Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry was a little concerned. No, she was very concerned. John hadn’t called her at all this month and he always called, because for some reason they interacted much better over the phone than in person. Maybe because it was reminiscent of the calls she used to receive while he was still deployed, when she couldn’t in good conscience deny her little brother a civil chat with family when he braved death every single day. Because she may be a horrible sister but she loved her brother and it wasn’t so hard to accept his nagging and concern when it wasn’t paired with those overly compassionate and worried eyes.

So, when John broke the streak that had been ongoing since he returned from Afghanistan, Harry was distressed. There were no calls, no texts, nothing, just radio silence. John had always been responsible. He wouldn’t, he never-, not even when she-, he wouldn’t do this to her! He always cared about how she was doing and now he wasn’t calling and oh god, she was panicking.

Okay, okay, think Harry. John last called her early last month. He was a little subdued but that was to be expected. It was only six months after Sherlock after all, John was still mourning. God knows she spent over a year mourning the end of her relationship with Clara and Clara is alive and well. Still, John had seemed a little more like himself when he last called her. He was telling her about finally clearing Sherlock’s fraud charges and Harry told him about her sobriety (she was three months sober at the time; didn’t want to tell him sooner in fear of disappointing him again). After congratulating her, John told her about his new job at a clinic in Edinburgh. Johnny had joked about going back to their roots but Harry knew the real reason was because he couldn’t bear to live in London anymore. London was Sherlock’s home and a London without Sherlock Holmes was a London without John Watson.

The call ended on a good note and as usual, John told her that he would be calling her next month after everything had settled. A whole month had passed and not a word from John. Harry even texted him but he never replied and John always replied.

“C’mon, pick up Johnny.” Harry chewed her lower lip but she was once more directed straight to the voicemail. “Johnny, call me back once you hear this or I’ll go visit you at the clinic. I know you hate it when I do that so better call me back soon. If you don’t, I swear I will baby you in front of the whole clinic and embarrass you in front of all your new colleagues.”

Harry set her phone down and anxiously waited in front of the telly for a returned call. After a night of restless sleep and awakening to no missed calls, she decided to make real on her threat. A short hour later, the older Watson was packed and ready to leave. She called John one last time and left a voicemail. “John Hamish Watson, I’m warning you in advance. This is your last chance. I’m leaving now and I will be telling them embarrassing stories from our childhood.”

But she didn’t end up doing that because John never made it to the clinic.

Okay, don’t panic, Harry. Maybe John decided that he didn’t want to leave London after all and somewhere along the way, he lost his phone and didn’t remember Harry’s number and couldn’t call her. But that last time that happened and John made sure to ask Harry for her number in person before the month mark was over. It could be that John just didn’t want to talk to her anymore. That didn’t sound like John but then again, John hadn’t been John for half a year now.

Alright. New plan. Baker street. That must be where John was.

Harry knocked on the black door that opened up to 221. Rather than the tired face of her wayward brother she was hoping to see, a sweet old lady opened the door. Flustered, Harry stammered out an introduction. “My name is Harry Watson. Is my brother in?”

“Oh, I’ve not seen him since he left for Edinburgh last month. He promised he would call me but I’ve not heard a word from him. He’s not in trouble, is he?”

… Maybe it was time to panic. Mm. Yeah. This was definitely cause for panic. Her Johnny wasn’t the type of person to make others worry like this and when Johnny made a promise, Johnny kept it. “He hasn’t been to his new job in Edinburgh and he’s not answering his phone. I’m not sure what to think of it.”

To say Mrs Hudson was alarmed would be an understatement. “He’s been in such a state since the funeral. Awfully quiet until he started to work with Mycroft to clear Sherlock’s name. He had been getting better, though, when he started to talk about that clinic in Edinburgh.”

Harry chewed her lower lip. “I think I’ll go ask that detective friend of his. Greg Lestrade?” She remembered John mentioning Greg a few times. He told her that Sherlock refused to call him by his first name and used other names starting with G to take the piss outta him. Greg would complain about it all the time when they went out for drinks, he told her, the exact kind of behaviour Sherlock was aiming for.

“Oh, yes. The detective inspector is a competent man no matter what Sherlock liked to say. I’m sure he’ll find John.” Mrs Hudson seemed cautiously hopeful but Harry allowed that hope to wash over her.

She nodded and went to the New Scotland Yard. John had been working with them for the past two years, and even despite the fiasco with Sherlock, Harry was sure that the force would be eager to help her find John. After all, her little brother was an annoyingly likeable man. It was practically impossible to hate him.

“Hello, could I meet Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade?” Harry hesitantly added, “I’m John Watson’s sister and I’m trying to find my brother.”

The officer looked alarmed at her words and quickly passed on the message. No sooner than she could brew a cup of tea, she was ushered into the office of a dishevelled and overworked detective.

“Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," he introduced himself.

“Harry Watson," she greeted in return, taking a seat in the offered chair.

“Did something happen to John?” Greg asked, concerned. The doctor had been quite upset with Greg because of his role in what happened with Sherlock but they were still friends. John himself told him that when they met up for drinks after they cleared the fraud charges. I’ll need some more time, he said, but we’re still mates, Greg. I just need to clear my head a little.

“I’m not sure. He hadn’t called me all month and I know that we aren’t close but Johnny always calls. Every month. Early last month, he told me that he was starting a new job at a clinic in Edinburgh and he said that he’ll call me when things were settled but I went down there and they told me he hadn’t shown up for his first day. I’ve been trying to call him for days now and it always goes straight to voicemail. I even went to the flat at Baker street and the landlady said she hasn’t seen him since he went to Edinburgh last month. She was quite upset that he hadn’t called her either. He promised her that he would. When Johnny makes a promise, he keeps it.”

The DI frowned. “That doesn’t sound like John at all.”

“I’m worried about him. Ever since Sherlock died, he’s been so sad, sadder than he’d been after Afghanistan. I thought he was getting better, but I thought that when he left my flat for that awful bedsit too. He’s good at hiding how he’s feeling, Johnny, always has been.”

Greg’s lips thinned into a line. “We’ll file an official police report for now and I’ll ask… I have an acquaintance that is very good at tracking people down. Once we have any news, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”

Greg recorded the statement and Harry left with a belly full of worry. Ah christ, he hoped that Mycroft kept his agents on John because this, this sounded not good at all. Staring at his phone in dismay, the silver haired detective quickly dialled the familiar number and after three dial tones, a silky posh voice answered the phone.

“Detective Inspector. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Mycroft, do you still keep tabs on John?” Greg cut to the chase. This was no time for pleasantries.

“Not since before he left for Edinburgh, no. John wanted some privacy and considering it had been months since the good doctor had been anywhere near danger, I decided to respect his request and obliged.” There had also been several matters abroad that required all the manpower he could spare, he didn’t add. “Did something happen to John?”

Greg cursed. “John’s sister just swung by. She says he hasn’t called her all month and isn’t answering his phone. She went to his new workplace too but he never showed up. She has no idea where he is.”

There was a pause. “Very well, I will put my best men on this.”

“Thank you. Please update me on the situation whenever possible. Goodbye, Mycroft.”

“Goodbye, Detective Inspector.”

The tracker in John’s phone led them to the lost and found at a train station. The cleaners had found it on the floor under a train seat and no one had come looking for it the entire month. Following the lead, Mycroft’s team examined the train station’s CCTV footage but aside from showing John entering the station, they didn’t find anything. The only thing they knew for sure was that he never made it to Edinburgh.

Mycroft stared at the report. He shouldn’t have agreed with John’s request. He had been carefully surveilling any movement around the doctor since Sherlock’s fall and nothing suspicious was happening, hence why he agreed to leave John alone. They had taken preemptive measures to ensure his safety too! By all means, he should have been safe. He should be safe! But, now Dr. Watson was unaccounted for and he didn’t know how to tell his brother or even if he should.

There were no hints as to his current whereabouts and his men had found no signs of foul play. The clinic that offered John a job was perfectly innocent too. Nothing aside from the man being missing indicated that someone had taken him. But the most likely suspects were either already in custody or had no means of kidnapping John.

It’s possible that John didn’t believe Mycroft when he told him he'd give him some space. He may have made himself disappear while he sorted things out. Yes. The good doctor had the skills to do so. Mycroft ignored the voice inside whispering that John wasn’t the type of person to do a disappearing act but he ignored it. Grief made people do many things and John Watson was grieving Sherlock Holmes.

An unwelcome thought crawled into his mind before he desperately dismissed it. For his sake, for all their sakes, and most of all, for his brother’s sake, John Watson had to be safe. They’ll find him, alive, in a clinic in the middle of nowhere or when Sherlock comes back, he’ll return to punch him. Yes. John Watson disappeared to live his own life. He was safe. He had to be safe.

But months went by and no more clues were discovered. There were plenty of trails that led to nowhere, a doppelganger in Dublin, a lookalike in Brighton and even a doctor in Afghanistan with the same description. Still, the John Watson they were looking for was nowhere to be found and they had all but given up.

It was then that a package arrived at the NSY addressed to DI Lestrade. Inside the package were photos. A series of photos taken in the same location, each getting more and more horrifying. A strung up John Watson, beaten black and blue, bleeding from numerous cuts. A screaming John Watson with cigarette marks littered over his torso, adding to the canvas of scars already present. A fainted John Watson, curled up in a small ball, looking malnourished and dehydrated. A mangled body, head beaten in and face collapsed. Blonde hair stained with so much blood it was hard to identify the original colour. The body was so swollen and sliced up and damaged that it was impossible to identify. But one thing was for sure. It had John Watson’s stature and hair colour.

‘Let’s not waste precious police resources on fruitless endeavours shall we?’ The attached note mocked.

Greg’s face paled and twisted as revulsion, anger, sorrow, grief and hatred battled for territory on his face. He never wished to see his mate in such a state and yet, here he was staring at the proof of his suffering and at his desecrated corpse. He was going to be sick.

Sally snatched the photos out of Greg’s hands and instantly regretted it. When they started the search for Dr. Watson, she had assumed that he’d done a disappearing act. After all, the NSY hadn’t been kind to him during the issue with the fre- Sherlock Holmes and while John was a saint, she understood that he would want to leave it all behind and start anew. This though, this was not what she was picturing his new life to be. Someone sick, a psychopath (that’s what she used to call Sherlock but that wasn’t who he was, was it?) had taken John and while they were treating him like a runaway, had been torturing him to death.

“We’ll find who did this, Greg. And we’ll make them pay," she shakily declared.

Greg swallowed but his mouth was dry and the world was collapsing in on itself. Trembling, he grabbed his phone and called the one person still alive who would be best for these sorts of tasks. “Mycroft… we have a bastard to find.”

Chapter Text

“You know, for a facility that dares to experiment on people, you’d think they’ll invest in better security,” Tony capriciously commented as he shot a beam at another guard with his gauntlet.

“For most people, their security would be considered overkill. They just weren’t prepared for the Avengers to bust their asses on a team building exercise.” Clint laughed, shooting at the immoral scientists hiding in the lab.

“We’re following a lead from a human trafficking ring. I wouldn’t say it’s a team building exercise,” Steve protested.

“Tasha and I would have been more than enough for an organisation of this size. It might have taken longer, but we would have managed.” Clint hopped out of the vents and began rifling through cabinets and draws for anything that looked important. The level of security the facility possessed wasn’t something that the average mob or organisation could come across. They had a backer, that’s for sure and Clint was planning on finding out who.

“The man who leaked the information said there was a highly dangerous weapon here. It would have been reckless to send you two alone,” Steve argued back.

“I don’t see any dangerous weapons. Just the typical goons with their guns. And really bad cybersecurity it seems.” Tony easily hacked into the lab’s main computer and gained access to all its files. He downloaded them into his suit and had JARVIS organise them for him. “J, check to see if there are any ongoing experiments.’’

“The records show that there have been no new experiments since three weeks ago,” JARVIS reported.

“The shipment that Natasha interrupted must’ve been to replace the ones that died from the experiments,” Steve observed with apparent disgust and disdain in his voice.

“I have found some encrypted files buried within the database,” JARVIS announced. Without skipping a beat, he announced the contents. “There is an individual referred to as the dragon in the lowest floor of the facility. There are photos accompanying the reports. Would you like to see them, Sir?”

“Yes, J.”

The photo appeared in the interface of the Iron Man suit. In a sterile white environment was a creature the size of a big dog chained to the wall. It had beautiful iridescent blue scales, large wings of a bat and sharp claws. It was what people imagined a classic dragon to look like. The dragon was curled in on itself, looking miserable and pitiful.

“Holy shit. It's an actual dragon. First we got aliens and now dragons? Do you think they can breathe fire? Actually, dragons have hoards, yeah? Should I prepare some gold coins to befriend it?” Tony excitedly rambled.

“Not all dragons hoard coins, Friend Tony,” Thor spoke up for the first time since the battle started. “They are as much individuals as you and I.”

“Wait, Thor. You’ve met dragons before?”

“Yes. They are extremely varied individuals. I have never met a dragon that was similar to another.”

“How many dragons have you met?” Bruce asked. He sounded tired. He usually was, after turning into Hulk.

“Not many but the ones I’ve met have differed vastly in their behaviours. One attacked me on sight, the other invited me for tea.”

“A dragon invited you for tea,” Steve repeated, baffled.

“Indeed.”

While the others were trying to imagine how a human sized demigod and a dragon drank tea together, Natasha reached the lowest floor and swiftly neutralised all the hostilities down there. At the very end of the floor was a door with several deadbolts locking it from the outside. It was no doubt where the dragon was being kept. She told the team and waited for them to reconvene in front of the door.

“Do you think it’ll be aggressive?” Clint offhandedly asked as he dropped down from the vent in front of Nat.

“It was captured and presumably experimented upon. Do you think it will be aggressive, Clint?” Natasha sarcastically said.

“Fair point.” Clint conceded easily.

The others didn’t take too long to arrive. Thor was his usual jovial self and Bruce was dressed in his spare clothes and too tired to care. Tony was in his suit but excited, Steve similarly wore a cautiously curious expression on his face.

“I’ll open it but be ready in case it’s hostile,” Natasha warned them.

The Avengers nodded and then watched with awe as the spy casually and easily picked the excessive amount of locks on the door. She all too soon got it to open and the team was finally face to face with a creature of the myths. The dragon curled itself into a tight ball, blue scales stained with blood, mouth trapped in a muzzle and a metal chain was wrapped around its hind leg.

“Christ,” Steve whispered.

At the sound of his voice, the dragon whimpered and opened its eyes. It was a stormy blue colour, intelligent and sorrowful.

“Worry not, young one. We are here to help you.” Thor entered the room and slowly held his fist out in front of the dragon’s nose, like you would a dog. The dragon warily sniffed Thor’s hand, taking in the smell of storms and ozone before gently nudging its head against the appendage. “We shall be taking off these restraints. Please do not attack my friends.”

The dragon clearly possessed intelligence as it nodded and shakily stood up. It lifted its head up high, allowing better access to the mechanism that unlatched the muzzle from around its mouth. The Avengers exchanged looks before Natasha stepped forward and got to work. She knelt in front of the dragon and copied Thor’s actions from earlier. When the dragon pushed its head against her hand, she noted with interest how warm the touch was. Almost like touching a hot water bottle.

With the same ease as she had opening the door, Natasha made quick work of the muzzle and released the little dragon’s mouth. The metal fell with a clang and the dragon celebrated by cautiously opening its mouth. “Brrrp,” it chirped.

“That is the cutest sound I have ever heard,” Clint announced. “Dragons chirp. Thor, you did not tell us that dragons chirped.”

“The dragons I have met in the past were capable of speech. Perhaps this one is too young to speak,” Thor observed.

“Mewpp,” the dragon trilled, lifting its left hind leg and drawing attention to the device chaining it to the wall. Natasha did her magic again and the heavy cuff fell to the ground.

The dragon stepped away from the wall and stretched, doing the full body stretch that dogs and cats liked to do, except it was a dragon and had wings and spread open its wings too. Seemingly satisfied with its full body analysis, the dragon lay back down on the ground in a ball shape around and began to shift. The team watched in morbid curiosity as the blue dragon changed from a scaly lizard to a human man with scales. He had sandy blond hair, the same stormy eyes and the iridescent blue scales covering his shoulder blades and spine, perhaps his chest too but the way the man was curled up, they were unable to check.

“Brrrep.” The transformed dragon chirped and closed his eyes, falling into exhausted slumber.

“The dragon just turned into a man. Thor, you did not tell us that dragons can turn into men.” Tony turned to Thor, eyes wide with disbelief.

“I thought you were aware of that fact. Did you think I had tea with a dragon three times my size? It transformed into a humanoid shape to match me.”

“JARVIS, did the dragon ever transform into a human in front of the researchers?”

“There are no records of such an event occurring.”

“Right. Okay. Dragons exist and dragons can transform into people. Aliens exist and I got defrosted seventy years in the future. Anything is possible,” Steve told himself. “Alright then, Thor, please bring our new friend to the Quinjet with Bruce and attend to any wounds that need seeing to. The rest of us will be finishing our examination of this facility. I imagine they would have used the dragon’s blood in their experiments and our priority should be to dispose of any samples they have.”

Thor nodded and unclipped his cloak from around his neck. He gently wrapped it around the sleeping dragon and lifted him up bridal style. Then, along with Bruce, they made their way back up to where the Quinjet was packed nearby.

Chapter Text

The team had settled back in the quinjet, Clint flying and Natasha acting as his copilot. The dragon’s wounds had been tended to by Bruce, though the doctor (not a medical doctor but experienced enough to be one) noted that many of the areas that he suspected were bleeding were covered with scales, acting as natural stitches of some kind. All Bruce really did was clean the blood and grit away and dress the dragon in his spare clothes (he had many, many spare clothes in the jet).

