Chapter Text
Tony Stark was not often stumped. In fact, it was a very uncomfortable sensation that he had no intention of ever becoming familiar with. It was way too early for this shit, and Fury didn’t even have the decency to bring coffee to this little impromptu get-together. Asshole.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that for the class?”
He saw Fury twitch out the corner of his eye as if he was desperately trying not to reach over and strangle him. The burst of satisfaction he felt at successfully pissing off the director helped resettle his equilibrium a little bit. Tony smirked, leaning back against the table with his arms crossed, the perfect picture of arrogance.
“I said ,” began Fury through gritted teeth, “at 03:47 this morning, our scanners detected a small localised burst of energy from an unidentifiable source, conveniently located approximately twelve feet above our current position thirty thousand feet above the ground. These two -” Fury nodded towards the interrogation room in front of them, where two unconscious men were bound tightly to what was probably the most uncomfortable chairs S.H.I.E.L.D could scrounge up on short notice “- are the result of that.”
“So they just appeared out of thin air?” asked Steve. He stood legs apart and hands clasped behind his back in his ‘Captain’ pose, his brows scrunched together with the same look of confusion he reserved for cellphones or computers or modern slang as he studied the two men through the observation window.
Tony rolled his eyes. “ Obviously , Spangles, it was a wormhole of some kind. Laws of physics, yada yada yada. You can’t just make something out of nothing, it's gotta come from somewhere.”
He turned to Fury. “You’re telling me that despite all this - “ he waved a hand at the ceiling, “ - you have nothing? No information, whatsoever?”
Fury fixed him with a look. Oh, that was definitely the ‘I want nothing more than to strangle you right now’ look. Tony watched as Fury closed his eyes - sorry, eye - and took a deep breath before setting his face with what was probably supposed to be a neutral expression. It ended up looking more nauseated than anything though.
“As much as it pains me to do this, I’m asking , Stark, if you would - “
“Oh, please. Like I haven’t already started.” Tony drawled, waving him off. “Jarvis? If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course sir,” Jarvis’s disembodied voice floated from the ceiling. Steve started slightly like he did every single time . Tony pressed his lips together to hide his smirk when Steve flinched again as the window overlooking the room was overlaid with coloured graphs and CCTV footage.
Fury glared just as his name suggested - furiously . “I’m not even going to ask.”.
It was quickly forgotten, however, as the three of them watched the scene unfold on the screen in front of them. Looking down from the tallest point of the helicarrier they were perfectly positioned to see the flash of bright green light that lit up the sky like lightning. The brief burst of energy sent the assorted readouts wild, some kind of interference causing the footage to stutter and crackle with static. It resolved itself just in time for two bodies to appear out of thin air and fall to the ground in a heap smack bang in the middle of the runway.
Tony quickly scanned the data flying across the screen. None of it made sense. None of it matched anything they had come across before, nothing even close to the wormhole that had appeared above Stark Tower. It was, at a stretch, vaguely similar to the readings Jarvis had picked up around Thor, but that was like saying his arc reactor was the same as a pack of AA batteries.
“They didn’t have much on them besides the clothes on their backs, but one of them had this,” grumbled Fury. He gestured to the knobbly wooden stick resting on the table in front of them. On closer inspection, it was a very fancy stick, polished smooth with an elaborately carved handle and clusters of what looked like berries dispersed along its length.
Tony grinned. “A magic wand? Oh, Fury, you shouldn’t have. I’m blushing.”
Steve snorted. Fury shot him a withering look. Which, of course, only made him grin wider. In his defence, it did look a bit like a magic wand, but less rabbit-in-a-hat and more like something out of a videogame.
“Jarvis, make sure you get all this, and send the director a little thank you card.”
“Of course, sir. Anything else?”
Fury opened his mouth, no doubt about to say something along the lines of of course Mr Stark, anything for my favourite Avenger, but he was rudely interrupted by a loud groan.
The projections vanished, and all three whipped around to stare at the two mystery men.
The one on the left had an unruly mass of dark hair that fell forwards over his face, where round glasses sat crookedly on his nose. He had olive skin and looked to be about average height, but with the kind of wiry compact muscle that was built for practicality rather than aesthetics. He was dressed in dark jeans that had seen better days and a faded t-shirt that said ‘Gryffindors do it better!’ in bold lettering, with a vintage leather jacket thrown on top. Nothing remarkable, until you got to his boots, which were a beautiful reddish-brown leather that appeared almost scaly in the light. Tony had to ask about those later. And see if they made women's shoes too because Pepper would go feral over them.
