[M] Finding Peace [Chaotic Cam and ZeeBat]

[ZeeBat]

Gaze flicking to the new arrivals Ankh frowned, noticing the limp that the human still carried. He wasn't sure where it was from but given the information that he had acquired, the demon could guess. Looking off to the side he once again mused over how inherently destructive his energy was. It was what gave him life, this demonic power of his, it flowed through the core of his being. The closest analogy would be that he was a star and pure demonic energy was what sat at the center to power the rest. That was how powerful demons where, their everything was made up of demonic energy.

If one wanted to be literal a noble demon like him didn't have a heart, only a core of malefic energy. Said like that it only made sense why demons were like they were. That energy was evil in the basest sense of the word, a phenomenon that harmed and corrupted anything weaker than itself. The drive to destroy was always there, to dominate, to indulge in his basest desire for slaughter. It was not something Ankh liked to think about himself, an ugly truth he had always shied from. The reason why his suppression of his energy, the ability to leash his power, was so high.

Even with his bloated energy, the phoenix could still suppress it so greatly. If only his control over it was better then he might actually have a better chance to survive. As it was Ankh only had the barest control for actually using his own power, not something that helped distinguish him from his identity as a Beast. Oh, small tricks like making shapes with fire were easy! But actually using his raw energy for any sort of work or spell? It was beyond him except for a very limited list. In the end all he was good for was destruction.

[Chaotic Cam]

An hour or so passed, full of watching television and eating whatever snacks were in the pantry. Eventually, the rest of the Avengers appeared, convening on the floor to finally bring up the portal, before dismissing it and coming to the conclusion that they had an extra week, as obviously, it hadn't opened up today. All in all, everything was rather languid on the floor. The TV blared, snacks were passed around, games were played. There were several SHIELD agents in the corner of the room, but Tony paid them no mind, leaving them to their card game in silence.

He was sitting on the couch now, musing silently. Loki was sitting across from him, but he too seemed to be consumed by his own thoughts. Sighing, Tony glanced at the clock on the wall, just staring at it blankly for several minutes, watching as the analog clock counted down, the small second hand moving to its own rhythm. His eyes watched it move, staring at the hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the world, until eventually his eyes glazed over, and moved elsewhere, settling on Ankh.

Tony wasn't doing okay. He always pretended he was, though, even if he wasn't. He always pretended everything was fine, just peachy, nothing wrong here. Laugh at everything. Crack a joke. Smile in the face of danger. Brush off a brush with death. He'd had too many close encounters to count, it was almost a ritual now, to pretend like nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. He wasn't okay, no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise. He still had nightmares, he still felt sick to his stomach every goddamn second of every goddamn day. He still had nightmares, and he still woke up in the middle of the night, taking care not to wake Loki as he made his way to the bathroom, and promptly curled into a ball on the tiled floor, trying not to hyperventilate, or make a sound.

He was pathetic.

Sometimes, Tony wondered what Loki even saw in him. What any of them did. Despite the illusion of camaraderie they often portrayed, it would be a lie to say that all of the Avengers were the bestest of friends. The tower was often left empty, only occupied by Tony, Loki, and sometimes Bruce. They'd only been together when Ankh attacked because they'd come back from a previous battle, and Tony had insisted they party with him. This floor, the one that was Nat's? It hadn't been occupied this long since that battle with Amora two years ago, when half of them had been turned into children, and Tony and Bruce had to figure out how to reverse it all. The fact of the matter was, they all just didn't get along. It was a surprise no one had jumped at another's throat yet. But hey, common goals and all.

He knew he was disliked. He didn't care. He hated Rogers, and Rogers pretended not to be too openly hostile towards him. Natasha grated on Tony's nerves, even if Loki liked her well enough. Clint was always tip-toeing around Loki, no matter how much the spy tried to hide it; he still hadn't forgiven the trickster god fully for controlling his mind and making him kill his fellow SHIELD agents. Bruce was really the only one both Tony and Loki got along with, but even then nothing was ever fully relaxed.

