The doors were thrown open with a startling force, the prized picture frame of Fury's first day at SHIELD shaking at its legs until finally falling over. With a scowl, he looked away from his computer towards the offending person that dared to burst into his office.

"Ah, Agent Barton," he glanced to the other figure behind him, "and Romanoff. Always an unpleasant surprise to see you two in my office. What is it now?"

"You know who Iron Man is."

That was not something he was expecting to hear that afternoon, not something at all.

Leaning back into his chair, the pen earlier in his hand finding itself tapping at his chin. He took in the sight of Clint. He was well masked, but his lack of speech directed his mood to Natasha. She was the one who spoke, and he knew the question was thrown at him as more of a statement. There was no hint of thoughts or second guesses. She stuck to her word.

"If I did," he stretched, "wouldn't that mean he'd be behind bars by now?"

Sighing, he pulled out from one of his desk drawers a heavy red folder. Opening to the first page, he points down to the clearest photo SHIELD had of Iron Man. Mid flight, with a repulsor directed right at the photographer.

"He's been a problem for months, going as far as getting on international radars. He's destroyed both SHIELD and HYDRA bases in search of the tesseract, where it's location is only known by one person; the cube's carrier. That damned blue block has-"

"Wait," Clint interjected, "are you saying you don't know where the tesseract is? Who's it's carrier? Can they be trusted?"

"I will not be sharing with you any or all possible tips that could hint at the location of the tesseract," he spat, "but do understand that they are in safe hands."

"You've never trusted anyone but yourself, and suddenly you're trusting other people to protect something that opened a hole in the sky that brought destruction to the city? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"With how things are now," Fury grumbled, "I don't have a choice."

Taking note at how his hands tensed at the arm rests at the mere thought of his subservience, Natasha knew that something was wrong.

"You seem awfully lenient now, seeking the help of others," taking steps to his desk, stopping right at his side before tilting her head, "why?"

Nick Fury looked up, his eye seeming almost tired as he let out a breath.

"I had a meeting with someone," he paused, "he made me see the bigger picture."

A Few Minutes Prior..
Director's Office

"So," he scoffed, "not only is Tony Stark that half crazed Iron Man, but he's a 'wizard'?"

Him and one Dr Stephen Strange we're seated across from one another, each with their own vital pieces of information in accordance to the public menace called Iron Man. While Dr Strange, admittedly, had more to give.

"A Master of the Mystic Arts, but I will allow you to call him that." Strange quipped, "He came to our temple in search of knowledge, and nothing else. We saw no purpose into not letting him in, so we opened our doors. It's a given, honestly, that Stark was able to pick up on at least one or two things of magic while staying there. It was simply that no one thought he'd actually be good at it."

"So on top of shooting lasers, he can shoot fireballs?"

"No, no, that's not how magic works. He has studied so deeply into our ways, in terms of knowledge, he is probably one of our best pupils - better that I. In general practice however, he is lesser than even our youngest and ill-experienced students."

With the wave of his hand, Strange summoned forth a small gateway. The air around him morphing into fractals as Nick watched in awe as the world around them changed.

In that same moment, it was noticed too late by the famously known 'cautious' man. Strange had pushed his hand forward, hitting Fury's chest with enough force to knock him down.

He watched as he was separated from his own body, the object in question collapsing out of it's chair and hitting the floor. Furious, the man yelled at the wizard and attempted to attack him.

However, there was no use. His hand passed swiftly through the man's body, and the sorcerer smirked as the director's confusion and anger continued to unfold.

"No one but I can see you. You, Fury, have been reduced to your astral body. Your 'soul' if that makes this easier for you to understand. The only place one's soul is visible and tangible is called is called the Astral Dimension, or the Astral Plains if you wish to follow its proper title. To anyone else, all they would see is their poor director unconscious on the floor while a caped weirdo talks to himself."

"I assume then if I am ever to be killed in my astral body, I'm completely dead, right?"

"Right," the doctor smiled, "but this is where complications arise."

"By all means, doctor, do continue." With a raised brow, Fury continued to stand over his sleeping body, his arm only once gesturing for the man to continue. He was a straightforward man, but he understood that compared to most of the universe  he had to allow lenience. He understood that for some things, quite rarely, he had to let another take charge.

"It's through this form of magic, this place, this whole dimension, that Stark reigns supreme. I'm known as the Sorcerer Supreme in our world of magic, and it is of the highest form of magical standing and capacity any living being could ever achieve. In having this power and knowledge, I must also be humble and understand of where my limits lie. One of them, is knowing that Stark is better than me when it comes to controlling this dimension."

