into the ballroom. “Ah, they have brought out more food! Come with me, Tony, let me show you a real Asgardian feast!” 

Tony followed as Thor led the way to one of the tables burdened with heavy plates, and he even ate some of it, nibbling on a bit of bread to try and settle his stomach. One of Thor’s friends, the large man with the red beard whom Tony had spoken with earlier, laughed at his small fare and told him that he would need more than that to keep his strength up for what the rest of the evening would bring. 

“Volstagg,” the raven-haired woman beside him hissed, shoving him hard enough that he almost dropped the tankard he was holding. “Have a little class! This is not the time to be so vulgar.”

Tony merely tried not to pay them any attention. The noise was giving him something of a headache, and he found himself wishing he could go back out to the quiet of the gardens. 

But what Thor had said earlier gave him pause, and instead, Tony merely shrunk away from the rowdy group by the table and made his way back to one of the walls, hoping that the same trick as from before would help him to keep to the shadows. This hadn’t been the distraction he’d hoped it would be. He was done with the socialising, he was done with the party, he just… he just wanted to go back to spending time with Loki, somewhere quiet and isolated. Somewhere away from the Asgardians and their celebrations of blood. 

Unfortunately, he was far from that lucky. 

“Tony?  What are you still doing here?” 

Tony felt the need to steel himself before he turned, making sure that his lips were plastered with a perfectly bright smile. 

“Hello, Fandral,” he replied. “I’m enjoying myself, like you told me to.”

“But you should have gone upstairs already. I’d heard that you had, or I would have spoken to you long before this.” Fandral sounded worried—and Tony blinked. 

Huh?

“Upstairs?” he asked, confused. “But this is the palace. I didn’t think I was allowed—”

“Well usually no, of course not,” Fandral said hurriedly. “Usually, the lucky winner would take the Victor back to their own place, but, well… circumstances are a little bit different this time, aren’t they?” 

That, of course, did not help Tony’s confusion in the slightest, but he allowed Fandral to usher him toward the main doors of the ballroom and up a set of stairs regardless. He didn’t know where they were going, but as both an Asgardian and someone who, up to this point, actually seemed to care about Tony the slightest amount, Tony trusted Fandral not to steer him wrong. 

“You really are lucky,” Fandral muttered as he led the way. “Some of the Victors are purchased by the most horrendous of people for their first time, utter bakraufs. Really, considering the way you’ve been acting the past few days, you could not be more fortunate.” 

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, his gut turning cold as his mind started putting together a certain number of pieces, creating the beginnings of a picture that he absolutely did not like. “Purchased?”

Fandral paused halfway up a step, and turned to Tony in surprise. 

“Did Fury not inform you?” he asked. “Oh, dear. I did think that you were remarkably well composed. But then, I assumed that given the way you sometimes act… well, I do not mean to generalise, but you are Midgardian, and after your interview, and… well, you did seem close with that handsome friend of yours after the reaping—” 

“Fury didn’t tell me anything.” Though there had been a niggling suspicion that Fury was keeping something from him. Fury and Loki both—

And oh, god, but there had been that secret, hadn’t there? That thing that Loki hadn’t wanted to talk about—

I will not let them do that to you.

Oh, god.

And the mention of Rhodey caused yet another piece of the puzzle to rear its ugly head—Fury’s warning of what might happen if Tony ever stopped making the Asgardians happy. 

“You’re saying that someone has bought me,” Tony whispered, the words barely forming. “To do… to—”

“To do what they wish with you,” Fandral said, his voice a little tense but otherwise merely factual as he continued up the stairs. Tony felt like his feet were frozen to the ground. 

“And this happens to all the Victors?” It must be commonplace, for Fury to have been so worried, for Loki to—

“Not all the Victors, of course not all of them,” Fandral tutted. “Do you truly think that anyone in this place would pay money to spend a night with someone as surly as Nicholas? I mean him no disrespect, but the man is not and has never been what one would consider to be enticing, you understand? And he is far from the only one. Not all Victors are as friendly as you, Tony. Now, come on, hurry up. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

Tony felt like he was in something of a daze, the feeling and the moment so completely contradictory to the peace he had felt not even a half hour before that he was struggling to make sense of it all. Perhaps it was that which caused his feet to move, or perhaps it was the growing sense of helplessness. The realisation that Fury had been completely and utterly right—that the horror of the Games had not ended for him, and perhaps had only just begun. 

He was never going to escape it. 

Somehow, Fandral was still talking. 

“You must realise of course that even those the populace find desirable are not always brought into this business right away,” he was saying. “The Victors who win the Games young always need to wait, we’re not animals here. But after they turn sixteen… well, it isn’t to my tastes, but I try not to judge. Ah, here we are.” 

As Fandral opened an ornate door and ushered a stunned Tony in, Tony thought back to how he had played his Games. To the way that he had acted in front of the crowd during his interview, the way that he had won in a manner that no other tribute had ever managed in the past. He had made himself stand out, and that had helped him win.

But in doing anything to secure his victory, to secure his survival…

It would seem that he had not only turned into someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to be, but he had also sold out his body. 

For the second time that evening, Tony felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Oh dear,” Fandral said again as he closed the door behind them. “You’re looking a little pale. Tony, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—well. I thought that Fury had informed you, it is cruel to have this sprung upon you with no time to prepare—”

“It is cruel to have this happen at all,” Tony croaked, the words feeling like they were sticking in his throat. 

“Yes, well.” Fandral wouldn’t quite meet Tony’s eyes. “I’m sure that you will be fine. Look, there is a bathroom over here. You can freshen up while you wait.” 

Waiting. God. Waiting was always, always the worst part of anything. 

Over the lead up to the Games, Tony had suffered through more than enough moments of waiting. Waiting to show off his skills, waiting to prance on a stage, waiting to be sent to his death. 

But in a way, all of those moments of waiting had been leading up to an inevitable finale. He’d known that by the end of his time in the Training Centre, he would be going to the Games, where he would either die and be free from it all, or he would live and could go home. Where all of this would be over and done.

But this… this would never end. He was sure of it. 

It wouldn’t just be this one time. Tony knew too much about the Asgardians to even allow himself to hope—after all, the Hunger Games had been going on for over a century now. Their purpose was essentially defunct, but the Asgardians had a lust which could never be sated. This would be the same. 

After Fandral slipped out of the door with a small smile of encouragement – the lock clicking shut behind him – Tony did end up going to the bathroom that he had indicated. He retched into the sink, the bile tasting acidic on his tongue, and then he cupped water in his hand so that he could rinse. He told himself that he was washing out his mouth for his own comfort, not anyone else’s—and then he retched again, and needed to repeat the entire process. By the time he stepped back out into the room, he was feeling like he was about to fall apart. 

The room was a simple bedroom, as simple as a room in a palace could get, anyway. There was a large bed in the centre, along with a few pieces of furniture done tastefully in dark wood. More tasteful than anything else Tony had seen in Asgard, anyway. 

But his gaze barely rested on any of it. He only had eyes for the large floor-to-ceiling window, which led to a balcony which looked out over the palace gardens. 

For a moment, he considered the idea of escaping, of exiting out the balcony and climbing across the golden palace’s ornate decorations to reach another room. But… he knew that to do so would be just as hopeless as attempting to escape from the Training Centre prior to the Games would have been. For where would he go? They would merely capture him and then dole out the punishment. 

Not to mention…

If they think they need to bring you in line… it won’t be you who feels the cut of their lash. 

He couldn’t risk it.

But that line of thinking, of course, led to another. As he stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the gardens so far below, Tony considered, not for the first time since he had arrived in Asgard... simply jumping. 

It would put an end to his struggles. An end to the pain and the fear. It would bring him the peace that seemed so impossible to find anywhere else, and even more than that—it would mean that Asgard could no longer touch him. And surely they wouldn’t then bother touching one of his friends. What would be the point, if he was already gone? 

His death would deprive Asgard of their Victor, take away their golden goose. Even thinking of the chaos that would wreak was almost enough to make him smile. He couldn’t remember a time, ever, that Asgard had lost a Victor so soon after the Games. 

He could deprive them of their parties, of their celebration of blood—

But could he do that? Could he throw himself from a balcony… out of spite?

Promise me.

Tony grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed, feeling a tear leak from the corner of one of them and drip down onto his cheek. 

He had promised Loki that he would survive the Games, and he had. Would dying by his own hand now break something he’d already upheld? 

Perhaps, but perhaps not. Tony couldn’t say for sure. One thing he did know, however, was that doing so would hurt Loki. 

Loki had said that he wouldn’t let this happen to Tony, he’d said so not an hour before. Perhaps this was already a broken promise. 

Tony opened his eyes, looked down to the hedges and flowers, drew in a deep, calming breath—

But—

No. 

He couldn’t do it. 

He had survived the Games. He’d survived. As tempting as it was to deprive the Asgardians of their precious Victor, as tempting as it was to just bring an end to it all—Tony was, in the end, too selfish to do such a thing. He wanted to live, damnit. 

And if this was the price he had to pay for his life, then he was still going to pay it. He had gone too far, done too much to back out now. Fifteen other children had died for him to be standing here, and he was not going to make the death of every single one of them be for nothing. 

At least. Not more so than they already had been. 

He could survive this, just as he had survived everything else. 

So, Tony steeled himself. He drew in a few deep breaths, and prepared his mind to just… to try and go blank, like he’d managed in the Games. Perhaps, he thought, if he gave a terrible performance, perhaps there was a chance whoever came through the door would give a bad report and no one would want to purchase Tony again. 

Perhaps. 

Probably not. 

With trembling hands, Tony reached for the scarf that still lay around his neck, and lifted it from his shoulders. He stood for a moment, wondering where to put it, and decided to place it on the dresser. He didn’t want it near the bed, didn’t want it anywhere close to what was about to happen. The scarf was Loki’s, after all. 

Tony tried to close off all feelings of betrayal, tried to block from his mind the thought that what he was about to do with a stranger was something he currently wanted to do with only Loki.  

He had done worse things. He’d done worse to get back to Loki. If Loki could forgive all that he had done in the Arena, then Loki could forgive this. 

Loki had real feelings for him. Even Thor had said so. 

Leaving the scarf, Tony stood back beside the bed, and smoothed down his jacket. He wasn’t sure where he should be – on the bed already? By the door? He hadn’t been given any direction – but in the end it didn’t matter. He’d already decided to try and make this as boring as possible. 

Tony barely had time for another thought before he heard quick footsteps in the hallway outside. His heartbeat leapt as the lock clicked and the door was thrown open—

He drew in a breath—

And then Loki rushed inside, his eyes darting through the room ferociously until they landed upon Tony. 

“Anthony,” Loki gasped, throwing the door closed behind him with enough force that it slammed. 

Tony almost staggered as relief hit him with the same amount of force, his knees going weak as Loki hurried over to him.

“There you are, I was worried! Thor said he did not see you leave, and it was only when I saw Fandral come back through the door—”

“This is what you said you were going to stop, isn’t it?” Tony interrupted, his fingers curling tight around the lapels of Loki’s coat as he gasped out his questions. “This is what you didn’t want to talk about?”

Something in Loki’s expression twitched, as if he was trying to hide an adverse reaction. “Fandral told you?” he asked. 

“Someone needed to,” Tony replied, his voice suddenly harder than he meant it to be. “Were you going to tell me at all?”

Loki closed his eyes. “I did not want you to find out this way—”

“I was going to find out eventually!” Tony loosened his hold on Loki’s jacket, and made sure he was meeting his eye. “What, did you think that you could keep me in the dark forever? You said you were trying to stop me from being involved in this, but you must have known. What Fandral said implies that I was bought prior to this party, did you even—” 

“Of course I knew,” Loki cut in, his voice suddenly harsh. “Because I am the one who bought you! Did you truly think that I would leave you to this fate, that I would allow someone else, some disgusting politician or aristocrat to get their grubby hands all over you? I wouldn’t let them breathe on you, let alone touch you!”

Something in Tony shuddered, and his hands fell to his sides entirely. Stepping away from Loki, he asked—

“You bought me?” 

The relief from before was rushing away, forced out of his body by an iron clamp that was crushing him in its grip. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t—

“Of course I did,” Loki hissed. “I told you earlier that I don’t want anything happening to you. I saved you from the Arena and will not let anything touch you now.” 

Tony couldn’t breathe. 

“You… you bought me.”

Suddenly, Loki’s expression changed. “Anthony…” he swallowed. “I promise you, I am not going to—”

“That’s why you spent all that money trying to save me?” Tony whispered, his mind caught on a nightmarish image, everything he thought was true crashing down around him. “Just so that you could… so you could have me afterward? So that you could buy me and sleep with me, knowing that I couldn’t refuse because they’re—”

The memory of Fury’s warning came crashing down around him, and the betrayal surging through his body swiftly transformed to rage. 

“—because they’re threatening my friends, so you knew that I wouldn’t be able to say no?”

He was glad now that he’d taken off Loki’s scarf—he didn’t think he would have been able to cope with even the thought of it touching his skin. He took another step back, not even wanting to look at him.

“Nothing is going to happen to your friends,” Loki said. “I swear it.”

Somehow, Loki’s word held less meaning than it had a moment before. But it gave Tony the strength to back up further, to refuse—

And when Loki reached out toward Tony’s arm, he had the courage to flinch away. 

“Don’t,” he ground out, his jaw clenching so tightly it was almost painful to force the words past his teeth. “Don’t touch me.”

Loki looked wounded, but Tony wasn’t having any of it. So what if Loki was hurt by this rejection—he should have expected it. What did he think? That Tony was going to be glad that he had been bought?

“I swear to you,” Loki whispered, “I only want what is best for you.” 

Tony felt something harsh and broken tear from his throat, something which might have been a laugh. “What a joke,” he said. “What’s best for me? What’s best for me would have been to stay home. You know, after the Games, I was worried that you wouldn’t want me. Because I had come back changed. But it would seem that it’s just that I didn’t know you at all.” He shook his head, and let out another sound of twisted amusement. “Between the two of us, it’s not me that’s the monster.” 

Loki’s expression shattered. “Anthony—”

“No. I should have seen it, I—I can’t believe that I’m this blind. All this time, you’ve never been any different from any of the rest of them. You’re an Asgardian. And I’m never going to forget that again.” 

And then, despite his earlier resolve—

Despite the knowledge that this could come back to bite him in the most painful of ways—

Tony turned, and he ran, slamming the door behind him. 

The open window still perhaps might have been the better option, but... in the end, Loki was not the only person Tony had made promises to.

And he still wanted to survive.

Chapter Text

The first few days passed agonisingly slowly, every moment counted out by the number of heartbeats Tony had left. He made sure that he stayed hidden, keeping out of the way of everyone else—listening for the cannon blasts, watching as more faces appeared in the night sky. 

He was reluctant to move from his office hideyhole, for more than just the obvious reasons. Staying in one place was risky as well, he knew, but his heater had taken time to set up, and he could hardly bring it with him. 

Besides… so long as he remained safe during the day, he was fairly certain he would be fine during the night. Anyone stupid enough to step out onto the streets after the setting of the sun was likely already dead. 

You see… he had been expecting that he would be awoken by the sounds of screaming—if, that is, he managed to get any sleep at all. But he had not expected the screams to sound so close, as if someone were being attacked right at the foot of his building. 

As the first cry echoed through his bones and rose the hairs on the back of his neck, he had run for the window with the same level of panic he had when he’d first heard the sound of the parachute on the fire escape only a few hours before. But when he’d looked out the window, taking the risk to work out whether or not it would be wise to flee, he saw not a tribute being tortured to death but a large, shadowed shape moving slowly down the street. 

It was only then, as his mind tried to decipher the truth of what he was seeing that he properly listened, and he realised. The harsh, guttural screaming was not only emanating from below him, but also from across the Arena, in every direction, from every distance. There were too many screams for eleven children—too many for one hundred children. Whatever mutated creatures the Gamemakers had concocted to prowl the streets at night had clearly been tailored to terrify, and Tony was in no hurry to meet them. 

So. If he was going to leave, it was going to need to be during the day , when his bright red shoulder armour and vambraces – which thus far he continued to wear, but the decision was pending – would stand out against the drab grey buildings like a sunbeam in a storm. He still did not want to leave at all, but at first, doing so had felt like a necessity. In fact, he had almost packed up on the very first morning, believing that he would need to head out in order to search for something so simple as food. He could return to the heater after – he hoped – but he did not want to leave anything more portable behind, just in case. 

But just as he had been about to leave—

He had heard a soft beeping, and then the familiar sound of a parachute clattering upon the fire escape. The package had contained food—a few high protein bars that would last a considerable while, and a bag of dried fruit and nuts. 

