Death comes for Nick Fury. he figured one day it would, because he has cheated it one too many times by now, and so when he blinks his eyes from one moment to the next and finds himself -
well. no longer in New York, for starters.
he’s in a formless, dusty landscape, and there are a few too many people here for his liking.
“can everyone please,” says a young woman (man woman alien human) with ashen skin like death, her-his-their eyes stressed and her-their hands on their hips, “shut up for just one second? form a line! I’ll escort you all to the afterlife -”
“we can’t go!” shouts Peter Parker, and what the fuck is he doing here, he is too damn young to be here. “we have to - Mr. Stark needs me! Aunt May needs me! I have to get back, or this Thanos guy will kill everyone! even more than he already has!”
“believe me, lady, fella, whatever, I’d love nothing more than to come with you,” says Bucky Barnes, “but I got this stupid-ass idiot friend who’s gonna get his dumb flag-wearing ass killed now, if both me and birdface are here.”
“hey, fuck you, Barnes,” says Sam Wilson, flipping him off, “but yeah, we can’t stay here. sorry.”
“Thanos is going to kill trillions if we stay here,” says a woman with green skin and angry eyes. “he’s already slaughtered too many people.”
“believe me,” says Death, “I wish I could change that. but there are rules about this sort of thing, I can’t just snap my fingers and bring you all back from the dead.”
“why not?” says Nick, stepping forward. everyone’s heads whip towards him, and he hears a storm of whispers start up. “you’re Death. means you’ve got the power over life even this Thanos fellow doesn’t.”
“yeah, and I have to exercise it responsibly,” says Death.
“there is nothing responsible,” says T'Challa, tersely, and a small crowd of Wakandans part to let him step forward, regal as ever, “about standing aside and allowing the deaths of millions. you know this is against the natural way of things, as well as I do. as well as we all do.”
“and,” adds motherfucking Loki of all people, “you’ve made exceptions before. else, how would there be stories of people coming back from the dead?”
“and I would love to change it! I’d love to make exceptions again!” says Death, angrily, throwing their hands up. “believe me, Your Majesty, Prince Silvertongue of Asgard, I truly do! but I cannot do anything.”
“I think you can,” says Nick. “I’d like to make a deal.”
Death turns to look at him, with eyes so sunken in that Nick half-thinks they’re eye sockets, not real eyes. “a deal,” they say. “well. you’re something, Nick Fury, all right.” they sigh, and between one blink and the next they’ve somehow gone from fifteen feet away to just in front of him. “I suppose this is the type of deal where you want me to take you back? because I can’t take you back.”
they cock their head towards the crowd, and say, with infinite sadness in their voice, “but you can choose one to spare.”
Nick looks at the arranged throng of people, of the dead. he has to pick this right. he has to choose the right person to bring back from the dead.
he says, “Barnes. bring him back. Rogers needs his right hand man.”
“oh, no, asshole,” says Bucky, “I’m not coming back if birdie’s not coming back.”
“oh, shut up, old man,” says Sam. “I’m not coming back if the little guy here’s not coming back.” and he points to Peter, who blinks at him, surprised. “he’s too damn young to be here.”
“well,” says Peter, voice a little shaky, “um. I’m not coming back if Shuri’s not coming back.” he points at a young girl with her hair done up like Princess Leia, who startles and blinks at him. then she turns to look at Fury, realization dawning in her eyes. smart kid. “because, like. she’s got this program going, and MJ’s been yelling about it for weeks. so.”
“I,” says Shuri, “will only come back if my brother comes back.” she gives T'Challa a meaningful look.
T'Challa gets it, because the next thing he says is, “if you bring back, say, Ayo, I will consider it.”
“I’m not coming back if she’s not coming back,” says Ayo, pointing to a woman in white, spinning a shining sword in her hands.
“I’m not coming back if you’re not bringing Heimdall back,” says the woman.
“I will not return,” says Heimdall, giving Fury a smirk, “if Loki does not.”
“oh, fuck you,” says Loki, who’s already caught on to this. “damn it. fine. I’ll come back if you also bring, hm, that random tree over there back.”
“I am Groot,” says a talking tree.
“I will not come back if Mantis does not wish to,” says a bald man with heavy tattoos. Fury smirks to himself.
“I do not want to come back if Gamora does not,” says a woman with antennae growing out from her forehead.
“bring Quill back first,” says Gamora, the green-skinned woman from earlier, “and I’ll think about it.”
“can you bring Strange back?” says a man with a Walkman on his hip. “because we worked together one time and that’s definitely enough for me to get super attached.”
Fury folds his arms and smirks at Death, as the deal grows and grows and grows, the list of names coming back from the dead and disintegrated in the crowd growing longer and longer. he sees the way Death watches the crowd, stunned and perhaps - impressed, despite themself.
then they come to Hill.
Hill looks at Nick and says, “bring Fury back, too.”
“oh, you motherfucker,” says Death, spinning on their heel to face Fury. they don’t sound angry, just annoyed, and, if Nick’s not mistaken, even a little bit impressed. “you fucking knew it, didn’t you? you saw the goddamn loophole and you went for it.” they shake their head. “spies.”
they snap their fingers -
- and from one heartbeat to the next, Fury finds himself standing in the middle of a busy New York street, his beeper lying on the ground with a familiar symbol emblazoned on it.
“sir,” says Hill, “what just happened?”
“a little thing called a miracle,” says Nick.