5. No Breaks for the Heroic

There was darkness.

It wasn't the nice, pleasant darkness of a Saturday night, but it wasn't the depressing, endless darkness of the Northern hemisphere in winter either. It just... was. He supposed he had to be glad it didn't involve trippy visions of corpses or crushing hopelessness of space. Wait, why would he even worry about that?

Because that had been his dreams in summary not too long ago.

That's right. He had been really messed up, hadn't he? And now he was getting better and he'd been shot for his trouble. With that information he inevitably came to the conclusion that he was Tony Stark. And that he was dreaming, probably in a coma.

Tony had had lucid dreams before. He had even trained himself to distinguish dreams from reality at some point of his life, but reality checks had got way more difficult when his waking life had become filled with Norse gods, magic cubes, and weird explosive viruses. But now he was certain he was dreaming, because he remembered being shot and there was no way he could have been healed yet in the real world. Tony looked down at his hands. In a normal dream that would have been impossible. Now he saw them clearly. Lines that some palm reader could probably make some money out of if Tony suddenly got high enough to try it. Fingers that had become quite nimble after years of computer work and obsessive tinkering. He looked back up and the darkness was still there. It was incredibly dull and Tony wondered if this was his mind's way of telling him to wake up and do something interesting. How long had he been unconscious anyway?

Tony focused on waking up. A lucid dream was so close to feeling real that it was easy for him to actually step into reality. He pried his eyes open and was assaulted by hospital lighting. He blinked furiously and heard a chair scraping somewhere to his right. Pepper's face appeared into his field of vision and he managed a weak smile at the relief on her face.

"Hi", he said hoarsely, "What did I miss?"


The Taskmaster had been secured into a basic cell in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters. The man had been unmasked, but so far that hadn't helped them figure out who he was. Under the metal skull he looked entirely unremarkable, just like an everyday passer-by. Still, the moment he had seen him, Fury knew he had seen the man somewhere before as well. He would have to look into it, but only after they had got the most important info out of him. Namely, who had hired him, and why.

They wasted no time starting the interrogations. Fury had wanted to go in himself right away and assigned Romanoff to assist him. She was the one who had taken the Taskmaster down, and she was good at making people talk without them even realising it. Even this tactic, however, proved to be useless against the Taskmaster. The man stayed silent about pretty much everything they asked him. He just sat relaxedly in the most uncomfortable metal chair private funding could buy and kept starting at them, almost as if trying to read something from them.

"You're not gaining anything by keeping quiet," Fury remarked, folding his arms, "Whoever hired you isn't going to help you. If you cooperate, you'll just be arrested for a while."

The Taskmaster shrugged his shoulders. Even without the combat armour he was muscular, not exactly huge compared to the likes of Thor, but in impressive shape nonetheless.

"Ya think my job security is that bad? I got two of your best. I'm sure that's enough motivation for my employer to get me out of here."

"You didn't get anyone," Romanoff said, "Clint and Tony are both alive. How much do you get paid for failures?"

The Taskmaster made a small noise of disbelief.

"Stark's still alive, eh? Tough bastard. Bet he ain't feeling too good, though."

Romanoff's brow crinkled slightly. The Taskmaster smiled.

"Ya're not getting any info out of me."

And as much as Fury hated to admit it, in about an hour it turned out the Taskmaster was right.

"It is possible that he doesn't even know who's behind this all," Romanoff said solemnly when they stepped out of the interrogation room without any answers.

"I know," Fury replied, "But we don't exactly have much to go on right now."

Romanoff nodded. At the door of the interrogation room stood a guard, just like Fury had ordered. What he hadn't ordered, though, was the colourful bird-woman hovering near the ceiling and smiling apologetically. She had tagged along with Romanoff when the Taskmaster had been brought in and Fury had grudgingly let her stay only because she seemed to know something about this man that they didn't. The guard at the door seemed to be blissfully unaware of her presence, and for a moment Fury almost wished he was too.

"Mr. Fury," the Tooth Fairy greeted, "I have a request."

Fury sighed and quickly told the guard to leave them. The agent obeyed, and as soon as he had disappeared around a corner, Fury directed his full attention to the Tooth Fairy.

"I thought you were gone already."

"Right," the fairy smiled even wider, "Well, as it turns out, I'm not. Good thing too, because I can help you."

Fury crossed his arms and gave her a look he usually reserved for those times when an agent for one reason or another started to develop attitude problems. Toothiana looked at the door to the interrogation room without taking the hint.

