There is nothing, and then there is pressure. He feels as though something is stretching and crushing him all at once, and there is cold and light and then-
Warmth. Sound. His mouth is dry and he feels like vomiting and there’s gold everywhere and shouts of alarm, and none of this makes
because he should be dead. Death via nuke.
hovering above what looks like some medieval market reenactment. He whips his head around (which, bad idea.
Everything seems to be spinning now), trying to make sense of what he’s seeing, and among the sea of round, shocked faces, a head of dark hair, alabaster skin,
and bright green eyes stands out with an expression of fascination. That guy is standing right next to some buff blonde with a big fucking hammer. And hey, that guy is- shit, he’s
Tony throws up his arms, hands out to block, and as the hammer reaches him…
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