The attack had come just after midnight.
In the wake of a clear, still day, the moon was a lopsided grin over a sprinkling of stars. Avenger's Tower stood a dark and jagged silhouette when, at almost precisely six o'clock, the bolt of lightning struck with a deafening clap. The next instant, black, billowing clouds appeared over the staggered peak, swallowing the moon and drenching the entire building in shadow. Home alone, deep within the bowels of their workshop, neither Tony nor Bruce noticed the stars going out above them.
Then the cloud began to simmer. Bubbling and churning, it grew thicker and thicker, hanging impossibly low and heavy, until, with a great heave, it burst into a thousand misshapen shreds that tore themselves free, to rain inky black upon the ground. Except it wasn't rain. It wasn't even hail. Whatever was falling was huge and… taking shape… growing limbs – arms and legs and claws – And as the cries of the observant finally rose above the shock, the monstrous creatures spread their wings and the air was filled with a harrowing, ear-piercing shriek. The embers of a thousand glowing red eyes set the sky ablaze.
Pedestrians fled for cover, slamming into buildings and over each other. Cars jammed the streets. A man standing still in the middle of the chaos, frozen in terror, suddenly screamed as a pair of grey, clawed hands tore through his back and into his chest. The scream ended abruptly as his lungs burst and, with a great beat of its wings, the creature dragged him into the sky. Even as it climbed, its bat-like face split in an ugly grin, then the creature opened its jaws and two yellow, needle pointed fangs sank into the man's neck. Blood spurted violently into the air, too fast for the beast to swallow, only to drip horrifically onto the crowds below. All around them, more people were being fished from the streets and hauled into the air.
It wasn't until one of the bodies was flung splat into the kitchen window that Bruce dropped his tea and Tony finally looked up.
From five, six, seven hundred feet, the creatures drank their fill and then simply dropped the empty wrapping onto the street. Bodies crashed onto cars or shattered on the pavement, turning instantly to jam and lasagne as they burst with what little blood and fluid remained. Then they would swan dive with a discordant elegance, fold their wings and hurtle down in a perfect, aerodynamic spiral to snatch their next victims. The streets were a warzone.
Only the whoosh made Bruce leap out of the way before the Mark I (Gen 2) shot around the corner.
"Wait, Tony…"
It was over Tony's shoulders in an instant, hugging shut around his chest. The arc reactor flickered alight.
"Keep your shirt on, Doc." A gauntleted hand thumped Bruce's shoulder. Then the faceplate snapped shut and Iron Man's robotic voice intoned through its metal grimace, "I've got this."
A window swung open aid of Jarvis, the repulsors roared, and then Tony shot off into the sky.
…Only to immediately pull up again.
"JARVIS? What's going on?"
All the flying gargoyles had disappeared. People were shooting up from the ground by themselves. Limp corpses were floating in the air, apparently unsupported, then dropping dead without warning.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Sir," and this, perhaps more than the invasion of disappearing human bats, sent Tony's blood thundering in his ears.
"Seriously, Jarv, this isn't – "
"Tony, below you!" Bruce screamed into his ear. "SHOOT!"
Tony looked down, saw nothing but air, and opened his palms. The repulsors whirred to power. There was a blood-curdling shriek from behind, and then the world was thrown sideways.
Rending metal rang in his ears. Claw marks screeched invisibly over his arm, then metal groaned and the plates split by themselves from a seam, curling back with a sputter of sparks. Pain lanced through his arm. The repulsor in his left hand flickered. His armour had seized up. Bruce and JARVIS were yelling all around him. He was falling… falling… falling…
"Breach –"
"Lift the –"
"– destabilising –"
"– can't see with –"
"– flight systems compromised –"
"FLIP. YOUR. GODDAMN–"
A shadow swept past him as he tumbled through the air, wrestling for control of his armour. When he turned to look, there were two steak knives flying directly at his face.
"JARVIS! Faceplate!"
The mask went up and the empty sky was replaced abruptly by a dripping, fang-filled, face-splitting leer through dead, grey skin and laughing red eyes… an instant before its neck burst. Thick, black blood hit Tony splat in the open eyes and mouth. Tony grabbed its face, blasted the smile through the back of its head, and watched its headless body disintegrating into dust as it fell. An engine whirred behind him – something shrieked – and then the remaining weight on his back fell away, leaving him to spring spinning into the air.
"Flight restored," JARVIS reported placidly. "And you have an incoming call, sir. Private number."
"Legolas!" Tony had to yell over the wind. Plus, he was still ineffectually wiping gunk out of his eyes with metal fingers. "Where are you, you sneaky son of a bitch?"
"Covering your shiny red ass, Stark," came the sardonic reply. Something pinged off the armour, and then three gargoyles on Tony's tail fell away with salad forks in their eyes, wings flailing as they disintegrated.
Tony had time to stare before he took off into an evasive helix, trailing pursuers around the Tower.
"What happened to the bow?"
"Stick to head shots. Decapitate or they won't stay down," Barton ordered, ignoring the question.
"What are they, video game zombies? And who made you the expert?"
