Warning: no seriousness was put into the making of this fic. Seriously. This would have never left the safety of my notebook if it weren't for the insistence of my friends. With that, special thanks to my betas, Izzy Dixon and RedRibbonsGirl, for keeping these characters in line.

Taking the Initiative

"Could we make this quick? I'm very busy, very busy."

"I understand." Director Nick Fury watched the strange man leaf through one of the hundreds of stacks of paper that crowded the apartment. "Believe me, this is important. I assume you are aware of the events that took place in New York and Greenwich?"

"Of course I am," he retorted. "Aliens? Pah! Nothing but rubbish. Don't tell me that this is the 'important business' you came to discuss with me, because I have better uses for my time than to listen to any more intergalactic nonsense."

Fury ground his teeth, checking his temper. Clearly this guy was teetering on the edge. The frantic movements as he rifled through files and books, the desperation in his darting eyes, and over a hundred other panicked idiosyncrasies showed how close he was to a mental breakdown. If Fury was to get what he came for, he'd have to remain cool.

"I hate to burst your bubble," he said, "but aliens are very real."

Uttering a noise between a growl and a scoff, the man rounded on the Director and said, "If that is all you wish to discuss with me, then you can see yourself out." Then he dismissed Fury with a flippant gesture and resumed his digging, muttering to himself as he did so.

Fury didn't bat an eye. "I have proof."

"I don't care about the poorly constructed laser beam or ion cannon or whatever ridiculous device you obviously built in your—"

CLUNK!

A large misshapen chunk of metal landed on the desk in front of his nose. The man glanced up at the object for a moment, analyzing it, and then glanced away.

"Clearly aluminum."

"Is it?"

The tone in Fury's voice made him pause. He looked back up at the metal, spotting the bluish sheen for the first time.

Hiding a smirk, Fury watched the man jump up and whisk the metal into the make-shift lab that was the kitchen. He waited patiently as the metal was thoroughly examined, scraped, dunked in different chemicals, burned, re-examined, and then examined again.

The result:

"Alright, what is it?"

Fury allowed himself a small, self-satisfied chuckle just to piss the guy off and plucked what remained of the metal from the man's hand. "We don't know," Fury admitted. "Came off one the ships that attacked New York."

Standing a little taller so he towered over the Director, the man narrowed his piercing blue eyes at Fury as if to pry away his secrets with just a look.

"Why are you here?" he rumbled suspiciously.

Bouncing the alien material in his hand, Fury met the man's stare evenly. "I've heard a lot about you. Your ability to know everything about a person at first glance is unparalleled, and you have an almost 100% success rate.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."

"Not interested."

Coulson set his beer on the table. "Sir, I know you're going through a tough time—believe me, I get it—but at least take a moment to consider—"

"There's nothing to consider." The drunkard belched loudly. "I'm not joining your Power Rangers squad."

"Avengers."

"Whatever. Count me out."

Coulson felt his patience wearing thin. He was never good at the art of subtle manipulation like Hill or Romanov, but this was the true test of his abilities as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

I knew I should've brought May, he thought to himself. Too late now.

Coulson leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands. "Look, Mr. Winchester—"

"—No please, call me Dean," he said gesturing with his beer. "Mr. Winchester was my old man."

"Ah yes, John Winchester. Son of Henry Winchester, who mysteriously vanished when John was a boy, though I suspect that's not the whole story."

"How do you know about that?" Dean demanded, eyes suddenly sharp and alert.

Coulson smiled. "I know a lot about you, Dean, and your companions. More than you think."

"How is that possible?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Agent Hill shrugged. "Rumors mostly. Believe me, you're not the easiest person to track down."

The man—or at least, she's assuming it's male—tapped his foot nervously and ran a hand through his spikey mouse-brown hair. His whole being vibrated with a nervous energy, like he really needed to cut back on the espressos. Poor thing must be terrified out of his mind.

Hill decided to fall back on the simplest yet most effective tool in her repertoire.

"Sir," she began, "I understand that you're distressed—"

"Distressed?" he shouted, going from anxious to borderline-hostile in under two seconds. Hill's hand shot to the gun at her hip. "Distressed? Y-y-y-y-you—No! Don't pretend to know how I feel, okay? Because you don't!"

"Actually, I do." The words left Hill's mouth before they were even a thought. She wasn't exactly sure where they came from, but she rolled with it. "I know exactly how you feel. Losing someone, it's not easy."

He inhaled sharply. "How do you know about . . . ?"

