# Central Park - Five Days Later
The morning sun burned through Central Park's canopy in golden shafts, warming the dew still clinging to the grass and giving the scene a kind of holy glow that felt appropriately mythic for what was essentially a cosmic farewell ceremony.
At the center of the cordoned-off clearing hummed Tony Stark's latest toy-slash-nightmare-fuel: the portal generator. It gleamed in brushed steel and Stark-brand arrogance, humming with power that looked like it should've been contained in a high-security lab, not a public park. The thing pulsed like it was daring the multiverse to blink first.
SHIELD agents ringed the perimeter, weapons at the ready, faces carefully neutral in the way of professionals who definitely weren't staring at literal gods, super-soldiers, and assorted magical prodigies gathered for the kind of casual goodbye party that could melt reality if somebody sneezed wrong. Fury stood near the monitoring station, his expression halfway between "I've seen everything" and "I need more coffee."
Thor Odinson looked every inch the myth brought to life. The sun kissed his armor until it burned like molten gold, Mjolnir resting against his thigh as though the hammer itself was waiting for its cue. His cape flared in the gentle breeze, and his smile was the kind that could probably talk trees into uprooting themselves and following him to battle.
He raised his voice, which rolled through the park like a friendly thunderclap.
"My friends!" Thor began, his tone equal parts Shakespearean proclamation and overexcited drinking buddy. "Verily, my heart swells like the Allfather's feast-hall after a victorious raid. Our battles together have been fierce, our triumphs glorious, and the ale—well, admittedly the ale here could use improvement." He glanced pointedly at Tony, who only rolled his eyes.
Thor's gaze softened as it swept over the gathered Avengers and then lingered, uncharacteristically serious, on the Death Dealers. "You have shown courage worthy of song, wisdom rivaling the Norns themselves, and a tactical brilliance that makes even Heimdall raise a brow. The bonds forged in fire and blood are not so easily sundered by mere dimensions. Call my name upon the wind, and I shall answer."
It was grand. It was noble. It was unmistakably Thor.
Steve Rogers stepped forward from the group, the morning light catching the clean lines of his broad shoulders. He wasn't in uniform, but in well-fitted civilian clothes that did nothing to hide the fact that he looked like a Greek statue had been taught about Midwestern politeness.
He extended a hand. "That's about the best endorsement we could hope for. You've been more than a teammate, Thor. You've been family."
Thor clasped the hand with a booming laugh, the kind that shook dust from the branches overhead. "Family! A most sacred word! Though I will admit, Captain, you are a touch more disciplined than my actual brothers." His grin widened. "Less prone to stabbing, more prone to speeches."
Steve chuckled, deep and steady. "Discipline has its uses. Someone's gotta keep you from swinging that hammer before the plan's even started."
"Bah! Plans are but guidelines until they are improved by thunder and steel!" Thor declared, spreading his free hand dramatically. "But I concede—your strategies have saved lives, even when they involved… crouching behind cover." He wrinkled his nose, clearly baffled by the concept.
Steve leaned in just slightly, voice low and steady, but with a spark of amusement in his blue eyes. "It's called tactics, Thor. Maybe try it sometime. You might even enjoy not getting thrown through a building."
"Ha!" Thor barked, releasing his hand and clapping Steve on the shoulder hard enough to make the nearest SHIELD agents flinch. "Buildings are for mortals, Captain. I find being hurled through them to be… invigorating. Besides, you are proof enough that Midgard knows how to raise warriors of conviction. You rival the finest of Asgard's champions."
Steve's jaw flexed, his expression somewhere between pride and embarrassment. "And you've shown us that nobility isn't about where you're from, but how you carry yourself. You've got a lot of power, Thor. But you've never lost sight of the people you fight for."
Thor's grin softened, becoming something steadier, truer. "And you, Captain Rogers, remind us that a mortal armed with nothing but conviction can stand taller than any god."
Tony Stark strolled up with his usual brand of billionaire swagger, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, an expression that managed to say both "I own this entire park" and "I'd rather be anywhere else than saying goodbye." His outfit—a perfectly tailored Henley, leather jacket, and shoes that cost more than a Stark Industries intern's yearly salary—was casual only in the sense that casual meant "magazine cover."
"Big guy," Tony said, voice dripping with that patented Stark cocktail of affection, sarcasm, and thinly veiled deflection. "Do me a favor and try not to smash my very expensive, very delicate portal generator with your thunder-powered gratitude speeches. JARVIS spent three days running stability protocols. Three days. And you know how hard it is to get him to stop lecturing me about quantum integrity."