"Just do it, Stark. Keep them busy. It'll be over in a few hours."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"
Coulson frowned down at the tablet in his hands, listening to the tiny screams breaking the sacred silence of the cockpit.
"It's trending. Hashtag S.O.S. New York."
May checked her instruments with a sweep of her gaze that meaningfully excluded her unnecessary co-pilot. Coulson snuck a glance, then sighed.
"I know… We have our mission." If cleaning up after Thor and the Tolkein/Lucas identity crisis could be considered a mission. Then he quirked a brief smile. "Skye threatened to take a parachute."
May spared him a sideways glare. The smile turned grim on his lips.
She was right. If it had been anywhere other than New York… but it wasn't just the city; the monsters seemed to be emanating from Avengers Tower itself, of all places… And between Stark's tech and Banner's mood, he couldn't afford to be within a hundred miles of the action. Until such time as Fury deemed fit to reveal otherwise, the coherence of the Avengers depended on his clear and present death.
"You're right," he said. "I should…" and pointed in the general direction of the briefing room – before Skye actually convinced Ward to go with her, or the glowing orb of hypothesis into which Fitz-Simmons had burst at the first mention of invisible flying vampires could burn a hole through walls.
The radio crackled as he stood.
"SHIELD 616. This is SHIELD 555 on your tail. We are clear to dock. Hold her steady and prepare to be boarded."
The very next second, the plane shook with a groaning clang from overhead. Coulson baulked. From May's expression, such as it was, she was just as surprised. But before either of them could respond, Coulson's phone rang. It was Maria Hill.
"This better be good," he intoned.
"Fury wants you in New York."
Okay… That was pretty good.
"Why?"
There was a terse silence on the other end. Worst-case scenarios raced through his mind. Banner had hulked out and murdered the entire city. Tony Stark was dead. The arc reactor had exploded, killing thous–
"Barton's in the wind."
Coulson gripped the phone hard enough to hurt his hand.
Barton had been under observation at the Sandbox ever since the Battle of New York. Psychological evaluation, the file had said, but Coulson knew it was more than that. He knew Fury. They weren't interested in Clint, they were interested in the sceptre. In Loki. And to the extent they did care about him, they were afraid. The Sandbox might have been conceived to foster SHIELD's greatest minds, but it was built to hold them. His escape was a terrible threat.
Maybe he was just as brilliant as Coulson had always known and just as allergic to medical attention as every SHIELD medic loathed… Or maybe…
His own saliva was thick and bitter in back of his throat when he cleared his throat, "Romanov–"
"Not available. And neither is Morse," Hill pre-empted impatiently.
"Coulson…" she continued, and he felt the dread creeping in with every cold syllable. "If he doesn't respond within forty-eight hours, our agents have authority to shoot on sight."
He was up the hatch and on the other plane before May could even formulate the question.
The new pilot leaned back with a crooked smile as they disengaged from the Bus. "Sorry about the surprise, sir. The orders were –"
Coulson buckled himself in.
"Shut up and fly the plane, agent."
Hulk joined the party once local SHIELD, police and military had cleared a three block radius around Avengers Tower. But even with all three of them, it didn't seem to matter how many creatures fell with cutlery in their necks or had their heads blasted clean off or even were torn limb from limb and then ground to a fine pulp along the asphalt… the sky never seemed to clear. The dead would burst with black blood and grey flesh before turning to dust that sifted through the fingers, but more and more fell from the storm cloud over the Tower. Even Selvig's equipment, reverse engineered and miniaturised onto drones, courtesy SHIELD, had no effect on the apparent portal.
Until, as Barton had predicted, just before the sun came up. As if a whistle had sounded, every single creature dropped its prey, abandoned chase, and streaked up to disappear into the storm cloud. From the edge of the Tower, Hulk reached into the swarm and caught one in a giant green fist. The enraged bat flapped its wings desperately while trying to scratch Bruce's eyes out. Hulk snarled, then tightened his fist until bones started cracking.
"Woah, woah! I need that!" Tony shouted as he dropped down. Hawkeye came in after, a little to quickly, and jumped off before the sky-cycle lost air completely and spun, skidding, into the ledge.
"Hulk smash," Hulk roared into the gargoyle's face.
Tony took off the goggles he'd resorted to so the wind didn't blind him, wiped off the spray, and continued, "And we love you for it. But I need that one to say alive. So we can run some tests and work out more efficient ways to smash them later, when they come back. And I promise more will come back… Okay? Can we… get it inside?"
"You can't take it inside!" Barton interjected.
"We'll be fine, Legolas, it's three to one, how much harm could he do?"
"I mean it, Stark, you can't let it in," he insisted, standing between them and the door.
"Move," said Hulk, brandishing his gargoyle like a weapon.
"Seriously, Barton, what's your problem?"
Clint glanced at the horizon. Dawn was already over the rooftops in the distance, giving the few wisps of cloud soft, pink underbellies and chasing away the stars.
