Suits of Armor
The clock points 3:47am. The air is stale and musky from sweat. The nightmares just won't stay away.
"Another restless night it would seem.", Phil mutters to himself as he sips from a shaky glass of scotch left on his bed stand. The analog ticking and the subtle burn going down his throat is just enough to lull him back to sleep.
The clock points 4:45am as his own shouting wakes him from another night terror. This has become routine. Ever since New York. Ever since The Avengers. Ever since Loki left that gaping wound where is used to be.