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It was all Cap's fault.
No really, says so right on the incident report and everything...because him and Coulson were busy babysitting the perp while the rest of us were stuck doing the incident report, so they couldn't make us change it. And yeah, in the interest of fairness, nobody actually knows exactly how that unlabeled five gallon jug of clear liquor wound up in the bar in the team lounge, and it's possible that mixing it with Strawberry Quik and Red Bull might not have been the very best idea anybody ever had, but in our defense, it was a Thursday night, we'd just kicked Von Doom's ass three days before, and we were all grounded to the Tower until Thor's GQ photo spread blew over and the Avengers could be seen in public without causing a paparazzi riot. In other words, bored as hell.
And THAT's why game of team shots-pong seemed like a plausible win at the time. I mean, we had Stark's ironclad liver, Thor's alien mojo, Banner's chemistry degree, AND Natasha In-Russia-Vodka-Drinks-You Romanov on our side, all against one little Super Soldier metabolism -- what could possibly go wrong, right?
Yeah, you all laugh now, but take a page from Hawkeye's book of Bad Ideas, and never ever forget these six little words: Don't Take Dares From Captain America. Ever.
What? Okay, fine, seven words, smartass. But let's see YOU try conjugating after six shots of Strawberry Feels Forever!
Hey, Stark mixed the poison, he got to name it. Don't blame me for that one, just be glad you've never had to throw it up.
So anyway. This is all just to set the scene, so you can appreciate the heroism to follow. It's bright and early, eight fifteen on a sparkling Friday morning when the call comes in to assemble. That's right, assemble. It's about five hours after the last member of team Not-Rogers passed out blind drunk, and to add insult to injury, we've all got pagers and Captain America going off in our ears saying it's time to get up and fight Evil.
Seems some crackpot's got a hostage situation going on at the UN Building, the police and SWAT can't get near him, and apparently the Fantastic Four and the X-Men aren't answering their pagers on this one. So it's on... us. Earth's Mightiest Heroes, our sunglasses, and Advil.
Yee fuckin' haw.
Good thing I can fly the Quinjet concussed and halfway to bled-out, is all I'm sayin', because Coulson's perky-ass voice over the headset as he gave us the sitrep would have resulted in a messy midtown light-aircraft wreck otherwise. Yeah, I said perky. Apparently he can do that when he's feeling sadistic enough. I know. Terrifying, right?
But wait, it gets even better. So it seems this kid wandered into the UN Building with some kind of a weapon, and started some weirdness with Security when they tried to stop him from getting onto the restricted levels. That's when the kid -- and I do mean kid here, we're talking fifteen years old, tops, -- hands the entire onsite security force their asses, and chases them out of the building.
So by the time we get there, they've got the place on lockdown, half their grunts either out cold without a mark on them, tripping balls and rocking back and forth, or freaked right the fuck out over terrorist mutants and ready to storm the place with tanks. They've got no fucking clue how many people are still inside, what kind of condition they're in, or what kind of capabilities the kid has, and all we can get any of them to say is that it's some kind of stick, and he somehow got all of their weapons away from them. Like, all of them.
SHIELD passive scan intel concurs with Jarvis that whatever the kid's weapon was, it threw off the same kind of gamma pattern as the Chitauri blasters we spent the last year tracking down. Security footage of the kid gives us this skinny little fuck in a green and black robe, and he's even got the long, greasy emo-hair going on, so you can see why we were thinking 'Fucking hell, it's Loki and he's got another glowstick of destiny'. Turns out, we weren't actually that fucking lucky.
So I put the Quinjet on the roof, figuring it might be a good idea to keep our wheels close by on this one. Shut up, at least up there nobody would throw a car at it! I mean not like Banner meant to that one time or anything, but could you seriously see the Avengers taking the subway home on top of everything else? Seriously?
Anyway. I go up the radio antenna like a good little sniper, and patch into the security feeds so I can tell the rest of the team where the hostages are hiding, and try to get eyes on our Loki-lite. First thing I notice is that the hostages? Are fine. Like totally fine, give or take the blaring alarms, locked doors, emergency lighting, and cops aiming rifles at every fucking door and window, that is.