No, Tony knew he wasn't surrounded by friends. They were his teammates, his co-workers, nothing more. They were all amicable enough to each other, but Tony knew they just kept him around because of the suit. And his money. And his tech. They didn't care about him, just what he could do for them. Tony knew Fury would like nothing more if he and Loki dropped off the face of the Earth. They were liabilities, after all. Tony'd seen the hidden files on them. Loki was still marked down as a fucking possible threat, despite all he'd done for them these past five years. And Tony, well let's just say 'Iron Man' and 'Tony Stark' had two separate folders. He was never a suitable candidate for the Avengers Initiative from the start, after all. Apparently, he was volatile, self-obsessed, and didn't play well with others. And they weren't exactly wrong. But Tony would be damned if he let anyone else control his suits. He was Iron Man. Fury could stick it where the sun didn't shine.

Tony sighed, his eyes moving over to Loki. He wondered when the God would get tired of him. He knew Loki loved him, he did, but he also wasn't blind. He saw how antsy Loki could get, how the anger bubbled just underneath the surface, how bored he was. Whether Loki was bored of him, or the situation, Tony was becoming less and less sure about. All Tony knew was he was holding the Chaos God back. It stung, it hurt more than words could express; but he knew this wouldn't last. How could it? Despite how often Loki dismissed the topic, or just ignored it altogether, Tony was still human. And he wasn't getting any younger.

The hour hand ticked to eight pm.

He felt tired. Weary. Fed up. Sometimes, he wondered if anything was worth it. He had so much blood on his hand, and death tainted his dreams every night. The cave, Yinsen, Afghanistan. Obie, his betrayal, his father figure leaving him to die. All of his so-called friends, whispering behind his back after he returned. Thinking him insane for stopping weapons productions, because hey, it's what he was best at. Can't have the company suffer. It was his father's vision, what was he thinking? There was just so much death. So much blood.

Tony remembered several years ago when the Mandarin had kidnapped Pepper. He remembered his suit failing, how he had just laid there in the snow, unable to breathe, see, or even think. He remembered his life flashing before his eyes, as a heavy weight pressed down on his chest. He remembered wondering who would actually miss him if he just lay there in the cold; if he didn't move or get up. Pepper, probably. And Rhodney. Even if Rhodney had been giving him the cold shoulder, ever since he stopped giving the military weapons.

But now? He hadn't spoken to Rhodney in months. And Pepper... she was still his CEO, but ever since Loki came into Tony's life she'd been distant. She'd been hurt, disapproving; she'd never understood why Tony did what he did. And Loki, as amazing as he was, didn't want to face reality. He stayed because of Tony, and sometimes Tony wondered if he was a horrible person for holding on so tight. For forcing him to stay still.

Tony sighed again, watching the sunset outside the window, before closing his eyes. Mindless noise from around him went in one ear, and out the other. He couldn't be bothered to move, or get up, lost still in his thoughts. He was surrounded by people, yet he'd never felt more alone. He just wanted this feeling to stop.

[ZeeBat]

Standing on the roof of the human building a few hours later Ankh watched the ocean with a frown. The day was passing by and he knew that the other humans had already decided that the portal would not open this cycle. As more hours passed by that seemed the most logical conclusion but he was not so content with dropping his guard when there was still a chance. Phenomena of power tended to be annoyingly strict in how they operated, so if there was a chance, even the minute of a chance, then he would not lower his guard.

Though it would not be fair to them for him to claim the high ground. In truth, Ankh was up here because he was beginning to feel stifled by all the human gnats crawling around the tower. It was a tiresome effort for him to be constantly reigning in everything he was. These moments of peace he was able to snatch were made only more precious to the demon who had to deal with all of this. Yet the humans had yet to realize just how much he was coddling them in regards to what he was. Even the one outburst they had seen had not shaken their treatment of him, for better or worse.

Sighing as he watched the waters below the demon manifested his wings once more, the feathers shifting in the cool wind. He had been keeping them withdrawn given all that had happened, both for the human soldiers and those he would call allies. But now he was alone and he doubted any of them would seek him out with the way they were laying about the building. It was a relief to simply get rid of the pressure for his own power, though it was far less than before thanks to that incident a few days ago. Though he would prefer a fight to make his blood sing rather than just this endless waiting that left him alone with his own biting thoughts.