“So, what do we tell Fury?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Tony, we can’t just-”

“It’s a dragon, Captain. Do you honestly think Fury would leave this alone? No. One eye would be all over this. He’ll take the dragon and it will be as if it-, he never left the god damn facility.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He knew first hand how controlling Fury could get. If he knew about the dragon, he would never leave him be. The dragon will have no freedom. “In that case, it’s a good thing that he is not a dragon but a man.”

Tony smiled at that. “Yes, his scales can easily be covered by clothing and the chirping, well, people are weird.”

“If we are hiding him, we will need to erase all data relating to the dragon that we got from the facility," Bruce chimed in. “Fortunately, this wasn’t a SHIELD sanctioned mission so we have more leeway but it will be a lot of covering up.”

“JARVIS can erase the digital data and I will handle the paperwork.” Natasha exited the cockpit and informed the team. “Meanwhile, Tony, you can create a new identity for our friend here. If anyone asks, we’ll tell him that he is Clint’s friend. ”

“Why Clint’s friend?”

“Steve is from the past. Bruce was on the run for a while. Tony has a very public life. Thor is an alien and I’m not someone who shares. No one knows Clint’s personal life but it won’t be too surprising if he has friends that visit him,” Nat calmly and logically explained.

The others nodded in understanding while privately thinking of the implication that of them all Clint was the one most likely to have friends visiting him. Because, have you met Clint? He’s a great guy but a strange guy still and what did that say about the rest of them?

“Okay. So, Blue is Clint’s friend and because we all like him, he’s staying in the tower. And if Fury tries to pry, we tell him it’s none of his fucking business,” Tony gleefully summarised, rubbing his palms together as though he were an evil mastermind.

“Language,” Steve said reflexively. “Wait, Blue?”

“Yeah. He’s got blue scales and blue eyes. What are we supposed to call him if not Blue?”

“He’s supposed to be a human, Tony. Human. Not dragon. Humans are not named after colours.”

“Uhh. Yes they are.” Tony leaned back in his seat, ready to school the human capsicle. He had just opened his mouth when-

“Scarle,.” Natasha said, beating him to it.

“Violet,” Bruce hummed, deciding to join in.

“Ebony!” Thor excitedly shouted, thinking it was a game they were playing.

“Hazel, Cyan, Ruby, Jade, Silver, Ash, Brown, etc etc. People like their colours, Cap.” Tony waved his hand as if to explain it with a simple gesture.

“Alright. But what if he already has a name?” Steve stubbornly pressed on.

“Then it’ll be a nickname, but do you honestly think he’ll have a name we can hope to pronounce? He chirps, Capsicle.”

Steve looked thoughtful and suddenly began to chuckle. “Imagine Fury asks him for a name and Blue just chirps at him. Gosh, that’ll be priceless.”

The image of Fury angrily barking out, or rather, chirping the sounds Blue makes appeared unbidden into Tony’s mind and he couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought. From the sounds around him, the other Avengers had similar thoughts in their minds and everyone was thinking of how flustered Fury would be around Blue.

He woke up in a daze, feeling more like himself than he had in a very long time. For one, he didn’t feel small and scared, which was odd because he couldn’t remember ever feeling like anything else. Instead, he felt safe right now, wrapped up in a warm cocoon of soft blankets. He felt the fluffy material with his hands and– hands! He had hands again! Experimentally, he flexed his legs and wriggled his toes. Sure enough, the cuffs around his left leg that were preventing him from turning back were gone. In fact, he wasn’t restricted at all, aside from the blankets that he had buried himself under in his sleep.

He subtly lifted the blanket a little to let in a bit of air and sniffed it. He could smell laundry detergent, air fresheners that smell like lavender, and the lingering scent of people. The people that removed the restraints, he remembered. The big man smelt like rain and storms and space. Rain smelt like home, a home he didn’t remember anymore but it made him trust the man and he was glad he did, because right now, he was warm and comfortable. It was a nice feeling, it made him feel at home.

He shuffled underneath his safe haven and stretched out his muscles (a more subdued version of his full body stretch as a dragon). He couldn’t stay here forever. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten in a long while. Last time he ate was three days ago. A slab of raw meat (always raw, never cooked). He cooked it with his flames but his control wasn’t good enough yet. He always burnt it. This time though, it was actually quite nice. The insides were only slightly cooked as opposed to the charred outside, like a rare steak. (Rare was fine, it wasn’t raw. Anything was better than raw. He wasn’t an animal. He refuses to eat raw meat.)

He waited under the blankets for a long while until he finally worked up to courage to poke his head outside of it. A rush of cold air assaulted his exposed face along with blinding rays of sunlight. The room he was in was sparsely furnished, modern and stylish, with floor to ceiling windows that let in the sun and illuminated the entire room. The view gave way to a gorgeous skyline of a city he’s never been to before and exposed the fact that he was high up, very high up. Away from that horrible dark underground room (room? Could that place even be called a room?)

“Good morning, Master Blue. I am JARVIS and this is the Avengers Tower. Do you recall what happened yesterday?” JARVIS spoke with a cadence that was slightly robotic and modulated, his voice echoing from the various speakers hidden in the ceiling.

“Brrp?” He sat up and pointed at himself, blinking and tilting his head to the side. He wasn’t sure if JARVIS would understand his meaning from the gestures but tried anyway. Words were not an option for him right now. They haven’t been for a long time.

“Sir has taken the liberty of assigning you the name Blue. If that is alright with you, of course,” JARVIS had somehow understood and clarified for him.

Blue. That was to be his name now? That was fine. It is his favourite colour. (He remembers flashes of blue sometimes, the boundless sky meeting sandy landscapes, a beloved scarf tucked into an equally beloved coat, a soft jumper scorned yet adored.)

He nodded his approval and his lips curled upwards into a soft smile. It felt rusty on his face yet welcome, like an old friend. Blue liked smiling.

“Master Blue, as you may recall, the Avengers found you yesterday on a private mission. They have subsequently taken you with them to the Avengers Tower. It has been twelve hours since you have arrived.”

Blue nodded. It was no wonder he felt so well rested. Falling unconscious had its perks sometimes, it seemed.

“The Avengers have expressed a desire to formally meet you but many are still asleep. However, Captain Rogers is currently in the kitchen preparing breakfast. If you would like to join him, I shall inform him.”

“Mrrrp," he chirped with false excitement. Eating sounded great but meeting people? Bah. Although, they had rescued him, so it would only be proper to go thank them in person. Urgh, curse his sense of responsibility, the damn thing never did him any good but damn if he wasn’t going to listen to it. (double damn, triple damn, quadruple dam-)

He swept his legs to the side of the four poster bed and noticed for the first time the clothing adorning his body. He distinctly remembered turning back, naked as the day he was born, and going to sleep on the blood soaked floor. In addition to the clothing, there was a lingering scent of antiseptic clinging to where there used to be wounds. They found him, freed him, treated his wounds and clothed him. Now they were going to feed him. Damn, he really did need to go greet them, didn’t he?

Blue stood up, shirt a tad too big and falling off his shoulders, and tilted his head to the side. Once again, JARVIS understood his nonverbal cues. (He thinks JARVIS might be psychic.)

“To the right down the hall is an elevator. It will take you to the communal kitchen.”

Blue nodded his thanks and padded down the sleek floors, quickly entering the already open doors of the lift and was brought up to a room that smelt of sweet syrup and pancakes.

“Good morning.” Captain Rogers turned towards him and gave him a friendly smile. Blue could remember him from yesterday. He stood at the door with a few others, a shield held in front of everyone protectively, looking at him with compassion in his eyes. “I’m Steve Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Blue.”

Despite his initial reluctance to see the man, Blue couldn’t help but to let out a chirp in reply, his lips automatically curling into a smile at the kind looking man. It was nice to be referred to with a name (odd name, but a name nonetheless), not a number or species.

“I hope you like pancakes.” Steve shyly gestured at the table. There were two plates with stacked pancakes with various syrups and toppings on the side for his choosing. Then, as if to demonstrate to Blue, the captain began to add maple syrup on top of his stack of pancakes and used his knife and fork to cut it. He brought it to his mouth and chewed it with his mouth closed. Only when he swallowed did he speak again. “I found the recipe online but everyone seems to really like it.”

Nodding, Blue took a seat at the table in front of his own plate. He added some fruits and honey to his pancakes and began to eat with relish. The pancakes were fluffy and combined with the sweet tartness of the fruits, they were delightful. Gosh, it had been so long since he had a proper meal.

“Oh, um, would you like something to drink too? There’s coffee, juice, water, anything you’d like, really,” Steve stammered nervously. He stood up and opened the fridge, lifting up bottles of juice and showed them to Blue.

Unable to articulate his thoughts, Blue followed the man and scanned the insides of the fridge. It was a remarkably well stocked fridge, filled with an assortment of food and impressively had order to its chaos. There weren’t any non-food items inside the fridge either so that was another plus. (Why did he half expect organs to be inside? Human body parts did not belong inside a food fridge. They were biohazards.)

Blue spotted a bottle of pink strawberry milk and pointed at it, chirping while he was at it. He usually didn’t go for sweet drinks but it was a very, very long time since he last had something sweet so sue him, he was going to enjoy it. Steve chuckled at his choice but filled a glass for him and a glass of orange juice for himself.

From there, breakfast went smoothly with Steve regalling Blue with stories about how the Avengers came to be and even talked about being from the forties, his dive into the arctic and how he was defrosted by SHIELD. Blue listened with fascination, letting out a trill and chirp every now and then when appropriate. These people sounded wild but damn if he wasn’t a bit excited to meet them now.

Fortunately, Blue didn’t have to wait too long. When the two of them had finished eating their breakfast, Steve placed their dishes in the dishwasher and began cooking more pancakes.

“The others usually arrive in ones or twos after I finish eating. I would wait for them but I have a high metabolism so I just eat again with whoever arrives first,” Steve explained.

Blue hummed and sat in the bar stool watching Steve cook while they waited for the others to arrive.

“Captain! JARVIS informs me that you have made pancakes today!” A jolly voice broke the comfortable silence in the room as the smell of storms and rain and space flooded the room. “Oh, Blue, I see that you have awakened. I am Thor, Son of Odin and god of thunder. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Blue returned the introduction with a playful salute and grinned at the man.

Thor grabbed a box from the cabinet and sat beside Blue at the kitchen island. He grabbed an item from inside and showed it to Blue. It was a pastry of some sort topped with colourful icing. “This, my friend, is a poptart. Truly, one of mankind’s greatest inventions. Have one.”

Hesitantly, the dragon grabbed the offered treat and brought it to his mouth. Instantly, his taste buds were overcome with a sugary artificial chemical taste. Urgh. Blue scrunched his nose and drowned the taste with strawberry milk.

Thor laughed boisterously and snagged the poptart back. “Not for everyone I supposed. Well, all the more for me, friend!” He grinned and shoved the piece whole in his mouth. Blue grimaced as the alien god chewed on the chemical monstrosity with pleasure and looked away less he became too disgusted.

“You shouldn’t be eating poptarts before breakfast, Thor.” Steve tutted at Thor and placed a stack of pancakes in front of the man.

Thor simply grinned and poured an obscene amount of syrup and toppings on the pancakes. Blue observed that he was eating half pancake and half topping, both drenched with syrup. It was a good thing that Thor was an alien that had a very active lifestyle or he wouldn’t live past fifty with how he ate.

“Good morning, Captain, Thor, Blue.” A woman appeared suddenly within the room and walked straight to the coffee machine.

“Morning Nat.”

“Good morning, Natasha.”

Natasha took a few sips of her coffee and sat down in front of a fresh stack of pancakes. “My name is Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow. I got you out of the restraints.”

Yes, he remembered that. The accursed muzzle and shackles wrapped around his body and restricted his ability to transform back to his bigger human form. Natasha had so easily removed what had been trapping him in that basement. Blue let out a trill to show his thanks and gratitude, to which Natasha responded by bumping her mug against his glass.

“Ooh, pancakes. Cap, where’re mine?” A man dropped from the ceiling vent and onto a stool casually asked.

“Clint.” Steve sighed, sounding very much like the old man his birth certificate suggested he was. “Why don’t you just use the elevators like everyone else?”

“No way, man. Where’s the fun in that?” Clint did a random flip over to the coffee machine and drank directly from the coffee pot. “So, my pancakes?”

Steve frowned at Clint. “I’m not rescuing you when Tony comes in looking for coffee.”

“Ah, shit.” The archer chugged the hot coffee, showing no indication that the heat bothered him and finished it with big gulps. He gave it a cursory rinse and made a fresh pot under the watchful eye of Captain Rogers. “Do I have the right to pancakes now, your honour?”

Steve shook his head with exasperation and gestured at the table. “Introduce yourself and take a seat first. I’m still cooking them.”

Clint finally looked at Blue and grinned. “Hey, they say you’re to be my friend, Blue. Story is, you’re visiting and everyone liked you so much that you decided that you should just live here forever. That’s entirely up to you, of course, but yeah, if anyone asked, that’s the story. Though, we haven’t really thought of a last name for you. Anyways, the name’s Clint Barton. I’m an archer, codenamed Hawkeye.”

Blue returned Clint’s grin and waved his hello back to him.

“Oh, can I give you a last name? Tony gave you your first name, so I want to give you your last name, supposed friend privilege and all that.”

He nodded, bemused by the enthusiasm.

“Hmmmm, Blue… Blue… New York… Hudson! Blue Hudson… uhhh, a bit weird. Then again, Blue would be weird with anything. Oh, I know. Since you chirp and all, we can say that your nickname is Bluejay, then we can be bird bros, and your, like, official name can be Jay Hudson, sound good?”

Hudson… Warmth filled his heart at the sound of it, warmth that he equated to home. Blue nodded enthusiastically and smiled sweetly in approval. He really liked the sound of that.

“Hah! I knew you thought Blue was not a first name too.” Steve triumphantly placed a plate of pancakes in front of Clint and smugly crossed his arms,

“Aww, c’mon Steve, that is not what I said.”

“You changed his name to Jay Hudson, when everyone else had agreed the other day that it was to be Blue.”

“You know what? Just for that comment, Cap, I’m changing my mind. Blue, how does Blue Jay Hudson sound? First name Blue, middle name Jay and last name Hudson.”

“Nuh uh, no take backs. You already said that his name is Jay Hudson and Blue agreed. You can’t change it again.” Steve childishly rebuked.

“Blue Jay Hudson is a perfectly good name. People will think his first name is Bluejay the bird so that’s an added bonus too,” Natasha commented dryly.

Clint cackled wildly. “That’s perfect! What do you think, Blue? Wanna be boring like Captain icey pole over there or come to the logical conclusion that Blue Jay Hudson triumphs? Just point at whoever you agree with.”

Blue glanced between the occupants of the room, from the wry Natasha to an amused Clint, a signalling Steve and Thor who was simply chowing down on his pancakes. Eventually, he came to a conclusion and a wicked grin surfaced on his face. He did like messing with people after all.

“YES! IN YOUR FACE CAPTAIN!” Clint whooped and did a backflip just for the hell of it while Steve just watched him with a ‘why am I here’ look on his face. It was a good look on him.

“What are we bullying Icicle about this time? Lemme in on the joke.” A man walked in looking deader than dead and beelined to the coffee machine, freshly made thanks to Clint. He at least was civilised enough to pour the coffee into a mug before drinking it. Behind the man was another tired man and both zombies quietly sipped on their coffee while waiting for the team to update them on the new teasing material.

“Hey, Tony, Bruce. Meet Blue Jay Hudson, my friend. He’s staying in the tower for a while.”

“You know I was there for the rescuing right?” Tony drank more coffee before his brain caught up to the words. “Wait, Bluejay? Like the bird? Is this because he chirps?”

“Success!” Clint cackled and threw his head back in laughter.

“There is a joke here and I am missing it. Someone, fill me in on the joke.”

Tony looked at Steve and Natasha but they both simply smiled and ignored him. Thor was just eating and generally having a good time.

“His name is Blue Jay Hudson. First name Blue, middle name Jay, last name Hudson. So, no, not like the bird.” Clint grinned.

“That’s so dumb. You’re dumb. Did I ever tell you you were dumb, bird brain?” Tony grumpily said into his coffee.

“It’s nice to meet you, Blue. I’m Bruce Banner, sometimes I turn into a big green monster called Hulk when I’m angry. I’m glad you’re looking better now.” Bruce ignored the bantering of the two mentally five adults in the room and gently smiled at Blue.

“And I’m Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, also Iron Man, hi.” Tony stuck his hand out at Blue, in which he stared at, before belatedly grabbing it and shaking it with a firm grip. He was a little distracted by the sudden topic change, alright? Excuse him for being out of it.

And so, in a flurry of introductions, Blue Jay Hudson formally met the Avengers.

Chapter Text

“So, Blue, I had a look at your files before JARVIS deleted them and it says you were found in a nearby mountain and captured by the locals. If by any chance you wanted to go back to the mountains, I can find you one that isn’t anywhere near human populations or at least, somewhere you won’t be bothered. I do have some private islands that fit the profile,” Tony offered hesitantly.

“Mrrrrrrrrp,” Blue chirped and shook his head vigorously. He didn’t remember much but recalled waking up in a forest, covered in wounds and feeling weak all over. It was by pure luck that he managed to scavenge some food and find shelter in a cave. Those few weeks he spent in the mountains, running from people and hunting for food were horrible, made worse by the fact that he was searching for a home he couldn’t quite remember. He wasn’t meant for the mountains, and he sure as hell didn’t want to go back to them.

“Okay, great. That means we can go ahead with Plan: Friend From Afar.” Tony typed into his tablet and the TV display turned on showing a powerpoint slide with the aforementioned title. “As we’ve previously discussed, we will be hiding the fact that Blue is a dragon from everyone outside of the team, excluding Pepper because we can’t hide things from Pepper. Blue Jay Hudson will be introduced simply as Clint’s old friend who needed a place to stay. We’ll need to make some form of ID for him too but I trust Nat will take care of that easily. In the meantime, we’ll be acclimatising Blue just like we are Thor, so business as usual.”