Nobody's got so much as a bloody nose and the only people who look like they're gonna shoot at them are the cops outside. So that's where Cap goes, of course, and thank God for that cause the rest of us are too still fucking hung over to deal with the sheeple. Ass-kicking and cursing our fate is just about all we're good for at this point, and our Glorious Leader, he's smart enough to back off and leave us to it.
Stark finds our boy first. He's got himself down into the Assembly floor and is using his mini-staff to tear the fuck out of the UK envoy's desks. Kid is making such a racket he doesn't even hear Iron Man rolling up on him till he's got a repulsor in the face. Only before Stark can even get his trademark smartass on, the kid's waving that stick in his face and shouting something in Pig-Latin. Then we get a flash of light on the cameras, and me, I'm thinkin 'oh fuck, Iron Man's gonna flip, and I'm gonna have to put an arrow in his eye to save the universe from Darth fucking Stark goddammit.'
Only instead of realizing the power of the Dark Side, our boy starts... dancing.
I shit you not, actual dancing. Like Riverdance went on a date with the Harlem Shake, only the Macarena mugged them in an alley, and the Achey Breakey stole their car keys. Seriously, we're talking Youtube goldmine here, except for how Stark is cussing like Sitwell after the Superbowl, and shouting to Jarvis to lock the suit's mobile functions and repulsor capabilities right-fucking-now goddammit.
Meanwhile our bunny's figured out that Iron Man probably didn't come alone and he is hauling some hardcore ass. Luckily, he gets a look down into the atrium and spots Cap riding herd on the hostages. He doesn't like his odds against the Super Soldier, so he chooses to go up, which was kind of our plan all along, hence sniper on roof with silent ranged weapons. So Cap sends Thor to watch the south roof access, and Banner to the assembly room to get Stark out of his electric boogie-suit, while I Godmod Natasha into intercept position on our perp.
And it's beautiful, I tell you: modernist architects must take design kickbacks from assassins, because all those exposed I beams and random, useless ceiling niches make the best hunting blinds known to man. Kid's looking over his shoulder every three steps, but never even looks up at all. One minute he's busting out of the stairway door hunting for the roof access and the next he's got a buck fifteen of redheaded Russian all up in his grill.
Boom. Ass over teakettle, and if she'd kicked him any harder, he'd have gone right over that open rail and down some thirty floors, too. Now, this kid looks like he's never had a smack in the mouth in his whole skinny life. Never even imagined taking a punch from anybody, let alone a girl, and his whole world is suddenly a lot bigger and more awful for it. Seriously, he's backed against that glass rail with one hand over his brand new shiner, and looking like he can't decide whether to piss himself or cry as Nat does that stare-her-prey-down-while-stalking-them thing of hers.
I'm looking for a way to patch into the building's emergency intercom, so I can suggest he try throwing himself at her feet and begging for mercy, when I notice he's got that stick in his hand again, so I call it over the com, though the kid telegraphs it so hard she could have dodged the sparkly blue light in her sleep. But dodge it she does, and the light does fuckall when it hits the wall behind her too.
So then it is ON. I tell you my brothers and sisters, it was like the very best kind of fightporn you can imagine -- the kid had his laser pointer and his Pig Latin going pew pew as fast as he can, and he still can't draw a bead on her. Hollywood couldn't do it better with a million dollar budget. I only wished I had it in IMAX, instead of grainy security camera footage over my Starkphone. Gorgeous, I tell you.
Only remember how our Black Widow was comatose on caffeine, sugar and nameless grain alcohol six hours ago? Yyyeah. In her defense, I am absolutely sure that she'd have collared the brat in under a minute and broken his goddamned emo-stick off in his ass on any other day, but the truth is the kid just got lucky.
Nat zigged when she should have zagged, and next thing I know, she's upside down facing the wall ten feet off the floor and hanging from nothing. Like seriously, nothing's holding her up, so there's nothing she can get out of -- no knots to slip, no line to cut, no cuffs to pick, not a goddamned thing she can do but cuss like a Cossack, twist around against herself, and try to fire stinger bolts at the kid. Only the mini glowstick's got some kind of energy shielding bullshit going on, because the bolts aren't even hitting him.