"I want to speak to him," she said.

"We just interrogated him," Fury said, "Do you have something that would give us an edge in that? If not, then this is not the time."

The fairy looked slightly uncomfortable. Her hands twitched.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, "But I want to be present in the interrogation. His memories may have been tampered with."

That got Fury's attention.

"How so?"

"Because he doesn't remember even his own name."

Fury glanced at Romanoff. She nodded as if to say she believed the fairy. Romanoff's reports on the Guardian-incident did state that the Tooth Fairy had some memory-related magic. So it would make sense that she would know if someone's memory was off. Well, it made sense in a less scientific way but then again, science had been gleefully flipped upside down in Fury's world years ago already.

"Well, then it seems agent Romanoff's guess was correct," Fury said, "You can go in, but we'll be there as well."

The Tooth Fairy beamed at him.


Tony was moved to his home almost immediately after he had woken up. He had insisted that the place would go down without him there, even though it was doing fine. Pepper had suspected – correctly – that Tony simply didn't want to be without his gadgets for too long. She didn't complain, though. She was too relieved about Tony's fast recovery. Life was too short and unpredictable for useless nagging. Besides, she knew just as well as Tony did that he would just recover even quicker in his natural habitat. Even now he felt almost energised with his smartphone and at least two computers around him. He had a lot of catching up to do.

Luckily he didn't need to do it all alone. Bruce Banner had visited him soon after he had arrived at his tower. His friend now sat near Tony's bed, typing on the keyboard of yet another laptop so fast it was almost like straight out of a film where they never typed correctly. He adjusted his glasses and turned to look at Tony with a contemplative frown.

"So, what do you think about all this?" he asked.

Tony stopped what he was doing, namely playing a game about using slightly enraged birds as slingshot ammunition while his computer downloaded a few S.H.I.E.L.D. -files that were meant to be secret.

"About what? A weirdo assassin targeting us or what's apparently a couple of good ol' Thunder God's people running around? How did you hear about that one anyway?"

"Someone told Thor, who told Fury, who told Steve, who told me," Bruce said and turned his eyes back to his screen, "Steve is looking into this now, and he thought it good to warn even me. A nice sentiment, even if there's precious little that can actually hurt me."

It could have sounded like bragging had it been anyone else but Bruce Banner saying it. But the Hulk was something Bruce hardly ever bragged about, even now that he was a bit more okay with it.

"Right now it's the rest of you I'm worried about," Bruce went on, "But yeah, what about you?"

"I'm a bit sore about it," Tony said, "Literally. Also, interested. It could be a bunch of unconnected, random happenings that happen to be centred around us, but I haven't survived this many near death experiences and not learned that this kind of weird crap usually connects."

"Meaning something is coming?"

"Meaning something is about to hit the fan," Tony corrected, "And it's not going to be puppies. Or actually, it could be. That would be even worse than something nasty hitting it."

He sighed.

"Talk about a bad time to be incapacitated."

"Tell me about it," Bruce said, "On a side note, Steve asked if I had Star Wars. Do you happen to have those?"

Tony raised a brow. It was such a normal, out of place question it almost made him laugh. That was probably what Bruce was going for.

"I'll send them to him. He has a computer now, right?"

Despite Tony's frustration at his current uselessness, Bruce's visit made him feel a little better. At least he knew what was going on now. And he was improving all the time. An arrow in the lung wasn't the worst he had survived from. Pepper's frequent visits in between her work to keep Stark Industries running kept him going and while she was gone, he had gigabytes of files to go through to get to the bottom of the mysterious assassin and the even more mysterious Asgardians. When going to sleep Tony could almost feel safe knowing he was closer to finding out something about this mess.

Except one day not long after he'd got back to his tower he opened his eyes and heard a knocking at a window. Then a familiar voice was carried inside by the winds.

"Hey!"

Tony turned and saw the window frosting over because a very wintry kid was breathing against it. Tony let out a long-suffering sigh.

"What? Seriously? Now?"

"Good to see you're better now!" Jack Frost said cheerfully, "Let me in! I've got something to tell you!"

Tony figured he could just close his new steel shutters and shut Jack out, but that would be rude and pointless. Besides, the kid wasn't freezing his pipes right now and was actually asking to be let in, so that was a considerable upgrade in manners. He should probably respond in kind. Tony let the boy in, and he landed on a bedside table. Snow fell under his feet and Tony was glad there were no delicate electronics on the table.