[Chaotic Cam]

Clint was snoring, and it was grating on his nerves. All of the Avengers had fallen asleep, actually, even Loki. But Tony couldn't. It wasn't just insomnia, his head just wouldn't shut up. His demons decided to come out to play again, and they wouldn't stop chattering inside his brain, instead refusing to relent as they battered and picked at every single one of his insecurities. He tried to get them to shut up; he was already halfway through the bottle of rum he'd unscrewed a half an hour ago, but despite the warm feeling in his belly, his head was still crystal clear.

"Fuck this," he muttered, standing up and heading back to the bar, trying to find something better to take the edge off. His liver was already beyond saving, right now he just wanted to black out, get rid of it all. He wanted silence, goddamn it. He didn't want to constantly be reminiscing all of his past failures. He didn't want to think about the future. He didn't want to think about what a screw up his was himself. He just didn't want to think.

It felt like Thor's hammer was pressing against his chest, restricting his oxygen flow. He couldn't breathe, and he was starting to panic, as he clawed at the counter with one hand, his other twisting in his hair as he slid down to the floor, curling his knees up against his chest.

He was drowning. In water, in stars, in nothingness. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see. All he saw was blackness. It was cold. It was so fucking cold. He was going to die. Oh god, he was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die.

Tony gasped as he clawed at the wooden floor uselessly, tears pricking his eyes as his fingers curled into a fist, striking the floor in anger as he struggled to come to. When he finally did ten minutes later his chest burned, and he was acutely aware of the literal emptiness in his chest, where his arc reactor now lay. A constant reminder of how fragile he was.

Gods, why did Loki even bother? He was going to die anyway. He wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth the love, the attention, the affection. He wasn't worth having the heart of a fucking Norse God. He was a mess. He couldn't even function properly. He was broken, physically and mentally. He had fucking shrapnel just waiting to pierce his heart, not to mention crippling PTSD. His mind, his one sacred thing, was constantly trying to betray him. Just... just why did Loki bother? He'd be better off without him. Freer. The God wouldn't have to feel so muffled all the time, catering to Tony's whims. He could be free to go and do... whatever gods of Chaos did. Tony was stifling him.

Using the counter as a crutch, Tony finally managed to pull himself up, grabbing the first bottle in reach of his hand before stumbling over to the elevator. He pressed the button, feeling numb as he leaned against the wall, waiting for it to open. He could see Loki now, sleeping on the couch. Even in sleep, though, there was a crease of worry on his brow. And Tony could do nothing about it. I mean, how the fuck could he? Loki had lived for thousands of years - what did Tony know? How was he supposed to deal with all of the hurt his lover had been through when he couldn't even deal with his own pains? What did Loki even expect of him?! They were never going to live happily ever after. What the fuck did they expect?

The elevator dinged, and Tony took another large swig of the bottle as he entered, steadying himself on the wall as his legs wanted to give out. As the machine moved up several floors Tony wallowed, angry at himself and everything around him. Fuck Loki. Screw him for making him care. For making him love him. The god had to know their relationship was doomed from the start, and yet still Loki continued on playing with Tony's heart, never thinking about the repercussions. Tony didn't want to be immortal, even if that choice was given to him. He couldn't stand a lifetime of eternity, not like Loki, he just wasn't strong enough. No, Tony was going to die. And Loki was going to lose it when he did. Fire, brimstone, who fucking knew what. Tony knew what Loki was, he always had. But he couldn't be responsible for that.

The elevator dinged, and Tony got out, feeling the breeze from the roof hit his flushed skin, as his wobbly feet walked him towards the edge. Because, why not? Why not? He wasn't strong. He just wasn't strong enough. He wasn't a fucking hero, despite whatever the media might say. None of them knew him. No one knew him. If they did, they'd all hate him. He should be in fucking jail. He should be locked up. He was a war profiteer, despite all the fancy ways his PR team twisted it. And hell, the masses praised him for his genius. For his evil fucking brain. For beings so remorseless and never thinking about the consequences. They had called him the Merchant of Death as if it had been a good thing. As if he was a fucking role model. What the fuck.

Tony stared down at the drop below, his legs wobbling dangerously as he took another swig of whatever was in his hand. He wasn't a hero. Everyone called him a hero, but Tony knew it was a lie. Everyone bought his smiles and charm, but everything was just a falsehood. No wonder the God of Lies took a liking to him. Tony was just one big lie.