So I'm calling out the blow by blow to the team over the comm while Jarvis is looking for the God Mic access so I can try a little psych warfare on our Boy. Banner's arguing with Stark over which screwdriver he used on the gauntlets, and Cap is arguing with the SWAT squad leader, who wants to take off and nuke the site from orbit, because it's the only way to be sure. Over Nat's comm, I can make out the kid babbling about how he doesn't have any quarrel with her, and she shouldn't make him hurt her. Which is funny, because I can see him also trying to slip past her to get at the stairs to the roof's northern access, but the ceiling's only so high, and Nat's so mad she's gone scary-quiet. He can't make himself get within six feet of her, which proves he's not a complete moron, at least.
Now me, I know that a silent Widow means that the kid's as good as dead if he gets anywhere near her, but I got Banner and Stark coming up fast in the elevator, and Cap's got Agent Hill on the phone, and she's ripping the SWAT dude a new one, so he's heading inside, and that means we're pretty damn close to endgame, right?
So when Thor comes flying up outside those great big glass windows, I figure he's not actually gonna make things worse. Hell, he's one of the big guns, you know? One of the ones that even the Big Bads know better than to lip off to without some serious firepower on their sides. And he takes prisoners too -- it's totally an Asgardian thing, apparently. So me, I figure once the kid spots the God of Thunder on his six, it'll be all over bar the hysterical pleading, and then we can all go home and enjoy the consequences of our bad ideas.
Okay, so here's the thing though: I know most of you have seen Thor drunk before. Memorial day SHIELD picnic stands out particularly, am I right? Yeah, fun times. Dude's like a one man frat house, and the happiest drunk you'd ever wanna meet, till you meet him the day after, when even his eyelashes hurt. Then he's fucking terrifying.
Now multiply that by a factor of crashing through the glass wall like a hurricane, crackling with enough electricity to light up Tokyo, and bellowing "WHERE IS MY BROTHER, MIDGARDIAN?" And what, you might ask, do you get when you put the God of Thunder up against a skinny kid with wet pants a pointed stick?
Well, I gotta admit my answer is total hearsay, because when this actually went down, I was hungover as hell, cursing my life, and trying to yank the comm full of hey-Thor's-voice-goes-to-eleven-and-also-thunderclap-dammit agony out of my goddamned head, so I kinda missed what happened next. However, according to Jarvis, you get an indoor lightning strike, a teenager shrieking "POTATO!", and an Avenger going ass over tits BACK out the window, and into the Queens river when the pointy stick busts out some weird kinda 'no, YOU are' action on him.
Yeah, I don't know either. I guess Thor can dish out a hammering, but he's not so flexible about taking it, if you know what I mean. Aaand this is the part where we all promise never to tell him I said that. And remember, I know where the surveillance photos on all you losers are kept, and I am so not above showing them to your moms. Lewis, I'm talking to you, and yeah, I so would dare.
So anyhow. All that electricity bouncing around the atrium shorts out the cameras for like ten floors, and with Stark's suit in lockdown, not even Jarvis can give me eyes on the greasy little idiot. So the next time I get my squinty, bloodshot eyes onto the perp, he's busting out onto the roof with, I kid you not, a janitors dust-shover in one hand, and his little laser pointer in the other. Only he's got nowhere to go from there. No way down and no rescue inbound from anywhere I can see. So I take my time lining up the shot, figuring I'm nowhere near hungover enough to miss at this range while he's busy yelling at the push broom, so I might as well make it pretty.
And oh, was it ever pretty. Standard hunting flatheads, two up on the string, and I caught him right through his flappy sleeves and pinned him to the brick wall so tight he might as well have been in cuffs. I'm lining up for the coup-de-grace, and deciding whether I'm gonna put it through his inseam or part his hair with it when who should come bumbling straight into my shot in but Tweedle-Stark and Tweedle-Banner. Panting like nerds in Phys Ed class, neither one of them suited up for shit, though at least Stark's got the damned gloves on. Oh, and also, they're fucking arguing about physics while they stand there and block my range!
