"Hello, boys."

Fuck.

Two months have ground by since the events in Manhattan. Everyone's gotten used to it, now; there's nothing new to report. The city's still in a state of seemingly constant repair; and, rather unsurprisingly, half the place is still in turmoil. Lots of buildings are owned by people that can't afford to repair them. Quite a couple of businesses have taken a financial hit in the events of the attack, and, quite a couple have gone out of functionality entirely. Smaller companies are, and have been, hit heavily, as the city has attempted to bring itself back.

Not to mention the fear. The world's been no stranger to the stranger, but, it's not exactly been such public knowledge that aliens exist like that. The events in New Mexico had been kept as quiet as possible; with good reason; and yes, not everyone was convinced by the story SHIELD had put out, but at least it would suffice for the time being.

Of course, not even SHIELD can hide it now.

There's life out there, and we're overpowered, 20 to 1.

And thanks to work with the Tesseract, and failure with the Tesseract, it knows we're here, too.

Great.

Two months have gone by since then.

Something's different. Something's very different.

And not a good different, either.

There's an undeniable calm over the city, over the continent, over the world. There's something disrupting that calm.

But it feels like the calm before it storm.

Tony Stark was the first to feel this.

He may be the last.

"Sir, Nick Fury is in the premises. He is here to see you."

Fury? What does he want?

After spending what seemed like an age fixing the panel of his suit that was faulty; working out it's bugs, defects, physical flaws; Tony's gotten to the point where he's relatively happy to continue. He doesn't like leaving this just half done, and he'll avoid that wherever possible. The room's kind of hot, actually. A thin shine coats the man's skin, head to toe, though more thickly on areas like the back of his neck or the span of his brow; and his hair is messy. Black smudges aren't uncommon on Tony today, it seems.

"Okay, fine, but before you let him in, I need a smoothie. Or a cola. Or a whiskey. Something cold, with, like, my weight in ice in it. It's literal sauna in here. JARV?"

"Very well, sir. The drinks machine is making one now."

Tony takes a final look over his work, before he gives a slight nod. Eh, it's alright. Not perfect, yet, but it's gonna need some time. 'Course it is. He decides to let the metal cool off, and takes a few strides to the in-built drink machine, and, near perfect in timing, it lifts up a glass. Iced coffee? Perfect. It's only like, what; 9 o'clock at night. Coffee's great for that time, clearly.

That also begs the question; what's Fury doing here so late?

He's in the lavish work room of his place in Malibu, of course. Where else could Tony Stark be found? Nowadays, he was pretty much buried in work. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, he read once; and he knows it. So he's been partying it up at the same time. He's living a pretty luxury life. Well, it would be better, if he wasn't suffering from these damn panic attacks

He's not gotten to the bottom of that. In fact, he's not told anyone. JARVIS knows, but then, JARVIS knows most things. And Pepper? Well, Pepper knows what she knows. Tony thinks he's rarely properly in the loop of her knowledge. But of course, he's like that with most women.

"Why's Fury here?"

May as well see if JARVIS knows anything.

"I do not know, sir. He has yet to make an appointment, and as far as we can be aware, Miss Potts has not been notified."

"Can we get Pepper on the line please? I'd rather not have chats with the man in charge if it means I have to make any kind of informed decision. I don't feel like it right now."

"Sir, I am more than positive she is asleep."

"What? Why? It's like… what time is it?"

"9 o'clock sir. And Miss Potts is currently abroad in the United Kingdom. The time for her will be 3 am."

Oh. Oh yeah. Now he remembers. He remembers getting her a bunch of flowers before she left, and he also remembers a particularly good night that night. A smirk at the thought, before it's quickly wiped from his face, when another voice rings from the door.

"Evening, Stark."

Oh, great.

"Hi, eye-patch. How's it hanging?"

Nick's in his usual gear, of course. The black leathers and that eyepatch never seem to change, and Tony, in a sense, is appreciative of that. He wouldn't ever voice those appreciations, but hey. At least he has them sub-consciously.

Spinning round to face him, the mechanic wipes sweat from his brow with a cloth, before sipping his iced coffee. "So what's this little late night meeting in aid of, hm? I'm kinda busy here. If that's not already… blatantly obvious."

"We have a problem, Tony. I won't beat around the bush. We need you, and the Avengers, to come in."

To that, Tony registers a flash of… something. Not exactly fear, but something like that. It seems like yesterday that he was telling JARVIS to put his all into the thrusters, locked in combat with literal aliens. And in all honesty, he found the whole thing… well, for lack of a better word, troubling. The sole cause of these damn panic attacks, and he knows it.

Nick looks deadly serious. A deadly serious Nick Fury is never, ever, something you should mess with. He takes a few steps in the room, the door swinging softly shut, and locks his hands behind his back.