Telling that the man did not fully understand, he added, "In Stark's inability to hone onto magic, he latched onto the next great thing: knowledge. Mastering that knowledge, brings forward a certain level of control of the mind that practical studies of magic cannot fathom. The Astral Dimension is a place that can only be accessed by outer forces, such as me sending you there, or through the practice of controlling one's mind and self. Essentially, that damn maniac studied himself to death but his mind was too strong to pass on; and by extension, his soul. From that, he mastered the art of astral projecting, which is the power to separate one's body and soul at will.

"With practice, he learned to prolong this separation between the two. I am certain, so certain in fact, that he could survive a scenario where his physical form insures heavy damage. In most- if not all cases, when a follower of the mystic arts is in their astral form, even the slightest of movement to their physical body would automatically send them back to this realm. I will admit, my own body can only ensure as much as a good slap to the face before I am awoken. The fact Stark could possibly receive a few rounds of bullets to the head and still be alive even for a few more hours is a dangerous thing.

"On top of prolonged life within the Astral Plains, it's also his concerning levels of control of this realm. When in your astral form, the average soul is not capable of touching anything, as the feeling of touch does not exist in that dimension. The most my best students could muster were mediocre at best, with ghostly acts like hard gusts of wind or a fallen vase or two. A good sorcerer would be able to pick up objects, like a book, and interact with it while in their astral form. A great sorcerer would be able to pull their astral form into this realm. A living ghost, some say.

"The difference between a good and a great sorcerer and Stark is straight forward. To be good- or great, one must be a sorcerer. To be a master, one simply must be Tony Stark. In the halls of Kamar-Taj, I once watched that man duel in hand-to-hand combat against one of the our best fighters. He lost, of course, but not before knocking her out of her own body and locking her in the Astral Plains. He severed the connection between body and soul, keeping her projection trapped within that dimension before forcibly dragging her out of that realm and back into her body. 'A reminder' I remember him say. 'A reminder that no one messes with Tony Stark'."

The pregnant silence that followed after was a deafening one. Neither party wished to open further, aside from one certain man itching to return to his body.

"So then Strange, he is physically harmless to you and all things magic. Your only reason for not advancing on him is because you fear his control over this... dimension that not even you could master. Right?"

"I suppose," his eyes leaned towards the door, "but my lack of intervention relies solely on the fact that his meddling will, surprisingly, not alter this reality too much. This universe doesn't seem to deem him a threat to the rest of the multiverse, despite what I know he will do. Therefore, all I can really do is warn your gang of heroes that stopping him- while valid, won't end too well.

"I hope you have seen this meeting as informative as I hoped it to be, but I must end this here." With a ring strapped to his fingers, he opened a portal to seemingly wherever he had originated from, as well bringing Fury back to the normal realm.

With a wheeze, the director took in his first breath as he looked up from the floor.

"Why the hell is that? All the shot I heard from you just now was that Stark was unbeatable and could survive even if we killed him! That's not helpful at all!"

"I never said he was unbeatable, Mr Fury," the doctor said, "he's human. With all the power I know he has gained, the fact that he is still human is his greatest weakness of all."

"Him being human is a weakness? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"Understand this," the sorcerer paused at the gate of his portal, "Stark's death will belong to no one else but SHIELD. I have set it in stone that I will not partake in his demise, that will belong to you and your team of superheroes. To be human, is to have a heart. Not that muscle bag that beats in your chest; a heart. Those with souls of gold and purity. A weakness that people proudly wear over their sleeve. As long as Stark's heart remains in this world, he will continue his search for your tesseract.

"If you truly wish to destroy his heart, it resides on the top floor of Stark Industries in New York. Places into a coma, hooked up to an IV and monitor."

The fear that struck into Fury's eyes was all Strange needed before stepping through his portal.

"...but I can see you already knew that."

The portal closed, and the man was stuck to ponder on his own thoughts. What he had learned was not something he was prepared for. He knew Stark's weakness. He knew it from the very beginning. Too well, compared to most. It was an obvious sore spot for that metal-wearing psychopath, but it was one for him as well. A wound that had yet to heal - one that Fury was not ready to reveal.

He sat back down in his chair, and opened up his computer. He needed a distraction.

After typing in the last few letters of his password, exiting the bland SHIELD loading screens and security checks, he had nearly forgotten about his background screen.

His peace and quiet were sorrowfully missed when someone threw open the doors to his office.

His poor picture frame.

"Ah, Agent Barton."