“We can explore the human world together!” Thor exclaimed excitedly, looking like a five year old who was just told he could have a marshmallow. Blue chirped in response but couldn’t help the wry smile on his face. He was pretty sure that his memory loss didn’t suddenly make him an alien to the human world but Thor seemed like a nice guy to hang out with. It would be fun to explore the world with him.

“In that case, we can start by showing Blue around the Tower,” Steve proposed.

Clint swung his arm around Thor’s shoulder. “You wanna come too? I don’t think you’ve explored the Tower in its entirety yet.”

The jolly ol’ alien shook his head. “I believe I have only been to the common areas and my designated floor.”

“Then you’ll both benefit from the tour!” Clint spun around and faced the two curious guys. “There’s a whole gymnasium with rock climbing walls and parkouring stuff and everything. Steve and the others also like working out in the gym and spar and all that. Oooh, and my personal favourite, the gun range! I’ll teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow, it’ll be fun!”

“I have attempted to learn archery in my youth but have never managed to grasp the fundamentals of the skill. My tutors were understandably frustrated by the sixteenth bow I had managed to break.”

“No way! I bet you broke them on purpose.”

Thor simply grinned and shrugged. “Why would I do that, Clint?”

“I bet it's because you much rather go around throwing that hammer of yours.”

Thor laughed, “I received Mjolnir when I came of age. It has nothing to do with what you are thinking.”

“Whatever, I have a feeling Blue would be much more appreciative of my archery than you.” Clint did a backflip for no reason and then cartwheeled into the elevator.

The tour itself was relatively tame, with Hawkeye giving bizarre anecdotes about each floor and demonstrating some of the equipment with impressive athleticism. With permission, they entered the research and development floors, though it was made clear that usually off limits unless under supervision from either Tony or Bruce. Clint also brought them to the med bay that was still being built. It was home to many state-of-the-art equipment that frankly made Blue drool. He did not know how he knew the equipment was state of the art but damn, he was impressed by them.

“There’s a whole lot more to the Tower but the areas you’ll spend the most time in would be your personal floor, the common floors and the training floors. Other than those, you don’t really need to know the other floors of the Tower I don’t think.” Clint tapped his chin pensively and shot a finger gun at Blue and Thor. “You both don’t really have many personal belongings, do you? Thor, go change into the clothes that Jane bought you. We’re going out!”

“Mrrrp?” Blue tilted his head when Clint slapped a cap on his head.

“Thor is quite famous because of his flashy actions in the Battle of New York so if he doesn’t hide his face, especially in a place as crowded as a mall, we’ll be swarmed by people. Then, they’ll wonder, who are the people with Thor? It’s best if we’re hiding our faces too in that case.”

Blue nodded and when Thor returned in some more casual clothes, with a cap obscuring part of his face, he noted how much more subdued his presence became. It didn’t exactly hide who Thor was, obviously, but at least his appearance stopped screaming warrior prince at whoever looked at him for a second too long.

“Alright! JARVIS, tell the gang we’re going to the mall if they ask.”

“Yes, Agent Barton.”

“To the mall we go!”

Clint drove them to the mall since they’ll be buying lots of stuff and when they arrived, Blue was a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. So many different sounds and smells and presences, it was too much to process all at once. He couldn’t help but stand a little closer to Thor for the barrier his big figure provided. The man noticed it but tactfully did not mention it, only standing a little closer as to be a better shield. Blue was grateful for that.

They walked into a men’s clothing store and Clint told them they could buy anything they’d like. Apparently Tony gave him his credit card for the day. It was very generous of him, Blue thought, then he wondered if he could ever repay him somehow. There didn’t seem like much he could do, given that he would be living in the man’s tower for the foreseeable future. There were things that people appreciated more than money, so perhaps he could find out what that was for Tony and the rest of the Avengers.

Blue caught sight of some jumpers down the aisle. He absentmindedly stood in front of them and tilted his head. Voices, sounding like they were spoken in an echoey room flooded his mind. ‘You’re a puzzle wrapped in ugly jumpers.’ ‘Must you insist on persisting with those distasteful jumpers?’ ‘They’re warm and make you look cuddly, like a teddy bear.’ ‘I do so love your jumper, dear.’ ‘You dress like a retired English teacher in the countryside. I love it.’

“Mrrrp.” Blue proudly presented his spoils to Clint.

The archer appraised the small mountain of knitwear in Blue’s arms and nodded. Bit excessive but then again, dragons loved to hoard didn’t they? Maybe Blue wanted to hoard sweaters instead of gold. It was certainly cheaper to do so. Blue was perhaps a very low maintenance dragon.

“Fine choice of attire, Blue. But is it not perhaps too big on you?” Thor grabbed the blue sweater on the very top and compared it to Blue’s slight frame. The little dragon snatched it back and trilled as if to say ‘it’s fine.’ Thor just nodded. “If that’s what you prefer.”

“You can’t just wear sweaters though. You got to choose some pants too, Blue.”

Blue nodded. He saw some pants in the back of the store earlier. Oh, there it was. Packed neatly in five bunches. Blue took two and showed them to Clint.

“Boxers? Ah, you do need underwear too. Smart thinking, Blue. You still need pants though. The combination you have right now? Pfft, you’re going to get stared at.”

Blue wrinkled his nose. He did choose some pants. His chosen pants were in Clint’s hands right now. Whatever. Clint was a weirdo. Blue shook his head and left to choose some trousers. There were some nice ones in the aisle beside the jumpers. He saw some nice button ups too. Hmm, yes. His outfit was coming together nicely.

Clint paid with a grin, flashing the borrowed credit card and whistling as he jaunted out of the store. Blue and Thor exchanged glances and shrugged. Clint was a weirdo.

They entered another store with similar but different clothing. While they were there, Clint chose three different hoodies for Blue and Thor and piled them up with sweats because they didn’t have enough casual clothes apparently. According to Clint, one can never have too many casual clothes. Thor thought Clint’s only non casual clothing was his uniform but he didn’t mention it.

“We should get cardigans for Blue so he can complete his math teacher look.” Clint snickered but Blue wasn’t listening.

He was staring intently at the blue scarf on display. (He folded it up and put it in his suitcase. It was the only thing he could bear to take with him. But they went through everything, tore it up and burnt it right in front of his eyes-)

“Blue?” Thor’s voice cut through his memories and he was back again, in the store with too many hoodies and sweats, staring at a plain blue scarf.

“You like that, Blue?”

“Brrp.” He grabbed it. It was just as soft as it looked. Different from the one in his memory but close enough. Nothing will ever be able to replace the one in his memory.

Chapter Text

Blue got to know the Avengers a little more over dinner. (Nothing special. Takeaway; simple, delicious, cooked.) They had an easy sort of camaraderie about them, told through their light-hearted banter and gentle ribbing. The sort of fast bond that was forged through combat, wherein you knew petty differences meant nothing because they were a brother, a sister, and they had your back.

He had that once, he thinks. Sometimes, when he sleeps, he dreams of Before. He doesn’t wake up remembering it, but the feelings bleed into his waking hours. It was something thrilling, something steady, something so beautiful he wanted to cry because he didn’t have that anymore. Sometimes, he woke up with whispers on his lips, names he could no longer recall and just wanted to scream and shout at the world for he felt robbed and so, so lost. Sometimes, he wished he never woke up again.

Now, he sat at a dining table eating mediocre Italian with people who tried to make him feel included. They asked him about his day, undeterred by his limited language capabilities. They praised his clothing choices, oohed and ahhed about his scarf and teased him about his ‘sweater’ hoard. These people didn’t know him, didn’t know about Before or even much about After, but they were the Now and he thinks they could be Something.

In his quest for Something, Blue decided to just hang out with the Avengers a lot. Most of that involved watching movies with Clint and Thor, going to random places that Clint liked and pretty much whatever Clint wanted to do that day. They were all mundane things but the two were such bizarre people that even the most innocuous task like going to the grocery store turned into a mini adventure.

When neither Clint nor Thor was available, Blue liked to sit in the lab and keep the two scientists company. Something was fascinating about watching a genius in their zone, all that frantic energy focused entirely on one project, a mad frenzy of ideas coming to life one way or another. Of course, it was worrying to see them go days without leaving their worktable but Blue simply provided them cut fruit and water once in a while and that helped sustain them until their inevitable collapse.

Natasha had a variety of hobbies but once a week, she practised ballet in the gymnasium. It was always beautiful watching her dance, not only because of the elegance and grace in the fluidity of her movements but also in the emotions it conveyed. Natasha’s dancing felt like grieving; there was a profound sorrow entrenched within mixed with hope and joy. It was a requiem and Blue felt honoured to be allowed to see it.

Some days, he wandered into the gym and lifted weights with Steve. The first time he copied the Captain, Blue was surprised by how much weight he could lift. He easily deadlifted 100kg without warming up and Blue just knew that he wasn’t able to do that before. It was…odd but Blue didn’t dwell on it too much. He was different now and that was just something he had to accept.

He didn’t always have people to be around. It was only natural. Everyone had busy schedules and Blue did not so he was left alone sometimes. On those days, JARVIS kept him company. Sometimes, they played chest on the holograms. The AI was obviously much more skilled than Blue but limited himself to be a challenge but not unbeatable. A lot of the time, Blue would randomly chirp at the ceiling just to hear JARVIS call back with a ‘Master Blue’.

Then there were the nights. Blue took a lot of short naps during the day. He wasn’t picky about where he slept but he liked sleeping under the sun the most. The next best spot was in the corner. Corner of the room, the sofa, whichever. It was nice simply because it was in the corner. The Avengers tried to be quiet around him when they first saw him napping but quickly realised that he did not wake up easily and just ignored him.

Anyway, the point was that Blue napped a lot during the day so come night, he didn’t sleep at all. Most nights, that was fine because he resided in a Tower of insomniacs and mad geniuses. But sometimes, they remembered they were human and went to bed and Blue would have to go to bed too. He only needed full rest once a week. It was a side effect, of what he did not know, but a side effect nonetheless.

Sometimes, he appreciated not sleeping because not all dreams were pleasant but when the nights stretched out impossibly long and he could see the shadows move in the corner of his eyes, Blue wished he could force himself to sleep. JARVIS was a godsend on such nights. The AI somehow just knew and played soothing violin music in Blue’s room, read audiobooks and made the silent nights not so quiet. It was nice in the way a campfire was nice. Warm, cosy and safe. Blue liked JARVIS a lot.

Now, many weeks later, Blue felt comfortable around the Avengers. They were nothing like After and everything like the echoes of Before and something more. The Avengers made him feel safe and unlike After, he didn’t feel weak and afraid in his dragon form. Instead, he felt free and content to lounge in sunspots and fly through the obstacles in the gymnasium. It helped that the Avengers tried their best not to coo over him as a dragon. Keyword: Try. Clint said he was too cool and adorable as a dragon to not coo over.

“Mrrrrrrp.” Blue dropped a blue scale into each of the Avengers' hands and hopped back to watch their reactions. He started shedding last night and tried his best to preserve the shape and beauty (he wasn’t being vain. His scales were really beautiful, alright? Iridescent blue, what wasn’t there to like?) of his scales and hand-selected the best ones of the bunch. Blue even secretly snuck into Tony’s lab to breathe fire over them to polish his scales! That’s how much thought he put into this thank you gift.

“Is this your scale?” Steve asked, looking a little star-struck.

Blue preened like he was being praised, wings tucked behind him and tail wagging back and forth.

“This is really beautiful, Blue. Thank you.” Pepper clutched the scale in her hand and held it to her chest, designs for accessorising it running through her mind. Blue had met Pepper shortly after he settled into the Tower and she bribed her way into his good books with good food and sweets. Blue doesn’t doubt he would have loved Virginia Potts even without the bribes. The woman was strong-willed with a no-nonsense attitude towards life. She was able to corral the team when they were being too chaotic and was pretty much able to get to do anything she liked. Pepper Potts was awesome and Blue admired that.

The rest of the team admired the scale in their own ways, either in open admiration (Clint, Thor, Natasha) or by trying to science it (Tony but Steve and Bruce promised to stop him). All in all, Blue’s gift seemed like a hit.

Chapter Text

It was a nice sunny day in New York when Bruce finally crawled out of the black hole that was his laboratory and blearily made his way to the kitchen. Upon reaching the kitchen, he rummaged through the cupboards for the tin that contained magic and dreams and opened it to find it empty. Bruce stared at it, rubbed his eyes and stared some more. He lived in a household of coffee addicts, there was no reason-, no one drank tea here so why-, it should have lasted at least another two weeks so why was his tin of tea empty?!

Green tinted his vision and left it just as suddenly as another colour entered his mind. Blue. Bruce had been having tea parties with Blue lately and he even granted explicit permission for the other man to drink as much tea as he wanted whenever he fancied. In fact, he recalled having a tea session just yesterday while he waited on the results of his experiments. Bruce had brewed the tea himself, noted the depleted supply, shrugged and then promptly forgot about it…Bruce wanted to strangle yesterday’s him.

“Brrp?” Blue chirped behind him. Bruce hadn’t known he was there but he didn’t flinch so he had that going for him at least.

“Sorry, Blue, I’m afraid we’re all out of tea.”

Blue tilted his head to the side, a peculiar habit yet an adorable one nonetheless, especially when done in his littler dragon form. He reached into his pocket and flashed a card. Bruce recognised it to be one of Tony’s. The billionaire had set up an allowance for Blue separate from the Avenger’s account though Blue very rarely ever used it.

“If we order it online, it will take at least a few days for it to arrive and I refuse to buy generic store brand tea.” Bruce was aware that he was being a snob but tea in American stores really didn’t deserve the name. They were more like dregs, washed-out leaves that no one wanted packaged nicely to be sold to the ignorant and tasteless.

Blue chuckled and shook his head. He gently tugged on Bruce’s hand and pointed outside. The sky was very blue and the sun was very bright. Annoyingly so.

“Are you suggesting we go out to buy some?” Bruce guessed. He hoped he was wrong. Bruce hated going outside and avoided it whenever possible. Tea, though wonderful, wasn’t something that made him desperate enough to go outside on such a sunny day. Everyone knew that sunny days made strangers 30% more likely to smile at you, forcing you to muster a smile back. No. Bruce simply wasn’t desperate enough to willingly brave the risk.

“Mrrrrrp,” Blue chirped and nodded enthusiastically. He seemed genuinely excited at the idea of going on a shopping trip with Bruce.

“...Alright. Let me get changed first and I’ll meet you down in the lobby.” Damn it. Blue was much too nice of a person to refuse. Damn this and damn the sun.

Bruce splashed water on his face and tried his best to wash away the effect of three all-nighters but there really wasn’t anything he could do about it other than sleep. Resigned to looking like he got run over by a truck, Bruce changed into a cleaner set of clothes and hurried out into the lobby. It was no secret that Blue didn’t like to be alone and JARVIS seldom spoke in the lobby so Bruce didn’t want to dally for too long.

As he exited the elevator, he saw Blue standing inconspicuously in the corner. A baseball cap was secured on his head, obscuring his eyes and hiding his hair. Blue immediately noticed him and gave him a quick smile that turned into a confused one as he inclined his head to the side. The dragon pointed at his cap and then at Bruce.

Bruce frowned, unsure what Blue was trying to say. Blue looked from Bruce to the people around them; receptionists, staff, and tourists trying to catch a glimpse of the Avengers. Oh.

“I’m not as famous as Thor or even Clint. It’s Hulk that people recognise, not Dr Banner,” he explained with a slight smile.

Blue hummed and fiddled with the bill of his cap in consideration. In the end, he decided to keep it on and gestured for Bruce to lead the way. Bruce chuckled and together they quietly walked out of the Avenger’s Tower lobby. Despite Bruce’s inner dread, the trip itself was uneventful. No one spared either of them a second glance and the sun was actually rather nice after hiding away in his lab for so long. Not to say he would suggest another one of such trips again but he wouldn’t protest another.

“How about we have a tea party once we get back to sample all the different teas we bought today,” Bruce suggested on the way home.

Blue narrowed his eyes accusingly and mimed a sleeping gesture at Bruce, then held up three fingers.

“After I wake up then,” Bruce sheepishly corrected.

Satisfied, Blue smugly nodded.

“Damn thief! Give me back my purse!” screamed a vindictive voice from in front of them.

They could see someone hugging a bag to their chest, sprinting with their head held low and weaving through the crowd as they made their escape. Blue inclined his head at the thief and narrowed his eyes. Nonchalantly, he stepped forward, tripped the purse snatcher and kicked the back of their knee. He twisted their arm behind their back in one fluid motion and held the thief in place.

Huh, where did he learn to do that?

“Aghh!” the thief cried out in pain and tried to break free. Blue just smiled and easily held the squirming boy still.

The owner of the bag caught up to them and breathlessly thanked them. “That’s mine. Thank you!”

Blue smiled charmingly and gave the purse back to her. All the while, his grip on the petty thief never loosened.

“Let me go! It fucking hurts, man,” the purse snatcher whined.

“You fucking stole my bag and forced me to chase after you, asshole. You deserve to feel pain,” the lady growled viciously.

“It was just a dare! I was going to give it to the police afterwards. I swear!”

“Oh yeah? Then you wouldn’t mind if I called the police on your sorry ass. Just a dare, you fucking stole my stuff and that’s your dumbass excuse? Kids these days, no self-respect,” the lady tutted. “Sorry, but would you mind holding him until the police arrive?”

Blue looked to Bruce who shrugged which Blue chose to interpret as agreement. The little dragon nodded and effortlessly lifted the thief into a standing position. He then ushered the man away from the middle of the sidewalk so that they were out of the way. The man tried to escape during this but Blue held a firm grip on him and kept him in place.