So I get back on the com and politely suggest to them that they might not be in the best possible location, and also that their parents might have been less than committed to each other at the time of their conception. But do you think either one of the geniuses gets the point and fucking moves out of my shot so I can actually disarm the kid?
Well, you'd be wrong. Stark just gets down into the kid's face and says some shit like "This is a Scientist's Arrest, kid. You are hereby charged with a flagrant breach of the Laws of Thermodynamics!"
I know. Fuckin' Stark, right?
And I'll give the kid this; he had balls of titanium under those stupid skinny jeans. Because most bad guys give up when faced with Iron Man's 'talk to the repulsor' pose, but this kid, who looks like he's about to fucking throw up in terror, still gets his little stick going, and then?
Bam. Canaries.
Yes, seriously. Hundreds and hundreds of angry yellow birds come flying out of the stick, straight into Stark's face like he's a castle full of pigs or something. And I know what you're thinking, but it fucking works. Tony Stark goes from billionaire superhero celebrity CEO to ten year old kid with a spider in his shirt in two point four seconds, complete with the flailing, screaming, and running in circles, and with the added benefit of random, panicked repulsor blasts and yellow feathers everywhere.
Which leaves Banner in the line of fire, of course. And me, I'm scrambling to switch out from the flathead to the tranq arrow, because I do NOT want to have to explain to Our Illustrious Leader how I let the Hulk destroy the new UN Building with a teenager's mangled corpse. But before Bruce gets even so much as a harsh word out, the kid's got the stick going again, and there's a flash of light bigger than all the others...
And that's how Dr. Bruce Banner, bio-engineer, nuclear physicist, and all around nice guy, got briefly turned into an adorable little brown ferret. I say briefly in reference to the 'little' and 'brown' qualifiers, by the way, because apparently getting turned into a ferret makes the good Doctor... angry or something. So about this time, I start looking for the fucking cameras, because this shit can NOT be actually happening, right? Somewhere, somebody's cutting all this goddamned footage together and setting it to a laugh track.
Luckily for the kid, his robes were made of cheap, shitty cotton, so when he realizes that he's about to get a fuckin pony sized green weasel all up in his face, he manages to rip free and run for the stairs. Only when he throws the door open and tries to run through it, he winds up bouncing face-first off Cap's shield.
By the time he poor bastard skids to a stop, he's got a bloody nose, gravel burn all down the left side, his skinny jeans have ripped out in three places, and he's about three feet from the edge of the damned roof, with Ferret-Hulk bounding after him like he's a crunchy weasel treat. Kid's spitting teeth, screaming for him to stay back he really means it. Only now the stick isn't doing diddly to the Ferret-Hulk but making him even madder. Stark's flailing dangerously near the edge of the roof, he's nearly taken out my nest with repulsor blasts like three times, and I'm thinking I might have to tranq gas the whole fuckin mess and just hope for the best.
And you know, I can honestly say that hung over or not, I have never been so glad to hear that Captain America Voice of Command in my whole life. Seriously.
So out he comes, all chin and common sense, like, "Son, stop it. You're only making things worse," and "Iron Man! Stand still and cover your darn face!" and "Hulk! Hulk! Look at me. Over here. Tony needs you. Go help him!" And don't fucking ask me how he does it, but Cap takes the whole farce from Yakkity Sax to let's-talk-about-your-life-choices in under a minute. I mean sure, the kid had to try his luck, but his flashy-light-of-bullshit just slid right off the shield, and the next thing the poor idiot knows, he's crumbling under Cap's 'I am so disappointed in you' face.
Oh sure, laugh. Not like any of you losers would last three seconds under that face. Not even the Director can withstand it. It's like the tactical nuke of guilt trips, and I am not even exaggerating here. Yeah, see? Carter knows what I'm talking about.
So we get a couple of half-assed light flashes out of the kid, and Cap just walking across the roof without a flinch, going, "Stop it now, son, before you do something unforgivable."
And just like that, the kid starts talking. Okay, well ranting is probably more accurate, but it's in English, with recognizable nouns and verbs and punctuation and everything. Mostly. He's all, "No, I didn't cast any! You can't send me to Mazatlan! I just want my letter! I never got my letter, and I'm just as powerful as any pureblood! I deserve to go to Hogwarts!"