"Well, what is it?" Tony asked, rubbing his eyes, "It'd better be good."

Jack looked Tony up and down.

"Wow, that assassin did do a number on you. Well, anyway, I just figured you'd like to know we're in this thing now, too."

"What thing?"

Jack spread his arms.

"You know: this! Asgardians, assassins, stuff."

Tony glared.

"This isn't honestly why you're here? Please tell me you actually had something important to tell me!"

"Well, not really... I just wanted you to let me in so I could make sure you're safe. And we kind of need some files from S.H.I.E.L.D."

Tony almost wanted to throw something at the kid, but that would probably violate some sorts of laws. Maybe. 300-year-old spirits didn't really count as children or people in the eyes of the law, did they?

"Look," Jack said ,"Something weird is going on. It's coming this way and North had a feeling about it and we're sure you have a lot of info about this."

"You're here because Santa Claus senses were tingling?"

"Yeah, but his belly is usually right."

Tony rubbed his face again, hoping he could just wipe away the whole moment.

"So, puppies will hit the fan and Old Man Winter was sent here to commit information theft. This is just great."

Said Old Man Winter was obviously sickened by the idea of puppies in fans. Though to be fair, he really didn't look like Old Man Winter. Take a member of a boy band that was much more about non-threatening, marketable looks than substance, dress him like a hobo, and then put him in a freezer for a week and the end result would probably look exactly like Jack Frost. Except, as Tony had to admit, Jack Frost had a mind that definitely didn't belong to a boy band. It was too old and too young at the same time, for starters. And when he let some actual intelligence through his happy fun times shell, he could get surprisingly philosophical.

"I promise I won't get in the way," Jack said, "I'll be gone before you know it. I just need a couple of things from your computers, all right?"

"They're S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files," Tony said impatiently, "Can't you ask Fury instead?"

Jack snorted.

"Like he'd give us anything. He's already straining his hospitality with Tooth."

Okay, so Bruce and files hadn't managed to update Tony fully to the situation. He rose from his bed and grabbed some clothes from his wardrobe. If he had to hang out with the spirit of winter in his tower, he wasn't going to do it in his pyjamas.

"Don't touch anything while I take a shower, especially the pipes."

Jack mock-saluted.

"Don't count on it."

His denial was more reassuring than any assurance would have been. Tony rolled his eyes and left the room.

Unnoticed by either of them, a dark grey car parked a couple of blocks away from Tony's tower and three men stepped out of it. One of the men had a long, dark coat covering his muscular frame and he looked almost lonely without the company of the green clad woman he was usually seen with. The three men set their eyes on the Stark Tower and started walking.


"I really hope your man can pull through. The Taskmaster's failure needs to be amended now."

There was clear disappointment in the hooded man's tone. The woman in the green dress crossed her arms and raised an elegant eyebrow at the man. Their "employer" – as he sometimes called himself – should have been expecting this. Sending a mere mortal to apprehend the group who had brought down Loki demonstrated astonishingly poor judgement.

"He will succeed," she said in a voice that usually made men swoon. It did not appear to work on the anxious hooded man in front of her, not that she minded. He was not her type, anyway.

The hooded man looked at her and she could sense the man's annoyance. She didn't mind it.

"We were supposed to dispose of Stark before he gets back into his tower," the man said, "But they were faster than I thought, and now they will be even more careful."

"That is why you sent the Executioner," she said, making a sweeping gesture to the empty space next to her, where her hulking companion usually stood, "He will not be perturbed by anything in there."

"Stark has technology. Something you two have no experience with."

"We have magic, however," the woman argued, "That surely beats your... technology. And now the Guardians are also involved. That bodes ill for us unless you use us to our full potential."

The Baron sighed.

"I don't know anything about these Guardians. Without you I wouldn't know they existed."

"That is how they work. And your agents will be powerless against them," the woman said, "You need our help even more than you intended. Not just against Thor."

The Baron's resistance was wavering. He leaned against a metal table that wouldn't be winning any design awards until the Cold War era came back in fashion.

"Besides," the woman continued, "we did not come here unprepared. We know about this world more than you give us credit, Baron."

The Baron let out yet another sigh. He had been doing that a lot lately.

"Very well, I will let you try. In the meantime, we must wait for the rest of our group."

"We are all here, are we not?"