Thor turned, cape flaring like it had taken stage directions, and flashed the sort of grin that could sell mead to a monastery. "Worry not, Stark! I shall treat this technological marvel with all the reverence due to an artifact of such import. Perhaps even greater reverence than the first time I encountered your… what was it called? Ah yes—your mechanized beverage dispenser."
Tony snorted. "That was a Keurig, Point Break. Not quite on the same level as rewriting spacetime, but sure, glad you're keeping track."
Thor leaned closer, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial but still booming enough for half the park to hear. "I was impressed. It produced steaming nectar with the press of a single button! Truly, Midgardian sorcery has advanced."
"Yeah, well," Tony said, pretending to polish his nails on his jacket. "We've moved on since coffee machines, buddy. That—" he gestured grandly at the portal generator, which was humming like a god-sized tuning fork—"is the Ferrari of dimensional engineering. Sleek, fast, stupidly expensive, and guaranteed to make every other pantheon jealous."
Thor's eyes gleamed with amusement, head tilting in that way he had when deciding if he should be offended or entertained. "Exceeds Asgardian standards, does it? Bold claim. Especially considering Asgard has had mastery over Bifröst travel for eons beyond counting."
"Mastery?" Tony raised both brows, mock offense dripping from every syllable. "Buddy, your rainbow bridge needed a full-time gatekeeper with a sword the size of a utility pole just to make sure it didn't blow up the wrong mountain. My machine runs on clean arc-reactor power, doesn't need a watchtower, and fits inside a park. I'd say that's three standard deviations of awesome right there."
Thor stroked his beard thoughtfully, as though Tony had just offered profound wisdom. "Hmm. A fair boast. And yet… does it shimmer with all the colors of the cosmos? Does it roar like the song of creation as it cleaves through the Nine Realms? For aesthetics matter, Stark. They inspire the soul!"
Tony pointed at the generator. "Hit that red switch when I tell you, and it'll shimmer, roar, and possibly play AC/DC. Aesthetics covered."
Thor blinked, then grinned. "AC/DC—the minstrels whose thunderous ballads accompany your battles! A most worthy inclusion." He clapped Tony on the back, nearly staggering him. "Then truly, Stark, you have surpassed Asgardian design. For even the Bifröst never had such music."
Tony steadied himself with a huff, shooting a look at Steve as if to say "See what I put up with?" before turning back to Thor. His tone softened, just a little. "Don't get used to it. I don't hand out compliments often. But yeah, you're gonna miss this tech. And—" he hesitated just a beat too long "—maybe the guy who built it."
Thor's grin faltered into something warmer, steadier. "Aye. I shall. For behind the armor and the wit lies a heart most valiant. You hide it well, Stark, but we have seen it in battle. And I say unto you—Asgard would be proud to call you kin."
Tony's mouth twitched, halfway to a smile, halfway to something harder to name. He covered it with a quip, because of course he did. "Careful, Blondie. Keep talking like that and I'll start charging you consulting fees for emotional labor."
Thor threw back his head and laughed, a booming, unselfconscious sound that rattled the SHIELD equipment. "Ha! Ever the jester, even in farewell. Truly, you shall be missed."
Tony smirked, slipping his sunglasses back on like a shield. "Yeah, well. Try not to break my toy. Or the universe. Whichever comes first."
Thor nodded solemnly. "On my honor." Then, with a sudden grin: "Though if it does explode, I shall name it after you."
Tony froze mid-step. "Wait—what?"
"Stark's Folly has a certain ring to it!" Thor declared proudly.
Tony groaned. "Great. Perfect. Nothing like leaving my legacy in the hands of a Shakespearean linebacker with bad branding instincts."
Bruce Banner stepped forward next, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his rumpled jacket. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else—preferably a quiet lab with a chalkboard and no gods involved—but his voice carried genuine warmth when he spoke.
"Thor… you've been good to us. To me." His lips quirked in that nervous, self-effacing way he had. "Not a lot of people treat the guy with the big green… alter ego… like a teammate instead of a liability. You always did. So… thanks."
Thor's grin softened into something steadier. He bowed his head with a surprising degree of solemnity. "Doctor Banner, both of your mighty forms are warriors most worthy. The green one fights with thunder of his own, and the quiet one wields intellect that humbles even the Allfather's sages. I say unto you: never doubt your worth."
Bruce huffed out a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… I'll try to remember that the next time I wake up shirtless in a crater."
