Slightly unsure about this- though I did have a whole lotta fun writing it. I sort of ended up expanding on Tony and Thor's relationship, because I think it's totally awesome. What do you guys think? Review, kudos, PM, comment- Fury is next. Do you want Coulson's POV too?

Thor almost hadn't found out at all.

He had been planning on his return to Asgard. To his home, the home he had missed ever so much- the home which continued to beckon him back with its own version of open arms; offering warmth and gratitude and love. But despite the fact that the entire New York compromise which resulted in his brother's capture and punishment, as well as the saving of oh so many lives, he had yet to experience the excitement and the vigour he would have usually felt in an instance such as this. Of course he had felt the fulfilling emotion of happiness and relief, but regardless of his thankfulness and his missing home, he still found that he did not want to leave. He did not want to leave the planet in which so many families and friends had lived, where no-one was forced to endure the worry and fear of such looming dangers, where humans lived their daily lives with their daily problems of pesky neighbours and ghastly school grades. They were not, well- most of them, burdened with such majestically horrifying responsibilities, they were not cursed with 'supernatural' powers and abilities and the distinguishing the concepts in which their utilisation was required, and in other times when it was not.

And yet, he found his mind wandering and racing once again- he found that the returned serenity and peace of earth was not why he did not wish to return to his home planet.

No, rather, he had realised he would miss something else, something that even to him seemed far more precious to him. It was something he had realised he truly and undeniably cherished and cared for- regardless of the estranged entirety of the notion itself. Yes, once he had thought about it, he had discovered something that was beyond treasurable. It was something he understood; humans, those wonderfully developing and tranquil beings, had given him something more than an adventure and responsibility to save them. They had given him a family.

They had given him a family by the name of the Avengers.

It was a strange compromise that he had yet to fully understand. It perplexed him and had him considering why he felt so glad and content in the presence of his other teammates. He thought he had felt all he could with his family in Asgard and that the whole notion related to obligation and restraint.

But what he had unearthed here- on earth, with four other so, so very different people- well it was something he knew he was going to miss.

So when Director Fury stood before him, his voice thick and heavy and laced with a grim tone of shadowy ominousness, and told him that one of his friends, part of his family, was most likely dead, Thor felt something he hadn't in a long time.

It had begun with something peculiar stirring in the pit of his stomach- something that weighed him down like sharp, jagged rocks sinking into his gut and forming a profound, intense pain cutting him and stabbing him and slashing him in places he didn't even realised existed. It hurt, it physically hurt him, when the agony began to inch and slither across his chest, snaking itself into his heart- replacing its tight and rough presence with a burning sensation that left him gasping silently because he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

The pain began as a simple bruise would. For a short few moments in between the minimal amount of time in which his ears registered the foreboding words and the seconds which followed, there had been nothing. Not even a sharp biting sting. Just like the nothingness of a blank canvas, Thor felt empty.

Empty.

So very, very empty.

That didn't last very long, however. No sooner than blank lines of his page found themselves forming into a bank of invisibility and seeming indifference, he caught his own movement of averted eyes. It seemed to him in those precious moments that he was not himself, that his movements were not his own. As if his actions were an echo, he didn't feel anything.

His bright, once energetically shining and blissfully toned orbs darkened, shadowed by a looming, imminently intimidating silhouette of opaque obscurity. It shifted the colours and shades in his eyes and produced- from something once so ridiculously and energetically fond and happy- something so abysmal and inauspicious.

Everything occurred to its own accord. Fury had stood before him still, standing at a height of a majestically commanding presence- and yet… and yet the slight manner in which his shoulders slumped, the action of his lips pressing together hard enough to blossom pain, the way in which his hands remained by his sides- long fingers mimicking one another's actions in clenching and unclenching so hard he left his palms pressed into the sides of his lengthy leather coat.

It told him that he wasn't alright either.

And maybe that was how it begun. The glide of unpleasantness which had transformed into a continuous ache, an ache that- unlike a bruise, didn't seem to fade, and pained him regardless of whether he treaded among its territory or not.

It had taken its time, yet the implantation of an emotion so strong seemed ludicrously sudden and immediate.

He tilted his head to the side, and was so glad that the golden locks of his hair adapted easily enough to shield his gaze from view.

Nothing else could be hidden though. The tremors causing his fingers to shake and the deep pounding of his heart in his torso both had him inhaling and exhaling breaths between lips that didn't want to obey.

Tony Stark was dead. Or he most likely was. He… there wasn't much hope.

There wasn't much hope at all.

And Thor, well Thor thought that this was ridiculous. He realised that this was incredibly preposterous. Tony Stark gave hope. Tony Stark was the face of hope for America and the world. Tony Stark was valiant and courageous and he was hope.

If Thor had to describe Tony in one word, it would be hope itself. Because really, that was what he was. He was hope. Hope that bravery and valour still existed and thrived. Hope that there was more to a story than its title. Hope that the world could be saved.

Tony Stark was hope.

And honestly, the demi-god wasn't aware of when he had become so attached to the genius. When he had flown into space and was willing to sacrifice himself to save the lives of thousands? When he had spoken to Thor and shook his hand and offered him somewhere to stay, when he had offered him friendship? When he had downright demanded that Fury and SHIELD not dare exploit Thor or his home because of the mistake Loki had made?

When he had become family?

And as Thor stood there, frigid and still, heart heavy and loud- thumping in a beat and echoing in the soundwaves flowing- he finally understood something.

Tony was strong and daring and a hero. Tony was loyal and chivalrous and noble. Tony was something so many could never even dream to be. Tony had one thing that outdone and outshone the most prevailing powers and fundamental of authorities. Tony had a strength, a strength so powerful and incredible, a strength which dominated any physical ability or mental equation.

Tony had hope, and he allowed it to consume him. Maybe he hadn't realised it, but Thor knew that it had always been there. Tony had hope and it had become him.

And right now, it was something that Tony required. If the hope inside him wasn't enough, the one that would be given to him had to be. Tony Stark wasn't dead.

It was something everyone needed- something everyone had so desperately craved. It would be the light at the end of the tunnel, the epilogue at the end of the book. It would be what brought Tony back- because he wasn't really gone. They would find him. Their hope would find him

He needed it, the Avengers needed it, Fury and SHIELD needed it, America needed it.

The world needed it.

The world needed hope.

So the world needed him.

The world needed Tony Stark.