"There is still a man from China," the man reminded her, "He is in hiding in one of my headquarters, researching, but will be here soon. And once your man and the rest of my agents get back from neutralising Stark, they need to be mobilised for the next phase in my plan."

"And that's it? You are sending measly agents and one alien after them even now that the Guardians are on their side?"

The two in the room stopped what they were doing at the new voice that had just joined in the conversation. It was no one they knew, or at least no one they had expected. The Baron scanned the room with furious eyes.

"Who said that?"

"I did," spoke one of the shadows in the corner, and out of it melted a man.


Toothiana had faced amnesia and all sorts of memory defects before, several times in her centuries of living. The man who called himself the Taskmaster felt very different from all of the other cases. It wasn't the weirdest or the saddest case she had seen, but for a person who specialized in guarding memories, it was very sad nonetheless. Toothiana was let inside the interrogation room where the Taskmaster sat on a chair that looked very uncomfortable in Toothiana's opinion. He seemed unharmed, though, and uncaring of the situation he was in. Toothiana stepped into the room, greeting the man with a soft smile.

The Taskmaster was probably in his thirties. Toothiana was not good at judging people's ages, but she was fairly confident of her guess. That only intensified her confusion. What the Taskmaster was suffering from should not have been possible unless one lived far longer than that. The Taskmaster looked at Toothiana and there was slight surprise in his eyes.

"Tooth Fairy?" he asked incredulously, "She's your next interrogator?"

Toothiana just smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Taskmaster. Or... do you have any other name I could call you with?"

She knew he didn't. She wasn't prying. It had struck her clearly like a bolt of lightning the moment the Taskmaster had tried to hit her. The man's head was buzzing with memories, but among them there was a desperate question about things that everyone usually took for granted.

"The Taskmaster'll do", the Taskmaster said, "I already told y'all: I don't have anything to tell you."

Toothiana nodded understandingly.

"I can see that. You don't know who hired you, am I right?"

The Taskmaster raised an eyebrow but then shrugged.

"That's for ya to find out."

"You are wasting your time, Taskmaster" said Fury, with calm that was clearly before the storm, "You are not leaving this place until you answer us."

"Then better grab some snacks, guys. 'Cause it's gonna take a while."

"We have time," Fury grunted.

"No, ya don't."

Toothiana stepped closer to the man and sat on one of the empty chairs in the room. She had been right: they were very uncomfortable.

"You understand that what you're doing is hurting people, don't you?" she asked quietly, "Didn't your parents teach you that it's not good to hurt others?"

She hated herself for saying that. But she had to make sure that her theory was correct. The Taskmaster snorted, but there was a moment when his mind flared with a question and a wish. Toothiana took a deep breath.

"Do you know why you don't remember things?" she asked.

That was what finally got through the Taskmaster's indifferent shell. The man's eyes widened a bit, and then his face twisted into a snarl.

"I don't know what ya're talking about, fairy," he growled.

"Yes, you do," Toothiana said.

The Taskmaster glared at her, his fists clenching. Toothiana sensed Fury and Natasha's looks in her back. No one spoke for a long moment.

"I remember things a lot," the Taskmaster said defiantly, "I can learn things instantly by just watching. I learned how to shoot a bow just by fighting your Hawkeye-guy for a few minutes."

Natasha and Fury exchanged glances. Toothiana saw a figurative light bulb going off in Fury's mind, but the man remained silent. Toothiana turned back to the Taskmaster.

"That's right," she said, "Your memory is remarkable. In fact, you remember too much. There's not enough room in your head."

"Are ya insulting my intelligence?" the Taskmaster snapped.

"Oh, no! Of course I'm not!"

"What makes you an expert in this stuff, anyway?" the Taskmaster asked gruffly.

Toothiana bowed lightly.

"It's my job. I guard children's memories. I help them remember the things they need."

The Taskmaster snorted again, this time with bitter amusement.

"Then ya've done a shitty job with me."

That stung, but Toothiana had to shake it off for now. She leaned forward in her seat, putting her hands on her knees.

"I can amend that, Mr. Taskmaster..."

"If you cooperate with us."

Toothiana turned sharply to look at Fury, who had crossed his arms and was looking at the Taskmaster with very grim triumph in his eyes. Toothiana stood up. What was this man suggesting? Surely he wouldn't... oh, he would, wouldn't he? The Taskmaster narrowed his eyes, but there was conflict behind the glare this time.

