Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 11: Search And Destroy

A/N: The recommended tune for this chapter is "Krwling (Mike Shinoda feat. Aaron Lewis)" by Linkin Park.

Flipping from one side to the other didn't do him a damned bit of good. No matter how he tried, the whole of his body throbbed. On his left, his head ached, had a heartbeat of its own. On the right, the pain was sharp, stabbing, right behind his eyes as though he had been jabbed with the sharp end of a pen. The past hour had been spent seeking a comfortable position, as, when Tony finally dared to crack his eyes open, the bedroom door was ajar, and Pepper was gone, having left him to sleep off what was left of his alcohol-induced slumber.

He pushed himself up, leaning back on one arm as Jarvis began asking the questions of the usual morning routine, the voice just a big long buzz in Tony's head as he blinked slowly, trying to right himself. In a daze, he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuffled to the closet, throwing on a pair of blue jeans and a randomly selected shirt before seizing his suit jacket from its hanger.

James had said something to him, he thought, trying to recall what. He'd been so damn drunk by the time he'd gotten through with the Winfords, that the rest of the night seemed to be just a blur. What little he did remember came through in pieces. Natasha's fiery glare as he stood with the group, completely disregarding their words; Pepper, who had blatantly refused to take part in his little one-man drinking party; Thor, answering his phone with a look of concern. But there was nothing about the colonel, save his face, that Tony could bring himself to remember.

Without thinking, his hand reached into the pockets of the jacket, seeking the cigarettes that Pepper certainly hadn't left on the nightstand for him. His fingers closed around a piece of paper tucked into the left side, the expensive piece of clothing fall in a heap upon the floor, forgotten as Tony leered curiously at the note.

: 17893 N Slater Place

"The hell?"

The man scoffed at the letters, the taste of liquor still on his breath, abruptly tempted to just take the thing and hold it over a lit match so as to watch it burn. It didn't tell him a damn thing about Banner, let alone how to contact him. The address, assuming that's what it was, wasn't even complete, and the person who had written the note had been stupid enough to have left out a city, state, and the damned postal code.

His fingers ached to feel the fragile little thing crumble up in his palm, yet something in his head demanded that he turn the thing over.

As he did, his gaze went wide, a small smile beginning at the corner of Tony's mouth.

"Jarvis."

"Nice to see you're fully awake, sir. Would you care for a bit of coffee? I believe Ms. Foster is in the kitchen brewing a pot as we speak."

"I'm skipping breakfast, pal," Tony said, picking his jacket up off the floor to withdraw the cigarettes from the inside breast pocket. It was thrown back up on its hanger soon after. "I want you to do a search on 17893 North Slater Place, and tell me whether or not the following number belongs to a cell, home phone, or an IP address. It's 769.483.2511."

Tucking the beloved remains of the Pall Mall pack into his back pocket, Tony stared thoughtfully at the hologram of the search as Jarvis ran the material through the system. Following several strained moments, a dot appeared on the map, fading out at Tony's unspoken request to present a three-dimensional model of a city, a blinking light coming from an apartment building.

"Houston, Texas," Jarvis reported. "The building is a former apartment complex, now shut down to the public and housing only a single tenant. A Mr. Edwin Michael Samuels, who reportedly moved in eighteen months ago. Records show that, in July of 2015, Mr. Samuels paid the owner fifteen thousand in cash to allow him rent of the building through this coming summer, and to keep his residency out of the public eye and off the record. Clearly, his latter request was blatantly ignored. The transaction with Mr. Samuels was uploaded as a sealed file to the owner's personal database."

Sunglasses came up over Tony's eyes as he gave a curt nod, pulling on the ratty brown jacket and fisherman's cap that Pepper kept promising to throw out with the trash.

"And what does this Mr. Samuels do for a living, Jarvis?"

"Nothing, sir. There is no record of an Edwin Samuels matching this man's personal information anywhere in the job market of Huston, let alone the rest of the county." A moment of silence, presumably provided for a response to the statement. "So far as I can tell, Edwin Samuels did not even exist until eighteen months ago."