In another time, Tony might have felt a little guilty, knowing that the food was no doubt paid for with Loki’s money. A lot of Loki’s money, actually. But he couldn’t bring himself to be, for the food meant that he could stay put, and he could let the first act of the Hunger Games pass him by while he tried to better his own situation. 

It gave him an edge he sorely needed, and he made sure to once again verbalise his thanks. 

Keeping his early warning system in place, Tony did his best to nap during the day, knowing that the screams would prevent him from doing so at night. It was risky, as the day would no doubt be when other tributes were moving, but his system worked. Twice he heard the clatter of items falling down the stairs—but he’d managed to hide within a carefully constructed pile of desks in the corner of the room, and had simply waited for them to leave. He was doing okay. 

And as an added… bonus…. the screams at night served as a reminder of what he was up against, and forced him to continue working as quickly as he could. 

For Tony did not sit idle as he waited for the number of dead tributes to grow. Oh, no. He was an inventor surrounded by pieces of admittedly outdated but still workable tech, and he was itching with a need to mess around with it all. 

He might not be able to fight as well as a giant or a dark elf, but the moment he figured out that he had access to a power source… the rest of the tributes were doomed.

Or, well. They would have been. If not for one teeny, tiny little snag. 

“ Fuck,” Tony swore, staring at the wires in his hands. They were copper, and were brilliant at carrying a charge. He would be able to use them to direct any number of volts through an electrical weapon—

If only he had a way to power it. 

“I bet this was done on purpose,” Tony muttered, his annoyance taking over any rational thought which might have stopped him from speaking in such a way on interealm television. “Of fucking course the cameras have no internal battery. Hey, Gamemakers, are you listening? A portable camera would be great , you could follow the tributes more effectively than just, I don’t know, zooming or whatever the hell you do. God, why couldn’t there be something with a fucking battery!”

It was the worst kind of frustration, knowing that he had managed to connect to the power grid for the whole fucking Arena, but he couldn’t use it for anything other than keeping himself warm because—what good would an electronic weapon be if he had to keep it plugged in?

Jesus Christ, it was like living in the bloody Dark Ages. 

Still muttering under his breath, Tony left the corpse of the dissected camera and searched through the entire office, turning every draw and pile of trash upside down. When he found nothing, he climbed up the stairs to check the old apartments above—and then he dared to go a few flights down, to see if there was anything below. 

Nothing. Nada. Nyet.  

Reluctantly, Tony found himself glancing out of the window. This Arena was modeled on a city. He had already managed to find a heater, and he had made it work. It stood to reason that some of the shop fronts that lined the streets were real, and that they might have something with a freaking battery .  

He would have to wait for morning, of course—the sky was still dark, and he shuddered as yet another scream echoed through the air. There was no accompanying cannon, so, he assumed that the sound had been made by one of the hulking mutations— mutts, as everyone called them. And waiting for morning meant that he would no doubt be running the risk of running into another tribute. 

Mentally, he did a quick count. Five had died in the bloodbath—the girls from Alfheim and Svartalfheim, both from Niðavellir, and Jenny. Since then, he had seen portraits of the girl from Niflheim and the boy from Jotunheim shining in the sky, bringing the current tribute count to a healthy nine.  

That was far less than they had started with, but still far more than Tony was comfortable with. He wasn’t sure of the size of the Arena—he didn’t know the likelihood of passing too close to one of them. 

If there was no other way of getting a battery… would an electric weapon be worth the risk? 

Unless—

Perhaps, there was another way of getting what he needed. 

After all, what was it that Loki had said, just before Tony entered this godforsaken place? 

Fury can ask me for whatever he will need to get you through this, regardless of cost.

Tony grimaced, not liking the thought of what he was about to do. But, well, he’d pledged to do anything it would take, hadn’t he? On the scale of horrors in the Hunger Games, this barely even registered. 

“Look, I know that I have already received more than I could have hoped to ask for,” Tony said, staring up at the ceiling. “And I know that asking for something now, especially something this specific, is probably going to make me seem like a pretty big dick. But please, if any of my sponsors are listening, please send me a battery. I promise, you won’t regret it.” 

He kept his eyes on the ceiling, not wanting to look out of the window and jinx it. He strained to listen, though, trying to hear the sound of quiet beeping over the continuing screams of the mutts. 

But… nothing. 

“Fury, come on, give me a hand,” he groaned. “I’m your only horse left in this race, what do you have to lose? I know you can afford it, because everyone has to be able to see that I have a chance here!” 

But, still…

Damn.

Maybe he had been right. Maybe he was making himself sound like a dick. He’d gone for confident and charming during his interview, and everyone knew about his training score. Not to mention the fact that he was still alive when even one of the frost giants had not been so lucky. But maybe, he’d sounded too arrogant. He had, after all, just based his plea on a promise that had no guarantee of being kept. 

But then, nothing in the Hunger Games was ever a guarantee. Wasn’t the whole point of sponsorship to boost the chances of a gamble paying off? 

“Come on,” Tony muttered, eyes squeezing closed, fingers crossing tightly. “Come on, please, you know what I could do with a battery, Fury, you know it—” 

And then, finally— finally—

Tony sprang to his feet as he heard the familiar beeps, the quiet tones a symphony of triumph to his ears. 

He was grinning as he reached the window, and he snatched the incoming parachute from the air before it even landed on the fire escape. The excitement caused him to rush, and his fingers fumbled with the clasp for a second. He was already muttering thank yous and praises as he finally pulled open the metal case, revealing—

Bread. 

It was bread . 

What the hell? 

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Tony said, unable to help the layer of undisguised sarcasm. “Very fucking funny.” 

He could almost picture Fury’s amusement, the way that his eye would be shining at the sight of Tony’s irritation. Asshole.  

The bread wasn’t even a good kind. The crust was hard, the inside gooey and undercooked—and so salty that Tony suspected it had been made with seawater. It probably cost Fury mere cents to send the bloody thing. Tony might as well have thrown it at another tribute’s head for all the good that it could do him. 

“Could have at least sent me a potato,” Tony muttered harshly, his fingers tightening around the metal case which had housed the truly nightmarish bread. “I could have made a battery out of that . Not a good one, but it would have been better than nothing.”  

Worse than nothing, really. Since Tony was all too aware that the number of parachutes he had received, what with his screwdriver and ongoing food, would eventually draw attention to his hideout. Especially considering the fact that the parachutes beeped. Sure, they were mostly quiet otherwise, and sure, they were always piloted to land exactly on the fire escape, thus making sure that no one else would—

Wait. 

Wait a cotton picking second. 

Tony stared at the metal case with a sudden new perspective, his mind whirring and his eyes going wide. 

“Oh, Fury,” Tony whispered. “You freaking genius.” 

*

It took Tony hours to disassemble all the parachutes he had received over the course of the Games thus far. The screws were tiny, too small really for the size screwdriver that he had on hand. Tony had contemplated smashing them open, but he didn’t want to risk damaging the battery inside—not to mention the likelihood that the noise would bring attention to where he was hiding. So, he simply persevered. The batteries themselves were also very small, with just enough juice to emit the beeping and to power the motor that allowed for basic steerage. Since the beginning of the Games, he had received four parachutes in all, with the bread being his fifth. He would need the batteries from all of them to make his plan work. 

Once he had all five in hand, he tore another camera from the wall, needing the extra parts. They were the best pieces of tech he had access to, after all—everything else available in the building was dilapidated and old, and not really fit for use. The heater worked, but… Tony could have made better. 

And he did.

Using the copper wire and pieces of the doughy, salty bread as an adhesive, Tony pieced together every battery from the parachutes. Even with all of them, the resultant charge would not be enough to kill, not even nearly, but it would give Tony the edge that he needed. 

Not, of course, that he had tested it. The only person around was himself, and while he had certainly done some questionable things in the past he wasn’t that stupid. 

But by the time he was done, he had a small, rectangular device that he could activate by pressing against someone’s skin, which would complete the electrical circuit inside and deliver a painful shock. He would need to use it sparingly, at least unless he received some more parachutes and could therefore replace the batteries. He wished he could make something rechargeable, or even something he could operate from a distance, like a real taser. But for both of those functions he would need access to resources he simply did not have. 

Honestly, he was lucky enough to have received what he had. He’d managed to make something that he was sure none of the other tributes would be expecting. 

Although… hm. Maybe he needed some kind of safety on it. Wouldn’t do to have the thing electrocute him through his pocket by accident. 

A plan already forming in his mind, Tony headed for the wall and went about the usual process of searching for a camera. By now, he knew exactly what to look for—vents without air, lights without bulbs, pieces of wall that didn’t look quite right. It took a good few minutes, but he found one, lodged in a crack that went down the side of one of the dusty shelving units. 

It was easy enough to pry the shelf open with his trusty screwdriver, then he reached in and pulled out the camera. He grinned into the lens of it, wondering if the Gamemakers liked having that kind of angle or whether they were growing frustrated with his antics—

But almost as soon as the thought entered his mind a sharp jolt bit at his fingers, and he dropped the camera with a yelp. It swung down, not quite reaching the floor as it was still attached to the shelves by its wiring. 

Tony stared. First, he wondered if maybe one of the cables was a little frayed, and he had received the shock that way. But just as he was reaching for the camera once again… he paused. 

He couldn’t say what it was, exactly, which made him stop. It wasn’t anything concrete, just a terrible feeling, the hair on his arms lifting up, a shiver racing over his skin. There was something in the air which just felt wrong—

Then a spark licked around the edges of the camera, spitting through the air before curling back and crawling up the cables. Then the feeling of dread grew worse, grew into something actually tangible as the whole building suddenly began to whine. 

It could only mean that the zap from the camera had been no accident. 

Ah, shit—

In his excitement at having made an electric weapon, he had almost forgotten about why the cameras were there in the first place. 

There was, of course, the chance that this was just a coincidence—but Tony doubted it. More likely, they hadn’t appreciated losing yet another angle of the room, losing another camera which they were using to broadcast his movements. The Hunger Games was, after all, a television show. If they couldn’t film him, then they needed to move him somewhere that they could. 

Which meant...

Shit, shit, shit—

Tony considered trying to shove the camera back into the wall, but he quickly determined that would be a terrible idea—for there was a slight buzzing in the air now, a buzzing which was only growing stronger by the moment. 

He backed away from the wall, spinning on his heel in a sudden and terrible rush. He just had time to grab a handful of protein bars – his screwdriver was, thankfully, already back in his pocket – before he charged for the stairwell. Briefly, he did wonder about throwing himself down the fire escape, but the knowledge that it was made entirely out of metal stopped him. 

The whining was growing louder, the sound of the heightening electricity one of the most terrifying things Tony had ever heard. His hair was standing on end, and he could feel it as a tingle along every inch of his skin, forcing him to run harder, run faster, to get out—

His feet stumbled on the steps, and he almost fell head first. But he managed to grab at the handrail just in time, and was still in one piece when he exploded into the ground floor of the building. But even then it did not seem to be safe, and he did not stop running until he was all of the way out on the street. 

It was only there, standing in the middle of the ruined road, that he finally allowed himself to pause. He could still feel the static crackle, but not as powerfully as when he had been inside. It would seem that whatever the Gamemakers were doing, it was only affecting the building itself. 

In fact—when Tony turned back to look up at it, his eyes widened. For the electricity was powerful enough that it was actually visible through the darkness , arching over the concrete, dancing over the stone. One strike from one of the bolts and Tony knew that he would have been dead. Thank god he’d managed to get out in time.

It was only then that he realised… for all he had determined it was likely his assault on the cameras which had caused this move by the Gamemakers, it was not only his building which had been affected—it looked like every building in the street, every building as far as the eye could see. Tony cast his gaze around, terror growing as he watched the electricity dancing through the darkness of the night—

And his eyes landed on another tribute, standing not a hundred yards down the street. 

It took less than a second for Tony to identify him—it was Sveig, the boy from Vanaheim, his face red and his chest heaving, no doubt having been chased out his hiding place by the electricity, just as Tony had been. 

Tony stood stock still, staring in surprise until the sharp blast of a cannon brought him out of his reverie—

And then he stumbled backwards before turning around and starting to run.  

He knew that the vanir was faster than him, and he knew that he was going to have to fight. There was nowhere for him to go—the buildings were all still sparking with power, even going near a wall made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. But, if he just let Sveig charge at him, he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell. He might have a chance, however, if he could just get around a corner, get behind something so that he could lash out when the other boy was forced to slow down…

There! An alley, wide enough that he would be able to get through without getting too close to an electrified wall, but narrow enough that Sveig would need to slow to turn into it—as well as having the benefit of being relatively close by. 

He didn’t want to risk running too far, because he could run into someone else. He needed to turn, he needed to fight—

But just as he was coming up to the alley, just as he had his eyes set on success, his left boot caught on a crack in the ground and he went flying.

He landed hard, only just catching himself with his hands and saving his skull from cracking like an egg. His palms scraped on the road, but he tried to force himself up—

But he was too slow, much too slow, and a sharp kick to the side had him collapsing once again, the breath forced from his lungs. 

Turning his head, he could see Sveig in close detail. Not that the long dark hair or the hard, tawny eyes mattered much—it was his size that Tony was mostly concerned with. He had seemed large when Tony had been sitting near him during the Final Farewell, but in that moment he seemed impossibly larger. He towered over Tony like a giant from the old stories, and his expression was rough and angry. In his hand, he held a small axe, the silver head of it glinting in the light of the still sparking electricity. 

“Well, well,” Sveig said. “The Prince’s favourite. I wonder if Prince Thor will turn his sponsorship to me after I take you out.” He lifted his axe, and grimaced slightly. “Sorry.”

The axe fell—

Tony snarled and kicked out, managing to catch the Sveig’s ankle and causing the axe to pause—but not for long. Sveig swore in pain but didn’t move away, shifting to kick Tony again in retaliation as he regained his footing. 

Tony rolled back onto his belly, searching for something, anything that he could use. He could see his newly made, hand held taser—the weapon he had designed to protect him in exactly this situation, finished just in time. It was lying on the ground, just out of arm’s reach, having dropped from his hands when he’d thrown them out to catch his fall. He’d barely even made a reach for it when Sveig’s boot slammed into him once more. 

Tony cried out and felt like he was going to be sick, and he could only hope beyond hope that nothing serious had been damaged. He was on his back again, barely remembering how that had happened, and he could see that booted foot heading straight for his face—

With a surge of adrenaline and a shout of pain, Tony lunged to the side and wrapped his arms around the boy’s other leg, throwing him off balance. Sveig cried out as he toppled over, and Tony knew he had no hope of holding him down, not when the kid had a foot on him in height and probably ten pounds in muscle, so instead of even trying he let go and scurried to his feet before diving across the ground. 

He felt the other boy grab for his foot, but he was just fast enough. His grazed hands burned as he scrabbled at the crumbled asphalt, but his fingers closed around metal—

And he spun just as Sveig came at him, lifting his hand—

Sveig, like himself, still wore the leather coat. But he had removed the brightly coloured pauldron, and the vambraces—which hello, meant that Sveig’s forearms were entirely bare. Tony only needed to slam the end of his zapper to Sveig’s incoming wrist and—

A horribly painful static shock shot from Tony’s hands and bolted up his own arms, scorching every tendon, frying every nerve. He stumbled backward, tears streaming, crying out and swearing up a storm and—

Jesus, fuck.  

Okay. 

Well.

At least he knew the damn thing worked . 

He probably should have realised that making the device out of metal was not a good idea, at least not without wrapping it in something first. ‘Oops’ just didn’t seem to cut it. 

He didn’t have a chance to think of a more appropriate reaction, though—because Sveig, too, was swearing, which meant that he’d likely felt the same level of charge as Tony had. No more, no less. 

The advantage of the shocker was all but lost. 

Still, Tony shoved the traitorous device into his pocket and straightened his spine, staring at the other boy who was doing exactly the same. Sveig’s face was blotchy, beyond angry, and any previous reluctance – what little there had been – had entirely melted away. 

This time, Tony did not run. 

He didn’t have a weapon, not one that he could use anyway. He didn’t have a knife, or a sword—thankfully, though, neither did Sveig, having dropped his axe when Tony had shocked him. The weapon lay between them, almost exactly half way, as they had both stumbled backwards from the jolt. 

And you know what? Tony didn’t want to kill this boy. He didn’t want to… but he had to. 

He’d known that this moment would come, had known it since Fandral had chosen his name from hundreds. He’d known, and yet—it hadn’t quite felt real. 

Until now.

If Tony wanted to survive, this boy needed to die. What difference did it make if it was by Tony’s hand? 