Thankfully, there was a patrol car nearby so the cops arrived quickly. Blue quickly handed the whining thief over to the officers and the two were able to slip away and return to the tower. Once they were back, Blue waved Bruce goodbye and mimed sleeping with a slight looked of warning in his eyes so Bruce nodded and obediently went off to bed.

As he drifted to sleep, Bruce couldn’t help but think back on the earlier events. He knew that Blue was strong due to his draconic nature but what he did wasn’t simply a matter of strength. Blue’s moves were calculated and relied not on brawn but skill. It wasn’t how a dragon or even the average person fought. Most people didn’t think to strike the back of the knee and most certainly didn’t hold a person’s arm behind their back like that.

Now, Bruce was someone that was forced to go on the run by the military. He knew a soldier when he saw one and Blue was so obviously influenced by the military. Key word being influenced. Bruce wasn’t the only one that noticed the ramrod straight manner in which Blue sat, how he naturally fell into parade rest and the slight march to his steps. However, he, like the rest, chalked it up to Blue copying the guards in that wretched facility they found him in. They were all former military and it made sense that Blue would copy their mannerisms. Forced exposure, mimicry, learnt behaviour, whichever one you wanted to call it.

Fighting skills were a whole other story. Blue’s prison was isolated from the rest of the facility and he had never transformed into a human while he was there which meant that Blue himself was never restrained in the manner he subdued the thief today. That meant that Blue didn’t learn what he did from observing the guards at the facility. So that led to the question: where did Blue learn to restrain someone like that?

He could have learnt it from watching action movies with Clint and Thor, or watching one of the Avengers spar, especially against Natasha but Bruce couldn’t help but think there was more to it.

Closing his eyes, Bruce made a mental note to talk about it when he woke up again.

Chapter Text

Clint might be a little under the weather. He had been feeling shitty for a while now and he was starting to feel real annoyed about it. Clint felt so out of sorts that when he sat down heavily on the couch, he was startled to see that Blue was curled up beside him. He didn’t even notice him. That’s how sick he was.

Clint was further proven when he was sent into a coughing fit and was coughing up his lungs into his elbow. The noise woke Blue up despite the man being able to sleep through Tony’s Metallica concerts and the man was now giving his sleepy stink eyes. Aw man, now Clint felt bad.

Blue sniffed disdainfully into the air and sat up, scooched right up to Clint’s side and gave him a hug? Clint was confused but hugged Blue back. Hugs were always nice. The confusing hug continued for a good minute before Blue pulled away and grabbed a notebook from the coffee table. Why did they have a random notebook lying around? Tony had holograms everywhere for god's sake. It was probably Steve’s. The man loved to sketch and most likely forgot it on the table.

While Clint was dazedly observing Blue, the man in question had written something in a messy scrawl and tore the page out of the notepad. He shoved the page at Clint and sleepily transformed into his dragon form. After doing an adorable full-body stretch, Blue circled around on the cushion and went back to sleep.

“What the?” Clint croaked out, throat sore from the earlier coughing fit. He read the words on the paper and squinted. It was almost illegible, like a doctor’s handwriting…like Bruce’s handwriting. “JARVIS, is Bruce in? Tell him I want to see him.”

“Dr Banner is in the kitchen. He is free to meet you.”

With a nod, Clint jumped into the vents instead of using the elevators and easily got into the kitchen despite how bad he was feeling. Bruce lifted his head from his toast and blearily watched Clint jump down onto a stool.

“Bruce, can you read this for me?”

Clint shoved the paper in front of Bruce and the doctor grabbed it in partial annoyance.

“It’s a prescription for antibiotics.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at Clint, noting the glassy look in his eyes and the sheen of sweat coating his forehead. By instinct, he grabbed the med kit stored in the kitchen (they have one in every room. Listen, they get hurt a lot okay? And it didn’t hurt to be prepared) and began listening to the archer’s lungs, instructing him to breathe deeply for him.

“You have a chest infection.” The antibiotics and instructions written on the page matched the diagnosis but Clint looked surprised at the fact. He hadn’t gotten the prescription from a doctor then. Of course, he hadn’t. Clint had a chronic condition called ‘ihatedoctorsitus’.

“Blue wrote that. Actually, he might’ve been listening to my lungs like you did when he hugged me after he woke up.” Clint pushed his hair back with his fingers. “Dude might be a fucking doctor.”

Bruce paused at that. “I was going to bring this up with everyone but I saw Blue take down a man yesterday. He tripped him and restrained his arm behind his back like he had done it a hundred times before.”

Hmm. Clint hummed and looked up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, if the others are awake, could you tell them to come here?”

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff and Sir are awake. Prince Thor is off-world at the moment. I have relayed the message and they are on their way.”

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened and the three stepped out.

“JARVIS said you wanted to talk to us,” Steve started. He sat down on a stool beside Bruce and looked questioningly at Clint.

“I’m sick,” Clint told him.

“Okay? Did you want me to make you some soup?” Steve stood up and looked like he was getting ready to cook right that instant.

Clint snorted. “That’d be nice but that’s not it. It’s about Blue.”

“Blue?” Tony looked around the room. “Where is my favourite dragon?”

“He’s the only dragon you know,” Natasha rolled her eyes and corrected.

“Master Blue is sleeping in the common room.”

“Why are we having a meeting without him? And where’s Thor?”

“Thor is off-world and we’re gossiping behind Blue’s back so obviously he’s not invited.”

“I wouldn’t say gossipping, more like discussing.”

“Okay, then why are we discussing Blue behind his back?” Tony cheekily asked. Somewhere along the line, he had brewed a pot of coffee and was pouring out mugs for everyone like a benevolent oil tycoon if those even existed. The phrase was sort of oxymoronic but then again Tony was a philanthropist billionaire so maybe they can exist in this world.

“So, I was thinking about the fact that I might be sick and then I started coughing a lot which woke Blue up which is weird because he never wakes up even when Tony explodes things in his lab,” that earned a squawk of indignation from Tony but Clint ignored him and continued, “Blue sniffed the air and hugged me out of the blue, heh, get it? Because his name is Blue?”

“Just get to the point, Clint,” Natasha scolded impatiently.

“Alright, geez. Tough crowd. Point is, while he was hugging me, he was listening to my lungs and then scribbled this on a random notebook.”

Clint showed everyone the messily scrawled prescription and they all squinted at the scribbles, clearly unable to determine what the chicken scratch said.

“It’s a prescription for antibiotics because Clint has a chest infection,” Bruce explained. No one questioned the fact that he could read the atrocious handwriting because Bruce was a doctor even if a doctor in physics and not medicine. He was half a medical doctor anyway which he earned from always taking care of the Avenger’s health because most of them were idiots that hated going to see an actual doctor. Something about stranger danger and a boatload of trust issues.

“Blue prescribed you medicine?” Tony asked, finally catching on.

“Yes!” Clint shouted excitedly, only to regret it seconds later when it sent him into a coughing fit.

Steve rubbed his back sympathetically and handed him a glass of water. “So not only does he know how to write, which would have been useful to know when communicating with him, he is knowledgeable enough in medicine to be able to both diagnose and prescribe medicine to Clint,” he summarised.

“He also restrained a thief when we were out yesterday. Tripped him and held his arm behind his back like he did it every other day,” Bruce added.

“So it's safe to assume that Blue isn’t simply a lost dragon.” Natasha rubbed her chin and turned to Tony. “If I recall correctly, you said Blue was originally found in the mountains in his dragon form.”

“Yeah, that’s why I thought he was just a dragon like in the movies, chilling in the woods, untouched by human civilisation until evil bad guys arrived and destroyed his peaceful life and then BAM, the heroes, us, arrive and save him from his wretched life and show him the wonders of the human world,” Tony rambled. “After a while, I realised that clearly wasn’t the case.”

The team fell into pensive silence for a moment. Okay. So they all noticed that Blue wasn’t as simple as they initially believed him to be. It was obvious that he wasn’t just a dragon that used to live in the mountains. The signs were all there and all they had to do was string the clues together.

Point one: For a dragon, Blue was awfully socialised. He was more than familiar with human society and was more attuned to social cues and whatnot than some of the Avengers. Blue understood movie references, could cook simple dishes and made fantastic tea. Heck, Blue could easily read. That really should have clued them in from day one.

Point two: Blue’s posture, the way he walked, and even how he stood on occasion all screamed military. He tended to sit ramrod straight, fell into parade rest occasionally, marched (marched!) even but they all dismissed it as mimicry, learnt behaviour from watching the guards from that dreadful facility. According to Bruce, he also knew how to restrain a man with ease.

Point three: Blue was able to diagnose Clint’s chest infection and wrote him a prescription in barely legible handwriting. That was something only a doctor could do and not just anyone could become a doctor. That meant that at one point in his life, Blue interacted with society at large and went to school and got a degree in medicine.

Blue used to be someone else.

“Why didn’t Blue tell us if he used to have a life before he was captured?” Steve asked, confused.

“Well, why don’t we ask him?” Natasha suggested. “Since we’re done gossiping behind his back and all.”

“Discussing. We were discussing him, not gossiping.”

Natasha smirked and headed towards the elevator. “Well, I’ll be discussing with Blue instead so if you boys are ready, come join me.”

Tony rolled his eyes and they all filed into the elevator and headed towards the common room. JARVIS had helpfully woken up Blue so they arrived at the sight of Blue in his human form sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Hello, Blue. Clint says that you helped diagnose him today. Where did you learn to do that?” Natasha asked, getting straight to the point.

“Mrrrp?” Blue tilted his head to the side.

“You can write it down if you like.”

Blue chirped as if it hadn’t occurred to him and grabbed the notebook and pen that was on the table. He scribbled something in it and proudly showed it to the team. Everyone attempted to decipher the words but eventually turned to Bruce for help.

“It says ‘university’. Which university, Blue?”

Blue shrugged.

“Well, at least we know he’s not American. We call it college here,” said Tony.

“Why don’t you know which university you went to, Blue?” asked Steve.

Blue began to write something in the notebook but Clint quickly interjected, “write it neatly please!”

He adorably scrunched up his nose as if offended and pointedly printed his letters very, very slowly in tidy blocks. I don’t remember my past. I woke up on a mountain and then I was captured.

“Amnesia?”

“So you don’t remember anything at all?”

Blue shook his head. Things usually occur to me as they happen. For example, I didn’t know I could cook until I tried to and suddenly I knew a recipe.

“So, when you prescribed me medicine, you didn’t really know why, just that you could?” Clint clarified.

Blue chirped and nodded with a bright smile. I was half asleep so I wasn’t even aware I was doing it. Did you take some medicine yet?

Clint sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “Not yet.”

You have to take your medication and properly rest so you can get better. Blue shoved the book at Clint to drive home his point.

“I’ll get some for him from medical later,” Bruce promised. “You sort of act like a soldier at times, Blue. Do you know why?”

Blue shrugged. Then, he began writing furiously in the notebook. I think my da was a soldier.

“You remember your dad?”

Blue shook his head. I saw it in a dream. My ma was telling me that my da was a soldier and that’s why he left so often.

“He must’ve taught you how to fight then.” Natasha nodded to herself. “Was your dad and mum dragons too?”

Blue frowned and shook his head. I don’t think I was born a dragon. I’m rather certain that I used to be just human.

“Wait, so you just randomly turned into a dragon one day?”

Blue shrugged.

“So, you woke up on a mountain as a dragon without your past memories but you’re certain that you used to be human?” Natasha asked for clarification.

Blue nodded.

“It must’ve been the transformation that somehow caused your amnesia. How long were you on the mountain for?”

Blue shrugged.

“One last question. Do you want us to find out who you used to be?”

“Brrp?” Blue let out a noise of surprise and looked intently at Natasha. Yes, please. I want to know who I am.

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you, Blue,” Tony swore.

“We’ll help too,” Steve promised.

Chapter Text

The Avengers (bar Clint because he was sick) dedicated all their free time to investigating Blue’s origins starting from the location he was discovered. The problem was, they didn’t actually have much more information to work with. After their raid, they handed all the information they found on the facility over to SHIELD, except, of course, anything to do with Blue. Tony took care of the digital evidence while the two agents destroyed the physical documents (after making copies just in case).

SHIELD’s investigation of the facility didn’t yield much more than they already knew. The researchers were trying to develop a new drug and tested them on humans without any regard for the lives of their test subjects. Their sponsor was a powerful and wealthy man who wanted superpowers and didn’t care what he did to achieve his dream.

From the deleted documents, they knew that Blue was actually an accidental discovery. It would seem that the head researcher came across Blue by chance and purchased him from the locals that captured him and then secretly transported him to the laboratory. He kept Blue a secret from the rest of the facility and only a select few guards were stationed around Blue’s cell. The head researcher never documented where exactly he purchased Blue from and they couldn’t exactly ask him either because he swallowed poison after the raid.

“If we look into where he was travelling from a certain time period, we could narrow down which mountain Blue was captured from,” Bruce pointed out.

“That’d be a start. Nat, would you be able to find some sort of trail this guy left?” Steve asked.

Natasha nodded. “From SHIELD’s notes, most of what the head researcher did was off the books and he left very little paper trails but there should be enough crumbs for me to follow.”

“Good. Tony, can you discretely search for missing persons of Blue’s description in Italy?”

Tony shrugged. “I can but are we even sure Blue’s Italian? I know we found him in Italy and all but we’ve been speaking English to him this whole time and he writes in English to us. Sei Italiano, Blu?” (Are you Italian, Blue?)

Blue shrugged.

“Was that a shrug as in I don’t know what you just said or I don’t know if I’m Italian?”

Blue put up two fingers to indicate the latter.

"Ma capisci sia l'inglese che l'italiano?” (But you understand both English and Italian?)

Blue nodded.

Tony hummed. “Well, I’ll do the search either way. Pity we can’t just post a picture of you online and ask, do you recognise this person? Can’t really have SHIELD get suspicious and accidentally discover that Blue can transform into a dragon after all.”

Steve nodded seriously. “Not to mention we’ll just be needlessly putting Blue in the spotlight. The Avengers have quite a few enemies and we’ll just be directing them to Blue.”

“Right. Well, let’s get to work.”

That was three days ago. For three days, the team had been working tirelessly to puzzle out Blue’s past and he was grateful but none of them were taking breaks and Blue was getting worried. Even Clint had been sneaking out of bed despite his fever to do research. Blue did put him back with a stern warning but he was getting annoyed now.

Blue sighed and side-eyed Pepper who also looked rather peeved. She made eye contact with him and rolled her eyes, a sentiment that Blue very much agreed with.

“I’ve got a meeting to attend, but I trust that you’ll be able to knock some sense into these idiots. If you have any trouble though, call me and I’ll be sure to put them in time out.”

Blue nodded. He was very confident in his ability to do exactly that.

________

Blue stood in front of Tony and crossed his arms angrily. The obsessive genius was staring at his screen and clicking away at articles at such high speeds that Blue almost couldn’t track them with his eyes. He waited and waited. The genius took no notice of Blue. “Grrrrrrrr.”

Tony jumped up in surprise. “Wow! Was that you, Blue? You can growl? I never knew you can growl. What other sounds do you make? Can you hiss?”

Blue growled again and shoved a notebook at Tony.

It’s been three days. Get some rest.

“Yes, well, I would argue that it’s only been three days.”

Blue rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page. He already went through this process with the other Avengers and had the whole exchange down to a science.

There’s no deadline. You don’t need to rush it.

“But don’t you want to know who you are ASAP?”

A little off script but still a question with an answer. Blue flipped ahead two pages.

The past is the past. There’s always time to revisit it.

Tony frowned. If he had a mysterious past, he would want to investigate as soon as he was able. Before he was able to say anything though, his dragon friend flipped back a page.

You have other responsibilities. It’s okay to put this on the back burner. There is no rush.

“Yes, well, once I start obsessing over something, I have to put all my time into it otherwise it’ll start consuming my brain when I’m asleep. Do you really want the brain worms to kill me, Blue?”

The other man just rolled his eyes and forcibly removed him from his computer and shoved him down on his pullout couch.

Sleep.

The word looked oddly threatening. There was no reason why such an innocuous word should look so ominous but it did. Tony did not want to risk it in the face of the command so he lay down on his couch and made himself comfortable. He’ll just pretend to sleep for now and get back to work once Blue was satisfied and left.

“Brrrp,” Blue chirped and narrowed his eyes at Tony. He transformed into his dragon form and did the full body stretch that never failed to make the billionaire coo. Stretch complete, the dragon hopped onto the couch and plopped himself onto Tony lengthwise.

“Blue?”

“Mrrrp.” The dragon sounded very smug.

“Is this your way of forcing me to stay asleep?”

“Mrrp!”

Tony stared at the ceiling for a bit. JARVIS had turned the lights off and the room was pitch black so he wasn’t really staring at anything except maybe that blinking red dot in the corner of the room. Blue was very warm, like a compact furnace and having him spread out on top of him like this was actually making Tony sleepy, especially after his three days of research and the three hours he managed before that.

To prevent himself from falling for Blue’s devious ploy, Tony began to tentatively stroke Blue’s scales, starting from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. It was always a marvel to touch Blue; his scales were bumpy but strangely smooth at the same time, just like a snake, except most snakes were cool to the touch unless they were in the sun and Blue was always warm.

Tony found the base of Blue’s wings and hesitantly started to scratch. When Blue did not object, he scratched harder and, oh god, was that? It was! A low rumbling along with a faint vibration on his chest…Blue was purring! Holy shit. Tony held his breath in and desperately held back the sounds that were just bursting at his lips. He couldn’t laugh, no, never. Blue would get so offended and never purr in front of him again. That would be tragic.