A gust of wind pulled at him, and he fell onto his back, passing out safely on the roof, the morning sun staring down at him in pity.

[ZeeBat]

Tapping his claws against the glass of the window he was looking out from Ankh eyed the world below him indifferently. The danger had passed for now that the window for the Gate had passed until the next time. Good for this planet and the humans on it as they would have more time to prepare but the demon hated it. All the tension, the horror of the last few days weighed on him. His body felt like a bow drawn tight and if he didn't get any true release Ankh was sure he was going to snap. Even the rush of being in his full battle form was denied to him no matter how much he actually disliked that shape.

The others here would be no help if anything their present state only added to his irritation. It was as if he was in the castles of Lust and Sloth. Just lazy indulgence and decadence that raised his hackles. They were acting as fools, those that would call themselves his allies and equals. if it were not for the rune that bound him to this place he would leave this building to ready for the war on his own terms. Was this how they always were? That the moment the threat was out of range they just lay down like lions gorged on a kill?

Narrowing his eyes in distaste at that thought Ankh tapped the glass a bit harder, claws sinking into the clear material, before walking away from the window. Going through the building on his way back to the roof the phoenix sighed with fatigue, he had to put up with a lot for the sake of these mortals. Just what did they see when they looked at him? These humans who could never understand just what he was...yet they still acted as if they had figured out something about him. He really didn't need to save them at all, did he? It some ways this fate that was threatening the planet was one of their own making.

Blinking at that thought the phoenix paused for a second. It was true was it not? If he just focused on preserving the planet instead of the humans then he would be free to unleash as much of his own power as he oculd without worrying about collateral. It would be far easier for him to do that. Just let the other demons be distracted by the garden of flesh that had grown like mold over this realm while he focused on outlasting them and preserving the actual planet. But...no. He couldn't do that.

....Could he?

[Chaotic Cam]

Time stood still as each person in the tower succumbed to the tendrils of sloth. Dreams were restless, depression was at an all-time high. They were caught, trapped in an endless cycle of self-depreciation and loneliness, unable to even lift a finger to act on the crippling hopelessness that caged them in, stifling their very existence. No one talked, not even when bleary eyes opened as the sun filtered in; instead, several glassy eyes stared lifelessly at walls, or ceilings, or a roof floor. Their bodies were lead, and even coming to the realization that something was wrong, there was nothing to be done.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Natasha believed to be in disgrace, questioning her every action. She had been a fool, discarding a lifetime of training and allowing her feelings to get in the way of the job. Fury had every right to bench her. She was getting weak. She didn't deserve her mantle anymore. She wasn't a villain, but neither was she a hero. She just was.

Clint was getting restless. He was finding himself caught between two warring factions more and more. The Avengers and his loyalty to SHIELD. SHIELD had taken him in off the streets, had given him purpose. But the Avengers had given him meaning beyond assassinations and spying. And Nat... he knew she would never feel about him the way he felt about her. But he loved her, even if his affections were one-sided. And it killed him.

Bruce was a monster. He didn't know why these people didn't treat him as such. He knew what he was, knew how many innocent lives had been lost by a reckless Hulk. He wasn't a good man, either. But he couldn't die. The other guy wouldn't let him. And god, he'd tried. He tried so many times to put a bullet in his mouth, only for the other guy to spit it right out. He'd loved, and he'd lost. And he'd never be able to have a family again. Maybe he should just let Fury lock him up, and throw away the key.

Meanwhile, Loki was drowning. All his insecurities reared their ugly head, weighing him down in a cacophony of agony. The second prince; always less loved, always despised, always sneered at and hated for just existing. He'd always been a shadow, he'd always been alone. Those who claimed to love him were either blind or cruel. And the lies... there had been so many lies. Why did they make him hate himself? Why did they fill his head with such disgust at such a young age? Why was he a monster? Is that why Odin never treated him the same? Did his father ever love him? He'd always tried so hard to please his father but to no avail. Odin had always praised Thor. Thor was better at fighting. Thor was better at hunting. Thor was better at being a son. He could never be like Thor. Never. But Norns, he wished he could be. He wished the All-Father would look at him with pride.