So rather than running away, rather than waiting , Tony made the first move, sprinting forward as fast and as forcibly as he could, charging through the pain in his ribs and the ache in his arms. Sveig tried to run too, his eyes on the axe, clearly scared Tony would get there first—

But Tony didn’t stoop to pick it up. He ran right past it, and when he reached Sveig he just shoved, ramming his shoulder hard into the boy’s gut. It couldn’t have hurt as much as the kicks to Tony’s side did, but the boy hadn’t been expecting it– and it was enough. Sveig groaned as he stumbled backwards into the alley, sent off balance as Tony continued to ram. He only let up as his own lowered centre of gravity sent him tumbling to the floor, and then he watched as Sveig staggered, almost falling and going those additional few steps backwards to regain his balance—

Right into the wall of the building behind him. 

Sveig’s tawny eyes went wide, his mouth opened in a silent scream. His body jerked and his muscles spasmed, twitching and bucking as what was probably thousands of volts went charging through his system. 

Sveig died without a sound, his passing marked by the echoing crack of a cannon. 

Tony let out a long breath, and allowed himself to slump down on the concrete floor of the alley he had fallen into. 

He was still alive. 

He’d heard a cannon earlier, as well—so that meant two dead that night. Seven left to go. 

They were in the final half. 

Tony still had to survive the night, and he knew now that those six other tributes would all be out on the streets. As best he could with his aching bruises, Tony pulled himself further into the alley, pausing only to pick up the axe from the ground. There was nowhere else for him to go, he’d just need to wait until sunlight. He couldn’t go back inside—

But the streets had never been safe in the dark. 

When Tony first heard the scream, he thought that it must have been another tribute. He waited for the cannon, already half thinking that now, there were only six.

But the screaming did not stop—it grew louder, hoarser, angrier.  

And when he turned his head… he saw a large, bulbous shape turn a corner, and begin making its way towards him. 

Tony felt himself groan. 

“Does it never end?” he growled, pulling himself to his feet with a wince of pain. “Pepper, if I ever complain about tedious, unending homework ever again, you have permission to slap me. I’ve finally found something worse.” 

The mutation moved slowly, but it was unrelenting—no change in pace, but no chance of stopping. Its body moved over the ground like an overgrown slug, the meaty foot of it oozing across the broken concrete without pause. He would have been able to outrun it on his best day, but he could barely move without sobbing, every breath a pain. He had to hide, and hope that it wouldn’t notice him. 

And he almost, almost got away with it. 

He would have, if it hadn’t been for the still twitching body at the mouth of the alley. 

The mutt had been steadily crawling down the street, but when it saw the body move – at least, Tony could only assume the thing had seen it, as it had no visible eyes – it turned to crawl right over it, the bulbous mass seemingly swallowing Sveig’s body with another, bloodcurdling screech. 

Tony backed away, his heart in his throat, his eyes darting. But the alley was an empty dead end, there was nothing to hide behind, nowhere to go. There was a fire escape on one side which might have been reachable, except—

Except for the electricity still arcing over the metal, a clear consequence of falling to that temptation. 

The truth of it could not have been clearer—Tony was properly, undeniably trapped. 

The bulbous thing slid into the alleyway, big enough that its sides grazed the walls. The electricity did not seem to bother it at all—Tony’s little zapper would not do a single thing, even if he had been game enough to try it in the first place. 

Adjusting his grip on the haft of the axe, Tony lifted it above his head and he threw—

And, okay, look. Tony had never actually thrown an axe before, and he didn’t think it would be so hard. Unfortunately, it hit the mutt haft-first—and the mutt hardly even seemed to notice. 

The entire axe was swallowed into the meaty, grey-green flesh with the sound of gurgled slurp. 

“This is not how I wanted to go,” Tony growled, “I was going to go down fighting, not eaten by a slug .” He held his screwdriver tight in one hand, and faced the blubbered thing with an angry snarl. “Come at me then beastie, do your worst!” 

He stood firmly, one foot before the other, ready to go down with his screwdriver in hand—

But then, out of nowhere, the thing suddenly howled. It curled in on itself with a sound sharp enough to shatter windows, turning and twisting and—

And as it did so… it left a gap between it and the wall. 

“Tony, run! Hurry!”

Tony didn’t need telling twice. He threw himself toward that gap, faster than he thought his legs could carry him. He was nervous to go too close to the wall, and ended up sliding against the mutt. Its skin seemed to stick to him, like it was pulling him in, sucking him into the slimy mass to be suffocated in its distending flesh—but then a hand grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled—

And suddenly, he was free. 

“Come on, run!” 

Tony was pulled along by the hand, dragged into the street. He was in pain, panting, exhausted, but he knew who it was that had rescued him. 

“Lindir,” Tony gasped, “How did you—” 

“Don’t stop,” Lindir said, his voice gasping, his eyes terrified. “Those slurpers can go faster than you’d think.” 

Tony didn’t try to question it—he just followed, pushing through the pain. 

He was glad when Lindir finally slowed at what seemed to be a sewer hatch. The thought that it could be electrified only hit him after the kid had already opened it safely, thank god—and then Lindir was climbing down, still calling for Tony to hurry up, and to close the hatch behind him. 

Tony did as he was asked and then he stopped at the bottom with his hands on his knees, gasping for a breath. The moment he’d caught one, he looked up to Lindir, barely able to see his face in the darkness. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you knew I needed the help, but… thank you.” 

“I couldn’t let you get eaten by that thing. I saw it happen to Baugi, and…” he shuddered. 

Baugi. Tony vaguely remembered that as the name of the boy from Jotunheim. 

“Well, thanks for saving me from it,” he said, unable to help a shudder of his own. “It was a close call.” 

Tony’s eyes still hadn't quite adjusted, but even so—he saw Lindir’s smile as he replied. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Somehow, just like that—

It seemed Tony had managed to find an ally.

Chapter Text

Tony was perfectly aware that interviews were just going to be a thing now, something that he was going to have to go through over and over again until he felt like he was being interviewed more often than he was doing anything else. He knew there was no point in complaining, because the last time he’d tried, Fury had just told him that he had better get used to it because it really was going to be the rest of his life.

In his situation, most people might have just been happy to have a ‘rest of their life’ at all. But Tony figured that if it was the rest of his life, then he might as well try to put it off for as long as possible.

Still. He supposed it was certainly better than some moments his life had to offer, at any rate. 

Unfortunately, however, he was not permitted to hide under his blankets forever, and he was eventually dragged out of bed by a muttering Fandral. Thankfully Fandral kept his mouth shut about the events of the night before—but that, it seemed, was the only blessing the morning had to offer. For Tony was then shoved into yet another red suit, and he had to try not to think about the reason why it was tailored in a fashion that almost would have looked normal in Midgard. 

He was still a little bit late, but thanks to Fandral’s insistence he was not quite as late as he would have liked to have been. Freyja still had time to dab at his face with cosmetics – to prevent shine from the camera, she’d always said – and play around with his clothes, making sure that they sat on his frame correctly. 

Fury, on the other hand, approached with a look on his face which made it seem like he was trying to live up to his name. His expression turned terribly stern the moment he laid eyes on Tony—but Tony had learned to read him well enough by now to recognise that the expression was born of worry, not anger.

Tony sighed, and looked away from him. He didn’t want to incite any questions. 

Even just the thought of it churned his stomach, as did the touch of cool metal against his collarbone as Freyja adjusted his jacket. 

The necklace. 

He’d forgotten about it, the night before. Had he remembered, he might have thrown it at Loki’s face. Indeed, when he’d noticed it that morning as he was getting dressed, he’d held the pendant in his hand with all intentions of ripping it away. But he just… couldn’t. 

Because yeah, the necklace had been Loki’s. Before that, it had been Queen Frigga’s. 

But now… it felt like it was his. It had carried him through some hard times, harder than anything. It wasn’t just a reminder of Loki, it was a reminder of what he, Tony Stark, was capable of. 

And what he was capable of was getting through this fucking interview. 

Amora was smiling when she approached him, as she always was. They went through a quick rehearsal of the motions—where Tony would wait until Amora introduced him, where he needed to walk, how he needed to sit. Tony just nodded through it all, keeping a polite smile in place and interjecting with small comments when Amora paused for a breath. 

For an Asgardian, she wasn’t too bad. Tony’s interviews with her thus far had all been… fine. This one would be no different. 

But as they made the last few adjustments to the cameras and the lighting, preparing to go on air, Tony couldn’t help but feel a touch of nervousness in his throat, different to anything he had felt prior to interviews before. The other interviews were easy because he had worn a mask, played a part. He had held the audience captive by being charming and suave, and that had garnered him attention that he was now aware he would be far better off without. 

And yet…

He couldn’t just change his whole routine. Fury had impressed upon him the importance of playing along with the game, had made it very clear that if he put a toe out of line, he could be bringing Asgard’s ire down on not only himself, but Rhodey and Pepper as well. That was something that he could not allow—and so he would perform exactly how they expected him to. 

Despite not entirely regretting them, Tony was well aware that his actions the night before had been a mistake. Looking back, he knew that the option Loki presented was the better one—he’d rather spend a night with the prince than he would with any other member of Asgardian high society. The thought still left a horrible taste in his mouth and the feeling of betrayal was still there, but…

He was well aware that in leaving the room the way that he had, Loki might well have called down consequences against his friends back on Midgard. Loki had sworn he wouldn’t, though... perhaps that promise might have fallen away when Tony ran instead of giving Loki what he paid for?

Regardless, the deed was done. And now Tony had no option but to hope that Loki had kept his word where he otherwise hadn’t, and do his best now not to make things worse. 

“Are you feeling all right?” 

Tony’s eyes cut to the side, where Amora, of all people, was watching him. It was curiosity, not concern, which danced in her gaze, and Tony merely sighed. 

“Just ready for this to be over with,” he said, offering her a smile. “I won’t lie, it is exhausting.”

“Coming from such a place as Midgard, I could imagine that this is a lot to cope with,” Amora said, her laugh shining through her tone in a way that was only just shy of mocking. “But even so, I’ve heard that you’ve had a rather exciting couple of days. Last night in particular.” 

Tony couldn’t hold back the groan. He probably should have—the way Amora’s smile widened at the sound of it could only be dangerous. 

Damn. Maybe he’d counted his eggs with her a little too soon. 

“I feel it is prudent to warn you,” she said. “All of my questions are sourced from the court of public opinion. And while there are certain things I will not ask you, to preserve the propriety necessary for interealm TV, you understand, there are plenty of things about that party that the rumour mill is especially interested in.”

“Am I allowed to ask for specifics?” Tony grimaced. 

“Specifically that you not only spent a considerable amount of time, shall we say—dancing with one particular member of the royal family,” Amora answered, “but also that you were seen wearing an item of his clothing.” 

The scarf. 

Tony shrugged. “That could just be rumour—”

“But we both know it isn’t. I would suggest you have your answer prepared.” Her smile was sweet, this time. Tony didn’t trust it. “I am doing you a favour by letting you know.” 

“I’ll just say that I was thanking him for his sponsorship.”

“I think we both know that won’t be enough. Had it been anyone else, maybe it would be, but not when you were dancing with a prince.” She considered him for a moment, and Tony felt oddly like he was being examined under a microscope. “I will say, for a Midgardian, you have been remarkably apt at handling yourself in these interviews. You will do fine today, I am sure of it.” 

“I guess you could say I’ve had practice at putting on a show,” Tony allowed.

“Good.” The smile she showed now seemed a little more real, though it was only there for such a short moment that Tony thought he might have imagined it. “That will certainly help.” 

She moved off then to take her place, and Tony watched her go with a slight grimace. He still wasn’t sure about her motives, about whether she genuinely wanted to help or was just trying to make it more likely that he would slip up. The reminder of Loki, who he was trying so hard not to think about, certainly increased the probability of that. But… she had warned him, rather than put him on the spot. 

He supposed it didn’t matter. He had to do the interview with her regardless. 

To Amora’s credit, the beginning of the interview went well. She introduced him with excitement and flair, and when he joined her in front of the camera, sitting on an armchair to her right, she guided the conversation to almost seamlessly follow on from the easy humour of Tony’s tribute interview. It was almost like they were old friends catching up.

Until, that is, she asked about Lindir. 

“You want to know… how I felt?” Tony asked, repeating the question to buy himself some more time. Jesus, he’d been steeling himself for her to ask about Loki, but he hadn’t—

He should have expected it. 

“We were all with you in that moment, Tony,” Amora said, her lower lip pouting just slightly, just enough to make her look sympathetic without ruining her carefully applied makeup. “It looked like you suffered along with him, perhaps even more so.” 

The breath Tony drew in was shuddering as the images, the sounds, the sensations he had tried to keep only to his nightmares threatened to spill over. 

“I was suffering,” he said, unable to look her in the eye, keeping his gaze on his hands. “What happened to Lindir… no one should suffer that. Especially not someone like him. 

“He was too young for such horrors,” Amora agreed, and for the first time that interview, Tony wanted to shove her words down her throat. 

We were all too young, he wanted to shout. Too young to die, too young to kill. 

But those words would be dangerous. So instead, he nodded. 

“He didn’t deserve what happened to him,” Tony said. “He didn’t belong in a place like that. But he saved my life, and I just… I wish that I could have done more.” 

He heard the shift of material, as if Amora were moving slightly. “You did all that you could, Tony. Any of us could see that. You were there for him in his final moments, and I am sure that he was glad for it.” 

Tony squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then looked back up. “I hope so.” 

“I’m certain of it.” 

Somehow, Tony could see the apology in her gaze. Again, though, he wasn’t sure how much of it was false. Surely, some it must be. She had to be used to this, she asked Victors these kinds of questions every year. But, he could admit in the relatively safe confines of his own mind that it helped to think of her as a person, rather than just as an Agardian who did all the interviews for the Hunger Games. It made it much easier to give an answer that was both not lacking in emotion and yet not purely rageful—and therefore, an answer that was safer.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to ponder on it long, as it seemed that Amora was ready to change the subject. 

“One final question, Tony, something a little lighter to end the interview on a happier note,” Amora said, her tone lightening along with her words. “There have been rumours abound about your association with a certain prince, and I think we would all like to know the details. Would you be kind enough to share?”

“Oh certainly.” Tony brought back his mask, forced a grin on his face. Because despite his earlier apprehension—compared to the previous line of questioning, this was a show he knew how to perform. “Prince Thor and I had a good chat at the celebrations last night. He tells some brilliant stories.”

Amora’s green eyes sparked with amusement. “That does sound like an interesting time,” she agreed. “But I think you know as well as I that Prince Thor is not who I am asking about.” 

“Ah, yes,” Tony said, pretending to think about it. “You must be asking about Prince Loki. Well, he did sponsor me during the Games, you know. Without him, I never would have received my trusty screwdriver.” 

“That screwdriver certainly did save your life more than once,” Amora agreed. “In fact, our viewers might be interested to know that it will be going up for auction, soon. Prospective buyers, keep your eyes peeled!”

Tony held back the grimace. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as that thing ever again—and he couldn’t imagine anyone else actually paying money for it. 

“But, enough of that. Tony, we want to know the details, not just the information that we are all already aware of!” She was almost squealing now. Tony almost wanted to roll his eyes—and caught himself wondering if she wanted to, as well. 

“There isn’t all that much to tell,” Tony said—but as he’d told Amora, he knew how this worked, and he shot a conspiratorial wink toward the camera. “I mean, I don’t think there’s any doubt as to whether I’m great enough to date a prince, don’t you think?”

Amora actually giggled at that. “I think any prince would be lucky to have you,” she said. “So, is that a confirmation?”

“Perhaps.” Tony kept his grin in place, fighting against the emotion rising in his chest. He didn’t know exactly where he and Loki stood, but… he knew that it wasn’t good. He wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to see Loki again, but he knew better than to say that on camera. He was also more than aware of the fact that Amora was Loki’s friend, and that she would no doubt defend his honour here if Tony said anything against him. 

Careful, now.

“I don’t think that the Prince would want me spilling details of his life on air,” Tony said. “Amora, you’re not going to make me get into his bad books, are you?”

“I would never,” Amora said, looking properly admonished. “As much as a shame that it is, I suppose I shan’t press you for further answers. Regardless, we shall be watching you and Prince Loki very closely in the future, Tony! Don’t you doubt it!”

“I would expect nothing less.” 

They wrapped up the interview after that with the last little spiel, and Amora closed with another reminder about the screwdriver and the final closing line of “May the odds be ever in your favour!” 

By the end, Tony was just glad to have got through it, to have survived the very last thing he’d needed to live through before he could go back home. The moment the cameras stopped rolling, his smile melted from his lips and his head fell into his hands, equal parts exhaustion and relief melting from his shoulders. 

He was so close, now. 