"Look, it's... kinda weird, alright? Just… could you put it down, Hulk, before you squish it to death? It's like this…"
But as he spoke, golden light swept over them. As soon as the sunlight touched its skin, the creature screamed, beating its great wings, and burst into flame. Hulk growled in surprise and dropped it on the ground as the Avengers staggered back. In moments, it was engulfed in roaring blue flames, and with its last breath, the monster opened its terrible, fleshless jaws and shrieked.
"Trăiască… DraculaaAAAHHHH!"
There was a loud whoosh of flame, and then it disappeared as if nothing had happened. All that remained was a pile of ash.
After staring in astonishment, Tony was the first to recover. He immediately rounded on Barton.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "That was our only living sample. Now, we have nothing!"
"I was trying to save your goddamn life, Stark, don't thank me or anything," Clint snarled.
"I wasn't planning to. You were stalling, weren't you? You knew it was going to burn."
"...I suspected."
"Why?"
"Because that's what happens when vampires go out in the day! Fucking hell, don't you get HBO?"
A beat. "Vampires?"
"Or… whatever," Barton backtracked. "They drank blood and they had fangs. It wasn't that hard. And you heard what it said."
Tony glared at him askance. "Yeah… no. You know something. You knew before you got here. How?"
He threw up his arms in frustration. "The same way I knew about the silver and the head shots and that they'd run before the sun came up. And I got all that stuff right, so just fucking trust me, alright?"
Tony backed off slightly, considering. Then, lowering his voice, he asked, "Is it Loki? Is that how you–"
The point of a steak knife was an inch from his left eyeball before he could finish the word. Tony started to lift his hand, and the gap went down to half an inch. Behind him, Hulk stomped forward with a terrifying snarl, but Clint didn't even twitch.
"Easy…!" Tony held up a hand behind him while the rest of him remained very, very still. In the back of his mind, he was doing the sums: the faceplate would take almost an entire second to lower, in which time Barton would shove the knife in, then the mask would knock the blade down, levering it up inside his skull, and then – "Easy, buddy… I'm okay… We're okay. No smashing needed."
Hulk huffed, unconvinced.
"…Are we okay, Barton? Because I don't mean to brag, but snow pea back there, he's getting kind of attached to me, so if you poke my eye out, he might not take it very well… I'm just saying…"
Clint glared the skin off his flesh, knuckles white around the handle. But the knife stayed still. Then, after countless thundering heartbeats that Tony could feel echoing off the inside of the armour, he pulled back. The knife fell with a clang. He was breathing hard.
The armour whirred in relief as Tony relaxed. Hulk held out a single finger to push him upright when he threatened to topple backwards. Tony slapped him on the arm.
"See, jelly bean? I told you. 'S'all good."
Then, once the armour had peeled itself off and flown home, he sat down next to Hulk's green feet and patted the ground beside him, grinning. After a considering glare, Hulk grunted, swayed, and then shrank, joints popping, bones groaning, back into Bruce. The storm cloud over Stark Tower had cleared as immaculately as it appeared, and now the sunlight cut blindingly across their eyes, throwing long shadows. Clint stood frowning at the small mound of dust as it dissipated slowly on the wind.
"I knew a guy," he said, at last, meeting Tony's eyes. "That's all. It wasn't…"
Tony nodded. "Fair enough."
"So… Dracula, huhn?" Bruce sighed, holding his ripped jeans and pulling his knees to his chest. "Better or worse than aliens, do you think?"
Stretching out flat on his back, Tony crossed his ankles over Bruce's knees like the world's leading expert on gamma radiation was an ottoman. Surprisingly, after one non-committal wiggle, the world's leading expert on gamma radiation leaned back and then didn't seem to mind.
"New Mexico, New York, and now New York again," Tony counted off on his fingers. "Ten bucks says Jersey's next." He flapped a hand in Barton's general direction when the archer started walking back to his sky-cycle. "Leave it. It's not like anyone's gonna steal it from up here. D'you disable the tracking?"
Clint turned around with his eyebrows raised.
"Eh?"
Exchanging a sceptical look with his footrest, Tony propped himself up on his elbows – regretted immediately when hard concrete met bony joint, and pushed onto his palms instead.
"The logo's been painted over. It was obviously hotwired. And whatever you did to kill the remote control's ruined your braking," he explained. "You stole it."
"Actually–"
"Which means, you're on the run," he continued merrily through the interruption. "Which means, you should let me have a look at it before Fury's eye patch falls out of the sky and smites us all." Then he collapsed onto his back again and threw an arm over his eyes. "Meantime, you can have a look at your floor. I need your input on the colour scheme."
Clint stared.
"… My what?"
Bruce swatted Tony's shoe that was bobbing restlessly right in his eye line.
"I told you it wasn't normal," he said, before breaking off into a wide yawn.
"Who wants to be normal?" Tony retorted. Then he got to his feet and dragged Bruce up with him. "I need a drink. And a shower. Coming, Katniss?"
Clint watched Stark and Banner's retreating backs with a touch of incredulity as they went casually inside on the assumption he would follow. On the assumption he wouldn't gut them when they weren't looking, despite the stupid shit he'd just pulled.
"Yeah, sure," he replied belatedly. "I just… need to make a call, first."