"Isn't it a bit early to be getting back into the field?" Tony asks, gaze downward. He doesn't want this to be happening. He feels like pretending it's not. Fact is, that it is. Tony can't deny, not even to himself, that these possessions have been a rising issue.

I am death, cried the vulture. For the people of the light.

In the last month, odd things have been happening in the world. Unexplainable disappearances, of people totally unconnected in any way, be it race, sex, or age. All across the world. As of this second, there has been a record number of 24 different disappearances, completely spontaneous, and varying between countryside settings or towering skyscrapers. Of course, 24 reported. Unbeknown to the media, there's been at least over a hundred. And the numbers climbing. Fast.

"I think you know it's exactly the right time to get back in the field," Fury says, both sternly, and gravely. He's staring hard at Tony, but Tony's unable to meet that, right now.

The mechanic only huffs.

"This about the possessions?"

Caron brought his raft from the sea that sails on souls.

The director nods, slowly. "What else would it be about? Do you think we can handle this without the Avengers? Do you think you can sit by, and just, let this happen?"

"No, but at the same time-"

"I don't want to hear it, Tony," Nick half growls. "You saved the world three times before and you can damn sure do it again."

"Uh, actually, it's probably uncountable how many times I've saved the world."

The director very nearly snaps, but this is Tony Stark. He knows better. Instead, he stills his anger as much as possible, and moves to seat himself, on the nearest chair. "Do you know anything about them, then?"

And I saw the scavenger departing, taking warm hearts into the cold.

Tony takes a longer sip of his drink, eyes still glazed over and misty on the floor. He's trying to put his emotion elsewhere right now, because the thought of anything supernatural happening, is spiking his anxiety.

"I know they're happening."

"That all?"

"Yep."

Nick watches him a moment, as if he doesn't believe him. Tony barely even believes himself, so it's not too much of a sin to doubt him.

"Well, here's the basics. We know that whatever is taking these people isn't doing this for any specific, Earth bound reason. We know that whatever is taking these people is doing it effortlessly, and leaving no trace, what, so, ever. Not a single FBI team has managed to get anything. No evidence. None at all. There's no recordings of CCTV, because every time there's a disappearance, the camera cuts out. There's nothing stopping what's taking these people, Tony, and the world's panicking. People are in a state of panic. Some villages are closing off from outsiders, some cults are preaching that it's a symbol of the Armageddon, and there's uproar in politics. What's taking these people is not a person, nor is it Earth bound. SHIELD believe that what's taking them, is some kind of demon. Hence why we have given them the term, 'the possessions'."

In a wilderness of heart break, in a desert of despair,

Tony nods, though he's not really listening after those two, final words. A demon. Possession. Anything otherworldly. Pulse rate quickening as his breaths turn shallow, he bites the inside of his cheek. He cannot have an attack. Not in front of Fury.

"A demon."

"Mmhmm."

Evil's clarion of justice, shrieks a cry of naked terror,

"What do we do?"

Taking babies,

"We gather the Avengers, and we put a stop to this."

From their mamas,

"What makes you so sure this can be stopped?"

Leaving grief,

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything right now. But I'm doing all I can to try to protect these people. That's all we can ever do."

Beyond,

"This seems like a stupid idea."

Compare.

Nick sits up, then; expression reading complete and utter anger. "And what ideas do you have, huh? You wanna share those with me?"

His mouth opens, as if to speak, but it closes shortly after, and Fury's happy about that.

In a bid to calm down, Tony is quiet a second, before he moves; stepping over to where Nick is, pulling up another chair, and sitting on it. Not once has he looked at Nick. Not since he first came in, and definitely not since demons were mentioned.

Fury understands, of course. He knows Tony's got an issue with this kind of thing. He also knows that, without Tony, they don't stand much of a chance.

"We know we're outgunned to deal with this," Nick says, more quietly. "So we're getting help."

So if you see the vulture coming,

Finally, the mechanic looks up, and directly at him. Tony looks fearful. He can't hide that fear now. Not from Nick, and definitely not from himself.

"Help?"

Flying circles in your mind,

"Yep," Nick leans back. "I have had a conversation with Thor, and a few other Asgardians."

Remember there is no escaping,

As if unable to remove his gaze, he continues to stare at him, searching for some kind of reassurance in his words, and finding none. This doesn't feel right.

"And can Thor help us fix this demon crap?"

For he will follow close behind,

Nick nods. But there's a graveness to his nod.

"He says he can. But he also says, that he will need help from someone."

Only promise me a battle,

"And who's that someone?"

A battle, for your soul and mind,

"Loki."

And mine.

And mine.

shit.