“Thank you for your honesty, Tony.” Amora’s voice had lost its giggle and shine, and was back to the sharp curiosity that he had heard before the interview. It was that, more than anything, which had him meeting her gaze with an almost smile. 

“You’re welcome, Amora. Thank you for not being too hard on me. I know you could have made that a lot more difficult.”

“I told you, my questions come from the court of opinion, and I will investigate their queries with due diligence.” Her green eyes turned a little harder. “I’m not one for unnecessary torture, but I will say this—I decided to go easy on you for Loki’s sake. I don’t know exactly what happened between the pair of you last night, but whatever it was… I hope it was worth his broken heart.” 

“His broken heart?” For a moment, Tony forgot that Amora was an Asgardian, forgot that she was a TV journalist, forgot that she was Loki’s friend—he just needed to set the fucking record straight. “I know better than anyone that things work differently around here, but where I come from, refusing to sleep with someone when they’ve paid for you without your consent when you thought they had feelings for you is a perfectly reasonable—”

“Oh Norns,” Amora groaned, interrupting Tony’s hissing tirade. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Tony’s fingers curled into fists. He was growing sick and tired of hearing that sentence. “If you mean whether he warned me beforehand, then no, he certainly didn’t—”

“Oh, be quiet,” Amora snapped. “Come with me.” 

She didn’t grab Tony by the hand, but it looked like it was a close thing. Instead, she made a sharp and unmistakable gesture for him to follow, then rose from her chair and headed off the staging area, toward the hall that led to her dressing room. 

Tony paused for a moment, but his curiosity and lingering rage won out and he went to follow. Fury glared at him, but Tony merely ignored him. Oh, he knew he could be making yet another mistake, but, well…

You know what they say about cats and curiosity. 

When he entered Amora’s dressing room, it was to find her leaning against her vanity table, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, and expression impassive. 

“So,” she said. “You really don’t know?”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Tony sighed, “I have a feeling that I don’t.”

Amora’s lips curled. “Interesting.” 

“You didn’t bring me back here just to laugh at me,” Tony pointed out. “What don’t I know?”

“It’s not something usually spoken about in polite society, not something that’s even really known about outside of certain circles,” Amora said. “Even I only know because Loki told me, and I have been doing the Hunger Games interviews for a few years now. But if no one has told you…”

“I won’t rat you out,” Tony said, sure that, at least, was a promise he could keep without regretting it. 

Amora smiled, her green painted lips stretching sharp over her white teeth. “Then I’ll tell you. Rumour has it that Loki did not only buy you for just the night… he bought you outright. Paid for the privilege of exclusivity, you might say.” 

Tony blinked, and Amora’s grin widened. She really could look rather intimidating, when she wanted to. 

“Not what you thought?” She asked. “Now that is interesting. I wish you a fair trip home, Tony, and please—when you’re next in Asgard, save a time slot for an interview, will you? I would love to get an update.” 

Tony didn’t even bother asking her for clarification, recognising the dismissal for what it was, and knowing exactly what she was talking about regardless. He just stepped out of the door, and leaned his head back against it.

Thinking. 

He hadn’t… he hadn’t even considered this possibility, he’d been too angry and too hurt to even properly think it through before. 

But if Amora was right, if Loki hadn’t just bought him for the night… then he’d managed to make sure that no one else could buy him, that no one else could force him to submit to their monetarily slicked advances. 

The thought of money being exchanged over him in such a way did not sit right, but. 

But.

It meant that Loki had done it to protect him. That Loki hadn’t lied, that Thor had been telling the truth, that everything Loki had done had been to make sure that he was safe. 

As safe as he could be, in this place. 

Fandral had mucked it all up by not giving Tony the details from the start, but Tony had been the one who hadn’t given Loki a chance to explain—

Except, no, Loki had explained, hadn’t he? In his own way. Tony had just been too angry and upset to listen. 

All this time, Loki was protecting him. Still. 

And Tony had spat in his face. 

Unthinkingly, Tony’s hand came up to his chest, and curled around the pendant that still sat just below his collarbone. 

Perhaps he had made more of a mistake than he’d realised.

Chapter Text

Tony never would have thought to hide in the sewers, not in a million years. 

There was some kind of subtle genius to it, really—almost hiding in plain sight, in one of the most obvious of places, quite literally under everyone’s noses and yet… entirely out of the way. If he hadn’t come up to find Tony, there was a chance Lindir could have outlasted them all, sitting happily down in the sewers. 

The place had its clear downsides, however. It only took stepping a few yards away from the hatch before the small amount of filtered light could no longer reach them, the darkness permeating the air from all sides. Lindir seemed to be able to keep his feet, his heavy boots sloshing slightly in the foul-smelling liquid which lined the bottom of the sewer. Tony did not want to imagine what it would be like to fall into it—even just the thought of it was enough to make him shudder. 

Lindir, however, hardly seemed bothered. He slowed slightly as they rounded a corner, but only slightly—and Tony almost stumbled again trying to keep up. 

“Lindir,” Tony hissed, one hand reaching out to press against the slimy side of the sewer in an effort to steady himself. “Slow down—”

“Shush,” Lindir hissed back. “Sound carries down here.” 

“I’ll make a lot more noise if I fall over—”

“All right, all right. Here.” 

Tony almost jumped when he felt Lindir’s hand wrap around his elbow. He hardly had time to even think of a question to ask, however, before Lindir’s hand slid down to his wrist – clearly having just missed his target in the darkness – and then lifted Tony’s hand to rest on Lindir’s shoulder. 

“I don’t really know my way around,” Lindir admitted quietly as he began walking again, thankfully slower this time. “But this way, at least only one of us will walk into a wall.” 

Tony snorted. “Fair enough.” 

They continued on together for some time, the distance they walked impossible to judge even through Tony’s best efforts. There was no way of measuring time save for that it had been long enough for his nose to become somewhat accustomed to the smell, no way to know how many steps they had taken. Tony couldn’t even have guessed which direction they were walking after they had rounded so many bends. But Lindir seemed to relax when they saw a small, flickering light up ahead, and Tony was able to let go of Lindir’s shoulder as they made their way toward it. 

“There’s a few of these junctions around the place,” Lindir whispered. “We’ll still have to be quiet, but it’s better for resting.” 

Tony didn’t need to ask what he meant—it became obvious as they reached the junction. For rather than a simple concrete pipe like the ones they had traversed, the junction had a slightly more sophisticated design. Five pipes came together into a fairly large opening, perhaps twice as high as the pipes themselves. In the centre were slightly raised metal walkways, which would allow them to sit without placing their asses in the slop at their feet. The walkways led to doors in the wall, which were plastered with various fading signs. 

“Oh, we’re in junction four,” Lindir sighed, almost sounding glad about that fact. “I love junction four.” 

There was no indication as to why this was called junction four, or how Lindir knew it to be that particular junction—but he did clearly know the place. He led the way up onto one of the walkways, then over to one of the doors. He shoved it open with his shoulder before heading through, Tony hot on his heels. 

The door led to some kind of control room, metal pipes running from floor to ceiling on one side, and a few broken gauges decorating the wall on the other. Lindir was already by the pipes, leaning back against a section of bare wall with a heavy sigh. Tony closed the door behind him, slowly in the hopes of minimising noise. It meant that they lost the dim light that flickered down from the hatches above the junction, but it also meant that— 

“We can talk in here,” Lindir said, confirming Tony’s thoughts. “This is definitely one of the better junctions.” 

“You’ve spent some time exploring then?” Tony asked. He felt his way over to where Lindir was sittin and slid down beside him—surprised to find that there was a soft warmth emanating from the pipes to his left. 

“I’ve been down here since the start,” Lindir said, confirming Tony’s suspicions. “They, uh.” He swallowed. “Well.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Tony said quickly.

“Nah, it’s all right,” Lindir said. “If I don’t talk about it…” he trailed off, but Tony thought he had some idea of what Lindir was thinking. 

If I don’t talk about it now, I’ll never get the chance again. 

Or perhaps, that no one else would remember. Tony could understand either sentiment. 

“They cut Elora down in the bloodbath,” Lindir said, his voice going dark for a moment. Tony didn’t know who Elora was, but as he quickly sorted through the faces which he’d seen in the sky that first night, he realised she must have been Lindir’s realm partner. “I knew that I was going to be by myself after that, so I just ran away, and I found a building to hide in. But I didn’t go far enough, and then the giants found me, and I had to run again. They almost got me, too, but then a slurper turned up.”

“One of those mutts, right?” Tony asked, picturing the bulbous, grey-green shape once again. 

“Yeah. What have you been calling them?”

Tony shrugged, finding himself half smiling despite the topic of conversation. “Nothing, really. I like your name for them. It fits.”

“You have no idea,” Lindir replied—and Tony could hear the shudder in his voice. “See, the giants must have thought the screaming was another tribute or something, I don’t know, but Baugi went around the corner, laughing. And then… he was gone. Swallowed. Absorbed. And there was a cannon.” 

Tony grimaced. He’d only seen a slurper absorb an already dead body, and that had been disturbing enough. He could hardly imagine what it would be like to be swallowed whole, pulled into that pulsating, slimy flesh like a trapped animal in quicksand. 

And to think, he’d come so close to that happening to him. 

“Well, thanks for saving me from one of those things,” Tony said. “Being absorbed doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“No,” Lindir replied. “It doesn’t. You’re welcome, though. And don’t worry, the slurpers don’t come down here. We’re safe at night, so long as we stay away from the giants.”

“And do they come down here, much?” Tony asked. 

Lindir paused for a moment. “Sometimes,” he said. “It’s a good thing sound carries in the pipes. I can always hear them first.” 

Well. At least they had that. 

“But after that, I just came down here and I’ve been wandering around the sewers ever since.” That optimism Tony had heard in Lindir’s voice back at the Training Centre returned as he told Tony all about his adventures through the pipes, the different kinds of junctions he had found and how he had numbered each one. He had no way of knowing where he was going, not without a light or a map, but Lindir said he believed he’d covered most of the pipes and found all the junctions. 

“There’s one right underneath the cornucopia, can you believe it?” Lindir said. “I thought about going over there and trying to steal some food, but the giants moved it all somewhere. Not sure where.” He almost didn’t sound too sorry about that fact, and Tony was glad. He didn’t want Lindir to get any ideas when Tony didn’t have any need to be stealing food regardless. 

“But anyway, what have you been up to?” Lindir asked, his voice brightening even further as Tony heard him shifting in his seat. “Something cool, I bet?”

Tony almost didn’t want to say—after hearing how hard Lindir had it, he almost felt guilty for the time he had spent holed up in his little office building. But, it wasn’t like they had much else to talk about, and it was unlikely that Lindir would take ‘no’ for an answer. 

So, he drew a deep breath, and started telling Lindir all about it—about how he’d run from the cornucopia, how he’d found an office and built a heater. Tony had to pause there for a fair while, as Lindir demanded an explanation. In the end, the only way Tony was able to continue the story was by giving Lindir his screwdriver, so that the younger boy could examine it while Tony talked. But it wasn’t long before he was interrupted again—

“You made a taser?” Lindir asked, almost squealing. “Oh wow, I knew you must have been able to do something special when you got that high training score, but that’s amazing! There’s no way you’ll lose.” 

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Tony said, shifting to the side so that he could nudge Lindir with his shoulder. 

“Hard not to,” Lindir sighed. “I mean, I’m even shorter than you. And that’s saying something.” 

Tony whacked rather than nudged, this time. “Hey!”

But he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Lindir’s laugh. 

As the time passed and as they continued talking, Tony was once again reminded of how easy it was to like Lindir. He was funny and optimistic and so concerningly young, and with a kind streak so strong that he even seemed to have the endearing habit of learning everyone’s names. The more he prattled on, the more Tony realised Lindir had hadn’t missed anyone. Tony, meanwhile, had hardly bothered—he knew the giants only because he’d taken note of them during the reaping, and the vanir from the Final Farewell. The others… why would he want to know them? It would only make it harder in the end. But Lindir… he was kind, and Tony found himself increasingly glad that they had run into each other, life-saving rescue or not. 

After days alone… it was nice.

And when Tony eventually fell asleep, it was with Lindir’s head on his shoulder, his fingers curled around his pendant, and a soft smile painting his lips. 

*

In the morning – or at least, after they had both woken up – Lindir gave voice to exactly the plan Tony had hoped he wouldn’t.

“Now that there’s two of us, do you think we could try and steal some of the giants’ food?”

Tony groaned the moment that the words reached him. “Probably not a good idea,” he said. “There’s still three of them—”

“Four. Alvis joined them too.”

“You know that I have no idea who—”

“Alvis. He’s Dökkálfar.” 

Oh. Right. The boy from Svartalfheim. 

“Well, there you go then. There’s four of them and two of us, and I don’t know about you but I think they’d have the upper hand even if they were the ones who were outnumbered.” 

“They’ll be coming after us soon, though,” Lindir said. “I can’t see the sky down here, but I’ve been counting cannons. It’s almost just us and them left. There’s only one other person, I think?” 

Tony grit his teeth, knowing that Lindir was right. “Still. Going on the offensive is rarely a good idea,” he argued. “Most Victors are the ones who wait to make their strike at the very end—”

“But if—”

“They might crack first,” Tony said, shaking his head. “You know how to hide down here, right?” 

Lindir nodded, the movement evident through their close proximity. “They haven’t found me yet.”

“Then we’ll stay down here. Maybe they find whoever it is that’s left first, or maybe they break and fight each other. Either way, we’re better off down here.” 

Lindir made a funny sound at that, something half-way between a groan and a gurgle. Tony wasn’t sure what to make of it, and he was actually just about to ask if Lindir was feeling okay when Lindir himself made the origin of the sound rather clear.

“Sorry,” Lindir grimaced. “I haven’t eaten in a while. My traps haven’t caught anything since the day before yesterday.” 

Tony glanced through the darkness curiously. “Traps?”

“Yeah,” Lindir said. “I learned in the Training Centre, and I’ve got pretty good at making them. I caught two rats in one, once!”

Tony felt himself freeze. 

Rats. 

He’d seen the droppings back in the first building he’d hid in, of course. But it just… hadn’t really occurred to him until this moment that other than the tributes and the slurpers, rats were really the only other living thing he’d seen any trace of. 

And the implications of that were…

Oh, god. 

“You’ve been… living off rats?” Tony asked. 

“There’s not much else around,” Lindir replied, far too close to nonchalant for Tony’s liking. “Sorry, I’d offer you one, but like I said. I haven’t set a trap in here yet, and the ones I ran across yesterday were empty.” 

Tony felt a bit sick, and his hand went to his pocket. But just as he had the night before, he felt a little guilty—and the feeling merged with the desire to keep his privilege a secret to save Lindir from feeling even more abandoned.

But… withholding his food would be far worse, so without any further hesitation, Tony shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a protein bar. Once that was gone, he would only have one left. He held it out to Lindir anyway.

Lindir, of course, could not see it, but it only took Tony finding his hand and pressing the bar into his palm for Lindir to realise what it was. The boy barely wasted any time pulling the packet open, and then Tony heard the unmistakable sound of a full mouth. 

“Oh my days,” Lindir groaned. “Is this chocolate?” 

“It’s chocolate flavoured,” Tony said. “You like it, then?”

“I’m going to marry you.”

“Are you talking to me or the protein bar?”

“Both.”

A few moments of silence followed, broken only by Lindir’s joyous chewing. But Tony used the time to think, and he didn’t like the conclusion that he came to. 

“Maybe we should go to the surface,” Tony sighed. “I’ve been getting that food from sponsors.” 

“You’ve been getting food?” Lindir almost sounded like he’d found himself in the middle of a dream—never mind that they were still sitting in the middle of a sewer, in the middle of the Hunger Games. 

“Yeah, and some other stuff. I showed you my screwdriver. What have you had?”

“I haven’t had any parachutes,” Lindir said, tone matter-of-fact. 

Tony winced. He probably should have been able to guess, but even so—

“Maybe you will,” he said. “We’re more than halfway through now, after all.”

“They’ll be interviewing our parents back home,” Lindir sighed. “My Mam and Da will be telling the whole world how I never clean my room, probably.”

“Can’t be any worse than what my friends are saying,” Tony shot back. Then he turned his face upwards. “Hey, Rhodey? If I make it back and I find out you’ve told anyone about the incident in fifth grade, I’ll use my fame and fortune to make sure the whole world knows what happened when you tried to ask out Carol Danvers. And even if I don’t make it out, I’ll haunt your ass.” 

“Tonyyyy, you can’t say that and then not share the details,” Lindir complained. “Come on.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Tony said. “Otherwise I’ll have to come back and haunt you too. Or did you forget that we’re on television?”

“Do you think the cameras down here have night vision?”

