"What's the status?" Iron Man swerved sharply, narrowly avoiding being crushed by another hulking machine. He finished it off with a quick repulser blast and moved on to the one that instantaneously took its place. "'Cause I don't know about you, but I'm getting a bit overwhelmed here."

"Stuff it Tony, we're all tired." Clint's voice rang through Tony's earpiece accompanied by a slight crackle of static. Another bot hit the asphalt before Tony's eyes, sparking and fizzling, with an arrow in its head. Tony glanced at the nearby rooftops while blasting two robots' heads off at once with his repulsers. "Where are you, by the way-"

"Three more incoming on your left, Cap!" Tony was cut off by Natasha's hurried warning as she battled three bots at once, jumping off of an overturned taxi and straddling the largest one's head. "Get moving!" she said, twisting the bot's head off with a jerk and sickening crunch.

In the street below, Steve was busy hurling his shield left and right at the bots, seemingly a red and white blur to onlookers. He caught his shield once more and quickly blocked an energy blast curtesy of the incoming machines. "Thanks!" he breathlessly yelled in reply.

"Jeez, you know you don't have to yell, right?" Tony griped, holding his head. "My ears have had about enough of you yelling in them."

"Just focus on disposing of the bots for once, Stark," was Steve's reply, and afterwards he actively ignored anything else Tony had to say.

~x~

Once the robots — aptly and somewhat hilariously named 'doombots' after their maniacal creator, Victor Von Doom — had all been disposed of, the Avengers, barring Thor, returned to the tower, where Bruce had been awaiting their return holed up in the lab. Despite Tony's attempt at persuasion, he had stubbornly refused to join them in that day's battle. Going 'big and green' wasn't something he enjoyed, apparently.

Tony had opted for shawarma, but was outvoted by his teammates four to one. When they settled down in their usual lounge area, bruised and battered, it was with Chinese takeout, much to Tony's chagrin. "Nobody ever wants shawarma these days but me," he whined, holding a box of fried rice with two fingers and scrunching up his face disgustedly.

"You always want shawarma, Tony," Clint sighed, picking at lo mien awkwardly with his left hand. His right had been sliced and diced by flying metal shrapnel and had required stitches. Clint now gingerly propped the heavily bandaged limb on the armrest of the armchair he had claimed, and acted as if it didn't exist. "After eating it every day for a week, I can safely assume we're all done with shawarma." he paused for a moment before saying sarcastically, "Oh wait, except you."

"I don't understand your obsession with shawarma, Stark," Steve chipped in, sitting on the couch with a bucket of sesame chicken and a fork firmly clasped between his fingers, as if someone was going to try and forcefully replace it with chopsticks. Poor guy never could use them correctly.

Now that he was close, Tony noticed the large, dark circles underneath his eyes. Trying to brighten up the mood, Tony rejoinder was, "It's not an obsession, guys! Honestly, I don't even really know what shawarma is, but it, you know, symbolizes victory?" Tony started out strong, but at his teammates' deadpan faces his words twisted into a question. "No? Okay." he glanced around the room. "You guys are no fun. I bet Thor would want shawarma."

"Well he's not here, is he?" Steve spoke up. Tony still rued the day Rodgers had learned to use sarcasm. "He's up in Asgard, dealing with Loki and God-knows-what for the last five months. Not that I mind," he added.

"I'm sure Point Break will stop by for a visit sometime," Tony said, but his heart wasn't really in it. They didn't even know the big guy that much after all, as after the battle he had returned to Asgard with his brother. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and clouds covered the already darkening sky. "See? I bet he's saying hi from As-whatever."

Nobody spoke after that. Tony didn't blame them — after fighting the doombots (the name still made him snicker), even he was dead tired. Natasha looked like she was about to fall asleep (something she rarely did in front of others) in the remainder of her fried shrimp, the dark circles under her eyes accentuated by a steadily purpling bruise blossoming on her cheek, and Bruce was softly snoring in an uncomfortable-looking un-cushioned chair. Tony really needed to get rid of that. There was no place for uncomfortable furniture in his tower!

Soon Rodgers, Nat, and Clint filtered out, going to their respective floors to crash, and Bruce stayed asleep in the wooden-backed chair. Tony didn't really have the heart to wake him, and retired to his room, falling asleep not a minute after collapsing on the bed.

A sharp crash awoke Tony with a jolt. "Wha-" he began dazedly, but then realized it had just been a loud roll of thunder. He glanced about the room somewhat sleepily before plopping his head back down on a pillow. He tossed and turned on top of rumpled sheets for almost an hour more before giving up.