Thor boomed a laugh. "And if you do, take comfort—on Asgard, it would be considered a most noble awakening!"
Bruce smirked faintly. "Yeah. Somehow I don't think Brooklyn agrees."
Natasha Romanoff was next, moving with her usual predatory grace. Her farewell wasn't flowery; it never would be. Her eyes, sharp as glass, raked Thor up and down like she was both cataloging him for weaknesses and committing him to memory.
"God of Thunder," she said evenly, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You've proven yourself a valuable asset. Reliable in a fight. Surprisingly adaptable. Even… charming, when you're not shouting about glory."
Thor pressed a hand to his chest, as if she'd stabbed him with a dagger of compliments. "Charming! A word I shall treasure, spoken from the Black Widow herself. Songs will be sung of this day!"
Natasha arched one brow. "Don't get carried away. I still don't trust a man who thinks smashing a table is a valid negotiation tactic."
Thor grinned, unrepentant. "And yet the table yielded, did it not? A victory in its own right!"
She let out the barest laugh, low and sharp. "Try to keep the table-smashing to a minimum in your next realm. Or at least make sure the ale's worth it."
Clint Barton leaned casually on his bow, looking for all the world like he was watching a neighborhood barbecue instead of a god preparing to cross dimensions. He squinted up at Thor.
"Alright, Point Break. Gotta say—you've pulled your weight. More than once. Fought hard, hit harder, and even managed to learn a little about Earth along the way." His smirk widened. "Still not sure you've got the hang of the whole social customs thing, though."
Thor frowned, puzzled. "What customs have I not mastered? I have shared drink, I have engaged in battle banter, I have even partaken in your… shawarma."
Clint held up a finger. "Yeah, but you still call coffee 'the hot brown drink' and think wi-fi is a type of sorcery."
Thor's eyes went wide with mock offense. "Aye! It is sorcery. You speak to invisible towers in the air, and they answer! Even Heimdall cannot boast such omnipresence."
Clint snorted, shaking his head. "Well, just try not to swing your hammer every time someone hands you a cell phone."
Thor threw back his head and laughed, clapping Clint so hard on the shoulder the archer staggered a step. "Ha! You jest, Hawk, but know this: in Asgard, you would be praised for your wit as much as your aim. Truly, you would find glory in the feast hall!"
"Yeah," Clint muttered, smirking as he straightened. "I'll stick to takeout and Netflix, thanks."
Thor looked puzzled. "Net-flix? Another of your Midgardian weapons?"
Clint exchanged a look with Natasha, deadpan. "Depends who's holding the remote."
Loki stood beside his brother, chained like some fallen prince in a mortal fairy tale. The magical restraint system shimmered faintly in the morning light—living silver that wrapped his wrists and hands, runes shifting like they were breathing, while the sleek mouthpiece turned his trademark smirk into silent fury. His pale green eyes burned with calculation and barely veiled contempt, promising that somewhere in the labyrinth of his mind he was already three escape plans deep.
Thor stood tall beside him, arms crossed, cape catching the breeze like it knew it was supposed to frame him dramatically. He gave his brother a wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin. "Brother, you wear those manacles well. Very regal. You look almost… stylish."
Loki's glare could have frozen the Hudson.
Hermione stepped forward, curls wild in the sunlight, amber eyes bright with satisfaction as she inspected the restraints. She adjusted a rune, muttering under her breath, before announcing in her precise, bookish voice: "Containment matrix stable. The system will drain magical energy at triple the rate of any attempted spellcasting. Translation—every time he tries something clever, he gets weaker."
She looked up, expression sharp with academic pride. "I'd like to see him wriggle out of that."
Thor grinned down at her, equal parts admiration and mischief. "Truly magnificent, Lady Hermione. Even the sorcerers of Odin's court would bow to such ingenuity. You have built a cage for mischief itself!"
Hermione smirked, straightening her blouse. "Yes, well, I'll take that as a compliment. And for the record, it isn't just a cage. It's a proof of concept in arithmantic containment theory. Your brother is essentially a very dangerous case study."
The runes pulsed faintly, and Loki's eyes narrowed with fresh fury.
Daphne glided forward next, every step poised, her platinum hair catching the light like spun silver. She traced the glowing edges of the dimensional locks with aristocratic coolness. "Spatial locks are holding. If he so much as twitches at space-time, the system will redistribute the energy and collapse the manipulation field before he gets anywhere. It's airtight."