Tony smiled, the paper crumpling beneath his fingers as he shoved it in his pocket along with his wallet.

So that was why the colonel had showed up at the party.

"Good job, Jarvis," he said, practically skipping out of the room. Despite having spent the whole of the night drunk, the day promised to be a very productive one. "Bookmark the search and store it in the SHIELD files, would you?"

"Tony? Tony, are you awake?"

He walked leisurely down the hall and out into the kitchen, a smile on his face as Pepper stood at the stove with a pan of eggs.

"Not hungry, Pep," he blurted, plucking Gwendolyn out of her highchair to tickle her with his beard. The infant squealed. "But I'll take some of that coffee to go in a thermos."

"That's odd," Maria said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "You usually laze around until about noon or so."

Tony made a face and shrugged, putting his daughter down and pulling out the pockets of his jacket so as to make a point. "All out of smokes. Need to get some more before I crash. You know. The life of an addict."

Pepper lifted the glasses from his eyes, leaving the eggs to sizzle in the pan as she watched him with great suspicion.

"Tony, you nearly drank yourself into a coma last night," she said, sounding motherly. God, how he loved that about her. "Don't you dare tell me you're not still hung over."

"I feel fine, Pepper. Really." He removed the glasses completely and folded them up in his hand. "See? My eyes aren't bloodshot, and I don't have a headache." Such a blatant lie. "Now, do you need anything while I'm out? Maybe some mushy baby food or something?"

"No," the red-haired woman sighed, moving back to the stove to remove the pan and distribute eggs onto the others' plates. "Thor, Jane? Do either of you need Tony to pick anything up?"

The God of Thunder turned quickly around, looking rather surprised that anyone had dared to speak to him, his hand on Jane's shoulder as she peered blankly into her untouched glass of orange juice.

"Uh... No, thank you," he said, and nudged his girlfriend gently. "Jane, are you in need of any–"

"I'm fine," the scientist replied, sounding blue. She, too, turned back in her seat to look at Tony, and forced herself to smile. "Thank you."

The billionaire gave the couple a curt nod and kissed Pepper on the cheek, slipping the glasses back over his eyes as he headed for the door.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he said, offering a sloppy salute. "Probably gonna get a quick run in while I'm out."

Bradley, who jumped out of his seat and rushed to his father's side, wrapped his arms about Tony's leg and beamed up at him with those wide eyes.

"Daddy? Will you bring me and Gwen some candy?"

Tony looked from his son to Pepper. "Uh..."

"Please, Daddy? Please?!"

"Candy!" Gwen repeated, dropping her spoon on the floor. If nothing else, she certainly knew what treats were. "Candy!"

"Is candy okay, Mommy?" Tony asked, putting on a puppy face. "For after dinner tonight?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and smiled. "Okay," she said, giving in. "But only after dinner. Understand, Bradley?"

"Yes, Mama," the boy nodded, leaning against Tony's leg with a grin. "I love you, Daddy."

It was all a hardass like Tony Stark needed to melt his mechanical heart into butter.

"I love you too, son."

# - # - # - #

In the god's mind, he could see the man running, lungs on fire as puffs of air escaped his open mouth, down the streets and weaving through crowds of people who either ignored him or shot him dirty looks for getting in the way. Down one block, across the street, and right up onto another, with little or no thought turned towards dropping down an alley or changing direction. Nothing. Just a singular, straight line that, in time, would lead him right down to the steel-forged footpaths of the bridge as it hung above the Hudson River.

It was always the same route, they had told him, and it thus made the likes of Tony Stark far easier to track. If only, he thought, the stubborn man would deviate for one. He would pose far more of a challenge than this. Stand a better chance of survival, as well.

