Oooh ooh! Frostiron, 3, 4, or 32 (I want to suffer)
It took him far too long to reach Midgard, and by the time he found the right place - this dark, chilled stone structure in the middle of a snow-swept nowhere - it was all long over. The spot where he found Anthony, the red, gleaming armor curled up between sweeps of columns, had a wide view over snow and mountain tops, darkening sky as far as the eye could see, and on any other day it might have been beautiful. This day, it was nothing but the background for Loki’s worst nightmares.
The helmet of Iron Man’s armour was cracked open like a shell, tossed aside, leaving the man’s head bare and vulnerable to the cold. Showing his blood-stained face. The layers of bruising around his eyes.
On the otherwise bare floor there were two other objects, discarded and left behind. A metal arm, ragged where it had been torn. The starry target of the Captain’s shield. And Loki knew, he knew who had broken Anthony, and left him there. In the cold. To die. At least, from the looks of things, he’d given almost as good as he’d gotten.
And he wasn’t gone yet. Not quite. Even though it wasn’t far from it.
When Loki’s nimble fingers worked the armour open, knowing where the hidden release was, Anthony wasn’t even shivering anymore. His body had given up on trying to warm itself, and he was nothing but a limp weight in Loki’s arms as he carefully pulled him into his lap, kneeling beside the empty metal husk that had failed to keep him safe. There were the beginnings of frost in his hair, turning his goatee to silver around his pale blue lips.
“Anthony?” He cupped an almost icy cheek, fighting back the wish to smother the mortal’s body in heat, turning himself to a furnace of magic and scorching him, making him warm to the core in an instant. Loki knew it would hurt more than help, however, and he kept the warmth in his palm gentle, slowly seeping into the man’s skin. “Come back to me.”
It took a long time, but gradually blue lips turned a healthier pink, Anthony’s body was no longer cold to the touch, and both his breathing and the beats of his heart were steadier. Deeper. Stronger.
Then his eyelashes fluttered, and his dark eyes slowly opened half-way, under heavy lids. The very corner of his mouth ticked weakly up, barely noticeably. “Hey”, he murmured, hoarse. “Thought I knew that voice. Figured I was dreaming again.”
“No dream this time”, Loki swore with a slightly unsteady smile.
“Hey”, Anthony repeated, reaching a hand up to run his thumb along Loki’s trembling bottom lip. “I’m fine.”
Loki could only roll his eyes at the worn out phrase, useless as ever, and gathered the mortal up in his arms properly, close to his heart, tousle-haired head tucked under his chin.
“It’s fine, Lokes”, he still heard Anthony murmur into his leathers. “We’re designed to be disposable. Our vital parts can only break down so many times before we just… don’t want to keep going.”
With a shuddering breath Loki closed his eyes, felt the hot trail of a tear make its way down his cheek, and quietly pressed his lips into Anthony’s hair. Because what was there truly to say to the realization that the man he loved had willingly stayed there on the cold stone floor, fully prepared to fall asleep and never wake up again. That what had been broken, more than anything else, was Anthony’s heart.