Her ice-blue eyes flicked to Thor. "Of course, I can't promise it will improve his manners. That seems beyond dimensional mathematics."
Thor barked out a laugh. "Ha! Spoken like a true noblewoman. Manners were always Loki's weakest subject." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, that and honesty."
Loki glared again.
Susan approached with the quiet efficiency of a healer, sundress flowing softly in the breeze. She gave Loki a once-over like she was examining a stubborn patient, her red hair glowing in the sunlight. "Vitals are steady. Circulation normal, respiration clear, neurological function baseline Asgardian." She folded her arms, her expression warm but firm. "He's stable. The system won't harm him, though he may experience mild psychological strain from confinement."
Thor nodded gratefully. "Lady Susan, your compassion is a balm even to one who scarcely deserves it. Though I must confess, I prefer when Loki's discomfort is not mild."
Susan gave him a flat look that carried years of professional patience. "Yes, well, I prefer not to get calls about divine prisoners suffering circulatory collapse. You'll just have to find other ways to annoy him."
Tonks strolled up, violet hair flashing electric blue with every step, her grin sharp enough to count as a weapon. She gave Loki a quick, almost playful once-over. "Security's tight. He's not going anywhere. Although…" she tilted her head, eyes twinkling, "…his magical signature suggests he's running through about twelve different revenge monologues in his head. Lots of illusions. Dramatic speeches. Theatrical hand gestures."
Thor leaned toward her, amused. "Only twelve? He must be tired."
Loki made a strangled sound behind the mask, his eyes promising violent retribution.
Tonks smirked, leather jacket creaking as she shifted her weight. "Yeah, he's plotting. But don't worry—I'm very good at ruining plans. It's kind of my thing."
Finally, Luna drifted forward, her silvery hair floating as though stirred by a breeze that belonged to another dimension entirely. Her pale eyes glowed with dreamy certainty as she brushed her fingers across the energy field.
"The pathways are aligned," she said softly, like she was reporting on weather patterns in another galaxy. "Probability matrices favor smooth transport, though there's a three percent chance of minor temporal hiccups. You might arrive a few hours earlier or later in Asgardian time. Nothing that can't be adjusted with the right clockwork."
She tilted her head, smiling faintly at Loki. "He'll hate it. The uncertainty will gnaw at him."
Thor threw back his head, laughing so hard the SHIELD agents flinched. "Oh, most delightful! Lady Luna, you are a seer of exquisite cruelty."
Luna blinked, serene. "Thank you. I try."
Thor turned to the group of women, clapping his massive hands together. "You have all my gratitude! Never has my brother been so artfully imprisoned, so thoroughly inspected, and so delightfully annoyed. Truly, Midgard outdoes itself."
Loki rolled his eyes skyward, the chains humming as if to echo his misery.
The portal generator roared to life with the kind of spectacle that would make Hollywood directors throw their scripts in despair—pillars of light twisting into an unstable kaleidoscope of cosmic geometry, arcs of raw power snapping across reinforced plating like thunder made visible. JARVIS gave a calm status update about dimensional harmonics reaching optimal stability, which was probably code for: if anyone sneezes, this thing will implode spectacularly and strand us all in the Dark Dimension.
The Avengers had already given their farewells, each in their own style. Thor had endured Bruce's awkward-but-heartfelt hug, Natasha's half-smirk and predatory warning about "stay alive or I'll find you," and Clint's laconic commentary on Asgardian drinking habits. Even Tony had made it through without crying, though only by hiding his sincerity behind four layers of sarcasm.
Now, only Harry remained.
He stood back with aristocratic patience, emerald eyes gleaming with faint veins of Soul Stone fire that made them simultaneously mesmerizing and unnerving, like someone had grafted cosmic judgment into an Oxford portrait. Dressed in tailored charcoal and crisp white, Harry looked less like an Avenger and more like he was about to host a high-level diplomatic gala where peace treaties and planetary borders were casually negotiated over champagne.
Thor, for once, looked faintly uncertain. Which was amusing, considering he'd once stared down a frost giant horde without flinching.
Harry stepped forward with liquid grace, each movement as if choreographed by someone who'd read The Art of War and Debrett's Guide to Etiquette simultaneously. His hand extended, elegant and commanding all at once.
"Thor," he said, his voice rich and deliberate, every syllable soaked in the kind of aristocratic authority that could both charm royalty and terrify bureaucrats, "fighting beside you has been an unqualified privilege. Few beings carry divine nobility with such… earnest charm. And fewer still manage to wield such absurd weaponry with what I can only describe as operatic flair."