Blue let out a content sound and the rumbling intensified. Oh god, it was so fucking adorable. He was even thumping his tail happily against the couch like a kitty cat! Someone help Tony or he’ll die of cuteness overload right this moment.

All Tony could hear in the room was the familiar whirl of technology, Blue’s soothing purr and the rhythmic thumps of his tail. From the dark room to the warmth spread across his body, everything was working against him to…lull…him…to…sl…ee..p.

_______

Pepper stretched her sore back and looked up at the ceiling, “Hey, JARVIS, did Blue manage to get the idiots to sleep?”

“Yes, Miss Potts. All seven Avengers are currently asleep in their quarters.”

“Hmm, he even got my idiot to sleep. Impressive.” Pepper smiled and made a note to buy some baked goods to share with Blue to reward his efforts.

“Would you like to watch current footage from Sir’s workshop? It may amuse you.”

“Oh? Then, by all means.”

JARVIS pulled up the security footage of Tony’s workshop onto the TV screen, showing a night cam of Tony sleeping on his couch and, was that Blue? The dragon was sprawled on top of Tony, almost embracing him with his wings and Tony had wrapped his arms around him in return. JARVIS had even included the audio so Pepper could hear Tony’s quiet snoring and what sounded like a small engine. Oh. It was coming from Blue. He was purring. How adorable.

“JARVIS. Please add this footage to the blackmail file.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

It was a slow morning wherein all the Avengers were awake from their Blue mandated rest. They sluggishly moved about the kitchen, chewing on buttered toast and cereal like old cows eating grass. In truth, the team could have slept more but refused to give Blue the satisfaction. Most of them already slept for more than twelve hours, thank you! Blue was simply much too smug and they’d hate to see him smugger.

Their peaceful morning - okay, it was the afternoon but when you woke up sluggish, it was hard to shake it off for hours - was interrupted by Nick Fury as he came barrelling in like a storm powered by a rambunctious Thor. His one eye scanned the room, landing on the barely awake Avengers, some buried in their cereal bowls, the others glued to their phones. None of the Avengers acknowledged him other than with a cursory glance as he stormed into their sanctuary.

“Wake up motherfuckers!” he roared, hiding a grin of satisfaction when the superheroes flinched and snapped to awareness. They looked around frantically for the threat but the panicked energy quickly dissolved into disinterest when their eyes landed on a furious Nick. It was rather offensive and if Nick were a lesser man, he would say it bruised his pride. “Why the fuck weren’t any of you at today’s fucking meeting?!”

Silence. Lots of blinking as they processed the question. Then, finally, Steve spoke just before could Director Fury explode into a billion pieces of Fury shaped confetti. “We were not aware there was a meeting today.” After a pause, he added, “Sir.”

“Not aware-, motherfuckers, I will shoot each and every one of you in your left ass cheeks, we have this meeting once every fortnight!”

As the only one who had been having regular naps and therefore functioning, Blue calmly sipped on his tea as he watched the Avengers try and fail to muster some fucks to give. It was very hard when said meetings were drawn out and boring, not to mention pointless when everything said should have been an email instead. And no, no one cared about stupid protocols to protect classified information, Tony had the best cyber security in the world and what kind of spy agency couldn’t encrypt their own emails? Needless to say, the team really didn’t give a fuck about missing the bimonthly meeting.

“Welllll,” Clint drawled, suppressing a yawn, “since you’re here now, you can give us a summary of the meeting.”

“I want you all to tell me why you have skipped the meeting!”

“As you can see, Director, we are all very tired. The meeting was the last thing on our minds,” Thor explained carefully as if Fury were a particularly slow child.

Fury crossed his arms. “And why exactly were you so tired? We haven’t assigned you any missions for well over two weeks.”

“God, why do you care?” Tony groaned. “Stop your yapping and just leave!”

“I am not leaving until-, who is this?” Fury rudely pointed at Blue and asked. The man had a very unassuming air about him, one that blended in with a crowd and went unnoticed by pretty much everyone. He did not look like the type of person to be hanging around the less than sane Avengers. There must be something about him that made him not so normal that qualified him for a seat in the Avengers kitchen.

“Brrrp?”

Fury blinked, blindsided by the melodic chirp. There it was. He wasn’t expecting bird noises but it was proof that the Avengers attracted the abnormal and repelled everyone else. Normal people couldn’t survive a day with them without losing brain cells and subsequently becoming not so normal. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Mrrrrp,” Blue smiled pleasantly and waved at Fury.

“That’s Blue,” Steve introduced with a casual wave at the secret human-dragon hybrid.

“Blue. The colour. I don’t want his nickname. I want his name.”

“That is his name. His name is Blue Jay Hudson,” Natasha informed him, visibly amused.

“Bluejay-, first you tell me he’s named after a colour and now you’re trying to say he’s got the name of a bird?” Of fucking course. A Norse God named Thor was falling asleep in a bowl of cereal, why couldn’t a guy named after a tiny bird be sipping on some fucking tea?

“No, he is named after a colour.” Clint gave the one-eyed director a shit-eating grin. “His first name is Blue, middle name Jay, last name Hudson. Blue Jay Hudson.”

Fury scowled. He was certain that Natasha introduced him like that to confuse him. Normal people didn’t state their middle name along with their first and last names. Hell, Nick’s name was Nicholas Joseph Fury and he regularly introduced himself as Nick Fury. That shit head did it on purpose. “I don’t give a shit. Just tell me why the fuck he is here?”

Clint gasped like a scandalised Victorian maiden. “You’re the one who asked us who he is, Director.”

“I don’t care, Barton. Answer the damn question.”

“If you must know, he’s my doctor,” Tony responded for Clint. They’ve long established an identity for Blue and Natasha had added in a medical license at the start of their research binge. Pepper had kindly slotted in an official job for Blue too to explain his prolonged presence at the Avengers tower.

“Doctor,” Fury repeated sceptically, eyeing Blue up and down. The sandy haired man smiled warmly back. He didn’t fucking trust that harmless facade as far as he could throw it. Nick was friends with Coulson and he knew the more inconspicuous and unremarkable a man looked, the more dangerous he was, especially if they were calm in the face of danger. The SHIELD director knew he made for a frightening figure, tall and dark, curses flying out of his mouth with every breath and a scowl that never quite left. Yet this ‘doctor’ never stopped being mildly amused since Fury stormed in.

“You went out of your way to hire your own doctor when you have been stubbornly refusing SHIELD’s medical services, citing Dr Banner’s medical expertise as an excuse when the man is a doctor of physics and not medicine. Yet, now you are telling me that you motherfuckers went out of your way to find your own fucking doctor and didn’t even think to tell us?!”

“Yeah, good to know you have working ears, one-eye,” Tony cheerfully confirmed.

Fury ignored the comment (if he responded to everything Tony Stark said, he’ll never get any work done), opting instead to scold the billionaire. “You’re supposed to inform SHIELD before hiring people for the Avengers!”

“I didn’t hire him for the Avengers. Blue’s my doctor. I’m the one paying him for his services. The others just happen to benefit because they live here,” Tony refuted.

Fury very visibly took in a deep breath to compose himself. “And why, pray tell, did you choose this doctor in particular when you have been refusing every other doctor in fucking existence.”

“I can answer that!” Clint sang. “Blue’s my old friend and he needed a job so I introduced ‘em.”

Fury span to face Clint, his leather coat splaying dramatically behind him. “You? You have friends that you keep in contact with.”

Clint huffed. “How rude. Blue and I are bird bros, of course I keep in touch with him. Anyhow, Blue’s real smart and a real good doctor too but he’s got a speech impediment that makes him talk like a bird so people don’t wanna hire him for their clinics. Obviously, I recommended him to Tony, coz like, we’re all weirdos here and one more’s not gonna make a difference.”

Blue trilled and bumped his fist against Clint’s, snickering when Clint mimed his fist taking off and flying with a whisper of “bird bros”. Natasha rolled her eyes at their behaviour, choosing instead to focus on Fury’s dying patience. It seemed like his fuse and ability to tolerate them got shorter and shorter every day.

“Director Fury, you’re not here to discuss our doctor. Is there anything you needed from us that could not be discussed in an email?” Bruce kindly asked, annoyance very thinly concealed behind a frail smile. Bruce was very tired and not at all in the mood for bickering with Fury over Tony hiring a doctor behind SHIELD’s back.

Fury cleared his throat. Even he knew better than to make Bruce angry. “Right. We have a new mission for you, which we would have discussed at today’s meeting but you all decided to play truant.”

Tony groaned. “Do we have to go now? The caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet!”

“Yes. Now get up and meet me at the SHIELD HQ in ten. I’ll remind you because you motherfuckers are contrarians, the mission is time sensitive and important. Dozens of lives are at stake.”

“Aw, I just got over my cold and we have a mission already?” Clint whined. “I swear the world is out to get me.”

“Yes, Clint. An Avengers level mission was necessitated today just to spite you in particular,” Natasha sarcastically responded.

“Tasha. What have I said about being mean to me? I’m a sensitive soul.” Clint pressed a hand to his chest in faux pain and dramatically wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye.

“Yes, as sensitive as a rock. Woe is you.” Natasha pushed Clint out of the way and poured some more coffee into her mug. She can already tell that today was going to be very trying. She needed all the help she could get.

Thor gave Blue a big hug and pat his back. “I’m sorry, my friend. We will have to reschedule our movie night to another time.”

Blue pat him back with a smile, gesturing to indicate that it was all fine.

“Have fun with Pepper, Toothless.” Tony grinned at his new nickname for Blue. In the corner of his eye, he could see Fury furrow his brow at it, unsure how the name relates to Blue. Tony was pretty sure he didn’t know what he was referencing either which made it all the funnier. A few of the others were biting their lips to hide their smiles and Steve not so subtly coughed to hide a laugh.

Blue giggled and accepted the nickname with grace. He chirped a beautiful bird song, bidding them all farewell with a wave of his hand.

Chapter Text

“It’s not him,” Mycroft announced that particular bit of information on a partially sunny day. Greg hadn’t gone home in five days at that point, had barely showered and looked like he had been through a blender. Mycroft, Mr British Government, was dressed to the nines, twirling that umbrella of his. His tone was mild like it always was with just a hint of what Greg might dare call hope laced in with the bland weather reporter tone of his.

“It’s not who?”

“Amongst the photos that were delivered to you detailing the torture of one Dr Watson, there is one in which he is not the subject of the photo. It was carefully disguised and a very convincing fake but upon further review, some details don't add up. Scars, for example, fail to match up with previous photos. They took care to hide the lack of matching scars in the more eye-catching areas with the liberal use of blades but the smaller more insignificant scars were forgotten.”

Mycroft paused to take a sip of the tea his assistant prepared for him. It was a pause Greg was grateful for because Mycroft was saying a lot of words and they sounded a lot like-, it sounded a lot like something Greg wouldn’t dare let himself hope for but was desperately wishing to be true.

“The final photo is not that of John Watson but rather that of a man that looks similar to the good doctor. However, it is clear that the sender of the photos believes that that is John Watson. That leads me to believe that the ones responsible for the photos and the ones that commissioned them are separate groups. Which begs the question, why did they go through the effort of faking his death?”

Greg gulped and Mycroft’s silent assistant slid him a cup of coffee. He took it and sipped it like a man out in the desert, which was terrible because coffee was a diuretic.

“It is possible that in between the last photo taken of John Watson and the fake photo, John may have escaped wherever he was held captive.”

Greg took in a sharp breath and felt his vision swimming. John was one of his best mates and he knew the bugger was slipperier than he looked. He knew that underneath those cuddly jumpers was a right bastard that could break every bone in your body and name them. Greg knew that but those photos, they were so convincing and-, in the state those photos showed him to be in, it was hard to believe anyone could recover from those wounds, let alone recover enough to escape.

“How do you know that person who sent the photos isn’t just a messenger? Or that the ones responsible for the photos didn’t simply decide to go against their employer and hid John for their own purposes?”

Mycroft’s face was as impassive as ever in the face of Greg’s questions. Greg was willing to bet the bastard anticipated them in advance. If he were more like his brother, he might’ve rolled his eyes and pronounced his questions ‘dull’. “We have suspicions in regards to the originator of the note and it is highly unlikely that anyone would be foolish enough to intentionally deceive them in such a manner. It is more likely that they lost John and scrambled to produce a corpse that would be able to pass scrutiny for most.”

“You have suspicions?" Greg’s tone chilled to the point of cutting. “Tell me who-”

“It is beyond your level of authorisation, detective,” Mycroft interrupted.

“No, screw that! John is my friend and-”

“Gregory.”

Greg froze and looked at Mycroft, really looked at him. There was this world-heavy exhaustion in the government official’s eyes. He was weary in a way that wasn’t the usual work-induced fatigue. No, this was something more -more personal- like the boulders weighing down on Greg as he filed his divorce or when he wrote his mother’s obituary. This was soul-sucking exhaustion and it was not something you saw on the Ice Man, the British Government himself. Greg was suddenly reminded that while Greg lost two good friends, Mycroft lost a brother and his brother’s best friend, a friend that was practically family.

“The man we suspect to be responsible for Dr Watson is someone that has been evading capture for longer than Dr Watson had been missing. Our best men were put to work on finding him but he has boundless criminal resources and I know you wished to be involved but the simple matter of the fact is that this isn’t something you can assist in.”

Criminal resources…”This is that Moriarty business, isn’t it? The fucker shot himself dead on the roof but it didn’t end with him, did it? The bastard, he was a criminal mastermind, he must have had people. People that he worked closely with and whom he would have entrusted the keys to his criminal empire once he was dead. Of course, you knew that and tried to catch his second in command but the wanker was giving you the slip and John,” Greg took in a shaky breath but he couldn’t quite control the hate coming through in his voice.

“John was just collateral. He was taken and tortured because the British Government was on his trail and that fucker wanted you to be distracted. He used John so that you would reassign resources that went into hunting him into searching for John. All so he could go underground and evade the British Government.”

The fifth time John was kidnapped because of one of Sherlock’s cases, Greg had asked him a question. Aren’t you tired of this? He had asked. And John, he just chuckled. It’s part of the package deal, Sherlock Holmes and danger. I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t bother me but it’s just how it is and I accepted that when I moved in with him. Besides, I was a soldier. I never thought I was going to die a peaceful death.

London was just another battlefield for John and as a soldier, he was used to fighting other people’s battles, used to being a pawn in some sort of obscure plan. But John wasn’t a soldier anymore. He still acted like one but he wasn’t. He was a civilian that was caught up in a battle he didn’t know about.

“Mycroft. I don’t care how but once you find that man, you’d damn well bring him to me.”

The man just stared at him for a moment and whatever he saw on Greg’s face made him pause and reconsider things. “Very well.”

Chapter Text

Bored. B o r e d. Bored!

The Avengers have been out on their mission for five days now and they only contacted the Tower once a day so Blue was just alone. By himself. With nothing to do. He was staring off into space and shifting positions every minute or so. Nothing caught his attention. Nothing could make his wandering mind settle.

Blue was bored. So terribly, utterly bored.

Boredom was not a good state to be in. Being bored led to holes in the walls. It meant heightened vitriol and gnawing angstiness clawing through your bones. Bored was pain and a loss of purpose and whispers that can no longer be drowned out. Boredom was dangerous. Boredom made you your greatest enemy.

Blue flopped onto the couch with a melodic groan and stared at his left hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist over and over again. It was steady. Why had he half-expected it to be shaky? Blue dropped his arm and rolled his shoulder uncomfortably. A large patch of his scales covered the entirety of his left shoulder, shifting against his skin as he rotated the joint. Blue’s right shoulder only had the barest hint of scales.

Phantom pain shot through his right leg.

He brought his blue scarf up and covered his eyes with the soft fabric. It’s all in your head. Blue resisted the urge to massage his right thigh and focused on the feeling of the scarf over his eyes. He could smell the tea he had accidentally spilt on it two nights ago and the subtle lavender detergent the Tower stocked up on. (He ignored the unpleasant smells of sweat, Clint’s gunpowder and chemicals. They were a bit counterproductive.)

It’s all in my head, he knew that, but it still hurts.

Psychosomatic didn’t change the fact that his leg felt like a knife was being twisted into the muscles.

With the pain, he saw hazy snapshots of gunfire and a soldier falling to the sandy ground. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body as the him in the memory rushed to the fallen soldier’s side. Lieutenant Dickens, that was what he had called him. He had automatically catalogued the lieutenant’s injuries and got started on administrating emergency first aid but he knew it was a lost cause from the get-go.

There was heavy fire and he could hardly hear himself over all the noise. What’s your favourite colour, Dickens? he had asked, just to remind the soldier that he was not alone.

The man - just barely a man - replied that it was green. The green of grass and leaves and frogs. He liked the green of mint leaves, Christmas trees and rosemary. And you, Doc?

Blue. Of the boundless sky and endless sea. The blue of winter frost and aptly named berries, he replied, looking into the young man’s eyes as he spoke. There was nothing left for him to do but hold his hand and be there for him.

And the blue of your eyes, Dickens murmured tiredly. You’ve really blue eyes, Doc.

I wish they were green instead. He wiped away the tears that poured from Dickens’ eyes and rested his forehead against his unbeating heart. God bless your soul. May you find eternal peace, he prayed to a deity he did not believe in.

Blue ripped his scarf away from his eyes and threw it to the other end of the couch. He shifted to his dragon form and wrapped the fabric around his smaller body. Bored as a human was dangerous. It lent time for self-reflection and with reflections came bad memories and stupid psychosomatic limps. Dragons had four legs and two wings. It was harder to notice one out of four than it was to see one out of two.

JARVIS had been watching Blue oscillate between activities all day. He would start something, stare off into space, shake whatever thought plagued his mind and then move on to something else. JARVIS had offered to play chess with him, put on a movie, or read a book but the activities scarcely captured the dragon hybrid’s attention. Finally, JARVIS watched as Blue flopped onto the sofa and started displaying symptoms of distress before hiding away in his dragon form.