The collar of his coat stood up, pale eyes opening, the wind taking a good bite out of the people who walked headlong into it, causing those traveling in pairs to huddle together and link arms as they pulled their scarves and hoods tighter about their bodies. It made him almost miss Jotunheim; all the times they'd traveled to the frosted world as young men, as curious young warriors seeking blood and adventure. The mortals of Midgard would not last even a scant few minutes in that wasteland, devoid entirely of light and warmth and with a race of barbaric people stalking through the snow to welcome them. They would die, as so many of them deserved to, and the remainder of the Nine Realms would forget them, just as they would soon forget this worthless planet.

"He is still alone?" Loki murmured, not bothering to look up as a man with a rather blank expression approached. "You are sure?"

The man nodded, his eyes like dark glass as he motioned to the steadily moving form of Tony Stark as he took his first few steps onto the bridge, quickly passing the both of them by as he coughed, perhaps cursing himself for having taken up smoking.

"Your duties," Silvertongue hissed, giving the other a solid two-fingered thump in the chest. "What are they?"

A shudder wracked the man's body, drawing the god's lips into a sardonic smile. He held up a hand, began counting off on his fingers in a hoarse voice.

"Follow," he gasped, "destroy, and report."

"That's right," Loki told him, speaking in a manner that he would have used with a young child. "Now, you would do well to follow my instructions to the letter; understand? Because, if I have to be bothered to find him and finish your assignment myself... Well, we both know what happens to you, don't we?"

The man nodded hurriedly, flinching away from the brisk feel of a blade slicing a thin line into the skin of his throat. As flesh parted, the space surrounding it grew a dull grey, fading and flaking until the wound gave way to a metallic sheen.

"Death," he croaked, fastening the top buttons of his coat. "Death."

"Well, it would seem you lot are more intelligent than I gave you credit for." The God of Mischief scowled, turning the other right around and giving him a shove. "Now, go! Don't lose sight of him. And do not make me regret granting you this chance."

With his face carefully blank, the man rushed off across the pathway, not chancing a look back.

"I wonder, Mr. Stark," Loki said to himself, fingers pulling through his dark hair. "Just how many times will I have to kill the Avengers... before they stay dead?"

# - # - # - #

"Damn..."

His voice fled his body in a high-pitched hiss, hands dropping to his shaking knees to keep his body steady and upright. When his life had been spent in naught but luxury and thrill in Malibu, it had been an easy task to drive out to the canyon and run a scant four miles or so before peeling right back down the highway to meet a lovely girl or two waiting at his front door. But all the time spent fighting, working, fleeing, had taken to running his body down to the point that a jog across the George Washington Bridge was more than enough to cause Tony to keel over and vomit.

Nausea ran through Tony like a battery charge, one knee touching down on the ground as he sputtered and swore, hacking up the half thermos of coffee he'd chugged before throwing the rest in the trash with the container. He swiped at his mouth, wondering why in the hell he'd thought that, as a man with smoker's lungs, he could pull this off.

"Guess... even Iron Man's got limits," he heaved under his breath, tapping the side of the device sitting inside his ear. "Jarvis...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How far," Tony breathed, sucking in great lungfuls of air, "is it back to base from here... if I walk...?"

"Feeling under the weather, are we, sir?"

A weary nod. "Yeah, you could say that... So, how far...?"

"You should feel very proud, sir," Jarvis told him. "From this point on the bridge, it is a six-and-a-half mile trek back. However, should you press on to Center Avenue, you can catch a cab and take it back across to Central Park. From there, the walk is rather short."

"I knew it was a good idea to set up shop down there... But everyone thinks I'm crazy..."

"If I may say, sir, you are a bit... eccentric. You did, after all, just run all this way without realizing it."

Tony laughed, righting himself as he began walking. "If running almost seven miles is eccentric, then I don't know what in the hell you're going to call all the other shit I've done."

"'Unbelievable' is what comes to mind, sir."

"Thanks, pal," the man muttered with sarcasm, pulling the coat from his body and tossing it to the ground. If he was going to walk all the way down to Central just to catch a cab, it wasn't going to be with the godawful thing thrown about his shoulders. He should have allowed Pepper to throw it out long before this. "Jarvis, give me some tunes to–"

"Did you not bring your wallet with you today, sir? I imagine it could be rather useful in saving you the walk."