“Probably. They’ve made it pretty clear they don’t want to miss anything. ” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, remember how I said I made my zapper out of broken cameras? That was right before the Gamemakers decided to try and turn us all into fried chicken.” 

“That was you?”

“No idea. Would be kind of cool if it was though, don’t you think?”

Lindir was laughing again, and Tony was glad to have got his mind off everything. 

“Still,” Tony sighed, going back to his original point. “I’m pretty sure I’ll get some more, but I won’t be able to down here. Parachutes can’t get through concrete, can they?”

Lindir was quiet, and Tony wondered if that was disappointment at the thought of not being able to get any more food that wasn’t rats. Tony couldn’t blame him. Because, yes, honestly, if the choice was between eating rats and facing off against a slurper again – and, yeah, it seemed like that was the case – Tony was pretty sure he’d be willing to take the rats. He wouldn’t hardly enjoy it, of course, but eating rats probably was the better option. 

But then, Lindir let out a small breath. 

“You said earlier that the Gamemakers can pilot the parachutes?” Lindir asked. “Because of the battery?”

“Well, yeah, but they wouldn’t be able to get them underground—”

“Why not?” Lindir asked. “Why don’t we just go and stand underneath an open hatch for a bit?”

Tony paused. Then he laughed. 

Lindir really was an unsung genius. 

*

The days, Tony found, passed much faster than they had when he had been alone. 

They moved around fairly often, never staying in one place for longer than a few hours. Lindir, it seemed, had adopted the opposite approach to the Games than Tony had, and Tony was more than happy to follow along. It kept things interesting, and despite it being the last thing anyone would have expected during a Hunger Games, Tony couldn’t help but realise just how bored he had been. 

The sewers beneath the city were a maze of pipes and junctions, a mess that no one could have hoped to ever map. Still, they tried, scratching marks into the walls that only they would be able to understand. It had taken Tony a moment to decide on how to do it, of course—he was loath to use his screwdriver, not wanting to damage it. But Lindir had managed to make himself a crude knife out of a piece of sharpened metal wrapped with what looked like a strip of material from his shirt, and that worked well enough without damaging the tool itself. 

(Seeing the hilt on Lindir’s knife was also enough to remind Tony that he needed to do the same to his own handmade zapper—and he searched all the junctions until he managed to find a piece of rubber thin enough to wrap around the device, tied in place with a strip from the bottom of his shirt. He wouldn’t be caught out again.) 

The one thing they didn’t have enough of was light. Tony thought he would be able to make one – as every child who had been through a Midgardian high school knew, even a potato was battery enough for a simple light bulb – but when Tony mentioned it, Lindir shook his head. 

“I told you that noise carries,” he said. “Light carries even further.” 

“It wouldn’t even have to be a lightbulb,” Tony said. “I could make an old fashioned torch, light something on fire, you know.” 

Despite not being able to see, Tony felt with some kind of magical sixth sense that Lindir was rolling his eyes. 

“If you want the giants to catch us, go ahead,” Lindir said. “I’m pretty sure I can run the fastest. I’ll get away while they’re busy killing you.” 

Tony huffed, but more for the point of it than actual disagreement. Lindir was, obviously, right. Tony just hated being presented with a problem that he couldn’t fix—

Which was why, at the next junction, he tore a red bulb from a control panel and attached it to the parachute battery he had received that morning before smothering it in some slime from the sewer wall. 

The resultant light was tiny, barely enough to see each other’s faces by—but it was better than nothing. And by the time someone got close enough to see it, they would also be close enough to hear their feet sloshing through the slop. 

So they had light, they had food, they had conversation. They kept out of everyone’s way and explored the tunnels, finding the small junction below the square where they had all started, and pipes that branched off in every direction. They even, one day, found some pipes that were blocked off by heavy bars, prompting Tony to believe they had reached the edge of the arena. 

He wondered, for a moment, what would happen if he and Lindir tried to break through them. Would they be attacked by mutts? Electrocuted? Something worse? 

As tempting as it was to try… he turned, offering Lindir a shrug and a half-witty comment before they headed back the way they had come. 

Despite the sewers feeling almost like a sanctuary, they were never able to forget where they were. At night Tony could still hear the screams of the slurpers, marking out the days just the same as the blaring Asgardian anthem which accompanied every sunset.

Still, they did the best they could to keep their spirits up, and to that end having a friend really did help. Finding something new was also always a godsend—such as the time they fell through a smaller tunnel into what looked like a maintenance hallway, and followed it along until they reached what appeared to be some kind of abandoned train platform. 

Tony was half ecstatic, for its mere existence suggested a whole new myriad of devices he might be able to get his hands on. He was grinning near ear to ear as he hurried onto the platform, looking down to the old-fashioned tracks. 

“This is awesome,” Lindir said, his eyes staring up at the tiled black and white ceiling, wide with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“It’s Midgardian,” Tony explained. “They used to have these under cities when they were big enough. I’ve seen pictures.” 

“Makes sense,” Lindir said. “The Arena looked just like a forest from Alfheim last year.” 

Tony was surprised to hear that. To him, it had just looked like a rather generic forest. He wondered if any of the others thought the city looked like something from their home planets—Lindir, after all, hadn’t seemed particularly awed by anything in the sewers. Then again, perhaps sewers were simply universal. 

Instead of giving voice to the depressing thought that at least one of them wouldn’t be able to find out which realm would get an Arena next year, Tony instead continued to move across the platform, stepping around a dividing wall. He was just about to suggest to Lindir that they have a proper look about the place when—

When his gaze landed on something that chilled him to the bone. 

Oh, shit. 

“Lindir,” Tony said, his voice catching in his urgency. “We need to go.” 

“What have you—”

“Now.” 

Thankfully, Lindir didn’t try to argue further, simply meeting Tony’s frantic gaze in the dim light and nodding quickly. They hurried for the maintenance corridor without another word, feet pounding on broken tiles as they broke into a sprint. 

Tony could already hear boots on the steps at the end of the platform, accompanied by chattering voices discussing their lack of luck at tracking down the last few tributes. The giants sounded frustrated, angry—

“Hey! Did you guys hear that?”

How could he have been so stupid? He should have known that this place was too good to not already be inhabited. The slurpers wouldn’t head down there and it was warmer than the surface, and protected on all sides save for the openings on the track—

And the door that led to the sewer. 

Tony tried to close it quietly, but they’d already been noticed, it was already too late. Voices shouted in alarm as Tony grabbed Lindir’s arm hard enough to bruise and dragged him faster along the maintenance corridor. It wasn’t long, but it was straight, and there would be nowhere to hide if they were caught up. They’d barely made it to the end of the hallway when the door behind them slammed open, and Tony shoved Lindir forward—

“It’s the human!” 

A short grunt and a whistle was the only warning Tony got, and he threw himself to the side at the last second. 

Something sharp tore at Tony’s cheek, and when he touched it, his hand came away bloody—

There was a knife stuck in the doorframe to his right. 

“I’ve got more where that came from, human!” 

“Tony, come on, run!”

Following Lindir’s scared shout, Tony threw himself through the final door and back down into the sewer. Lindir was already gone, but Tony could see the way he was headed—the water at the mouth of one of the pipes was disturbed. 

Knowing that the three giants and the dark elf would be able to track him the same way, Tony resigned himself to simply running as fast as he could. He didn’t pull out the little red light, feeling that his chances lay more in disappearing than they did in speed—and he ran for his life.

His boots slipped against the concrete pipes beneath his feet, his panting breaths tore at his throat, his cheek stung with every other desperate gasp. He knew that the giants were following him, he could hear them—but what he couldn’t hear was Lindir, he had no idea where the other boy was. There must have been forks in the pipes, splits that Tony hadn’t noticed. He and Lindir were separated in the total darkness, goodness knows how many miles apart now. There was nothing Tony could do about it—all he could do was run. 

That was okay though, that was fine. They’d be able to find their way back to one of the junctions – junction four would be the best bet for a rendezvous, Tony thought – they’d be able to find each other once they’d lost the giants. 

And as the sounds of large, bumbling feet seemed to fade, as Tony went several minutes without hearing another sound, he allowed himself a single, hopeful thought. 

They were going to be okay. 

But of course, no sooner than when had Tony allowed himself to think it the air was ripped apart by a bloodcurdling echo, a broken cacophony of pure, unadulterated fear. 

Frozen in place, Tony recalled something Lindir had told him back at the start. 

Sound carries down here. 

Lindir’s scream cut him right to the bones. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Tony pulled out his light and spun on his heel, feet hammering back the way he had come. 

He felt wild as his eyes darted back and forth looking for any movement, desperately trying to follow the bouncing echo. He caught a glimpse of a fire giant around a corner, but he just kept on going, kept on running, feeling like he was twisting and turning in a maze that had no end. Lindir’s screams were louder than the ones from the slurpers up above, tearing at him as they seemed to ricochet in every direction. Tony’s throat felt tight, his heart pressing hard against it with every rapid beat, every broken breath—

But Lindir’s screams were louder, closer, he had to be almost there—

In his mad dash, the pendant Loki had given him slipped from his shirt so that it was bouncing against his chest, a heavy reminder that by all rights he should turn and he should run. 

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he had to try and save his friend—

And Tony almost cried with relief when he turned the corner to see Lindir—but that relief quickly turned to horror. 

Lindir was down and leaning against the wall of the sewer, his sky blue vambraces and paulron smeared with muck. Leaning over him, face smeared with a nasty grin, was the boy from Svartalfheim—and in the glow of Tony’s handmade light, the blade in his hand seemed to be glowing red. 

Lindir’s eyes caught Tony’s in an instant, wide and scared as he reached out with one hand. 

“Tony!”

Tony didn’t even think about the implications of it all—he just threw himself at the dark elf, refusing to lose his element of surprise as he grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shoved him to the side, away from Lindir and down into the slop. 

It didn’t take long for the elf to recover, though. He snarled as Tony tried to hold him down, one hand lashing out and slashing at Tony’s side. Tony grunted at the pain, but the wound wasn’t deep—the elf was panicking, the nasty smile from before replaced entirely by desperation and fear. 

Tony didn’t care. 

One hand pressing hard at the elf’s throat he used the other to grab the flailing arm, steadying it and holding it to the side just long enough to jam his knee into the boy’s wrist. Then, teeth bared and filled with rage, Tony curled all ten of his fingers hard around the elf’s neck. 

The elf – Alvis – thrashed and shouted, angry bubbles foaming at the surface of the dirty, rancid water. But Tony held him down, squeezing hard, giving no quarter even as he felt those angry snarls of a monster turn to the scared cries of a child. 

Tony just pushed and pushed, his stockier frame allowing him to keep the boy’s neck against the bottom of the pipe no matter how hard he fought. Tony just kept on pushing until the boy’s movements started to slow, until his limbs went still and then floated to the top of the slop, the bubbles from his mouth dissipating to nothing. 

When Tony finally let go… the elf stayed under, and the distant sound of a cannon cracked through the air.  

He was dead. 

“Tony.”

The gasp pulled Tony from his thoughts before he could fall into them too deeply, and he groaned as he pulled himself over to Lindir. The boy was filthy, and from what Tony could see his face was utterly pale—but that might have just been from fear. Or lack of sunlight. 

Maybe. 

“There’s still three giants down here,” Tony said, kneeling back down in the water to slide a hand under Lindir’s elbow. “We need to go.” 

Lindir nodded, his jaw set. But when he tried to stand, he almost immediately fell back against the side of the pipe with a broken cry. 

“I don’t think I can,” Lindir said, sounding incredibly small, and incredibly pained. “Tony…” 

“Don’t worry,” Tony said. “I’m not going to leave you alone, okay? I’ll help you. Where did he get you?” 

For a moment, Lindir didn’t reply—and Tony felt a spark of concern run deeper. But then the words came out in a breath of air, and Tony wished to god that Lindir had said anything else. 

“Maybe you should.” 

Lindir was too young to be having such ideas—he was a kid, he was meant to be selfish, he was meant to be telling Tony not to leave. 

It was wrong that Tony was the one to shake his head. 

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m not doing that.” 

“You have to,” Lindir groaned. “I can’t run. And you need to.”

“No—”

“Tony.”

“I won’t.”

“Tony. Only one of us can win, anyway.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Tony hissed. “You don’t get to be the hero in this story, okay? That’s my job. So get up.” 

It took some effort, but Tony managed to hoist Lindir up with one arm around the boy’s waist, and one of Lindir’s arms tight around Tony’s shoulders. They made slow progress, but slow progress was better than none—for the giants were definitely still lurking in the darkness, waiting to make that final blow. Thankfully, their previous curse now worked in their favour. 

Sound really did carry, and the giants were loud. 

Not knowing where best to go, Tony decided their better option would be to simply head away from the noise. He was too turned around and it seemed that Lindir was hardly in any state to offer directions, so Tony pointed them down the quietest pipe and made their way forward. 

When they came to a familiar door, Tony paused. He doubted that Lindir would be able to get up any kind of ladder, but getting out of the sewer might be their best option here. This was possibly their best chance to do so. 

“This way,” Tony said, helping Lindir toward the door. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

They limped back through the hallway and onto the platform, then past the pile of food, sleeping bags, and weapons which had first alerted Tony to the fact that the station was occupied. The steps, as Tony expected, were a hassle, and Lindir’s breathing grew more and more ragged. It was while Tony was hauling Lindir up them that he heard a door slam against a wall, and the heavy pounding of a giant’s footsteps against broken tiles. 

But the platform was long and they made it—breaking up out of the station and into open air. Tony gulped it down like he had been the one to drown, the dusty air of the damaged city smelling so sweet after the putrid days he had spent in the sewer. 

“We’re okay, we’re going to be all right,” Tony said, not entirely believing it but needing to keep Lindir moving. “We’re going to make it. Come on.”

Lindir’s only answer was a groan. 

The sky was dark above them as Tony dragged Lindir across the road, the other boy’s steps growing increasingly sluggish. The screams of the slurpers rang through Tony’s ears and battered his brain in his skull with a racquet, but the adrenaline surging through his veins made it so he almost didn’t notice. Besides, it’s not like the presence of the slurpers changed anything. They needed to hide regardless, to try and get inside a building before the giant chasing them made it out of the sewer—

“Stop right there, maggots!” 

Tony absolutely fucking swore. Could they not catch a break? 

Instinctively, he looked back over his shoulder, not even thinking about how that would slow him down. Bursting from the station entrance not twenty yards behind him was Gullveig, the girl from Muspelheim. Her expression was as fiery as her home planet, and she held aloft a sword about the same length as Tony’s arm. 

Tony tried, god, he tried to pull at Lindir again, but it seemed that pausing had lost them their momentum. Lindir was slipping down, sagging in Tony’s hold, his eyes barely open. 

Behind him, Gullvieg laughed, the sound deep and upsetting. 

“I heard a cannon earlier,” she said, her steps heavy as she came closer. “I thought it might have been one of you.”

“Nah,” Tony said, turning back to face her despite the strain. “One of your friends, actually.”

Her lips curled. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Lucky for me, then,” Tony said. “I guess it’s two against one.” 

“Are you sure?” Her smile deepend as she looked behind Tony. 

Tony only just managed to hide his wince, knowing what she would be seeing without needing to turn and look himself. 

“Lindir,” Tony hissed, not taking his eyes off the scarily tall girl. “I need you to try and get to that building over there. Can you do it?”

“I don’t think so,” Lindir muttered—but they didn’t have a choice. 

“You’ve got to try, okay?” 

“Okay—except, Tony, you hear that screaming, right?”

Of course Tony could hear the screaming—he was aware of it getting closer, but there was hardly anything he could do about it. 

“All the more reason to get inside,” Tony said. “Quickly.” 

“Right. And Tony… water. They don’t like water.” Lindir’s speech was almost starting to slur, but Tony just nodded. He knew already, of course, that water was probably his best bet—the people of Muspelheim were fire giants, after all. Knowing where he would get it from was another issue entirely, however.

But Tony could hear Lindir’s slow, shuffling movement behind him, and that was all that mattered. 

“How adorable,” Gullveig sneered. “Too bad it won’t do him any good. He won’t get far in the time it takes me to kill you.” 

Tony held his chin high, and forced confidence he didn’t feel to flood his expression. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” 

Gullveig charged first, just as Tony was expecting she would. The sword she held looked heavy and unwieldy, but she’d clearly had some experience with it going by the way she seemed ready to chop Tony’s head off. Tony waited until she approached, standing steady and trying to keep his breathing even, waiting until she was close enough—and then ducking out of the way. 

The momentum of her swing was strong, and it forced her to follow through, leaving her back wide open for Tony to try and strike. Problem was that he didn’t have a weapon—his zapper would be useless if he pressed it to her leather coat, and unlike the vanir he had faced, Gullveig still wore her vambraces. He didn’t have a knife, he didn’t have an axe. All he had were his hands, and all he could do with them was push. 