"Think about that for a while," said Fury, "We're leaving."

His tone left no room for arguments. Toothiana didn't budge, however. Fury had no right to order her around about memory matters. Fury stopped to look at her with a clear challenge in his eyes.

"We're leaving. If you still want to assist, you will come with us."

"The Taskmaster..."

"...has said everything he's going to say for now," Fury said and the Taskmaster gritted his teeth, "Let's give him time."

Toothiana stood very slowly. She hated to admit it, but she would have to play by Fury's rules while in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters. She might have been the queen of Punjam Hy Loo, but here she was just an unwelcome guest that happened to be of some use. She cast one last, sympathetic look at the Taskmaster before following Natasha and Fury out.


The intruder's face was grey, his teeth were sharp, and his eyes were a sneaky yellow. The Baron aimed a gun at him immediately, and the woman crossed her arms and glared. The man smiled.

"Ah, you both see me. Good. Well, of course an Asgardian would, but as for the Baron here... well, you do have quite a few fears, don't you? And I guess it isn't that big a stretch to go from Norse gods to boogeymen."

The man seemed to be talking to himself more than to the others in the room. The woman stepped forward, her high heels clicking very pointedly against the tiled floor.

"Kozmotis Pitchiner," she said in a low voice, "I recognise you from the myths."

Pitch Black stopped his musings at the mention of the old name and looked at the woman.

"It's Pitch, actually. Pitch Black. Pitchiner was someone else, and he's long dead."

"What do you want?" the Baron snapped, his gun hand steady, but his trigger finger clearly itching, "Leave us or I will shoot you right now."

Pitch smiled almost pleasantly and spread his arms.

"By all means, Baron, try it, if it makes you feel better. But you should know that I'm here to help you."

There were many thoughts going through the Baron's more than a little paranoid mind. All of them fearful and therefore easy for Pitch to read. The most prominent one was a rather amusing chain of reasoning that ended up in an equation. Stranger plus bullet equals problem solved. The Baron pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Pitch between the eyes, sending his head back and stinging quite a bit. Pitch straightened his posture, hiding the fact that he was still weakened from his previous fights with an even wider smile. He plucked the bullet from his forehead and focused so shadows could stitch his wound shut. The mix of horror and fascination on the Baron's face was totally worth a little bit of pain.

"Now that all your problems are apparently solved, let me tell you why I'm here."

The Baron sputtered and aimed the gun again. The Asgardian woman stopped him with a firm hand on his wrist.

"That would be a waste," she said, "He is of the spirit world. No ordinary steel or lead can bring him down. Not with ease, at least."

"Yes, thank you," Pitch said and laced his fingers together, "I heard of your little expedition to Earth, lady Amora, and decided to investigate. Once I realised what you were going against I was immediately intrigued. This Baron here is leading the operation, right?"

The Baron nodded stiffly. His hood hid every expression but did nothing to hide his fears from Pitch.

"You are aware that a group called the Guardians were involved in taking down you assassin, aren't you?" Pitch asked.

The Baron glanced at Amora and then back at Pitch with evident suspicion.

"They told me that something was wrong with my agents' reports. Something about the supernatural."

"Spirits," Amora corrected, "The Guardians are beings that protect the children of the Earth, mostly."

"Yes, you told me as much."

"And they happen to be my enemies as well," Pitch said and idly flexed his fingers. Nightmare sand gathered around his fingertips, tingling with the promise of power. He still had quite a bit left, "You don't know anything about the Guardians, and the Asgardians' knowledge about them is limited at best."

"And you would give us information?" the Baron asked sceptically.

"I can do better," Pitch said and let the nightmare sand form into a small, twisted shadow creature, "I can give you an army against the Guardians."

"Why? What would you get out of it?"

"He needs protection," Amora said with narrowed eyes, "He puts on a brave front, but I can sense his weakness."

Pitch's smile shrunk a bit.

"You are right. I am still weakened by my previous encounters with the Guardians. But I am almost fully recovered and I'll just get stronger. My army of Fearlings is hiding, but it exists, waiting for my orders."

There were so many fears under the Baron's hood. Pitch felt stronger just by being in his presence. His post-traumatic stress was like a protein shake. He gathered his remaining power and summoned his last Nightmare. The Baron's eyes widened under the hood, not really out of fear this time. The man was impressed. Still suspicious, but impressed. Good. That was all Pitch needed at the moment.