Yeah, I know. It's fucking obvious NOW, but you assholes aren't hung over and in imminent danger of getting attacked with livestock, ok? Also, you're nerds who read kids books and pretend that's not slightly creepy, so I'm totally not giving any points on this to anybody who is not actually Captain America. 'Cause that asshole fucking got it right off, even with Stark and Ferret-Hulk playing whack-a-bird thirty feet away.
He's all like, "Let me see if I understand you, son. You're here trying to blow up the UN building because you didn't get your Hogwarts letter?"
And the kid's all, "No! I was just looking for the Ministry entrance! I know it's here somewhere!"
And God bless his heart, Steve actually offers the kid a hand up, saying, "No, the Department of Magic HQ is down in DC, not here. But I'm confused about why you think you should have got an invitation to attend Hogwarts."
This backfires a bit, and our boy throws a hissy, bouncing up to his feet and waving his magic wand in Cap's face, screaming about how it's "BECAUSE I AM A WIZARD, YOU MUGGLE!"
And Cap, he just stands there with that 'I think I missed something' look he puts on when he's bluffing your shorts off and about to clean you out at poker, and goes, "Well I can see that, son, but you're also from New Jersey, aren't you? Hogwarts is in Scotland."
So the kid puffs up like he can't figure out whether to keep ranting, or start crying, but who should step out of the shadows then, but our very own stealth-awesome, three time winner of SHIELD's Best Dressed Ninja Badass award, Agent Phil Fucking Coulson, who I swear wasn't even in the goddamned building two minutes ago. But he's there now, backing Cap's bullshit play with the straightest face you've ever seen.
"He's right, Mr. Jones. Britain has been closed to Magical Exchange Study since that Dark Lord business in 80s. The State Department doesn't approve study Visas in war zones, I'm afraid, especially not for Magicians." And then he does that hand thing when the kid opens his mouth and keeps right on shoveling it. "I know you probably prefer the term Wizard, but the Department of American Magical Education employs the unisex term in the interest of its female students. You have to admit, the term 'witch' has a bit of ugly history here in the US."
Oh yeah. He totally went there. But Jonesey also totally bought it. "You know my name? How do you know my name?"
And Coulson just shrugs, and goes, "Magic, Mr. Jones."
I know, right? I couldn't make this shit up!
So I start climbing down at this point, cause I figure Cap and Coulson have it in the bag of holding, so I might as well help Stark out with his little angry birds problem, and see if Nat's still stuck upside down. And by the time my boots hit the tar paper, they've got this kid convinced that Coulson's a goddamned Placement and Evaluation Officer, and saying they'll get him tested for admissions just as soon as he cleans up his fuckery and surrenders his wand.
Now the kid, he's crazy, but he's not totally stupid, so he gets suspicious all over again. He's too far away for Coulson or Cap to grab, but it's still totally possible he could get over the edge of the roof and, I don't know, maybe turn himself into a fucking butterfly or something. So I get out a net arrow, and figure I can at least tether the little bastard down while they talk sense into him. Only Coulson just gets out his phone and says "If you like, I can have you talk to the Director himself."
And then he starts dialing. And I can see just enough of Cap's face that he's thinking the same thing I'm thinking – Fury's just gonna love this shit. But when the call goes through, who the fuck should pop up on the holo-projection but Doc Fucking Strange? That's right, because our boy Coulson apparently has the Sorcerer Supreme on fucking speed dial!
So Coulson starts the bullshit right off. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Director Strange, but I've got a situation here with a home-schooler who needs emergency placement in the Para-Schooling system. I think we're going to need to find him a mentor to get him up to speed, because he seems to have a little bit of training in the British system, but he's really badly wand-dependent."
Kid looks like he's gonna cry. Seriously. Wibbling bottom lip and everything, but he still isn't putting the wand away. Not even when Strange gives him the once-over and does that thing with the eyebrow. "I see. An affiliation for... Slytherin, isn't it?" Which has the kid nodding like a bobble doll. "Well, perhaps we can arrange some remedial study. Now tell me, who was your tutor?"