Gullveig stumbled as he shoved her, but she managed to keep her feet, turning with yet another snarl. 

The only thing Tony had on his side here was speed. He was faster than her, that was clear, but she was stronger and she had a rather scary looking sword—a sword which Gullveig was already raising again, ready once more to strike.

What followed must have looked like some violent parody of a dance, giant and human twirling together in a series of dodges and slashes. Tony only just managed to stay a step ahead, keeping just out of reach—but she was at least one foot – maybe two – taller than him, and now, she was expecting it—

And when Tony darted forward for what must have been the fourth time, she lashed out backward with one of her elbows and caught Tony in the side of the head. 

He went down hard, feeling dazed as he stared up at the hulking figure above him. 

“You’re nothing more than an annoying insect,” she hissed. “I’ll squash you like a bug.” 

Tony didn’t doubt her—still, he tried to scurry backwards, the leather of his jacket the only thing protecting his elbows from the harsh asphalt. This time, however, he wasn’t going to be quick enough. She was following with swift steps, he sword preparing to fall in one, final blow—

“Hey, Gullveig! I’m curious, did your father get into bed with an Asgardian or are you that bad of a fighter on purpose?” 

“Elf,” Gullveig hissed, attention immediately diverted. 

“I’m surprised you’re still alive. Tony and I were sure you’d have been poisoned by now.” 

Lindir’s face was even paler than before, and he was leaning heavily on a faded red fire hydrant to keep himself upright. But he was upright, and Tony felt a spark of relief—which was immediately dashed to horror when Gullveig turned from Tony to head towards Lindir instead. 

“I’ll slice you to pieces,” Gullveig growled— “And I’ll enjoy doing it, elf. You’ve been in my sights since the start.”

“And yet I’ve still lasted this long,” Lindir replied. “You really must be off your game.” 

Gullveig’s whole frame tensed, and her sword lifted with a rage she hadn’t even displayed when fighting Tony. He couldn’t see her face, struggling as he was to get back to his feet, but he knew that her expression would be painted with a bloodlust beyond reason. 

Lindir, in contrast, looked barely able to move, both hands pressed into the hydrant behind him. Yet, despite his injury and obvious exhaustion, his lips curled up into a taunting smile. 

It was like Tony was watching the scene in slow motion, much too far away to be able to help, but close enough to capture every detail. Even as he ran forward he watched as the large, double-handed sword came down in a strong arc, heading straight for Lindir’s face. There was a solid second where Lindir didn’t move, where Tony thought he was about to watch his young friend get sliced in half—

But then Lindir dropped to the ground, his knees buckling as his hands flashed out in front of him—

And Gullveig’s sword hit the red fire hydrant in the very same moment that Lindir’s makeshift knife buried into her thigh.

Now fire hydrants, you know, are rather difficult to crack. They’re designed so that they can’t be opened by accident – or on purpose by people trying to cause trouble – and they are made of rather solid metal. But this hydrant was either old, or designed to appear to be, and it did not withstand a solid blow of a giant’s blade. 

Gullveig’s howl of pain was drowned out by a massive spurt of high-pressure liquid, the water slamming into the giant and knocking her down. 

Tony, meanwhile, had very nearly made it. His head was aching something fierce and his vision held a slight haze, but he was determined—and he slammed into Gullveig not a few seconds later. 

They both went down to the ground, the giant still growling, Tony definitely swearing. He didn’t know where the sword had gone but he managed to grab the knife from her leg, and then jam it into her side omce, twice—

Gullveig snarled again, this time in a mixture of pain and anger, and Tony yelped as she threw him off her. This time, however, he got to his feet quickly—and risked a glance behind. 

In the midst of their kerfuffle, he and Gullveig had moved some yards away from the still-spurting hydrant, but Lindir had not moved at all. He was on the ground, somehow looking even more damaged than before—but, thank god, still moving. 

Other than being thrown to the side, however, it seemed that the water had done absolutely nothing to Gullveig. Rather than cause her to melt or – well, actually, Tony wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected it to do – the water merely seemed to have made the fire giant wet. So, rather than just having an angry giant glaring at him from across the way, there was instead a dripping angry giant with literal steam coming off her. 

Tony grimaced. There was every chance that he was done for. Lindir had clearly been wrong about the water. 

But. 

But. 

There was something else that might work in Tony’s favour. 

Gullvieg did not seem to have noticed. She’d lost her sword and she was injured, but her height may still be enough of an advantage—and it seemed that she knew it. She was already taking her first, shaky step forward, her left leg spilling blood. Her hands were curled into fists, her eyes deep pools of rage, and Tony…

Well. There was only one thing he could think of to do. 

But it had worked once, right? 

Throwing caution to the wind, Tony charged forward, the bloody knife held tight in his hand as he angled toward Gullveig’s left side. He had one chance at this—

Gullveig, however, seemed to have learned over the course of the fight—and just before Tony reached her, she leapt back and to the right—

Just as Tony had hoped that would. 

For in dodging Tony, Gullveig placed herself directly in the path of the slurper which was approaching from behind. 

Tony managed to stop himself in time, stepping backward rapidly. And as he watched, he was absently reminded of how Lindir had shuddered when he’d talked about what happened to the boy from Jotunheim. Now, Tony felt like he understood—for there are hardly any words which could ever describe the cold terror of a body being sucked into bulbous flesh, grey-green skin absorbing a struggling person as they screamed, as they fought to absolutely no avail. Gullveig looked terrified, her eyes wide as she reached out, begging for help—

But Tony just watched. Transfixed, horrified, relieved that it wasn’t him. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if the screams emanating from the creature were the screams of children it had eaten in the past. 

The sound of the cannon was a blessing, though the fact that it came almost a full minute after Gullveig had been entirely swallowed made Tony feel ill. 

Then, to make matters worse the slurper was still moving, coming toward Tony at a slightly increased speed. Quickly as he could, Tony hurried back to where Lindir was groaning on the flooded ground. 

“Okay, time to go,” Tony said for the—well, god knows how many times he’d said such a thing that night, but who cares? “Come on, there’s a slurper—”

“No point,” Lindir muttered, not even trying to stand as Tony tugged at his arm. 

“Don’t do that again,” Tony snapped. “I told you that I’m not going to leave you—”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what—”

“Just look.” 

Tony allowed his gaze to follow Lindir’s gesture to the slurper—and when he did, he was caught very violently off guard. For every impression he had gained of the slurpers thus far had suggested that nothing in their path would ever stop them, but this one… was recoiling. 

It had reached the edge of the still-growing puddle, the bottom of its bulging body flinching away from the ripping water. It made a sound Tony had only heard once before, back when Lindir had rescued him from another of these creatures—an odd almost gurgle, mixed with an awful screech. 

In that moment, Tony was struck with the sudden realisation that Lindir had never explained how he had been able to distract the slurper that night. Then again, Tony had never asked. 

Now, Tony supposed he knew. 

“Oh,” Tony said. “I see. They don’t like water.”

“Told you so.” 

And… well, yeah. Tony supposed that Lindir had. 

Even as Tony watched, the slurper turned away from the puddle with a long groan, and began to make its way back down the street—away from Tony and Lindir. 

But as much as Tony wanted to relax, he was all too aware of the fact that there were still two giants looking for them down in the sewers, and that it probably wouldn’t be all that long before they thought to come back up and out onto the street. 

“Okay, we still need to go though,” Tony said, turning back to his friend—but Lindir had slumped further still, and his breathing was becoming more and more ragged. “Lindir?”

“We did good, Tony,” Lindir breathed. “I saved you again.”

“You did,” Tony agreed, confused as he kneeled down in the water at Lindir’s side. “And now, it’s my turn to save you. I’ll carry you, hold on.”

Even though Tony had been sharing his protein bars the past few days, Lindir was still far too thin, and Tony was sure he wouldn’t have much trouble carrying him. Shoving Lindir’s knife into his pocket, he hooked his arms under the elf’s thin frame. But as he began to lift, Lindir cried out in a hairraising sound which cut Tony to the bone and had him stopping immediately. 

“I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Don’t do that again,” Lindir said, his voice very clearly on the verge of a sob. “Please, please don’t. I’ll stay here, Tony, it’s fine.” 

Freaked out now, Tony looked back down at Lindir, trying to work out what was happening—

And it was only now, in the light of the stars, that he noticed the liquid on his hands… was not just water. Quickly pulling out his small light, Tony was able to confirm it—his bulb was stained red, but even so it was clear that the crimson stain on his hands was warm blood. 

In fact, the water all around Lindir was stained with it, seeping into Tony’s trousers as he kneeled. But, the water was probably just making it look like there was more than there actually was, it was going to fine—

“Oh god,” Tony said, his hands going to Lindir’s side again—this time, looking for a tear in Lindir’s coat. He found it quickly, though it wasn’t large—and Tony wasted no time pressing his hands hard against it. “Oh fuck.” 

“Yeah,” Lindir groaned. “I was doing okay I think, until… well, until—”

“Shh,” Tony said, not wanting to hear it. He knew what Lindir was about to say, anyway. 

He’d been doing okay, until he’d distracted Gullveig to save Tony. 

“I need to keep pressure on this, all right?” Tony said quickly, needing to be doing something. “I need to stop the bleeding. If I can do that, you might still have a chance.” 

Lindir nodded, the movement a sharp jerk. He was still grimacing, tears still building in the corners of his eyes. It was clear that he was trying, trying so hard to be brave. 

Despite the clothes in the way Tony could see that the wound was small, barely even half an inch wide. The blood was pulsating from it slowly, not spurting, which was a good sign—and while Tony’s medical knowledge was exceedingly limited, he knew from watching previous Games that if the knife had hit anything vital – like a kidney – Lindir would have dropped like a rock right away. 

...right?

Lindir had seemed fine during the fight with Gullvieg. Well, a little pale, sure, and Tony had known he was hurt, but… he’d been taunting her. He had to be all right. 

“Tony?” Lindir asked. “What… what is it?”

“It’s,” Tony said—and his words caught as he tried to think of what to say. “I’m—”

“Am I going to die?” Lindir sounded small, and so very, very young. Tony didn’t know what to tell him, and he was still scrambling for something when Lindir spoke again. “Can we move? I’m cold.”

Tony was cold too, absolutely freezing, now that he thought about it—but just the thought of the sound Lindir had made when Tony had tried to move him… 

“I could try,” Tony said. “But I… I don’t think.” 

He swallowed. Fuck. 

He’d known all along that this was going to happen. All along, he’d known, of course he’d fucking known. This was the Hunger Games. Only one of them got to live. 

He’d made a promise. But that didn’t make any of this any easier. 

“Tony, it hurts.” The words burst past Lindir’s lips as if he could no longer hold them in, accompanied by a small sob. 

“I know,” Tony said, pushing past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry—”

“It really, really hurts, Tony—” 

“I know,” Tony said again, just as caught up in the echo as Lindir seemed to be. “I know, but I don’t—I can’t—”

“Make it stop?” The words were a broken whimper, scratching at Tony’s insides, tearing at his heart. “Please.”

There was nothing Tony wanted more than to try, to take away every scrap of pain. 

But… he didn’t know how. 

Tony knew how to fix machines, not people. The blood that was spilling between Tony’s hands couldn’t be replaced like oil—the pieces of Lindir’s body couldn’t be repaired with a wrench. It would require knowledge Tony didn’t possess, tools that he did not have—

But—tools, which perhaps could be sent to him.

Almost desperately, Tony cast his gaze up to the sky, half begging in his head to hear the sound of a parachute. But he knew before looking that none would appear. 

Lindir hadn’t had any sponsors. He’d achieved a score of only four in his training, and he was only thirteen years old. Thirteen. Fury still could have sent something of course, but… why would he? Fury’s job was to ensure that Tony would win. 

Tony didn’t want to think that Fury – and Loki – were cruel enough to just sit and watch this when they had the power to help, but… the alternative was almost worse. Because if they weren’t that cruel, then it meant that there was no help to be given. 

With trembling fingers, Tony shifted his hand and lifted up the layers that covered Lindir’s torso, first his jacket, then his waistcoat, and then finally, his shirt. Lindir’s skin was soiled with muck and blood, but Tony wiped at it with his hand as best he could—

And when he realised that the deep purple blemish smeared over Lindir’s skin was, in fact, under the skin… Tony felt his body awash with numbness. 

Lindir wasn’t just bleeding out. He was bleeding on the inside. 

He was going to die, slowly—and there was nothing that Tony could do to stop it. 

But, fuck—

For the love of god, there was nothing that Tony could have done to have stopped any of it. They had been doomed, all of them, from the moment that they’d been thrown into the Arena. Sixteen ghosts, sent to haunt the place of their death. 

“Tony,” Lindir was saying—begging, though Tony couldn’t say whether the boy knew for what. “Please.” 

Tony held Lindir’s hand in his, no longer bothering to apply pressure to the wound. That would do nothing but… make it worse. 

“I never thanked you properly, really,” Tony said, trying his hardest to keep the sob out of his voice. “You saved my life, more than once.”

“You saved me first,” Lindir replied, voice strained. Pained. Faded. “In training.” 

“I still can’t believe you tried to help those dicks,” Tony replied, trying to smile, trying to just—to just keep Lindir talking, as if that could stave off the inevitable. 

But Lindir was shaking, shuddering, crying. He was shattering right before Tony’s eyes, his face already grey, as if he truly were a ghost. He hardly even seemed to have noticed what Tony was talking about. 

“Tony,” Lindir whimpered. “I want my Mam.” 

It was that, more than anything, which had Tony falling to pieces. Uncaring of the muck, uncaring of the blood, Tony pulled Lindir against him with a shuddering breath. 

“You’ll see her soon,” Tony promised. “I know it. Don’t worry, Lindir. You don’t have to stay in this place any longer.” 

Lindir’s reply was another sob, the force of his pain rattling Tony’s bones. “It hurts.”

Tony knew that there were tears mixing in with the drying blood on his face. He knew that he was shaking, that his hands were trembling so hard he could barely grasp Lindir’s head as he thread the fingers of one hand through Lindir’s hair. But he forced himself to be strong as he pulled Lindir closer still, holding him tighter, pressing Lindir’s face so hard against his chest that he could feel the boy’s nose as a bruise. His other arm curled hard around Lindir’s neck, and as he tightened his hold further still Tony sobbed into Lindir’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony sobbed as Lindir’s limbs began to jerk, twisting in Tony’s arms. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

The situation wasn’t dissimilar to another that evening, when Tony had stopped the air from entering another elf’s lungs. But this time, rather than rage, Tony was filled with only a horrifying, unrelenting sorrow, and a greif powerful enough to cripple. 

Even as Lindir fell limp in Tony’s lap, as his eyes stared listlessly up toward the starry sky, Tony continued to hold him tight. 

And he cried.

Chapter Text

It didn’t feel real.

That’s the truth of it. Everything Tony had done over the past month had been leading up to this moment, and now that it was finally here it felt like a dream.

Fury and Fandral were with him as they climbed into the transport which would take them to the Bifröst, which in turn would carry him home. They were remarkably silent during the drive – which while normal for Fury, was certainly not for Fandral – and Tony was more than grateful for it, as it gave him time to think. 

Because it wasn’t just that leaving Asgard behind felt like it wasn’t real, like something out of a long awaited fantasy. It was the fact that even though he wanted to go with every bone in his body, even though he had been aching to return home ever since he had left it… he still felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind.

Which honestly, was a ridiculous way to feel, given the circumstances. 

But, hey. Maybe it was the part he had lost in the Games—the part of Tony Stark which had perished along with Lindir, along with those fifteen other kids who had been thrown into a contest of violence which had taken their innocence and gnawed at their souls, even before it had torn their bodies to pieces. Or perhaps it was the part of him which had once known how to trust. 

Regardless, it was a feeling that he couldn’t shake, and if he was being honest with himself… 

Let’s just say that he couldn’t get Amora’s words from the night before out of his mind. And when they arrived, he was half expecting for there to be someone waiting for him. Half expecting Loki to be waiting. 

But he wasn’t. 

Tony swallowed. He felt Fury pause, though not in a way that was judgmental. Tony knew that Fury was putting up with Fandral’s long winded goodbye only to give him time. And Tony was grateful, though he almost wished Fury would just shove him forward and get it over with. 

This would hardly be the last time Tony visited Asgard, after all. He would come back for his Victory Tour in six months, and then to mentor in the One Hundred and Fifth Annual Hunger Games six months after that. There would be no end to this—he would never truly be able to leave Asgard and its sick and twisted citizens behind.

The thought was a horrible one, it really, truly was. He really did want nothing more than to leave this fucking place. To go home. 