Thor blinked, then threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming across the chamber. "Operatic flair! By the Nine, Harry Potter, you speak as though you had witnessed my battles sung already in golden halls!"
"Oh, I've no doubt you'll commission a bard the moment you step through that portal," Harry replied smoothly, lips curving in a smile that was equal parts sincerity and calculated mischief. "With verses praising your valor, your hair, and possibly that hammer you seem to believe is an extension of your very soul."
"A worthy extension!" Thor retorted, lifting Mjolnir slightly, his grin broad and boyish. "Do not deny, wizard, that you admired its thunderous might in battle!"
Harry tilted his head, tone turning drier than an Oxford sherry. "I admired it, yes. Though between us, I suspect the Soul Stone is quietly judging your tendency to solve problems by hitting them very hard."
"That is a time-honored method!" Thor declared with mock indignation.
"Of course," Harry said smoothly. "And one day, when Asgard invents a library, you'll discover other methods exist."
The other Avengers tried—and mostly failed—to suppress their laughter. Natasha covered hers with a cough. Clint didn't even try.
Thor clasped Harry's hand finally, his grip warm and crushing but held with ceremonial precision. His expression sobered, blue eyes glinting with rare depth. "In truth, Harry Potter, your courage and wit honor me more than all the mead halls of Asgard could sing. You are mortal, yes, but your heart burns with power enough to shame gods. You remind me that nobility is not a birthright of the divine, but a choice, made every day."
Harry inclined his head, the Soul Stone fire in his gaze softening with something almost vulnerable. "High praise from one who has lived among gods. I'll take it… and store it somewhere just above Tony's endless boasts about his genius, but perhaps just beneath Natasha's subtle threats."
"Wise man," Clint muttered, smirking.
Thor, however, wasn't finished. He leaned closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial rumble. "And your wives, Harry. By Odin's beard, they are forces unto themselves. Their ferocity in battle, their unity, their—ah—spirited devotion to you… it is most inspiring. Truly, you must tell me the secret to such harmony when next we meet."
Harry's smile sharpened, his tone dripping with the effortless confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect he had. "The secret, Thor, is simple. Choose women who are far too clever and far too dangerous to ever tolerate less than your absolute best. And then spend every waking moment convincing them you're worth the trouble."
For once, Thor had no ready retort. He just laughed again, loud and full, shaking his golden head. "A mortal sage indeed!"
"Don't you forget it," Harry replied with aristocratic bite, before releasing his hand with the finality of a king dismissing court.
The portal pulsed brighter, demanding departure.
Thor raised Mjolnir in salute. "Until we fight again, Harry Potter."
Harry's smirk was pure British steel. "Try not to break the Nine Realms while I'm not around to keep you civilized."
Thor barked another laugh, and with that, the god of thunder stepped into the storm of light.
Harry turned from Thor's thunderous warmth to the quieter storm smoldering in chains.
Loki stood shackled, a portrait of ruined grandeur. The silver manacles shimmered with runes that shifted like liquid constellations, humming with restrained menace as they drank down his sorcery. The facial restraint sat across his elegant features like an insult forged in steel, gagging the silver tongue that had charmed, deceived, and condemned worlds in equal measure. His pale green eyes burned above the mask—smoldering with rage, pride, and an imagination already busy drafting inventive ways to make everyone in this room regret existing.
Harry approached with deliberate calm, his movements aristocratically precise, as though he were strolling into a royal drawing room rather than the containment zone of an alien war criminal. His emerald eyes, veined with molten Soul Stone fire, studied Loki the way a hawk studies a snake—predatory, patient, utterly unflinching.
He stopped before him, posture radiating calm dominance, and inclined his head the barest fraction—just enough to acknowledge Loki's station without ever surrendering superiority.
"Loki," Harry said, his voice smooth as cut crystal, carrying that devastating combination of British courtesy and cosmic authority that made every word feel like a verdict. "I will not insult you by pretending this has been a pleasure. Attempted planetary conquest, systematic enslavement of minds, reckless deployment of alien armies… all of it rather poor form, socially speaking. One doesn't just turn New York into a chessboard without at least asking permission."
The corner of his mouth curved in a wolfish, aristocratic smile. "But credit where credit is due: your tactical ingenuity and flair for drama are… noteworthy. A touch excessive, yes, but one must admire the commitment. Though perhaps next time, fewer flying leviathans crashing into skyscrapers? Subtlety is not overrated, despite what you may think."