"Like I said, rumors mostly. But then we got a name and the rest is hist—oh, sorry. . . ."

"S'okay . . ." he muttered then glanced her way. "So . . . who did you lose?"

She blinked. "A dear friend of mine," she replied, "but you know what?" Hill took a step forward and put a hand on his arm. "He wasn't gone for long. I found him again and S.H.I.E.L.D. can find your friend, too. With your help."

The man hesitated. The nervous energy from before fled his body all at once, leaving behind a weary sort of sadness. He sighed heavily and looked up at Agent Hill with a modicum of hope in his eyes.

"Can you really find Rose Tyler?" asked the Doctor.

Dean erupted into a fit of laughter.

"You think I need your help?" he snorted. "Please! I've been fightin' on my own since I was in diapers. What've you been doin' all your life? Drivin' limos?"

"You're really not getting it, are you?" Coulson said. "I have access to information on everyone and everything in the entire world. Cult groups, secret organizations—you name it, we can find it."

Dean snorted again and downed the rest of his beer before standing and walking towards the tiny kitchen. "Thanks," he said, dunking the beer bottle in the trash, "but no thanks. I don't trust you government types. The door's over there."

Sighing, Coulson stood and walked to the door. "Alright," he said. "If you're sure about this, I won't waste any more of your time."

"Alrighty then. See you never."

Just as he was about to leave, Coulson paused under the doorway. He turned back and said, "I know the supernatural is real, Mr. Winchester. I've seen it with my own eyes. That's why I find it easy to believe that you and your brother are demon hunters and your friend is an angel. What I do find hard to believe is that you aren't trying to use whatever means necessary to find out who took them."

And with that, Coulson left, closing the door behind him.

Well, almost.

A large hand stopped the door inches away from being shut. Not even mildly startled, Coulson turned.

Dean glowered at him from the narrow opening.

"I am NOT wearing spandex," he said.

They were at an impasse. Sherlock, still not convinced, regarded the Director suspiciously and said, "If you know so much, what do you need me for?"

"Helps to have a fresh set of eyes," Fury replied. "That and most of my best men are currently occupied with . . . other things."

"I see . . . Well, as fascinating as this all sounds, and I mean that in the loosest sense of the word, I'm afraid I am also currently occupied with a case that requires my undivided attention and I can't spare any time running around with your team of Power Rangers."

"Avengers."

"Whatever."

"On the contrary, Mr. Holmes," Fury said, ignoring the jibe, "you have the exact amount of time for both, because our case is your case. More or less."

Sherlock scowled. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Just that. We're after the same people, so wouldn't it make sense to join forces? Help each other out?"

"Who says I need your help?"

Casting his eye about the messy apartment and the X-ed out pictures tacked up on the wall, Fury scoffed. "No offense, Mr. Holmes, but you're way out of your element here."

Sherlock glanced down at the chunk of metal in Fury's hand and, rolling his eyes, said, "You're not seriously proposing that aliens are involved?"

The Director didn't reply. Instead, he pocketed the metal and folded his arms.

"I'm only going to say this one more time," Fury said. "Join our group. Without S.H.I.E.L.D. you will never find these people, but S.H.I.E.L.D. can and will find them without you, even if it takes a little more time. However, time is of the essence, Mr. Holmes. The longer we take tracking these people down, the more lives will be in danger.

"Including that of your friend, John Watson."

Sherlock twitched involuntarily, and Fury knew he struck a nerve. Good, now they were getting somewhere.

Keeping his voice under control, Sherlock huffed and said, "Alright, fine. I'll play along for a little while. But the moment I suspect this is going nowhere, I'm leaving."

Fury smiled. "Agreed. If we're done here, I have a car waiting outside."

"Hold on," Sherlock said, taking a step forward. "If you know who took John, then tell me."

The Director held the door open for him. "I'll explain everything once we meet up with the others."

"Others?"

"I did say Avengers, didn't I? Congratulations, Mr. Holmes. As of today, you get new playmates."

Somewhere beyond human reach, a man stood lost in the sea of his own memories. Staring out the window of his cushy bedroom, the man slowly pulled a black glove over the red sleeve of his lab coat. To his right, a pair of black goggles sat on the nightstand.

A soft knock came at the door, followed by a gentle creak. Someone poked their head into the room.

"Sir?" he said. "The others are waiting for you. Are you ready?"

Without turning, the man replied, "Yeah. I'll be right there."

Another creak and the door closed with a click, leaving the man alone with his thoughts and the rising sun before him.

He pulled the goggles over his eyes.

"A brand new day. . . ."