The one on the right was the opposite of his companion in almost every sense. He was tall and pale, with icy blond hair (surely an obscene amount of bleach was involved there) and sharp aristocratic features. He was slender in the way that suggested he had never lifted a finger in his life, which was further emphasised by the fine make of his clothes - perfectly tailored chinos, a white button-down, and a soft woollen jumper. Interestingly, he had the same strange leather boots - black this time - and a thick velvety cloak. A real-life, let’s-take-the-ring-to-mordor, LARP-nerd-renaissance-faire type cloak. One sleeve was pushed up to reveal a faded grey tattoo, a skull with what looked like a snake coming out its mouth, and as his head rolled to the side Tony caught a glimpse of a string of symbols scrawled in a sharp line across his neck.
Jesus, was it just him or were the potential threats to national security getting younger and younger these days? The man - correction, boy - looked barely out of his teens, fresh-faced and unlined despite his face being twisted up in a grimace. He was maybe seventeen, eighteen at best .
“So, what, we’ve got a couple of miscreant teens; Biker Boy Barista and his buddy, Gandalf’s Rebel Trust-Fund Baby. Is there an evil megalomaniac high school now?” Tony quipped.
“Children?!” said Steve, aghast. The horror on his face only grew when one of the children in question moaned weakly. Steve whirled upon Fury with his fists clenched. “Director Fury, you can’t treat children like this!”
“May I remind you, Mr Rogers , that these children somehow teleported themselves directly onto an airship belonging to a classified government agency?” Fury met Steve’s furious (hah) glare with his own. Steve didn’t back down, but he did fold his arms and put upon what Tony liked to call his ‘old-man-frowny’ face.
“So, if you would kindly sit the fuck down , we can get back to figuring out exactly what is going on here.”
“As much as I’d rather eat glass than say this out loud - he’s right, Cap,” Tony sighed. “I don’t like it either, but you gotta admit it's all a little too convenient.”
Steve glowered at Fury for a moment, then sighed heavily, sinking back into his chair like a man with at least eighty more years on him (which, okay, was fair).
“I don’t like it, but I guess I see your point. But if they are just teenagers, and you hurt them, you will have me to answer to.”
“Fine.” Fury’s glare flicked over to Tony, daring him to voice his objections. Tony was with Steve on this one, but unlike Steve, he was still a bit too paranoid to be going around believing the best in everyone. Tony waved him away with a go-ahead motion, folding his arms across his chest and settling his weight on one hip.
“Currently, we have nothing. We’ve run them through facial recognition, DNA, fingerprinting, the works. No names, dental records, school transcripts, bank accounts, nothing . They might as well not exist,” ground out Fury through gritted teeth, obviously mad as hell that he was thwarted by two teenagers who looked like they hadn’t even graduated high school yet.
“Jarvis?”
“On it. I shall inform you when I have the results.”
“Thanks, J.”
“...Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“I have the results.”
The room was silent, for one heartbeat, then two, then four. Fury quirked an eyebrow. Tony rolled his eyes. “ And ?”
“It is as Director Fury said. Neither of the boys exist, anywhere on earth, according to any records, public or private,” intoned Jarvis.
Tony’s eyebrows crawled into his hair in surprise. If Jarvis couldn’t find them… well, that was something else. Steve’s confusion intensified like he was trying to use two cell phones at once. Fury looked, well, furious. And smug. Furiously smug.
“They appeared out of nowhere, right? With a bunch of energy and some light? Could they be Asgardian?” asked Steve. Good question.
“The information I have compiled from the energy readings and footage analysis suggests no direct correlation, Mr Rogers, particularly when combined with their choice of attire,” Jarvis politely replied.
Tony hummed under his breath. Something about it didn’t quite fit, but it couldn’t hurt to get the inside scoop. “Hit up Point Break anyway, ask him if it’s possible two Asgardian teenagers could have given their babysitter the slip.”
“Yes sir.”
Fury hummed under his breath, and Tony saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk.
“Well, looks like we won't have to wait much longer to find out.”