Which is how we find out that this special little snowflake met Some Guy in Grand Central Station last year, and bought a used wand off him. Like for realz. Said he knew it was legit because the dude was wearing wizard robes, and nobody else acted like they could see him. Yuh huh. Cause it's not like New Yorkers ignore like six impossible things before breakfast on any given day or anything.
So he buys the wand, but he doesn't need any training, because he's always known he was a wizard I mean a magician, and it works for him right away because he knows all the spells already, and it was just a matter of figuring out the wand motions, but he's a natural with it...
And that's when Cap gets that tactical genius look on his face and asks the kid exactly when he met the dude. Was it before the aliens came, and was the guy really tall, British accent, long, dark hair, and oh by the way, was he wearing green and black and gold too? Jarvis slaps up a little projection for educational purposes, and sure enough, the kid takes one look at Loki and goes, "Yeah, that's him!"
I tell you I'da shot him just for being stupid, only Cap was in the way.
"I was afraid of that," he says. "Son, that man is a fugitive Death Eater. He's responsible for more deaths and disappearances than I can count right now. That wand he gave you could have been used in all of them."
Strange is right on it. "It's true, David. I'm afraid this puts you rather deeper in trouble than you realize. You've not only broken the secrecy statutes and put hundreds of muggles in danger, but you're in possession of what could very well be a murder weapon."
And the kid, he's crying now. "But I didn't know, and it's not my fault, I just want to learn magic! I didn't hurt anybody!"
Cue Stark, who's finally blasted down the last bird and rubbed Ferret-Hulk's belly till he turned back into little brown Ferret-Banner again. He comes limping up, objecting that HE'S fucking hurt thank you very much, because canaries are apparently pointier than you'd think. Coulson just gives Stark that 'shut up before I feed you your liver' smile of his and for once it actually works.
Now I know most of you have seen Doc Strange's pictures, at very least, so you'll know what a brain fuck it was when he takes that Italian Opera Villain face of his, smiles with it, and suddenly turns into everybody's favorite uncle. He's like, "I know David, I know. I understand how these things can get away from you. But for right now, I must insist you relinquish the wand to Captain Rogers, and let Agent Coulson bring you to Headquarters so we can discuss what needs to happen next."
And just like that, we have a voluntary surrender. Kid can't hand the pointy stick over to Cap quick enough, and Cap, he's just patting him on the shoulder and giving him a hanky.
Which is all well and good, only Nat's still downstairs (probably still upside down) Stark's armor is still down in the Assembly room dancing with itself, Thor's still AWOL, and the team is up by one ferret, who's cute when he's wrapped around Stark's neck and all, but nowhere near as useful as Dr. Banner. So I make the entirely reasonable suggestion that him who made the mess really ought to be the one to clean it up, cause I sure as fuck don't want to take a chance on handling ANYTHING Loki ever touched, thanks.
I know, I know. I shoulda known better, I guess. But then again, I did hand Doc Strange the perfect chance to Seal The Deal, didn't I? Because he just gives me The Look, and says, "I'll handle that, thanks." And then he does that little thing he does, casts back-like-you-were-io, and wham bam the deal is done. Stark goes down under a pile of Banner, Coulson and Cap lead the kid to the Quinjet, and I head down to distract Natasha before she can get to the roof with a gun and end the little pimple for all time.
Which is why I do not actually KNOW exactly how it was that Stark convinced Captain 'I Usually Have Such Good Ideas' to turn the wand over to him. Hell, for all I know, Stark just pickpocketed him or something, cause if you've ever caught a rearview of Cap's shiny blue hiney, you'll know there's not much room in those drawers for extra cargo.
All I know is, by the time I've got Natasha talked down out of Berserker mode and we get up to the roof, Banner's naked, human, and picking feathers out of his teeth, and Tony Stark is, I shit you not, playing with the goddamned wand. Like actually playing with it: going 'pew pew' and shooting leaves and feathers and crap across the roof. Turns out it answers to basic verbal commands, not just lame ass made up spells in fake Latin – 'cause what could POSSIBLY go wrong with that, right?