"Uggghhhhh…." he groaned when it was clear that sleep had escaped him. Grumbling to himself about thunderstorms, he hauled himself up and stumbled into the kitchen's bar for some bourbon. Or any type of alcohol, really. Tony really needed some liquid happiness at the moment. He fumbled around on the wall blindly for a few moments, tripping on a rug and stubbing his toe on a chair. "Ow," Tony grumbled, flailing for the light-switch once more. He paused for a moment before suddenly getting the urge to smack his forehead against the nearest wall.

"JARVIS, the lights?"

"Of course, sir," the AI complied.

The lights flicked on and Tony yelped and shielded his eyes from the influx of brightness. "Not that bright!" Tony grumbled. "Dimmer, JARVIS. Dimmer."

"Naturally, sir," JARVIS said crisply, muting the lights to a more acceptable level.

When Tony's eyes finally adjusted to the albeit dimmer light, he was greeted with the sight of his kitchen — utterly trashed. There were boxes and cartons littered across the tile, all the cabinets were wide open, and the spice rack hung haphazardly, halfway torn from the wall; the expensive spices it once held cluttering the sink.

Alcohol forgotten for the time being, Tony felt his heart rate quicken. Someone had obviously intruded into his tower — the question was, why hadn't JARVIS picked up on it? The AI was obviously functional. The whole situation was confusing. Why would someone break into his tower, somehow bypassing JARVIS, and raid his kitchen? It made absolutely no sense. Tony frowned; should he do the sensible thing and wake everyone, or find this 'intruder' on his own? Then again, the last thing he wanted at the moment was to be strangled by a half-asleep Clint or be lectured by Cap for being paranoid. After a moment's deliberation, Tony opted to not wake the others up.

Before he could even begin investigating, a soft rustle came from the next room. Tony crept towards the door, relishing the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He paused at that; god, now I'm an adrenaline junky, Tony thought, resuming walking. He peered through the partially cracked door (the one he swore he closed earlier that night).

It was dark within the room, but an audible crackling — like someone fumbling with a wrapper — sounded from within. A figure sat on the couch, holding something shiny, but Tony couldn't tell what.

Steeling himself for whatever (horror) was in the room, Tony burst through the door; at the same moment, a flash of lightning lit up the room, accompanied by a resounding crackle of thunder, revealing light blue eyes, longish blonde hair, unhumanly broad, muscular shoulders, and-

"What the hell, Thor? Break into my house just to raid my portrait supply, huh? JARVIS, get the lights."

"As you wish, sir," the AI complied.

The golden god had enough decency to look chagrined. All in all it was a comical sight — Thor had crumbs and smatterings of pop-tart filling in his beard, a mangled box of poptarts clutched in his arms, and his cheeks were bulging with the breakfast pastries, from what Tony could tell. Littering the previously spotless carpet, hundreds of poptart wrappers were scattered in every direction.

Swallowing everything with some difficulty, the thunder god threw out his arms, "Man of Iron! It is good to see you once more. These pastries are most delectable."

"Yeah, well," Tony began, raising an eyebrow, "once I heard of your infatuation I stocked up a bit. So you just decided to stop by, with no warning, and eat our pop-tarts in the middle of the night?"

"I was told that it is impolite, by Midgardian customs, to wake someone from slumber in their homes. Therefore, I waited here," Thor gestured animatedly towards the lounge they were in, "and I found myself in need of sustenance."

"Thor, buddy, you don't just…" Tony trailed off. Trying to teach Thor about earth's culture was life trying to teach a horse to do the tango — it just didn't happen. "You know what, never mind. Anyways, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here? It's not that you're not welcome, it's just… you've been gone for almost half a year. We tried to contact you, you know. Why come back now?"

It was true; there had been a few times when the Avengers had almost been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of terrorists (super-villains, really) popping up. They had called for him, but Thor hadn't come to their aid. Now that they had everything perry much under control — this was when he decided to arrive? Tony couldn't help but feel slightly resentful.

Thor's face became grave, and Tony tensed. "I fear I do not bring glad tidings."

"And?" Tony prompted impatiently. "it can't be that bad if you're sitting around eating my food," he snarked.

Thor grimaced, "You see, Son of Stark, it bad news that I bring to you. My brother is missing."

~x~

Hello, dear reader. If you liked this please leave a review. This started out as a one-shot, but I decided to change the ending because I've had an idea for a longer Avengers fic for a really long time. At this point, though, I'm not sure if I'll have enough motivation to get it done. If you think I should continue it, please tell me, and likewise if you think I should turn it into a one-shot permanently.

Thanks for reading!

~Ithurielistic