Safe to say, JARVIS was rather concerned.

Blue burrowed under his scarf for a good while and every now and then, his tail would thump against the leather sofa. After observing the situation, JARVIS played the soothing violin music Blue liked over the speakers and turned the TV off. Slowly, the arrhythmic thumping ceased and Blue’s wings fluttered in the way JARVIS knew meant that he was happy.

Blue buried himself under his scarf, looking out the window through the blind filter of the blue fabric. His mind drifted off once more and he saw himself in a room of steel. There were people dressed in lab coats and surgical masks standing above him. He was tied down, limbs heavy with sedation. They were looking at him like he was a specimen in a jar to be dissected for study. Thank you for your contribution to science, they told him.

A wave of nausea hit him. The sound of his tail smacking the leather upholstery of the couch only mildly reminded Blue that he wasn’t there anymore.

Think of something else, he told himself. Blue tried to think of the steps to brewing the perfect cuppa. Hot, not boiling water. Loose leaf, not tea bags. Wait for the length of a song for it to brew. There was no need to overcomplicate it. The key was patience.

He was back in the basement. The smell of blood, mould and ash flooded his nose. It was cold and dark and wet. A muzzle was locked around his mouth and shackles bolted him to the wall. He could hear footsteps. They were going to take him away and then it would be painpainpain once more until he was bloodied and exhausted and left feeling so violated he wasn’t sure he was still a person anymore.

Blue could hear the glided note of a violin. He opened his eyes to light being filtered through his blue scarf. It was bright here. Blue closed his eyes and let the music guide his thoughts.

He saw a man standing by the window, eyes closed as he dragged his bow across the violin string. Blue flapped his wings happily at the sight of the man, joy overpowering the tinge of sorrow accompanying the memory.

He spent a while standing at the doorway, just watching the violinist performing for his solitary audience. (He always knew down to the second when he’d arrive home. The piece was for him and they both knew it though they never spoke of it. Many things went unspoken between them.) When the tall man played the final note of the piece, the reverent silence that followed was broken by his clapping. The violinist rolled his eyes at the applause but his grin betrayed how pleased he was.

That was beautiful, he had unashamedly praised. He was never afraid to compliment the brilliant man. Not only was it fun to make him preen like a peacock, but it was also the truth and thus deserved to be spoken aloud.

The violinist smirked, puffing his chest out just like Blue-of-olde expected. I see you’re back from your pedestrian job. Five colds and a broken arm? My, you’ve been busy today, Doctor. Really making the most of your time, aren’t you?

It was four colds, the broken arm and an allergic reaction, actually. He rolled his eyes with fond exasperation and grinned. The man had made an affronted expression and mumbled something about the cuff of his jacket. A wave of amusement washed over him as he listened to the man chastise himself for not seeing something so ‘obvious’.

He was so unbelievably fond of this man. He was blue scarves, impromptu violin concerts and running through alleyways. Blue couldn’t remember his name, could barely recall that he had curly hair, but he knew that every reminder of the man brought with them immeasurable fondness and bitter grief. Who are you, he wondered, are you lost to me just like I’m lost to everyone else?

After his violin-assisted nap, Blue woke up feeling re-energised and ready to face the world once more. He turned back into his human form and wound his scarf back around his neck. There was something he thought of in his sleep and he was excited to try it out.

He let out a series of chirps, the birdsong flowing in a beautiful melody. Blue chirped again, his cheerful tone becoming increasingly frustrated the more he sang. The dragon groaned and immediately perked up at the sound. He tested the sound in his mouth, repeating it over and over again, lengthening and shortening the groan in quick succession. He tried to combine the sound with his chirping but failed much to his dissatisfaction.

“Master Blue, may I inquire what the purpose of this exercise is?” JARVIS asked.

Blue smiled at the corner of the ceiling where he knew a camera was hidden. He mimed talking with his hand and pointed at his mouth doing the same thing.

“Are you attempting to speak?” JARVIS asked for clarity.

Blue nodded.

“Might I suggest an alternative method of practice?”

Blue cocked his head to the side and hummed in acquiescence.

“I have noticed that your mouth shape whenever you chirp is the same shape as whistling. Perhaps it would be best to practise mouthing the words you wish to say so that you are accustomed to how they feel in your mouth. Might I suggest mouthing the words as you read them in a book?”

A series of birdsong flowed out of Blue’s mouth as he flapped his arms excitedly. You’re a genius! he expressed with his entire body.

“I am happy to have been helpful,” JARVIS humbly replied.

Blue grinned and dug out a medical journal Bruce had gifted him. It would be a nice surprise, he thought to himself, to greet The Avengers with actual words when they returned.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Blue. What are you doing?” Pepper walked into the living room and sat down beside Blue. It had been a while since she last sat down with the man but some board members at SI were being assholes and she had to deal with them so she hadn’t had the time to relax, let alone keep Blue company. Pepper had felt bad about it, especially considering the Avengers were on a top secret mission, leaving Blue alone with JARVIS for over a week.

Blue turned to her with a bright smile that she couldn’t help but to return. There was just something about the dragon hybrid that was so likeable, so easy to relax around, even more so than the paragon of virtue, Captain America himself. Maybe it was the eyes, so full of life, a clear blue yet with depth so easily dismissed.

Blue showed her a medical journal full of terms she did not understand but he clearly did, judging by the highlights and scrawled notes in the margins.

It was hard to remember sometimes that Blue was not just a stray dragon the Avengers brought home but rather a fully grown man with a forgotten history. He had just fit in so well that no one stopped to consider that he didn’t always live with them and that maybe, he had a past that was more than just horror in a lab.

Pepper forced herself not to think too much about what little Tony had shared with her about Blue’s time at the lab they found him in. It hurt to think of a friend in pain, treated with so little dignity and compassion that he immediately trusted the first people that showed him a bit of humanity. Blue was so kind and gentle and his dragon self was so adorable. Who could have the heart to hurt someone like him?

Blue let out a few chirps, chewed on his lower lip and then pointed at the ceiling. “JAR,” he said, with a grin.

Pepper blinked owlishly. “Jar?”

“Master Blue,” JARVIS replied.

Blue giggled and looked to the ceiling again. “JAR.”

He turned to her, mouthed a single syllable a few times before letting out a trill and then, “Pep!”

“Pep?” she repeated stupidly. Then it hit her. “That’s my name…” she breathed out in wonder. “That’s my name!” she repeated giddily. Pepper felt like a parent whose child just said their first words. She did nothing yet she felt so proud.

“Pep,” Blue repeated with a giggle.

“Blue.” Pepper smiled at the excited man, joining him in contagious laughter.

“Pep.”

“Blue.”

“Pep.”

“Blue.” She grinned and rested her head against his shoulder. He always radiated an unnatural warmth and Pepper liked it. “How can you suddenly speak now?”

Well, speak was generous considering the single syllables but it was progress from the chirps and trills. Though Pepper had to admit that Blue still spoke in a way that was reminiscent of birdsong, sort of like a parrot mimicking words.

“JAR,” Blue said.

Before she could ask a clarifying question, JARVIS chimed in. “Master Blue has been practising how to speak for a few days now. Thus far, he has managed to say JAR, Pep, yes, no, me and tea.”

“That’s wonderful,” Pepper sincerely praised. “You’ll be speaking full sentences in no time.”

Blue let out a proud trill and Pepper had to admit that she would miss the melodic birdsong when Blue spoke with words again but with the tradeoff being understanding Blue, it was a small price to pay.

“Let’s head out to a cafe in celebration,” Pepper suggested.

Blue readily agreed, happy for some company after much of nothing for days.

Pepper smiled and stood up, stretching her limbs. “I’ve been around too many stuffy old men lately, I need to hang out with some young people to offset the energy.”

Blue snickered and pointed at himself while shaking his head.

Pepper gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “What do you mean you’re not young? You look plenty young to me.”

Blue gave her a ‘really?’ look and Pepper laughed.

“Alright, fine, but you’re about my age so you’re not allowed to call yourself old.”

Blue grinned as if to say ‘fair enough’ and grabbed his scarf, wrapping it around his neck. Pepper has never seen him without it ever since he brought it home.

“Hey, Blue?”

“Mrrp?”

“Why do you like that scarf so much?”

Blue ran his fingers over the soft fabric with an almost wistful expression on his face. He smiled and it wasn’t the bright smiles he loved to give. This was more…bittersweet. “Brrrp.” He shrugged.

Sherlock stared at the innocuous white envelope hiding amongst the evidence of heinous crimes committed by his target. He knew that it would be anything but innocent considering the sex and child trafficking charges in his target’s future but somehow, Sherlock suspected it would quite possibly be worse.

He stowed it in his pocket and sent the rest of the evidence into Mycroft’s drop off zone for his agents to collect.

The envelope felt heavy in his pocket as he adjusted his disguise and transformed from Louise to Simon. He didn’t have time to open it yet. Not here, on this night train surrounded by strangers as he headed towards his second target’s location.

Sherlock wanted so desperately to open the envelope. If it was the him from a year ago, the Sherlock that had yet to jump off St Bart’s, he would have torn the envelope open the moment he found it. Alas, Sherlock has since learnt to suppress his undying curiosity for the mission’s sake and it remained unopened, hot against his chest as Sherlock remained much too aware of it.

Now was not the time. Later, Sherlock told himself.

Sherlock uncovered evidence of illegal organ harvesting and trading in his second target’s office. Amongst that evidence was another white envelope, looking identical to the one still in his pocket.

Sherlock contorted his face with distaste and placed that envelope into his pocket with the first one. He gathered the evidence he found and gave them to Mycroft’s agents. His next target had yet to be decided. Sherlock was to lay low for now.

In the dim lighting of his cheap motel, Sherlock sat in front of the two identical envelopes. They were of the same thickness and their quality told him they were made in the same factory. So that meant that they most likely originated from the same person.

Sherlock sliced the first envelope open.

Inside were photos.

John.

A face he hadn’t seen in over a year, whose voice he last remembered hearing trembling with fear as he begged Sherlock not to jump, whose eyes had widened in abject horror at Sherlock’s request that he keep his eyes on him as he fell.

John.

Sherlock’s accursed eyes saw every little detail the photo had to offer and his fucked up brain told him exactly how much force was necessary for John to bruise like that, how sharp the knife must have been, how hot the cigarettes were (what brand). He could see the passage of time between photos from the healed (or still healing) wounds and knew that there were at least five different torturers taking turns from the different sized bruises, the angles of the cuts and the different brands of cigarettes used to mark John’s skin.

He got to the final photo and the tears he had refused to let fall since he made his decision to ‘die’ came pouring out.

He thinks he let out an ungodly sound. Like a struggling whale being slaughtered or a sinner dragged to hell.

john.

John.

JOhn.

JOHn.

JOHN.

How could he be dead?

Sherlock died to protect him (and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson but most importantly, John.)

How is he dead?

Mycroft was supposed to take care of him.

John couldn’t be dead.

What was it all for if he’s dead?

Please. Don’t let him be dead.

But the mangled body in the photo–

John.

He was supposed to be safe.

Sherlock put the photos back into the envelope and for the first time in his life, he truly felt nothing. He wore his Simon disguise back on and packed up everything in the shitty motel he was staying at. The envelopes burned red hot where they sat in his pocket and Sherlock went home to London.

As soon as Sherlock saw Mycroft’s office, his emotions came bursting out like water in a broken dam. Mycroft was supposed to protect John. Mycroft failed to protect John. Mycroft didn’t tell Sherlock that John was missing. Mycroft hid the truth from Sherlock so Sherlock would keep being his puppet and get rid of his enemies.

Mycroft.

This was all Mycroft’s fault.

Sherlock came storming into Mycroft’s office donning a half-hearted disguise of round glasses and a slapped on cap. Mycroft’s men had instantly recognised him – the crazed look in his eyes was one they could identify from miles away – but the disguise was more for the general populace than anything.

Sherlock slammed two palms on Mycroft’s mahogany desk and leaned in close. His short hair was dishevelled from running his hands through it one too many times, eyes red shot and skin pale like it never knew the sun. If Mycroft didn’t know any better, he would have thought that his little brother had relapsed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? From a dead man, no less,” Mycroft dryly asked, deliberately using his too bland politician voice to conceal the slight concern he felt pulsing through his veins.

Sherlock snarled like a beast and reached into his inner coat pocket. He slammed an envelope onto the desk and its contents spilled out like seeds scattered in the wind. Mycroft instantly recognised the photos, his eyes automatically zoning in on the source of his nightmares for months. He could make out every little detail even with his eyes closed and could sketch them out even in his dreams.

“You promised to keep him safe!” Sherlock growled. He gripped the side of Mycroft’s desk and Mycroft followed the movement with his eyes. Sherlock’s once delicate hands were calloused and scarred, the bandages concealing wounds that spoke of torture and horror that Mycroft wished to always shelter his baby brother from. “You said– You told me that he had accepted a job offer in Edinburgh! Does this look like Edinburgh to you, Mycroft?!”

Sherlock punched the accursed photo in question and suddenly deflated.

“I did this all for him… What’s the point of all this if he’s dead now?” he asked quietly.

To Mycroft’s infinite horror, Sherlock’s eyes watered and big fat drops of tears fell on the photographed evidence of the man they considered a brother’s suffering.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft cleared his throat and tried to find his voice – the one that said ‘I’m powerful and capable’. “Where did you find these photos?”

Sherlock grit his teeth and ground out the words. “I found them in my target’s office.”

He reached into his pocket and slammed another envelope down. “This too. Two separate targets but the same envelope… What is the meaning of this, Myc?”

Mycroft growled. “He’s taunting us.”

“I know that!” Sherlock screeched. “Why John! He was supposed to be safe in London or whichever pedestrian clinic he chose to work at! He wasn’t supposed to be involved in this whole mess. Not with me out of the picture!”

“This wasn’t about you, Sherlock!” Mycroft roared. “It was me. You weren’t the only one John was close to. He was well liked among the entire NYPD and my entire force. I treated him like a brother and that much was clear to anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together, especially after your funeral. He was an influential figure but had faded from the public’s mind after your death so I made the mistake of allowing him his freedom when he requested it. Not to mention, Moran was causing trouble in the Middle East and there was global unrest after the aliens attacked New York City.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but Mycroft cut him off.

“I am not making excuses, brother mine. I know I failed him. But I am not your enemy here.”

Sherlock collapsed into his seat. “... He was supposed to be safe,” he repeated.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft grabbed the final photo that made him despair but also gave him hope. “Look at this photo carefully and tell me what you see.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft but at the look Mycroft shot him, he obediently looked down at the photo. There was pure anguish on his face as he took in the disfigurement and physical trauma but that transformed into confusion and doubt. Sherlock grabbed a photo of John when he was still recognisable with fight in his eyes and placed them side by side.

“The scars don’t match up,” he breathed out. “The scars aren’t the same!”

Sherlock gathered up the other photos and compared them to the final photo and hope shone on his face.

The hope weighed heavily on Mycroft’s heart and he looked down at the table.

A photo that wasn’t present in Gregory’s envelope sat face down on Mycroft’s desk.

He picked it up.

The face of Greg Lestrade looked back at him.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft choked out.

His brother frowned and looked at the photo in Mycroft’s hand. He paled.

Sherlock opened the other envelope and looked at the last photo. Greg Lestrade smiled back at them.

“It wasn’t a taunt. It was a warning,” Sherlock hissed. “Mycroft, how long has it been since you first saw the photos?”

Mycroft curled his toes, the action hidden under shoes and desk and thus hidden from his observant brother’s eyes. “It had been five months,” Mycroft confessed.

Five months since the photos were mailed to them. Twelve months since they (his sister) realised John was missing. Thirteen months since John was taken.

“Five months,” Sherlock repeated.

Sherlock disdained repetition.

“Five months and you never thought to tell me! Five months and you still haven’t found a clue where he is! Five months and you’re still sitting here telling me there might be hope!”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft tried.

“No! I have listened to you enough, Mycroft. In the end, you’re the British Government. The Iceman! A lazy bureaucrat too concerned about the greater good to care that John’s gone!”

“I’ve spent endless hours since he went missing searching for him! I risked international relations for him! Don’t act like he wasn’t my family too, Sherlock. Don’t you dare.”

“And what good did that do? He’s not even here,” Sherlock seethed. “You should have told me, Mycroft. I would have found him.”

“And expose your faked death? Put the Detective Inspector and Mrs Hudson’s lives at risk again? You would have jeopardised everything, Sherlock.”

The two brothers got locked up in a battle of wills, both staring at each other with vicious determination in their eyes and neither willing to back down on their stance.

It was amongst this hostility that Mycroft’s assistant with the many names entered the office. She had been partial to Anthea lately (Mycroft didn’t ask why) and for the first time in forever, her head wasn’t stuck looking down at her modified blackberry.

“Excuse me for interrupting but I have some urgent news.”

Sherlock glared at Anthea but Mycroft composed himself and gestured for his assistant to speak.

“We have found the location of which the latter photos were taken.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped and he shot around to look at Mycroft. “Let me direct the raid.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I am going, Fatcroft–”

“We cannot risk you getting exposed.”

“I’ve been working on the field for over a year! I won’t get exposed so easily, Mycroft.”

“You’re too emotional right now.” Mycroft pulled his lips into a thin line. “I will ask Mummy to handle it.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped for a second time. “Mummy?”

“She doesn’t know. She may suspect that you’re still alive but she doesn’t have confirmation. And no, she hasn’t seen the photos either. She knows that John is missing but I’ve forbidden anyone from showing her the photos.” Mycroft grimaced. “It is unavoidable now.”

His little brother relaxed into his seat as Mycroft spoke.