So Tasha marches up to Stark and tells him to hand it over, cause it's not a toy.
And he's all like "No, it's a flagrant violation of the laws of physics, is what it is!"
And she answers, "Well so's the Hulk, and apparently you can't be trusted with either, so give it up before I hurt you and make you like it!" Ok, so I'm paraphrasing just a little. Intent translates, people!
Anyhow, Stark's sense of self preservation almost steps in there, but it gets lost on the way or something. He says, "Hell no, I've been waiting all year for the chance to make Magic my Bitch, and I'm gonna beat this thing with math and physics till it makes some sense."
"Oh, because of course you can be trusted to behave responsibly with a magic wish-granting stick that was made by the God of Mischief," Nat says.
And Stark goes, "I already have a magic wish-granting object; it's called a checkbook!" But he's backing up by then, because even he can tell that Natasha's on her very last nerve, and he's about to go head first into 'someone must pay and you'll do' territory. Also, Thor's just made it back to the rooftop, dripping wet stinking of river water, and looking like he'd as soon start smashing heads as say a word.
So Stark goes running for backup, figuring out that I'm not gonna do anything for his ass but wish for popcorn while he's getting spanked. "Bruce," he yells, "Bruce, back me up! Tell her how we need to figure out how this works! In the name of science! Bruce, get over here!" All while waving his magic wishing stick.
Aaand you can all guess what happened next. It was like a fucking genius supercollider, complete with light effects and low-level radiation. There was even an earth-shattering kaboom. Okay, actually more like a really loud *snap* when the doc's glasses broke, but the principle's the same.
Now for a moment it's quiet – dust settling, old-man joints creaking, Banner and Stark both kind of groaning a little where they skidded up against the wall. Then Banner picks his head up looking kinda green around the edges, and says, "Tony... did you just accio me?"
Yeah, pray you never hear that tone in Doctor Banner's voice, children. It's a real pants shitter, even if the Hulk likes you.
So while Stark ramps up his fast-talking bullshit mode, Nat looks at me, and I look at Nat, and we say to each other, in the silent way of agents who don't want to die today, 'Oh my, it looks like imminent carnage will shortly commence, I think we should maybe go, don't you?' And then she grabs me and I grab her, and we head for the stairway door, as casual and quick as two agents who don't want to die today can go.
Then suddenly, there comes the one sound – I mean it, the one sound in the whole fucking universe that could stop any and every Avenger cold in their tracks. And no, I don't even mean the sound of Fury clearing his voice. I mean laughter.
Loki's laughter. Bugfuck crazy, cackling looney, you'll-never-take-me-alive-copper laughter, and it's like right there, man! Right behind your head, so you'd swear you could feel the fucker's breath on your neck when you draw and turn – which you damn-betcha every one of us did. Only no, there's no Loki.
What there is, is Thor, dripping wet and scowling at us all while the broken pieces of the magic wand of whim-granting shoot off a few last sparks around his boot heel. He gives it a couple more grinds as the noise fades away, then he gives the pieces a couple of love taps with his hammer, just to be sure. 'Cause the poor building's electrical system just wasn't broken enough, I guess.
Anyhow, once he's satisfied, and happily before the whole place decides to go out from under us in pieces, Thor stands up again, pulls some poor cop's pair of aviators out of his vest, puts them on and declares that he's going back to bed now, and doesn't want to see anybody until Tuesday.
So that left me, Natasha, Stark, and Banner to haul our collective hangovers back to HQ to fill out the incident report and handle the debriefing by ourselves instead of going home and going back to bed and not seeing anybody until Tuesday. Only remember how the Quinjet I parked on the roof is no longer there? Annnnd remember how Stark's armor is kinda banjaxed from busting its moves, and how Natasha's still mad enough to break unwary kneecaps out of spite, and how Dr. Banner is, once again, kinda too-naked-for-the-subway?
Yyyyeah. So that's why it is, officially, all Captain America's Fault that the Avengers commandeered four limos from the UN Ambassadorial fleet, and had the drivers haul our tired asses back to SHIELD HQ, by way of an open bar in Midtown and a round of Bloody Marys to take the edge off.
All. Cap's. Fault.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!