"My power is sufficient to turn the battle in your favour," he said, "So far it hasn't gone according to plan, but there's still time."

Amora watched him with slight contempt, and Pitch glanced back at her. He took note of her fears and stored them in his mind for later. There wasn't too much to go on, but he could use it in an emergency. The Baron was the most promising, however.

"Well," he sighed theatrically, "If my offer doesn't interest you, then I suppose I'll just leave. Have fun facing a team of immortal spirits without me."

He turned to leave, but just as he had expected, the Baron stopped him.

"Wait," he said, his German accent coming through even thicker than before because of his uneasiness, "Let us talk."

Pitch grinned at the shadows and turned back around.

"Of course."


"So, is it great?" Tony asked from behind his computer.

Jack looked up from the snowflake he had let crystallize on his palm.

"What?"

"Immortality. You know, one of humanity's greatest wishes."

Jack snorted.

"You do know that if people became immortal, this planet wouldn't be able to handle it, right?"

"Well, yeah, among other problems. Still, doesn't stop us from dreaming. So, how is it?"

Jack let out a sigh.

"It's okay, I guess."

"Okay?" Tony repeated, "Human medicine has developed for centuries to help us live longer and all you can say about immortality is 'it's okay'?"

"Yep. Sorry to disappoint."

"Why do I even bother?"

Silence fell, and Jack hoped Tony was done with his questions. He didn't really feel like talking about outliving friends, loneliness, or seeing too much, or any of the other basic downsides of immortality. Tony studied his shoes with a frown that made him look like he wanted to spontaneously develop eye-lasers and burn his feet.

"You're dead, aren't you?" he finally said. It was only barely a question.

Jack pressed his mouth into a thin line. He should have seen this kind of conversation coming back when he had dropped the first hints of his fate. Tony Stark was a very smart guy, one who didn't just let things pass without analysing the hell out of them.

"Aren't you?" Tony asked again.

Jack formed another snowflake and let it fly. It tumbled away with the wind that had sneaked indoors with him.

"I don't know," he said at length, "I guess you'd have to be a bit less lively to be dead, don't you think?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Jack swallowed, trying to make his voice sound less thick, "You want to figure out how we're... made, right? Well, it's a bit different for everyone. In my case, it required dying."

Tony tried to go for the eye-lasers again.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"I'm fine now. I got ice powers out of it so it was a pretty sweet deal."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About my death? With you? Not really."

"Right."

The silence that followed was of the awkward kind again. Jack hated awkward silences.

"Why the sudden interest in death?" he asked.

"It's not sudden," Tony said, "I lived with shrapnel in my chest for years. I thought many times that I was going to die, and not just because I liked to fight bad guys."

"But you're shrapnel-free now."

"I know. And that's not even... I'm more worried about Pepper now."

"What's wrong with her?" Jack frowned, "Is she dying?"

"No. I don't think so."

Tony sighed.

"She was infected with this virus that made people regenerate from any injury. The downside was that it could also make them, well, explode. I stabilized her, and all the effects seem gone now, but... I honestly don't know if they really are."

"So you're afraid that she could become immortal because of that virus," it wasn't a question, "Yeah, I can see how that might worry you."

"You just said immortality is 'okay'," Tony remarked.

"Yeah, but it's maybe a bit different when you're not invisible to most people."

Tony glanced at him very apologetically. Luckily he seemed to understand at least some of the millions of implications his statement was hiding. Unfortunately it resulted in another uncomfortable silence. Jack was almost relieved when one of Tony's surveillance gadgets started flashing.

"I think that's for you," Jack said and pointed at the blinking light.

Tony was on his feet relatively quickly, given his still not one-hundred-percent condition. He leaned towards the screen and his forehead creased.

"Three guys. They're already on the second floor. How the hell did they get there? My security shouldn't be that crappy!"

Jack was immediately even more alert. He took a better hold of his staff and looked at the closed door that led to the rest of Tony's apartment.

"Don't worry," he said, "Your security is actually pretty impressive. This isn't just a normal break-in."

"Yeah, I know. I kind of might need a bit of assistance right now." Tony looked at Jack rather pointedly.

Jack took the hint. He could see a glance of what Tony's security cameras were showing. Security personnel was strewn all over the lower floors. The three intruders on Tony's screen had managed to take care most of them before the electronic defences were alerted. Weird, but then again, Jack could probably have pulled that off too with enough magical souvenirs from North. The largest of the men was punching remaining security guards left and right, with no worries about the bullets his armour took in the process.