Mummy was capable and more powerful than Mycroft even though she had retired decades ago. Mummy would be able to handle a little raid with ease. Mummy will solve everything.

“She’ll find him right, Myc?” Sherlock whispered.

“She’ll do everything she can, Lock,” Mycroft promised. John will be found. Dead or alive.

Chapter Text

Violet Holmes set her phone down, gently, though she wished to throw it across the room and let it smash to thousands of pieces against the wall. Senseless violence was not needed here despite how furious she was. Violet was fuming, irate with righteous indignity, grief and most poignantly, disappointment.

She knew that her son was hiding something from her. Violet could hear it in his voice because as bland and even as he might try to sound, she was his mother and knew her son. She heard the secrecy in his tone in their monthly phone calls, even in the months leading up to Sherlock’s fall. She heard it in increasing intensity after the funeral. She heard it when he informed her of John’s departure from London.

But Violet decided to trust her son. Mycroft was entitled to his own secrets and she believed that he would tell her if it was important, especially if it concerned family. Violet trusted her son and yet he failed to tell her about John being missing and presumed dead for months.

John was family. Violet had only met him two years ago but she considered him a son. The man was patient, polite and possessed the kindest heart she knew. He got along with her two sons and was able to corral them into behaving somewhat respectably. John was a God-given miracle and deserved all the love in the world. Violet loved him like a mother and she knew John considered her a mother.

Violet deserved to be informed of his wellbeing but Mycroft hid the news from her. Even after he found out that John could still be alive and knew that Violet had the resources to help. She was retired but still had her contacts and a network more extensive than Mycroft’s.

Secrecy and a refusal to accept help had always been Mycroft’s flaws.

“Honey, I will be leaving for the next few weeks. Why don’t you invite your buddies for an extended golfing trip?” she suggested to Siger. “Oh, and we’re giving Mycey the silent treatment for the foreseeable future.”

Siger blinked owlishly. “What did he do?”

“Hopefully nothing unforgivable,” she said darkly.

“Well, best of luck, Darling. I have no doubt that you’ll fix whatever the problem is.”

She pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek and picked up her phone again. “He’s getting a stocking full of coal for Christmas this year whether or not I fix everything. This might not be something that can be fixed.”

“We’ll have to try anyway, won’t we?”

“Yes, we do, Honey.”

After conducting research of her own, Violet gathered her men and went to raid the location Mycroft had sent her. Her men stormed the facility and gathered all the evidence they needed before presenting Violet with the lead ‘researcher’ of the cesspit that called itself a laboratory. Violet’s men forced the snivelling coward on his knees and pressed a gun against his back, hard.

“Please, spare my life!” he squirmed like a worm as much he could as he begged for his life in a thick Italian accent.

“Why should I let you live?” Violet asked in Italian.

“I– I know a lot of things! I can work for you. Give you the secrets to stop aging! We– I’ve made a lot of progress in developing a serum!” the scum cried, pleading his case desperately.

Violet swallowed a scream. This was the scumbag that tortured her surrogate son. This was the fiend that injected unknown chemicals into her child. This was the lowlife that lost her beloved family.

She showed him a photo of her current favourite son. “John Watson,” Violet ground out. “Where is he?”

The waste of oxygen’s eyes widened. “Subject 19?” he asked.

Subject 19, he said. Subject 19. As if John wasn’t human. As if he didn’t have a name worth remembering. Just a number. Just a subject to be experimented on. Nothing special.

Violet’s men slammed the trash’s head into the ground repeatedly, only stopping when Violet raised her hand.

“Where is he?” she hissed.

“I don’t know! He disappeared. Escaped his sickbed and left without a trace! We looked everywhere for him but we didn’t know where he went. Trust me. We tried! His seller was adamant that we kill him in the end. We didn’t want to lose him either! It would have been our heads rolling if he knew what he had done.”

“Who was the seller?”

“Moran! Sebastian Moran!”

Sebastian Moran, James Moriarty’s right-hand man. How much more had Mycroft been hiding from her?

“Take this scoundrel back and extract everything you can out of him.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Please! Please, have some mercy!”

Mercy? Did you show any mercy when John begged?

Somehow, Violet doubted that John pleaded in any way. He was stubborn, a trait shared by all her children. So prideful too, with a spine that never bent. And he knew how useless it would be to beg. John defaulted to silence when he was upset.

“Raze this place to the ground. We’re leaving,” she instructed her team.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

They set up the explosives and handed Violet the button to set them off. She would have loved to let John do this but he wasn’t quite as vindictive as them Holmes and would simply be satisfied with it being gone.

Boooooom!

Violet watched as flames engulfed the building and swore an oath to herself. She’ll set the whole world on fire to find John.

Goodness gracious, what has the world come to? Out of the frying pan into the fire indeed. John had escaped only to be captured by another laboratory. At least, that’s what Violet speculated had happened. There were no records of anyone stumbling across a blonde-haired Englishman and, Violet noted with disgust, the area seemed to have a problem with human trafficking.

The problem was, SHIELD had put their dirty little mitts all over the place and as much as she wanted to, Violet couldn’t simply steal their data. She had to request the information less she cause an international incident. It was worse because the new pet superheroes had conducted the raids, making SHIELD even more protective of their mission reports.

Politics, Violet groaned.

She phoned an old friend and made some arrangements to meet the Avengers. Frustratingly, it would be another week before Violet could interrog– ahem, ask them questions about what they found out about the area.

Mycroft was getting angstier the longer Violet kept him in the dark. Good. Let him fret.

“Come on, Blue. To-ny. Tony. Repeat after me. To-ny.”

“To’” Blue dutifully repeated but he sounded bored. He even yawned and blinked slowly in the sunspot he was sitting in. Blue looked like he was ready to go to sleep right then and there.

“Yes. To-ny. ‘Ny!” Tony emphasised.

“‘Ny.” He yawned again and shifted in his seat.

“Tony!”

“To’.” Blue brought his legs up and hugged them to his chest. He scrubbed his eyes and tried to look attentive.

Tony groaned and straightened in his seat. “‘Ny,” he tried again.

“‘Ny.”

“Hey, Tony,” Steve called out in a distinctly scolding tone. Tony scowled in reply, having heard Howard bark at him in that exact tone too many times. “Stop bothering Blue and let him sleep.”

“How’s he supposed to get it right if he doesn’t practise?” Tony argued.

“You’ve been doing this for the two weeks we’ve been back and you still haven’t made any progress. Give it a rest.”

Tony heaved a heavy sigh. “But To’ sounds like toenails and ‘Ny sounds like a child’s name!” he complained.

“Deal with it,” Steve said unsympathetically.

“You’re only saying that because he calls you Eve or Cap. You’ve got a normal-sounding nickname, Steve. It’s not fair.”

“If you don’t like it, you can suggest a short-syllable nickname instead.”

Tony lit up with glee. “Alright, Blue. Let’s workshop some names.”

Blue’s head bobbed up and down in quick succession but he may have just been nodding off.

“Here, have some tea.” Bruce swept in and bumped a cup of hot tea against Blue’s knuckles.

Blue grabbed the tea and gave Bruce a grateful smile. “Ta.”

Tony snorted. “You’re so British. JARVIS is a bad influence. He’s been recommending you too many British TV shows.”

“It is important to remain informed on a variety of different cultures,” JARVIS chimed in.

“Besides, Jay-Jay likes British TV more. He’s got the same dry humour as JARVIS,” Clint commented.

“Jay-Jay?”

Clint grinned. “Blue pronounces Jay better than he does Blue. And I feel like everyone’s forgotten he’s a bird bro so this is me reminding you of it.”

“You call him bird bro every five minutes, Clint. No one’s forgetting it,” Nat wryly commented.

“Well, I feel like no one’s appreciating Jay’s name enough so I’m using it,” Clint harrumped childishly.

Tony groaned and draped himself over the back of the couch. His bandaged wrist peaked out of his sleeve, reminding everyone why he was here preventing Blue from napping instead of tinkering in his lab. “When’s Thor back with lunch? It’s almost been an hour!”

“I did tell you to send someone with him,” Nat said.

“Clint offered to go with him. Clint and Thor together are disasters waiting to happen. They always stray from the path when they’re on a non-critical mission.”

“Does getting lunch count as a mission?” Steve asked.

“Yes. Getting lunch is the most important mission of them all.”

“I’ll just call him and ask him what’s taking so long,” Steve offered. He got his phone out and pulled up Thor’s contact. He put it on speakerphone. “Hey, Thor. Where are you right now?”

“Captain, I got distracted helping a kindly old woman with her groceries and found myself unable to refuse her gifts of gratitude. Unfortunately, I got further distracted sharing my gifts with children I passed on the way. I am now lost.”

“Point Break,” Tony called out. “JARVIS can track your location. Stand still and we’ll direct you to where you need to be.”

Blue closed his eyes slowly and opened them again when he felt the sofa cushion beside him dip. “Mrr?” he trilled in question.

“Hey, Blue. Why are you so tired today?”

Blue shrugged. He hadn’t been able to sleep much lately but he didn’t want to worry Bruce. His half-formed dreams really weren’t that bad.

Bruce hummed. “Why don’t you head up to your room while Tony’s distracted? We’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

He was about to reject the kind offer when another wave of drowsiness hit him. “Brrp.” Blue nodded and quietly padded over to the lift. “Ta,” he said again.

Bruce quirked a smile and waved him goodbye.

Once he was in the quiet of his room, Blue sank into his bed and curled up into a tight ball. Sleep came to him easily but he knew his dreams would wake him from them soon.

There was a woman with straw-like hair and kind blue eyes. She rubbed a soothing hand along his back, humming a sweet lullaby professing her unconditional love. He could feel her voice vibrating against the side of his head as he sat in her lap, basking in the warmth of it all. Leaning against the side of the woman was a young child with the same hair and eyes. She ruffled his hair roughly, letting out a giggle when he whined in protest. The woman huffed in amusement and smoothed out his hair, her hands infinitely gentle and as sweet as her voice.

“I love you, baby,” she professed again. The woman turned to the other child and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “I love you, honey.”

Blue slowly blinked his eyes open, heart filled to the brim with the warmth of being loved.

It’s the anniversary today, he realised. Of her death.

Blue grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stared at it. 1:23, it read. 5 hours, he told himself. Blue wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that but he turned his phone on and opened the phone app.

He keyed in a string of numbers before he realised what he was doing. The phone rang and rang and rang and ended, a robotic voicemail telling him to leave a message for ‘Harry’. He stared at his phone for a while and felt oddly compelled to call the number again. He called it again. When he called a third time, someone picked up.

“Hello, I don’t know who you are or why you’re so insistent on calling me but if you’re a salesman, I’d advise you now that I’m really not in the mood right now.”

Blue fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure why he called this number either or why he was so insistent on doing it today. As soon as the unknown owner of the phone picked up though, Blue was glad to have done so. Listening to her voice, it was like all the tension in his body melted away. Instead, there was a tinge of pride at the steadiness of her voice as if he had been expecting slurring incoherence instead.

“Mrrrp,” Blue chirped, just to tell her he was on the call.

“Oh, you’re a prank caller,” the other person, Harry (Harry, Harry, Harry, he mouthed to himself) faintly murmured. “Well, have you gotten what you wanted? It’s a little dumb to prank call an international number. There are better ways to do this.”

Blue chirped again.

“So you’re just going to keep chirping. Alright, weirder things have happened I suppose,” she sighed. “If you’re not going to hang up, do you mind listening to me talk for a bit?”

He chirped.

Harry chuckled. “It’s my mother’s death anniversary today. I’d usually drink the day away but I’m trying to stay sober and my drinking partner isn’t here anyway. We used to go to a pub near the cemetery, just the two of us and we’d get drunker than drunk. It was the only day he was willing to drink with me and we’d actually get on in person for once.”

There was a long pause and if it weren’t for the breathing he could hear on the other end, Blue would have thought she hung up.

“When he couldn’t make it, my brother would call instead and we’d chat about her all night. Mostly, he’d try to get me to tell him new stories about her. He was quite young when she passed and well, even if I made things up, he wouldn’t be able to tell so I told him tall stories about a woman that was more fiction than reality.”

There was a wet chuckle.

“I’ve been waiting for a call all day even though I know logically that he wouldn’t be able to-, it’s just-, I’ve been thinking of a story all week and I’m not sure if I told him it before. Do you want to hear it in his stead? Chirp once for no, twice for yes.”

Blue chirped twice.

“You’re one dedicated prank caller,” she laughed. “Well, one time our Ma decided she wanted to bake a cake from scratch. Thing is, she didn’t know how to bake to save her life, but she was stubborn – think we got it from her, bullheadedness that is, never knew how to back down, the lot of us – anyway, she’s watched The Great British Bake Off and thought that made her a pro. And what a mess she made.”

The warm voice laughed and Blue felt his lips curl in an echo of it. Harry’s laugh reminded Blue of the giggle he heard in his dream. He wondered if they were the same person, Harry and that little girl of blonde and blue.

“I think we ended up eating more batter than cake. We were lucky we didn’t get sick. What a nightmare it would’ve been; the three of us fighting for one bathroom. Or if Da was home, four of us. It’s a good thing Da was hardly home back then… I wish he never came home.”

“Mrrrrp,” Blue let out a mournful trill.

“Sorry. I usually try to avoid talking about him. The bastard kicked me out when I came out at sixteen and I had to leave my nine-year-old brother alone back home. I was sixteen and I felt so small and alone out in the big world. Can’t imagine how my brother must have felt, alone with that man who was more stranger than dad. I shoulda taken him with me. Shoulda at least stayed close after uni. Shoulda done a lot of things.”

Blue let out a chirp. He didn’t know what the chirp was supposed to say. He was speechless.

“My brother’s missing now. I never knew how much I looked forward to our monthly chats until they stopped coming. I’ve taken to calling the detective for answers once every month instead.” Harry laughed bitterly. “They’re not very good calls. Not as good as his.”

“Brrp.” I hope you find your brother soon.

“I’ve gotta go now. Got a dinner appointment with my brother’s landlady. Lovely woman, would hate to disappoint her. Thanks for listening to me even if you’re just a weirdo prank caller.”

“Mrrrp.”

“Bye.”

The dial tone signalled the end of the call and Blue whispered back, “Bye, Harry.”

Blue plodded back down to the common room where they were all setting up the table, Thor having finally brought back three bags full of food.

“Oh, I just about to call you,” Bruce said when he noticed Blue.

The dragon gave him a slight smile and took a seat beside Bruce. After that phone call with Harry, Blue didn’t really have the energy to do much. He didn’t even want to talk about it, not for a while, and JARVIS had respected that when Blue typed his request for secrecy on his phone. He just needed some time to adjust to the fact that he was remembering some things. His mother(?), her death anniversary, and Harry who was probably his sister. Which meant that Blue was her missing brother.

Blue didn’t want to be her brother because Harry missed her brother but he didn’t remember anything. He didn’t know why they called once a month or why he only drank with her once a year. He didn’t know anything about their father other than the interesting tidbits Harry shared with a ‘stranger’. He was less than whole at the moment and the idea of presenting himself to her as this broken thing unable to string a proper sentence together horrified him.

He wanted to appear before her, whole and hale, without a trace of the trauma lingering around him.

Harry already felt guilty enough over her brother.

(Nine and alone with a man that was more stranger than dad, she said.)

He’ll let these thoughts brew for a few more days, he decided. Then, he’ll tell the Avengers about the phone call.

“Sir, Director Fury is on his way up here,” JARVIS announced.

Tony scowled. “What does he want this time? I haven’t even recovered from the three-week mission he sent us on yet!” He brandished his bandaged wrist to emphasise his point.

“He did not state the purpose of his visit.”

“Urgh. He better not send us on another mission again.”

They didn’t have to wait long because Fury stepped out of the elevator moments later, black coat flared out behind him dramatically. “Listen up, motherfuckers. A retired leader of the British secret intelligence is coming over to ask about some human trafficking rings you’ve busted. She’ll arrive in the US tomorrow. I expect you all to remain respectful towards her.”

“Doesn’t SHIELD handle all that?”

“She wanted to consult a primary source.”

“Do you really expect us to be well-behaved?”

“At least attempt not to offend her. She’s a powerful woman not to be reckoned with. Be. Careful.”

“Urgh, One-Eyed. I’ve been playing in high society for as long as I could remember. Don’t worry about it.”

“She is not a woman to be trifled with, Stark. Her son unofficially runs the British Government. Some call him the British Government personified. I prefer his title as the Ice Man though.”

Blue’s fingers twitched and he buried his face in his scarf. More faint visages of memories. He was getting tired of them all.

After another sleepless night, tomorrow came and the tower prepared for their soon-to-arrive visitor. Their guest arrived in a timely manner with Director Fury and was escorted to the meeting room for a rundown of the information she wanted. Blue stayed in the common room and tried to stay awake by occupying himself with a paperback. He was largely unsuccessful, the words blurring into each other as the minutes ticked by.

A ding sounded in the room.

“You have received a message from Tony Stark,” JARVIS read. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

Blue nodded.

“Hey, Blue. We’re showing our guest around the Tower. If you don’t want to meet her, just head up to your room. We won’t take too long.”

Blue hummed and remained seated where he was. On second thought, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. Maybe a nice cuppa would wake him up.

“––and this is the common floor where we spend most of our downtime. It’s got a mini examination room, a small library, a living room and a kitchen though no one really stores any snacks here because a certain someone keeps stealing them.”

“Hey!” Clint squawked. “It’s not my fault if you don’t write your name on them.”

“I wasn’t talking about you though now I know who’s been stealing my chips.”

“Who were you talking about then?”

“Thor. He keeps taking all the Pop-Tarts.”

“They are just so irresistible,” Thor shamelessly replied.

“I apologise for the unseemly behaviour of my team,” Natasha said to the visitor. “I’m afraid this is as best as it gets.”