Tony smirked, rubbing the back of his head as he reached into his back pocket, allowing the red metallic thing to fall to the ground as a rather shaky gentleman bumped him on his way past.

"Oh, God!" he exclaimed with false concern. "I've dropped my wallet!"

A number of people either rolled their eyes at him or kept on walking as Tony stood eagle-spread on the footpath of the bridge, the wallet abruptly shifting and shaking as it gained height, allowing him to finally step into the boots of the suit.

"Sending the rest your way, sir," Jarvis reported, and Tony could feel the rush of the wind rippling across his skin. "Arrival timed at three, two, one..."

Tony flinched, staggering backwards as pieces of the suit began to fly against him, clicking together and wrapping his body in the armor as passersby began to either coo with excitement or swear in regards to the Iron Man's sudden return. They were all ignored as he donned the mask, the thrusters sending a sharp tingling through his legs as, for the first time in a good few years, he was lifted off the ground and up into the air above the city, the map appearing in the display of the helmet, pinging the point in Central Park that would take him straight back home.

"Maybe we should skip the cab, eh, Jarvis?"

"Shall we take the scenic route back, sir?"

"Hell," Tony smirked, "why not? And let's swing by the Tower, shall we? It's about time that prick Loki realized who he's picked a fight with."

# - # - # - #

It was without little thought that she rushed through the maze of pathways that had protected them from outsiders, from invaders, for so long. The darkness of those corridors beneath the city had since become a source of comfort for her, knowing that, were they ever to be followed, no man would manage to find the point of access that lead to the place that the lot of them now called home. Down one passage and up another until she ran, legs screaming, through the unseen doorway that allowed her exit into the park, the underside of a pond bridge above the assassin's head to greet her.

Natasha pushed herself, not knowing just where it was she was going. The only thought in her head was that brought on by instinct, by priority. The demand that she find Tony as quickly as humanly possible and drag his ass home so she could wring him out to dry.

The idiot, she thought, had exposed them more than once now, having opted to sit down and chat with Agent Hirsch in the days before and to openly threaten Loki on a national news feed. Everyone who was loyal to the bastard would be hunting them with even more fervor than before, and it was certain that they would not stop until the so-called king held a public execution for them. But, there was still that faint glimmer of hope; the idea that, by some otherworldly miracle, they could best him at this game he had challenged them to, and bring their world back to the sense of normalcy that it so sorely missed.

"Look!" she heard someone shout, and turned her head. "Mom, look, it's Iron Man!"

Natasha felt her heart stop dead in her chest, eyes moving up towards the skyline of the city to see him, that faint silhouette of red and gold, soaring across the grey expanse as though he had not a care in the world. A faint smile graced her lips, a sigh escaping her in relief as she rushed towards him, knowing full and well that, sooner or later, he'd have to touch down somewhere in the park so as to find his way back to where she was; to where they could both go home.

But, as the thought crossed her mind, a shrill sound sliced through the air, stealing away her hearing for a moment as the sky lit up like a display set off on the Fourth of July. A hot cloud of flame erupted from the suit, Tony's figure zigzagging across the sky before making a beeline towards the park, smoke coming off his tail as people dropped to the ground, screaming and covering their heads.

Natasha followed suit, could not hear the impact nor the boom as he touched down, only able to feel the flame as it emanated from several yards away.

As the people got to their feet and began fleeing the scene, the assassin bolted towards it, her mind screaming that the likes of the arrogant Tony Stark could not possibly be dead.

The world turned upside down then, her back flat against the ground as she stared upwards at the grey clouds, rolling over to yank the unknown object that had tripped her out of the ground.

Staring, Natasha could only shake her head, denial screaming through her mind and numbing her as she wondered: What in the hell would she tell the others? How would she break it to Pepper, to the children?

Still hot, one side was charred and scraped, one of the translucent lenses smashed in and dented, the other steadily flickering with that unearthly blue light before, with a spark and a sputter, it died out in her hands, as if having drawn its final breath.