So… why did he still feel like something was tethering him to it?

There were people waiting for him back home, people that he loved and who loved him in return. He couldn’t wait to see Rhodey and Pepper, and he couldn’t wait to be able to just burrow down his workshop, to stay there and create and never have to come back out again.

The Bifröst was going to take him back to Midgard. Back where he belonged. 

Mind steeled and heart guarded, Tony allowed himself no more hesitation as he bid Fandral farewell and stepped over the threshold of the golden dome, toward the thing which would bring him back to everything he held dear. 

Or, well.

Almost everything—

But it would be more than enough.

It had to be. 

The Bifröst spat Tony out onto the blackened pavement, and he fell to his knees with a groan. It was definitely the worst way to travel, with the sickening colour and the dizzying speed. But despite the headache and the nausea, despite the pain and the still present sensation of having left something behind, his lips pulled into a smile at the sound of an all-too familiar voice. 

“Hey, Tones. Long time no see.” 

Because finally, after far too long—

Tony was home.

Chapter Text

Tony had guessed that the Gamemakers would call for a “feast.”

They usually did, at this point in the Games—when there were too few tributes left to risk sending in mutts or some kind of ‘natural’ disaster to pull them all together, just in case too many died and the ending was labelled as boring.

There were now only four tributes left, including himself, and Tony hadn’t seen any of the others in a while. Not since he’d left Lindir in the middle of the street, stumbling away in a tearstained daze, hardly even hearing the sound of the hovercraft which came to collect Lindir’s empty corpse. 

To make Tony’s suspicions more certain, no water had come from any of the taps for the past two days, and none of Tony’s parachutes had contained any liquids. If the Gamemakers didn’t want them all to die of thirst, then something needed to change. Soon. 

So, yeah, it was clear that the Gamemakers were angling for a final, four-way battle, something epic to keep the viewers watching until the very end. After all, none of the remaining tributes were from the same Realm, which limited the chances of alliances and made for all the more interesting a fight. 

By Tony’s count, he had to worry about a vanir, a frost giant – both of them girls – and the boy from Muspelheim. He wouldn’t say that he was feeling confident, as he knew as well as anyone that anything could happen—but he knew what he was going to do, and that was as close to confident as he was ever going to get. 

He’d begun making his plans the moment that he realised a feast would be occurring—moving for the first time since Lindir had died, since he’d fallen into a slump of grey futility. It gave him a purpose, a reminder that threw him back into the only thing he had left—keeping the promise he had made. 

Remembering everything from every Games he had never seen in the past, Tony was banking on both the Gamemakers sticking to their habits, as well as on everyone else not being as observant as he was. Unfortunately, while he knew the logic of his plan was sound, he was aware that his survival in this rested entirely upon the decisions of other people—and that was something that not only frustrated, but scared him. 

See, this was why Tony normally didn’t like planning. 

He knew that his idea was risky, beyond so. But he also knew that if he actually had to fight any of the other tributes, he didn’t stand a chance. Every fight he had won so far had either been luck, or the element of surprise, or… he’d had help. In this, alone and expected, there was no doubt that he’d lose. This was the only way that he had even a breath of hope at success. 

It probably wouldn’t garner him any points with sponsors. It might even cause people to accuse him of being a cheat. 

But hey, he wanted to live—and if all went to plan, he wouldn’t be in the Arena for much longer regardless. Once he was out, he wouldn’t have to worry about all this mess anymore. So, he made his preparations, and by the time Heimdall announced a feast for the following morning, he was already lying in wait, hiding in a manhole positioned behind and slightly to the side of the cornucopia, one that led to the junction Lindir had shown him. And by the time a table laden with a single bottle of water rose up from the ground, Tony was more than ready. 

Everything was silent, for a few moments, as if the whole Arena was holding its breath—

And then the sound of footsteps erupted over the uneven concrete as Rinda the frost giant ran out from the left. 

Tony kept her in his sights as he scanned the rest of the area, the manhole cover wedged open with a small piece of concrete. The cornucopia was in the centre of what might have been a town square, the pavement cracked and broken. But Rinda’s steps were sure, her strides purposeful and quick, and it would not be long before she reached the centre of the open space. 

Tony held his breath—

And released it as he heard the sound of an angry yell. 

The fire giant, Hrungnir, all but exploded from the other side of the square, his face twisted into such a snarl that Tony could see it, despite being a hundred or so yards away. Tony half wondered what had happened between them – they had still been allies in the sewers, hadn’t  they? – but he decided that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now, save for his wits and his hands. 

The two giants collided in what might as well have been a shower of sparks, blades flashing in the morning light, teeth snapping at each other’s throats. 

Tony felt like he could hear his heartbeat, and he had to fight to keep his hands steady—knowing that if they trembled and shook, it could be the end of it all. He knew that he couldn’t afford to hesitate, that this was his only chance, that if he didn’t act now—

It would be too late. 

But the two giants were still fighting, and it was clear that only one of them was going to make it out alive. The snarls were enough to raise the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck, but he couldn’t act, not yet, not until all the tributes were in the square. 

It was starting to look like that wasn’t going to happen, like the final contestant of this foul competition had decided that the water wasn’t worth the risk. But then, finally—

Movement. 

It seemed that Tony was not the only one who had been waiting for the opportune moment. There was a flash of black hair as the vanir girl sprinted out from a narrow alleyway, her pace more than determined as she ran. She was approaching the other side of the table from where the giants were fighting, using their distraction to make a move for the bottle of water. She was going to make it—

Rinda noticed, raising her head with a shout—

The vanir’s steps skidded to a halt—

And Tony knew that he had to act. Hrungnir was a mere moment from using his opponent’s distraction to his advantage, and now that she had been spotted the vanir looked like she was about to flee. None of them were positioned perfectly, but he had no choice, it was now or never. 

So with gritted teeth and perfect precision, Tony brought together the exposed wires that he held in each hand—

And with a deafening roar, the mines that Tony had hidden in the mouth of the cornucopia exploded.

The blast was as effective as Tony hoped that it would be, the shape of the cornucopia funneling the force of it outward, directly toward the table. The two tussling giants were entirely enveloped by it, and the vanir was thrown from her feet, her small body slamming against the side of the building behind her. The concussive force even shoved Tony backwards, and he barely managed to grab at the ladder in time to prevent himself from falling, hot air burning his cheeks. 

Gripping the ladder tightly, Tony allowed himself to draw a deep breath. Even down in the sewer, the wisps of hot smoke burned through his nose, and he groaned as he pulled himself upward to peek through the small gap and out across the square. 

There was no movement. 

Nothing. 

Logically, Tony knew that the loud blast would have made it impossible to hear the sound of any cannons going off. There was no way for him to know how many of the others he had managed to kill—

No way, other than the fact that he had not been announced the Victor. At least one was still alive, and he was going to need to go and check.

Slowly, he lifted the heavy cover, climbed out of the sewer and then made his way toward the charred remains of the cornucopia. It had withstood the blast surprisingly well, the gold smeared black with ash. 

The concrete beyond it was scorched, and he could feel the heat of it under his boots. Still, he kept his steps careful and tried not to rush, as a fall would mean burned hands—and if there was a tribute still fit enough for a fight, burned hands would likely mean death. 

He couldn’t be too annoyed by it, though. It had been the broken, uneven concrete that had even made this possible, for he had been able to dig up the mines through the cracks without leaving too much evidence that he had done so. And as he stepped back in front of the blast site and made his way to where the table with the water had stood minutes earlier, he felt his heart hammering just as it had been the whole night. For ever since he began to dig them up he had been all too aware of the fact that all it would have taken was one tribute arriving at the cornucopia early, and not only would his plan have been ruined—he would have been dead.

But, things had gone off without a hitch. So far. All that was left now was to finish it off. 

He found Rinda first– or rather, he found some of her. She had been the closest to the cornucopia, and the blast had blown her to pieces. Her once blue skin was burned black, identifiable only by the markings which remained visible on parts of her charred skin. 

And the smell… 

Tony almost retched. 

But he forced his way on. 

Maybe he should have felt sickened by what he had just done. Perhaps he would be, if he made it out. But after what had happened to Lindir – after what he had done to Linidr, it was hard to feel… anything, really. These teenagers were all dead anyway, from the moment their names had been called at the Reaping. Killing them was… a necessity. 

Numbness seeping through him so deeply that even the warmth of the scorched concrete wasn’t enough to thaw the coldness in his limbs, Tony continued his search. He expected to find Hrungnir in a close vicinity of Rinda’s remains—but he found himself stopped short as the sound of groan at him turning, and he hurried toward the edge of the burnt square.  

The girl from Vanaheim was still alive. 

Her once long hair was burned away, her scalp cracked and bloody. Her eyes were open and staring, her charred lips painted with blood as she tried to croak out some words. 

Tony knelt beside her, and he pulled out the knife he carried in the pocket of his coat—the knife made of scraps of metal, the knife that had been made by a friend. 

But unlike Lindir had at the end, the vanir did not look scared. Her violet eyes, though surrounded by burned and broken flesh, were bright and angry, and even as Tony watched her hands were scratching at the broken concrete, trying to find a way to attack him. 

It was just the two of them left. If she killed him, she would win. 

She wasn’t going to kill him. 

Tony didn’t feel anything as he held the knife to her throat and shoved it into her neck, knowing that the edge would not be sharp enough to slice. It wasn’t a quick death, and it certainly wasn’t pretty. She gurgled as she went, choking on her own blood, her eyes still wide as they bored into him. Still angry.

Tony could have stabbed again, to make it quicker. He didn’t. He let the knife fall from his bloodied hands, and he stared and watched as the life leaked out of her, as she finally stilled, her listless violet eyes staring up at the blue sky. 

He didn’t even know her name. 

The sound of the cannon made Tony jump. 

He closed his eyes, and let out a long breath of air. The blood was still sticky on his hands, drying faster than Tony thought it should have. It felt warm on his skin, but the air was rapidly cooling it, turning that bright red to a far more muted brown. 

Red used to be Tony’s favourite colour. 

Tony couldn’t say how long he sat there, mesmerised by the sight of the girl’s blood on his hands. Again, it should have repulsed him, or perhaps it should have relieved him. 

She was dead. Properly. He’d heard the cannon, which meant that any moment now a hovercraft would be coming down, to pick up her body. And he would be going home.

But Tony just felt… empty. 

Still, he strained his hearing, listening for the whirr of the engines. Waiting. But…

Slowly, through the fog that seemed to have overtaken him as he’d emotionlessly killed the girl, he began to wonder…

Should something not have happened by now? 

His frown deepened as he finally heard something. Not a hovercraft, not an announcement, but a footstep—

He spun, eyes widening—

And just barely threw himself away from the charge of the boy from Muspelheim.

Hrungnir looked like hell itself, bloody and almost naked, nothing but scraps clinging to his ashen body as the rest had been burned in the flames.

Fucking idiot, Tony swore at himself as he scrabbled at the pavement, as he tried to get himself back upright. Muspelheim is a planet of fire, of course the explosion wouldn’t burn him—

Before Tony could get to his feet, something grabbed his ankle and slammed him back down to the ground. Tony spun, trying to pull his foot from Hrungnir’s grip—but he couldn’t, the other boy was stronger than him, and bigger than him, and he couldn’t.

The boy’s dark skin was clearly cut up and bruised, rivulets of blood painting patterns across his torn flesh. The force of the blast itself had injured him, even if the fire hadn’t—

But he wasn’t mortally wounded, and Tony didn’t have much of a chance. He’d already been thrown away from the body of the vanir girl, from where he had dropped the knife. He’d lost his only—

No. 

No, he hadn’t. 

Hrungnir was above him now, hands clawing up Tony’s torso, pressing into his shoulders, squeezing around his neck. Tony had no hope, no chance—he struggled, he fought, he was helpless.

He tried to kick as he shoved a hand into his jacket, struggling for the space to pull out the weapon he had spent so long trying to build. But he couldn’t breathe, his vision was blurred, his breaths were gasps, he was running on instinct and he was no longer going to be able to—

His fingers curled around familiar smooth rubber. He struggled one last, desperate time, and then he slammed the end of his home-made taser into Hrungnir’s bare skin. Hrungnir cried out and let go, the electricity coursing through him with not enough volts to be lethal, not even enough to cause his muscles to tense—but more than enough to fucking hurt. 

It wouldn’t distract him for long, Tony knew that—but the zapper wasn’t the only weapon he had had. The moment the shock gave him was all he needed to pull his last hope from his belt, to grip it tight with all he was worth. 

The screwdriver was blunt, and it was short. But Tony was determined, and the force with which he slammed it into Hrungnir’s flesh was more than enough to be damaging. 

The boy howled, but Tony did not stop. The first punch with the tool had gone into Hrungnir’s side—Tony didn’t know what it had hit, but he needed to be sure. So he stabbed again— 

And again— 

And again. 

He stabbed it into Hrungnir’s chest, his throat, his eyes. He stabbed and he stabbed and he stabbed until his fingers were numb, until he could barely hold himself up, until he was beaten and broken and exhausted.

Then he slipped to the side, his arm still twitching, his fingers still tight around the handle of the screwdriver, his vision tinged red as he stared up at the artificial sky. 

He wished it was real. 

The sound of a hovercraft was buzzing in his ears, an expanse of silver moving in front of his blurred vision. 

All Tony knew was that it wasn’t there to take him away in a coffin—and that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Home is a strange concept. 

To most, home is where they grew up, or perhaps where they live. Home is where they can lay down their head, where they spend the time that is most precious to them. Everybody has one, in one sense or another, even if their home is not a single place. But regardless of where or what or who your home is—it’s always supposed to feel familiar. 

But as Tony stood before the crowds of people welcoming him back to Midgard mere yards from where the Bifröst had spat him out, Tony couldn’t help but feel like everything was utterly foreign. 

Rhodey’s hand on his shoulder was grounding, but it didn’t feel as comforting as it once did. Still, Tony didn’t shrug him off, and tried not to flinch as he felt Rhodey stay close behind him—he reminded himself that this was not only one of his closest friends, but someone whom he had fought to keep safe. And seeing Rhodey truly had put a spark back into him, a surge of something he thought he might have lost, but… 

Despite Tony’s honest relief and joy at seeing his friend, he felt like there was something of a disconnect between them now. Tony wasn’t the same as he used to be, and Rhodey… Rhodey was smiling at him like he expected Tony to smile back. 

Rather than risk a failure, Tony turned instead to the rest of the gathered crowd. Fury began to make his way through the surging sea of people like Moses on a mission, aided somewhat unnecessarily by a few police officers who had been waiting by the site. They led Tony to the same stage that he had stood upon when he had been reaped, the faces staring up at him both recognisable and yet so, so alien. Compared to the bright colours of Asgard, the people of Midgard almost looked grey—but their worn and haggard faces were painted with smiles of joy, their voices filled with a sense of triumph which had been kept from them for decades. It was the first time since Fury that a Midgardian had come back from the Games alive—

And while Tony could understand their celebration, he couldn’t help but feel that celebrating at all was simply wrong. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of Midgard!” Fandral’s voice was as loud as ever, imbued with the energy of a thousand suns. “I give you your Victor, Tony Stark!”

Only the intensive practice of the last few days had Tony flashing his teeth and raising his arms, allowing the scores of cheers and shouts to wash over him like a wave. He was used to it by now, and he hardly felt a thing, numbness spreading through him as he stared down at them all. But then Pepper came forth from the crowd, pushing her way forward and rushing up the steps of the stage. 

Tony barely caught her as she slammed into him with such force that he stumbled backward a few steps, the shock of it almost making him need to catch his breath even as she hugged him tight. 

“You came back,” she whispered, her tears cool against Tony’s shirt. 

“Of course I did,” Tony said, holding her close even as he looked up to meet Rhodey’s gaze. “I promised.” 

The soft smile gracing Rhodey’s expression deepend, and he threw his arms around the pair to draw them both into a warm embrace. 

And okay, that… that was familiar. 

The cheers from the crowd were immense, and although it was not as loud as what he’d experienced during the Victory ceremony for the Games, somehow, they felt more meant. 

Standing there, holding his two closest friends in the world and finally back home safe, Tony did his best to smile—

But as he shook hands and accepted compliments, as he nodded and waved and autographed—as he was led toward an unfamiliar row of houses that sat isolated on the edge of town…

The curve of Tony’s lips felt unnaturally forced. 

*

They didn’t let him go back to his workshop. 

Tony felt a brief moment of panic when he realised that they had already moved his things from his house—but a subtle wink from Rhodey allowed him to take a breath. His friend would have made sure that there was nothing incriminating for the Asgardian soldiers or the Midgardian police to find. 

