Through the Shards of a Broken Mirror (джен)

“Iron Man,” Loki stated—questioned, more like, by the tone—turning around to face him, although his gaze was oddly a few degrees off of Tony, his hands raised in a defensive gesture. “Anthony Stark,” he stated, and this time Tony noticed that his voice sounded suspiciously more like a dry rasp, as if he hadn’t used it in months.
Except for screaming, probably, that is, the part of his brain still recovering from The Cave supplied merrily.
“In the flesh,” Tony replied, trying to keep himself unfazed. The whole starved look was probably an illusion anyway, he told himself.
 
Tony was pretty sure he heard Loki mutter a resigned “So this is how I die, then,” to himself.
All right, this was giving off some solid horrible vibes, and not in the A Feral Demigod of Evil and Trickery is Going To Kill Me sense, either.
 
Or: A broken "hero", a shattered "villain", and the pain, hope and parallels in between.
 
Written for Whumptober 2020 prompts No. 7 (I've Got You | Enemy to Caretaker) and No. 26 (If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad... | Blindness).