Thor—the Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder—stood awkwardly beside his brother.
In one hand, he held Mjolnir.
In the other, a container glowing with cold blue light.
Inside it lay the Tesseract.
"We're leaving," Thor said to those present. "Thank you for your help. Asgard owes you a debt. I will deal with the Tesseract… and with him."
Loki, gagged and bound, could only let out muffled, furious sounds.
"Okay, safe travels, Blondie," Tony Stark waved casually. "Next time you bring your Bambi brother, don't forget the Christmas gifts."
Steve Rogers nodded solemnly. "He has to answer for what he's done."
"He will," Thor replied heavily.
The Tesseract flared to life. Blue light swallowed both brothers.
At the very last instant—just before they vanished—Loki's gaze pierced through the room, locking onto the red-and-blue figure standing with his back turned.
Hatred burned in his eyes.
But beneath it… fear.
The light flashed.
Thor and Loki were gone.
If Loki had been the external problem, then what remained in the room now was an internal one.
Every gaze—Tony's, Steve's, Natasha Romanoff's, Clint Barton's, and Bruce Banner's—focused on the same figure.
The man in red and blue.
"Well," Tony walked over, arms crossed. "The dramatic blond is gone. So… Star-Spangled Boy. Care to talk?"
Stiles slowly turned around.
"Of course, Mr. Stark," he said calmly, his voice smooth and magnetic. "I imagine you have quite a few questions."
"Oh, you have no idea," came a low voice from behind them.
Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., strode in wearing his iconic black coat. His single eye locked onto Stiles like a targeting system.
"New York thanks you for your performance, Mr. Homelander," Fury said flatly. "But I don't like surprises."
"And you," his eye narrowed, "are the biggest surprise of the day."
Stiles smiled politely. "Director Fury, I presume? First time meeting the boss."
"My name is Nick Fury. Come with me," Fury said without wasting another word. "We'll talk somewhere else."
-----
The Helicarrier – Circular Conference Room
Around the long table sat S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top brass and the core members of the Avengers.
Fury took the central seat, his presence heavy.
Maria Hill stood behind him.
Tony lounged with one leg crossed, expression screaming entertain me.
Steve sat upright, disciplined and serious.
Natasha remained in the shadows, silent, alert—like a coiled panther.
Banner and Clint were absent. Medical evaluation and recovery.
"Today's show was impressive, Mr. Homelander," Fury said coldly. "Almost too impressive. Perfect, even. The kind of perfect that makes me suspicious."
"I simply did what needed to be done," Stiles replied calmly.
"Did you?" Fury sneered. "Because you 'needed' to do quite a lot."
"Easy, Nick," Tony interjected. "I get it, you hate mystery guests. But he saved my life—and the city. So let's start simple. Who are you? Where did you come from? And seriously—who designed that suit? Fabric's nice."
"I came to help," Homelander replied smoothly. "From a very distant place—"
"A distant place?" Fury cut in. "Like Smallville, Kansas? Or should I say Krypton?"
"Nick," Steve warned, frowning. "He saved everyone. Show some respect."
"Respect is earned, Captain. Not stitched into a flashy costume," Fury shot back. "Answer the question. Are you an alien? S.H.I.E.L.D. has no record of someone like you. Who do you work for? Why are you here?"
The room went dead silent.
Natasha's hand never left her weapon.
Stiles knew that without Thor present, everyone in this room was—objectively—manageable.
But an actor knew better than to skip the performance.
This was the most important scene since his arrival.
"I—" he was just about to spin the classic M78 Nebula story—
"Sir!"
Maria Hill stepped forward quickly, tablet in hand, her expression… strange.
"You need to see this."
Fury snatched the tablet, irritation clear—until his eye scanned the screen.
It widened.
"What is it?" Tony leaned over.
When he saw it, even he froze.
"…Wow. Okay. That's messed up."
Fury's voice dropped, heavy with certainty.
"Alright. I know who you are now."
—What?
Stiles's mind blanked for half a second.
You know my ass and nuts.
"I know exactly who you are, Mr. Homelander," Fury continued, sliding the tablet across the table. "So explain."
The screen stopped in front of Stiles.
He looked down.
And his pupils shrank.
A file.
A photo.
The man in the photo had the same golden hair.
The same handsome face.
The same piercing blue eyes.
The only difference?
The boy in the photo wore a Columbia University T-shirt—and his smile was young. Innocent.
Name: Antony Starr
Date of Birth: October 25, 1992
Status: Missing, presumed deceased
Background:
– Columbia University, Department of Literature, freshman
– Parents: Edward Starr & Martha Starr (Founders of Starr Group, deceased in a plane crash three years ago)
Incident Record:
October 25, 2011. Antony Starr disappeared during a private yacht party off Long Island, Hamptons. A sudden storm caused the yacht to sink.
All passengers were recovered…
Except Antony Starr.
Stiles's brain shut down.
Antony Starr.
Antony. Fucking. Starr.
The actor who played Homelander in The Boys.
A role he had once studied—deeply—back when he was still a top-tier actor.
"Shit…" he cursed inwardly.
Parallel worlds… this is real parallel-world bullshit.
This universe doesn't just have Marvel—
it has people identical to my old world.
Everything clicked in a flash.
The prepared "cosmic patrol" backstory?
Scrapped. Immediately.
This… was a whole new script.