Loki's nostrils flared, his chained hands twitching as if itching for sorcery. The Soul Stone pulsed faintly in Harry's eyes—revealing the swirl of humiliation and hatred roiling inside the god, alongside a thread of grudging respect he'd never admit.
Harry extended his hand. The gesture was impeccable: aristocratic, steady, deliberate. Not the hand of a friend, but the hand of a man so secure in his own power he could afford to offer dignity even to someone who'd tried to enslave his world.
"Consider this, Loki," Harry continued, his tone velvet edged with steel. "Asgardian justice will no doubt give you ample opportunity for reflection. Perhaps, if you're very lucky, for redemption. Though frankly, I wouldn't wager my vault on it. In the meantime, know this—" His eyes burned brighter, green fire laced with orange flame. "I saw every shadow you carry, every fracture in that carefully polished mask. And should you attempt another conquest… I'll be there. Not as a negotiator. Not as a diplomat. As the wall you break against."
The chamber went still, the hum of the portal generator suddenly sounding like a drumbeat to Harry's words.
For a heartbeat, Loki seemed as though he might refuse. His eyes blazed, aristocratic disdain warring with some vestige of royal breeding buried deep in the marrow of his being. And then—slowly, with all the precision of a king enduring humiliation—he raised his shackled hands and clasped Harry's.
The moment Harry's hand clasped Loki's, his Soul Stone perception flared—veins of molten orange light pulsing through emerald green as reality peeled itself open to him. What he saw in that instant made his jaw tighten ever so slightly: Loki's spirit wasn't cowed or broken. It was coiled. Calculating. Waiting.
Something's wrong.
The warning came not in words but in instinct, sharpened into certainty by a cosmic awareness that could read souls like open ledgers. And Loki's ledger was spilling with intent. Power began to build in the contact point, a thrum of magic so subtle it almost evaded Hermione's masterwork bindings. Almost.
Harry's eyes narrowed, aristocratic steel settling over his features. His voice cut like a rapier, soft but laced with venomous wit. "Really, Loki? Already planning a jailbreak during a handshake? Most men settle for a witty remark or perhaps a drink before attempting betrayal. Manners, my dear boy. Manners."
Loki's pale green eyes blazed with sudden triumph above his restraint, his grip tightening like an iron snare. The runes screamed in protest, containment wards flickering under the weight of divine cunning. The god's laughter didn't need sound—it was written in his gaze.
And then—
"HARRY!" Five voices, fierce and resonant, ripped through the chaos. His wives surged forward, their combined Infinity-born awareness flaring like a supernova as the portal generator roared to life.
The air detonated with rainbow brilliance, reality unraveling in shimmering fractures. The Bifrost wasn't so much opening as demanding obedience from the universe, its power swallowing the field in an inevitability that mocked resistance.
Thor's face hardened, thunder booming in his voice as he reached desperately toward them. "BROTHER, NO!" His horror cracked like lightning across the sky, but even divine outrage could not stem what had already been set in motion.
Harry, Soul Stone vision locking onto the spiraling coordinates, turned his head just enough to bark across the storm. His voice was velvet authority, refined and lethal. "Daphne! Lock on the trajectory. Follow the fracture. No excuses!"
His wives moved as one, but even five Infinity Stones against the raw inevitability of the Bifrost was a losing race. The rainbow storm thickened, swallowing his frame, his voice cutting once more through the maelstrom with biting aristocratic wit:
"Tell Tony to keep my seat warm."
The light consumed him, Thor, and Loki together—three figures vanishing into the cosmic torrent as reality folded with mathematical indifference.
The portal generator howled its death knell, sparks flying, expensive components exploding in a symphony of broken engineering that made Tony wince like a man watching a vintage car crash into a wall.
Silence followed. Scorched earth, ozone sharp in the air, the weight of loss pressing against the stunned assembly.
Then, inevitably—
"Well," Tony muttered, sunglasses sliding onto his face as his brain already mapped logistics. "That's… less than optimal. On the plus side, I've always wanted an excuse to invent Bifrost-compatible GPS. On the minus side, someone tell Pepper I'll be canceling date night again."
Natasha's lips curved in that dangerous, amused way that suggested she was already calculating retrieval probabilities. Clint muttered something about Harry "out-sassing a god mid-kidnap." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
And Harry's wives—five forces of cosmic power barely held in human form—stood burning with determination, every eye locked on the fading shimmer in the air where their husband had vanished.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!