Still, the thought left a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. Logically, he supposed he should have known that this was going to happen. Every Victor of every Hunger Games, regardless of what realm they hailed from, was expected to then live in a lavish house in an area dubbed as the ‘Victor’s Village’ on the edge of town. It was another ploy of Asgard’s to make it seem like winning the Games was an honour, like they were doing the other realms a favour by bestowing such gifts on one of their number each year. But to Tony, the large, white house with the pretty garden and the big rectangular windows just looked like another prison. 

Not to mention the fact that his only neighbour was going to be Fury.

It wasn’t that the place wasn’t nice, it was just that—well, all throughout the Games, whenever he had thought about going back home, it had been his own house that he imagined. Not this. 

The Victors’ Village might have been leaps and bounds above where he had come from, but in that moment… Tony would have traded all of it to just go back to his own dingy workshop. 

“Shall we come in with you, Tony?”

Tony pulled his gaze from the crisp lines of the house to look back at Pepper. She was watching him in concern, her previous excitement and joy mellowing in the face of Tony’s obvious discomfort. 

Not wanting her to worry, Tony forced his lips to curve back upward as he took a step back toward her, including Rhodey in his gaze as he gave his answer. 

“Maybe not right now,” Tony said. “I love you guys, but fuck I need to sleep.” 

Pepper’s expression cleared a little at that, and she smiled as she gave Tony another hug. Rhodey, though, still looked unsure—but as Tony let go of Pepper, he clapped Rhodey on the shoulder in a way he knew would help to calm his friend’s concern. 

“Seriously,” Tony said. “It’s been non-stop interviews and dress-ups. This is going to be the first peace and quiet I’ve had in weeks, and I’m going to enjoy it in a bed.” 

“All right, Tony,” Rhodey said. “You know where to find us if you need us.” 

Tony kept that plastic smile in place as he gave Rhodey a mockery of a salute—

And allowed it to fall the moment that the door of the too-big house closed shut behind him. 

Leaning his head back against the hard wood, Tony closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been happy to see them—he had been, so happy in fact. But he just… he felt like they didn’t know him. Like he no longer belonged. 

Feeling some kind of ugly lump forcing its way up his throat, Tony pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids and buried his fingers deep into his hair. He felt like he was stuck in some kind of hell, and that just wasn’t fair. 

Winning the Hunger Games was supposed to mean that he could do whatever he wanted.

Tony had survived. He was still alive—

But this… this didn’t feel at all like winning. 

He’d seen his friends, but he couldn’t smile at them. He’d seen the crowd, but he hadn’t been able to help searching for people he didn’t even know—for the few people who weren’t happy he’d made it home. 

Jenny’s family. He wondered if they were even there. 

And seeing the crowd and all those faces, seeing his friends, he couldn’t help but think of the people who had waited in vain, people who would never see their loved ones again—of Lindir’s Mam and Da, who had an empty, messy room with no kid to fill it. 

Tony had made it back to Midgard, but he’d never be able to go back to normal. He wouldn’t be able to relax, not when he was seeing ghosts in every corner, monsters in every shadow—

Not when he knew that Asgard would be watching his every move. 

Back when he’d thought the interviews were the worst part of his new life, Tony had hoped that at least when he made it back to Midgard he would be able to relax, at least until he would be forced to tour the other realms in six months’ time. But with the newer, terrifying knowledge that the events of the last few days had gifted him, Tony knew even that would be impossible. They would be watching him even now, waiting for him to make a misstep, to say or do something which undermined the Games and Asgardian rule. 

Because this house, it was built by Asgardians, for Victors of the Games. Tony hadn’t even been allowed to choose which of the row of houses he wanted, this one had just been assigned—and it was no doubt bugged. 

Talk about not being able to relax even on Midgard—he wouldn’t even be able to relax in his own bedroom. 

Tony felt a shiver run its way down his spine, and he opened his eyes to look down the shadowed corridor that was the entryway into the house. The place was decorated, but rather sparsely—it was nice, just, without personality. The walls were white, the furniture wooden, all of it pristine and perfect and expensive. It felt alien, and once again he wished he could go back to his crowded, dirty workshop. 

But this was his life now, and he had no choice but to face it. He’d survived this long. Giving up here would be simply pathetic. 

During the Games, Tony’s determination to keep going had come from a promise given to someone he now realised that he hadn’t really known. But now… as he drew in a breath and took his first step down that corridor, Tony fought the nightmares for the memory of a young kid with a bright heart—for the sake of everyone who had fallen so that he could be here. He wouldn’t let his own stupid sadness render their loss into nothing. 

Still, the doors along the hallway were all closed, and every corner was drenched in shadow. Tony couldn’t help thinking about his time in the Arena as he made his way forward, his eyes darting to each of the closed doors half expecting another tribute to come crashing out in an ambush. 

But at the end of the corridor there seemed to be a more open area, the one open doorway sending a thin column of light glinting along the dark wooden floorboards. Tony’s steps quickened as he made his way toward it, his breaths shallow as he refused to look beyond the other closed doors, refused to check them for dangers. He was safe. He was safe.

He made it to the doorway and slipped into a kitchen, the windows above the stone countertops near glowing with the late afternoon sun. Tony inhaled deeply, feeling half ridiculous that his paranoia had essentially chased him out of the hallway—

“Anthony.” 

Tony almost jumped out of his skin.

He didn’t have a weapon on him, but his hands came up as he braced himself, every inch of his body tense and ready to run. In his hypervigilant state, it didn’t take him long to take stock of the room—and then his eyes widened, for standing in the middle of the well-lit kitchen was—

“Loki?” Tony straightened, and stared in complete disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I apologise for entering without invitation,” Loki said, holding up his own hands as if in surrender. “I needed to see you, and I did not think that waiting outside for the crowds to spot me was a good idea.” 

Surprisingly, Tony didn’t actually care about the fact that Loki had technically broken into his house—maybe it was the fact that it really didn’t feel like it was his house, or maybe it was the shock still settling in. 

Maybe Tony was just glad that it had only been Loki, and it hadn’t been a ghost. 

But despite the fact that this was Loki, that he had been yearning for this reunion for days… Tony found himself unable to move any closer. 

“That’s so not what I meant,” he replied—and it was far harder than it should have been to keep his voice steady. “Why are you on Midgard at all?” 

“I told you,” Loki said, his hands clasping together tightly in front of him as he stared at Tony with a touch of uncertainty. “I needed to speak with you. If you would like me to go I will, but please… allow me to say my piece first.” 

Tony swallowed, and gave Loki a nod. There was still a part of him that felt frozen, which felt like he half wanted to shoo Loki out of the door—but it was battling with the rest of him, the fibres of his very being which had been waiting for this moment for what felt like too long. He had hoped that Loki would come to see him during his last night in Asgard, then he had hoped that he would meet Loki at the Bifröst. He hadn’t planned what he would say, he hadn’t thought out how this encounter would go—he had just wanted. But now that the moment was here, with Tony caught surprised and unprepared… he was little more than a deer in headlights, scared to run, scared to approach. 

Loki seemed to sense that Tony wasn’t quite comfortable, for he didn’t move forward either. His body relaxed slightly, though—his shoulders sagging forward in what might have been relief. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Would you like to move to the living room?”

“Nah, I think here is good.” Tony didn’t want to admit that he felt safer here, in the light, than heading back down that shadowed hallway. “What did you come to say?”

“Well, it’s quite simple, really,” Loki said. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” 

Tony nodded. “I know,” he said, expectantly waiting. 

But Loki paused, staring at Tony as if he were trying to look through him. “You do?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Tony caught them before he said something without thinking. It had been quite some time, after all, since he’d had the benefit of speaking his mind without consequence. 

“Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere,” he said instead, staring at Loki intently and hoping that he would understand what Tony meant. 

But Loki shook his head. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “No one is listening to us. I… pulled a few strings.” 

Perhaps that should have sounded too good to be true, but Tony trusted Loki at his word, and so – without even thinking about why he was trusting him – Tony ploughed forward with what he had been about to say. 

“Amora explained,” Tony said. “After that last interview. I know that you didn’t buy me to have for yourself. I know you did it so that no one else could.” 

To Tony’s surprise, Loki grimaced. “I still should have told you. And I should have explained. It was wrong of me to do what I did without your knowledge or consent—”

“Yes,” Tony said. “Yes, it was. But… you had a good reason.” It was hard for Tony to say, but as his voice shaped the words… he realised that he believed them. After listening to Amora, after thinking it through, Tony realised that Loki truly had his best interests at heart. God, even Thor had said so, and looking back… well. It didn’t change the fact that what Loki had done had hurt, but it… helped. 

And thinking about what could have happened if Loki hadn’t bought him, Tony knew that it could have been so much worse. 

So when Loki’s next words spilled from his mouth, Tony was pretty much just annoyed by them. 

“I did it for selfish reasons,” Loki corrected. 

“But that doesn’t—” 

“I wanted to protect you, yes, but I wanted to do so because I wanted you for myself. I wanted to make sure that no one else could touch you because I wanted to be the only one—right from the very start. I wasn’t thinking of you, or what you would want, or your comfort. I didn’t even ask you. I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish and I was wrong, and I am so, so sorry.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tony groaned. Then, when Loki looked up in confusion, Tony stepped forward and shoved him in the shoulder—right before gripping Loki tightly by the arm. “Loki, you are one of the least selfish people that I have ever met. From the moment I met you, you’ve done nothing but help me! You are the reason why I got out of the Arena, you can’t deny that! I don’t even want to think about how much money you spent—”

“Money means little to me,” Loki cut in. “Spending it hardly makes me a good person—”

“Fine then,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So you’re selfish. Big deal. The outcome is the same. You still saved me, regardless of how little it actually cost you—” 

“And I only did that because I wanted—”

“—for me to be safe,” Tony cut in. “Yes. That is the exact opposite of being selfish, I can’t believe that I have to explain this to you—”

“And I can’t believe you’re arguing against me,” Loki said—and from the confused look on his face, Tony could believe that. He could hardly believe it himself. “Aren’t you upset with me?”

“Oh, I was,” Tony said. “Believe me, I was very upset with you. But what would have happened if you hadn’t bought me? I know that you know—and now I do too, thanks to Amora. Yes, you should have told me. Yes, I was fucking pissed at you, but if you think that means I can’t appreciate the reality of the situation then—well.” Tony frowned. “All you’re actually doing is insulting my intelligence.” 

Loki looked away, his lips twisting downward. “That’s not what I intended.” 

“Then just stop, okay? You said you were here to apologise, but all you’ve done is insult us both. I’m too tired for this, Loki. I’ve had enough bullshit to last me a lifetime, and I’m over it. So if you’re done, then I’m just going to go.” 

Trying not to feel the hurt, Tony turned and headed for a door on the other side of the room. He didn’t know where it led, and he didn’t care—he just knew it wasn’t the hallway, and that it was away from Loki. But just as he was about to reach for the handle—

“Anthony, wait.” 

Tony stopped. 

“That’s… that’s not all that I came here to say.” 

Tony closed his fist, and let out a deep breath. “Then whatever it is, say it,” he said, unable to stop himself from turning, his feet moving across the tiled floor as if by their own accord. “I can’t take this, Loki, I need a break—” 

“I am sorry,” Loki said again. “I mean it, and I know you said that you understood, I just want it to be clear. But even more than being sorry about what I did, I am sorry that I lost your trust.” 

Drawing in a breath, Tony tried to steady himself. “Why?” 

“Because it was precious to me,” Loki said, his words gaining strength as he continued. “I know that it was hard for you to trust me when we met, and it really did mean a lot to me. But I acted without thinking, I ruined what we had—and I hate that I did because I care for you greatly, and it hurts to know that I caused you to doubt that.” 

“Loki,” Tony said, needing to swallow as he felt like something was sticking in his throat. “You… you could have said all of this to me in Asgard. Or at the Bifröst. Why did you come here?”

“Because if you want me—” Loki started to reply—but then he drew in a soft breath, as if he needed to steady himself before finishing his train thought. As if what he was about to say took a level of courage he wasn’t used to mustering.

And when Loki started speaking… Tony’s lips parted in shock. 

 “Because if you want me, then I am here to stay.” 

The words might as well have been a battering ram, for Tony felt like one more hit could knock him down, even if it came from the brush of a feather. And yet, impossibly, the moment felt terribly soft. 

He had to clear his throat before he could find something to say. “But… your father—”

“Knows that I have left Asgard,” Loki said. “Thor convinced him that it was for the best, that I had grown too attached to you and may cause problems. He argued that it would be better for me to be out of sight of the public, at least until the Victory Tour. By then, I should… ‘have you out of my system’, I believe he said.” 

“And will you?” Tony asked. 

Loki shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting just ever so slightly. “I very much doubt it.” 

Tony let out a breath. Loki was still standing in the centre of the kitchen, his spine stiffly straight and his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes left no room for doubt as they bore into Tony, as if he were searching for something he wasn’t sure that Tony could give—as if he were trying to hold himself still, so that he could stand his ground. 

Perhaps Tony wasn’t the only one who felt like he was about to be knocked over. 

“It’s your choice, Anthony,” Loki said, his tone soft now as the words filled the heavy silence. “If you wish it, I will leave, and I will never bother you again. But if you wish otherwise…” 

The sentence trailed off, hanging in the air like a broken shard of glass. Tony knew that one wrong move would shatter everything into too many unfixable pieces—but perhaps the right one could change things for the better. 

Unbidden, Tony’s hand came up to his chest, and he pressed his fingers against the cool metal of the necklace which still rested over his heart. 

And Tony knew that he would forever regret it… if he did not try. 

“Well,” Tony said, letting out a breath as he took a tentative step forward—as he reached out to gently touch Loki’s arm. “I did promise to show you the stars.” 

Loki’s answering smile was hardly bright, but it was beyond warm. “And I would so very much love to see them.” 

Tony felt like the air passing between his lips wasn’t reaching his mind, like every breath was only making him a little more muddled. Loki was so close now, the pair of them leaning forward, Loki’s hands touching Tony’s sides, Tony’s thumb stroking over Loki’s cheek. 

“I still don’t entirely forgive you,” Tony whispered. 

“That’s all right,” Loki said, his words just as soft. “That you do at all is more than I expected. More than I hoped.”

“Oh?” Tony asked, his gaze flicking down to the curve of Loki’s lips. “I was actually hoping for something else.” 

Loki tilted his head, but his gaze was still hesitant, still questioning—and it was Tony who finally gave in, all but falling through the space between them to meet Loki’s lips in a kiss. 

It was nothing like their first few kisses—it wasn’t the careful sadness of before the Games, nor the frantic desperation of their reunion in the Queen’s garden. No, this was soft and gentle, a purposeful pressure that released the tension between them like a drawn out sigh. 

Their lips lingered together even as they pulled apart to breathe, still brushing with a need to never let go. But there were still things left unsaid, things hanging between them that needed to be acknowledged, and Tony opened his eyes to find Loki already watching. Waiting. 

“I don’t forgive you,” Tony said again, still holding Loki’s gaze even as he ran his thumb over the line of Loki’s jaw, their mouths still so close they were sharing the same air. “But Loki, I do understand, and I trust that you’re not going to do anything like that, ever again.” 

“I would never,” Loki agreed—and in Loki’s eyes, Tony couldn’t see a lie. 

“Good,” he said—and then he pulled Loki back down, drawing him in with a little more strength than before. 

And this time, the kiss felt like a new beginning. 

Tony knew that nothing about what he wanted was going to be easy. He knew that they had a fair amount to work through, that they needed more than a kiss to mend what had been broken. But, well. Asgard wasn’t built in a day—and Tony thought that a kiss was a pretty good place to start. 

Loki, it seemed, was following his thoughts along a similar path, for it wasn’t long past when their kiss broke once more that Loki spoke. 

“We’re going to need to step carefully,” he said. “I have sorted things with my father for now, but the people of Midgard will not accept an Asgardian prince living among them just like that.” 

He was right, Tony knew it—but the moment felt like a precious one, and Tony was reluctant to fracture it. So he shrugged, and he said—

“I wouldn’t be too worried. I know Pepper and Rhodey are going to love you.” 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that,” Loki said, but although he grimaced, the expression was far lighter than it had been before. 

Tony, though? He just smiled. “Well, you saved my life,” he replied. “That’s at least one thing I know that they’ll appreciate.”

Loki laughed softly at that—and Tony’s smile grew wider. 

Because, yeah, nothing about where they were was perfect—but was anything? And hey, maybe one day things could change. Maybe when Thor was king, maybe when minds began to turn. 

But for now, standing in a house that felt like a prison, held in the arms of the man who helped him feel free… maybe, just maybe, there was a chance Tony would finally be able to find some peace.