"The defences aren't responding properly," Tony said, "Something's jamming them."

"Then I'll keep those three busy until you get the... stuff fixed," Jack said, swinging his staff on his shoulder.

Tony barely looked up.

"Stun them if you can. Fury probably wants to interrogate them."

Jack made a face at that, but didn't comment. Just because he didn't hold a grudge didn't mean he had forgotten Fury and his interrogations. Sure, it could have been a lot worse but then again, it could be a lot worse. He waved his hand at Tony and stepped outside into Tony's corridors. He dropped out of a window, down five floors, slipped back inside and then started looking. He knew they were coming up, probably using elevators. He closed his eyes and listened to the air. It was lazy and warm in the tower, but Jack could still hear the people in the rightmost elevator even through the white noise of warmth. Jack touched the elevator door with his staff, let ice spread over it and pictured the elevator cables freezing. He let the ice spread, and could almost hear the cursing a few floors below. He repeated the process to the rest of the elevators and smiled proudly at his handiwork. Sure, Tony would probably complain at the slight damage freezing the cables would cause, but it was a small price to pay for stopping a kind of odd break-in into his tower.

A loud thump made Jack whirl around. A man stepped into the room and Jack could recognise the man from the security cameras. He had been the one doing most of the floor wiping with the security guards just moments before. He was huge, with a bald head and the kind of grim face that was just begging for a hit with a happy snowball.

"Well, you were quick to get here," Jack said, even though it was very unlikely the man could see or hear him. The man's eyes narrowed and he stared right at Jack. Wait, what?

"Are you going to tell me you see me too?" Jack asked experimentally, "Well, in that case, back off! You're not supposed to break into this place. Or any place, for that matter."

The man marched towards Jack without saying a word. Jack aimed his staff just in case, but suddenly the man dashed, and boy, he was a good dasher. Jack barely had time to blink before he felt a huge hand gripping his collar and lifting him up from the floor like he weighed nothing – which, to be fair, was pretty close to what he weighed. The intruder's strength or speed wasn't really what shocked Jack, though. It was the fact that the man could actually see him.

"What the-?" Jack blurted out and gripped the man's forearm, sending ice crawling all over the man's skin. The man's eyes widened and then Jack was flying. He went over a desk and hit the wall with enough force to squeeze all the air our of his lungs. He dropped to the floor, desperately gasping for air. In a couple of heavy steps, the giant of an intruder was standing over him, and when Jack stopped seeing double, he started to notice a couple of odd things about the man. He had stripes on his scalp. Some kind of war paint, maybe. The armour he was wearing seemed rather old-fashioned, too.

"Jokul Frosti," the man grunted with clear disdain, "That explains the ice that trapped the two others into the lifting rooms. What are you doing here?"

Jokul Frosti?

Then it clicked. Jack hopped back to his feet, his staff protectively held in front of him. He eyed the strange man and tried to think if he remembered him. But no. Jack supposed he was more well-known to the people who called him Jokul than those people were to him. That was fame for you, or in this case, infamy.

"You're Asgardian," he said finally, "One of those trespassers."

The Asgardian's already very grumpy frown deepened further.

"You are in my way. I am here for Stark. Stay out of it."

Jack stepped between the man and the closest way upstairs.

"No," he said defiantly, "I'm here to make sure you don't get to him, you... whatever your name is."

He pointed his staff at the man's head, letting icy veins spiral around the ancient stick as a clear threat. It was like turning the safety off. It was also a challenge. One that a self-respecting Asgardian warrior would probably not ignore. He hoped. Tony would probably turn the building against the man at any moment, but until then it was up to Jack to keep him at bay.

The man pulled out a wicked-looking axe. Wicked in both meanings of the word.

"Then you may call me the Executioner, little spirit," he said, "My axe has claimed far better fighters than you."

Jack bent his knees and smiled widely. Mostly because he knew it would annoy his new foe.

"Bring it, big guy!"


Author's Note: Ha! Made it before December is over! I... am not entirely happy with this, but it's something. At least it's setting up things that will happen later so... yay?

So, the Executioner and the Enchantress are characters I researched just for this fic so if there's something wrong with them, please tell me. In fact, all of the major Marvel villains in this story are new to me...

Toothiana's power of sensing memories to some extent is mentioned in the books.

So, review if you like. I'd love to hear your thoughts, positive and negative about this.