The visitor let out a short laugh, the classy sort you heard from Victorian ladies on the telly. “Oh, believe me, my boys aren’t any better. All that wasted funds and time on lessons on manners and it all goes flying out the window as soon as they see each other.”

Blue settled back down on the couch and tried not to think about why the voice sounded familiar.

Violet Holmes was reluctantly charmed by the Avengers. They had annoyingly hidden some things from her during the debrief but as they guided her through Avengers Tower, their loud personalities came to the forefront and the constant bickering brought back memories of Mycroft and Sherlock in their youth, fighting over who got the last slice of cake.

They stepped into what must be the living room and Stark waved his hand at someone sitting inside. “Hey, Blue. Mrs Holmes, this is our good friend and doctor, Blue.”

“You’ve got to introduce him properly, Tony,” Barton groused. “It’s Blue Jay Hudson.”

“That joke is stupid and you know it.”

Violet tuned out their bickering and her world narrowed down to the man on the couch. He was wearing a frumpy blue sweater and an equally blue scarf, cradling a cup of tea and seemingly nodding off.

“John? John Watson?” Violet gasped out. Tears welled up in her eyes prematurely, blurring her vision but she’ll recognise that figure anywhere. There was no one quite as fond of woolly jumpers (even in the midst of summer) as John Watson.

But John didn’t lift his head and continued to sip on his tea like he hadn’t heard her.

“John Hamish Watson!” Violet barked out.

John startled and dropped his tea on the carpet, spilling it everywhere but he finally looked up. His eyes widened as he gazed upon Violet’s face, looking at her grey hair and wrinkled face in all its glory.

“John…” she breathed out.

“...Mummy.”

“Mummy?!” the spectating Avengers chorused.

Chapter Text

“John? John Watson?”

Through the haze of sun-induced sleepiness, he could hear a sound that belonged to him, letters strung together to form one of the most common names in the world, followed by an equally common surname. Generic as it was, it was spoken with a cadence that was uniquely his, by a voice calling out to him.

It was his name.

Blue Jay Hudson.

And now:

John Watson.

“John Hamish Watson!” the voice barked again.

He instinctively straightened up and dropped his tea in his shock. It soaked the carpet below but he was too busy sitting up straight in response to that tone and the full-naming to bother about stained carpets. Mothers were not to be taken lightly, especially when they sounded like that.

“John…”

There she was, standing as tall as ever, grey hair styled neatly and elegantly back, dignified laugh lines and marks of an eventful life decorated her face, eyes that looked just like her son’s well up with tears…

“...Mummy,” he whispered.

Mummy.

He remembered meeting her for the first time, an unexpected guest he had mistaken for a client. Chatting over tea, caught up in this whirlwind of a woman who was so smart and so kind and finding out that she was the mother of his dear friend and thinking ‘Yeah, that makes sense.’ Then, the insistence that he called her Mummy just like her sons. The family dinner invites and Christmas celebrations. The birthday gifts and the shower of love. The woman who became something like a mother to him, who treated him like a son.

He rushed towards her and she towards him. They met in the middle, caught in a desperate embrace. She was taller than him. All the Holmes were.

John Watson had found a piece of home at last.

“Oh, John,” Mummy sobbed. John squeezed her tighter and buried his face in her shoulder. “We’ve been looking all over for you. I missed you so much, my dear. Even before I knew you were missing, I had missed you. I thought you weren’t picking up my calls because you wanted some space but you had been taken! Mycroft hid it from me. Isn’t that horrible? I ought to disown him but I’ve already lost a son.”

Mycroft…?

A memory was brought to the forefront of his mind. Scattered and fragmented but still understandable.

Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.

The man he had never known to falter showed something akin to guilt and regret on his face as he stammered, I never inten–… I never dreamt…

So this… th-th-this… is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it? ‘Watch his back, ‘cause I’ve made a mistake’

…

Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.

I’m sorry.

Oh, please.

Tell him, would you?

But there was no point in telling a grave ‘sorry’. There was no use in regrets when all you could do to try and make up for it was clear a dead man’s name. In the end, they were just two men that failed Sherlock sitting in a dark flat filled with memories of him, working to clear their conscious.

“Mummy,” John cried.

Did she know? Did she know about the role John and Mycroft played in Sherlock’s death? Did she know?

John had to tell her.

Strings of chirps and trills came pouring out of his mouth, his limited ability to speak rearing its ugly head at the most crucial moment. Frustrated tears stung his eyes and he latched onto Mummy tighter.

“John?” Mummy asked, a little more than baffled. But she hugged John back just as tightly.

John kept babbling, melodious chirps twittering out of his mouth.

“Uh, Ma’am? Blue, or, uh, John has a limited ability to speak. He’s only recently been saying some words. Before then, he mostly chirped,” Steve explained.

John hadn’t known the Avengers had been watching.

Mummy pulled away from John a bit and wiped her and his tears away. “John? Is that true?”

John let out a bitter chirp. He tried again, carefully, “Y-es.”

“Oh, my dear boy. What have they done to you?” Mummy pulled John in for another hug.

But John had to tell Mummy the truth! He didn’t deserve this. Mummy had to know.

“Mummy, mrrrp brrrp mrp!”

“John.” Mummy gently cradled his face in her hand and wipes his tears with her thumbs. “Do you still remember BSL?”

BSL? British Sign Language? He did!

His hands flew up, forming words his mouth could not make.

“Aw man, Blue knew BSL this entire time? Things would’ve been so much easier if we knew,” he heard Clint moan.

‘It’s M-Y-C-R-O-F-T and my fault that S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K died. M-Y-C-R-O-F-T told M-O-R-I-A-R-T-Y about S-H-E-R and I couldn’t stop him from jumping.’

He froze once he realised what he signed.

Sherlock jumped and John hadn’t been able to stop him. John was on the phone, uselessly begging Sherlock not to jump and Sherlock made John watch.

(Please, I’m his friend…)

Mummy’s face darkened with fury.

“Uh, what did say?” he heard Tony ask.

“He said it's his and someone called Mycroft’s fault that Sherlock died,” Clint whispered.

It felt like taking an arrow to the heart to hear his sins spoken aloud.

“John,” Mummy said, as gentle as ever. “I already told you that Sherlock’s death was not your fault. He was a stubborn fool. No one could stop him once he had his mind set on something.”

But John was his best friend and they were on the phone together and there had to be a reason why Sherlock called him right before he jumped. Sherlock wanted John to stop him and John failed.

“You told me about the phone call and everything that happened before then. But you haven’t said anything about Mycroft. Can you expand on your previous statement?” Mummy asked. He wasn’t imagining the steel in her voice. Even the Avengers reared back at the iciness of her tone.

John shook his head. His mind was a sieve and his memories had too many holes in them. It was a miracle that he was remembering so much right now!

“What do you mean? You can’t tell me or you don’t want to tell me?”

Chirping flooded John’s mouth again.

“If we may, Ma’am,” Steve respectfully interjected. “John has amnesia. He doesn’t remember much. I don’t think he remembered you before he saw you.”

“Oh.” And just like that, the ice surrounding her melted and Mummy was crying again. “You’ve suffered so much, love.”

And he was crying again. Because he had.

He woke up, feverish and unsure, on a mountain in an unfamiliar body with an unknown fear thrumming through his veins. He didn’t know who or where he was. He didn’t know anything. But he survived on that mountain surrounded by uncertainty all alone for over a month until he was stupid enough to be captured again. And then he was sold and there were experiments again; drugs and physical tests, a basement the sun never touched and metal wrapped around his mouth and ankle. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that he was once human.

And then he was rescued by a group of strangers and he was human again but he still didn’t know who he was. He was lost with no way home. And he felt so useless, freeloading on the generosity of strangers with no real way to repay them.

Now, Mummy had found him and given his name back but he couldn’t remember enough to confess his sins or help her uncover her other son’s mistake.

John cried and he hated himself for it.

“There there, let it all out.” Mummy pat his head and ran a soothing hand down his back.

John leaned into the touch and was still sobbing his heart out. He wasn’t quite sure how long they cried in each others’ arms nor did he know when exactly they had migrated to the sofa. He had just felt drained of all energy so he slipped into his preferred sleeping form. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was Mummy’s surprised squeak.

Violet stared at the scaly creature in her arms and blinked. She ran a hesitant hand over it- his back and marvelled at the smooth warmth of the scales. The creature let out a little mmrp that John made earlier and started purring. Violet was more than stunned but she was a Holmes so she kept her composure and kept patting the creature that was most likely John.

“So, this is a new development,” she commented once she could trust herself to sound steady.

“Ah. We suspected he didn’t use to do that.” Stark nodded to himself.

The Avengers had left to give them some privacy but returned when the crying subsided.

Banner offered her a glass of water and she accepted it with a grateful smile.

“So, Blue called you Mummy and you called him John,” Barton began. “Are you his mum?”

“No,” Violet chuckled ruefully. “Though I do consider him my son. He was my son’s best friend and we got along so well that I unofficially adopted him into the family.”

“Was?”

“Sherlock, he… jumped. He made John watch.”

They all inhaled sharply. Sympathetic gazes fell on John and Violet but she ignored it and kept giving John scratches that made him purr.

“If you would please tell me how you found John, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

They told her of how they raided a lab that did human experiments and found him in the basement, chained up like an animal. Apparently, they hadn’t known that John was human and experimented on him as a mythical creature. When the Avengers freed John, he turned back into his original form and promptly collapsed. When he awoke again, they invited him to stay with them and it was only months later did they realise he was originally human.

“We tried looking for his home but, well, we didn’t have much to go off and,” Stark gestured at John, “considering the situation, we didn’t want the wrong people finding out about him.”

Violet hummed. “You made a good call. John was taken over a year ago by a powerful man. If he knew John was still alive, John would have been in a lot of danger.”

Romanoff tapped her fingers against the armrest. “May I ask what this man’s name is?”

Violet approved of the violent glint in her eyes. “I assure you, we are handling it. Though, your assistance would not go remiss. Are you familiar with the criminal mastermind, Moriarty?”

“Yes. The Spider. He single-handly built an expansive web of crime but committed suicide two years ago along with Sherlock–... Oh.”

Violet smiled sadly. Oh indeed. “He handed the keys to his criminal empire to his right-hand man and since my oldest son was finishing his brother’s business, Moran decided to distract him with John.”

She pat the warm dragon sleeping in her lap to try and remind herself that she found John but it was difficult considering he was currently a dragon.

“We would gladly help to apprehend this Moran,” Rogers vowed.

“Thank you. I suspect it would not take too long. His inherited empire is already on its last legs.”

The Avengers nodded thoughtfully.

“Though I must ask that you keep this a secret from my oldest son. He’s been very naughty lately.”

The Avengers shivered.

Oh, dear. Violet hadn’t intended on scaring the ‘World’s mightiest heroes’ like that. She reined in the blood thirst and channelled the joy of finding John into her smile.

“Now, why don’t you tell me about what you’ve been doing with John? Or Blue, was it?”

Barton brightened up. “We named him Blue Jay Hudson. First name Blue, middle name Jay, surname Hudson. It was funny to get people thinking that he was named after a bird.”

Violet chuckled. “Yes, I would imagine so. Though, this is quite a sweet coincidence. John’s other mother figure, his landlady, is also named Hudson. She will be quite thrilled to learn that he had inadvertently taken her name.”

“Really? I named him after the Hudson River but that’s pretty cool too. No wonder Blue, oh, I mean, John-”

“It’s alright if you call him Blue. I’m sure John won’t mind. He and Sherlock liked to call each other ridiculous names all the time.”

Barton beamed. He started rambling about the adventures he, John and Thor went on and the ruckus they’ve stirred in the tower. The others interjected that Blue was just reeling them back and preventing them from causing too much chaos. But Violet knew about John’s mischievous streak – after all, he got on splendidly with her youngest son – so she believed Barton when he said Blue escalated most of the pranks.

In exchange, Violet told them about Dr John Watson and the antics he got up to with Sherlock. She also directed them to his blog. It had been deactivated after Sherlock’s death due to the number of hate comments John had been getting, but she was sure that Stark would be able to find a way into it.

“If I may, Ma’am. You are taking this all remarkably well.”

Violet smiled enigmatically. “When you get to my age, things so rarely do surprise you anymore.”

She stood up, carrying John in her arms. He was heavy but still not too heavy for her. “Now, if you would excuse me, I would like to put John in bed. Would it be alright if I stayed overnight with him?”

“Oh. Of course. No worries. Stay as long as you like,” Stark rambled.

“Thank you.”

Violet got into the lift and the tower’s AI brought her to John’s floor.

Before she left, she could hear the Avengers, mainly Barton, whispering amongst themselves.

“How is she so calm about this? What did she mean by that? And how is she carrying him like he weighs nothing?”

“I mean… she did lead the British Intelligence.”

“She’s so scary.”

Now, how to get Martha to visit John without alerting Mycroft to his presence?

Chapter Text

Mummy was reading a paperback when John woke up. The sky cast a soft twilight glow over his room, basking them in a gentle blanket of blue, like hiding under the covers with a single torch in hand, whispering secrets that will never leave the sanctity of the blanket tent. For the first time in a long while, John felt settled, content.

“Good morning, John,” Mummy whispered when she noticed him looking at her.

John chirped and fluttered his wings, the action causing the blanket to lift and fall strangely, not to mention, invited a gust of cool air into his pocket of cosiness.

Mummy chuckled and ran her hands over the scales on John’s head. “Well, aren’t you adorable.”

He leaned against the touch and Mummy obliged the silent request, eyes soft with fondness but tinged with sorrow.

“Breakfast, love?”

John nodded and Mummy lifted him out of bed, groaning with exertion, but when John tried to wriggle out of her arms, she tutted at him and held him closer to her chest. So John stopped struggling and leaned back against her, listening to the steady thump-thump-thump of Mummy’s heart and the measured whoosh of her lungs inflating and deflating with air. He took a surreptitious sniff. Mummy smelt like the airport, rain, and jasmine and apricot, her favourite perfume scent.

Mummy set John down on the kitchen island and brought out everything she needed to make a classic english breakfast. Being just as clever, if not more than her sons, she hadn’t needed to search the kitchen at all. Soon, the room began to smell like Mrs Hudson’s cooking (how strange that he could recall it vividly now, to the extent of almost tasting it) and that in itself smelt of home.

John himself didn’t smell much like home anymore. He didn’t smell like himself. Sure, he still smelled faintly of tea, given the truly excessive amount he consumed on a daily basis, but the other components of his smell had changed. No longer did his hair smell of cheap shampoo, nor his clothes the pleasant citrus that Mrs Hudson favoured. John’s hair smelt of the expensive cocoa shampoo that Tony supplied and his clothes floral laundry detergent. He didn’t even smell like antiseptic. John had smelt like antiseptic for most of his adult life and had thought the scent had entrenched itself into his DNA.

Given that his DNA might well have been rewritten, it was a discomfiting thought.

Mummy also brewed a pot of tea using the tea set Bruce had gifted him. She poured them both a cuppa each and added a generous splash of milk into one cup. Mummy took hers black. John preferred milk and no sugar. Sherlock had liked black with two sugars. Mycroft took his black. Mrs Hudson liked milk with one sugar. Harry’s depended on her mood that day.

John turned back into his human self and tugged his scarf loose. “Ta,” he murmured. He took a sip of the hot tea and groaned with satisfaction. Mummy was an excellent tea brewer. Sherlock was too, when he deigned to actually make any. (He always did when John had a particularly bad nightmare. Always at the door when two steaming cups when John screamed himself awake. Blue often found himself waiting for a long time for tea that would never come.)

Mummy was looking at John, eyes roving over his features, lingering over his shoulders where he knew she must’ve felt the scales yesterday.

For a while, they ate and drank their tea in silence.

When he took his last sip, John made sure Mummy’s eyes were on him and began to sign.

‘Do I still seem like myself?’ he asked, self-consciously rubbing the scales across his shoulder.

Mummy blinked and poured them more tea, doctoring it to John’s taste once more. “I will admit, you are a different John to the one I met.”

John clenched his fists and stared into his milky tea in dismay.

“But it is to be expected that people change as time goes by and life goes on. A lot happened to you, John. It is only natural that you are a changed man. However, you are still very much John. I see in you the quiet, unassuming man that hadn’t hesitated to lecture my stubborn son into inviting his mother for dinner, and had issued the invitation himself when he refused. Whatever has been done to you, know that you remain, at your core, John Watson.”

His eyes welled up with tears once more but John quickly dried them and gulped his tea.

‘Do you know why I went missing? I don’t remember much.’

Mummy’s face fell and hardened.

‘It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. I was just curious. I’ll remember at a later time,’ he quickly backtracked.

“No, it’s something you should know. You deserve to know.”

Mummy poured them some more tea.

“It was 6 months after Sherlock’s funeral. You had cleared his name two months earlier and was looking to move on with your life. The plan was to work in a clinic in Edinburgh until you were ready to come back. A month after you left, your sister Harry came looking for you and it all unravelled from there. I wasn’t informed of your disappearance until months later. In that time, an envelope full of photos of you was delivered to the Scotland Yard, with the last heavily implying your death.”

Mummy took a long sip of her tea

“It was only this week that I was notified about the photos, the only reason being that they realised the subject of the final photo was not you. I instantly set off to find you and managed to locate the original laboratory that held you captive. After extracting information from the men, I razed the place to the ground.”

John let out a vindictive trill.

Mummy smiled viciously.

“I realised that you must’ve been captured by a separate facility and knew the Avengers had conducted a few raids in the area, which led me to coming here. And there you were.”

‘Sorry for not remembering.’

“Don’t be. You’re alive and that’s all that matters.”

She looked overjoyed that John was alive. Warmth flooded his heart at the idea. That his mere existence was enough to incite joy.

‘Thank you for finding me.’

“Thank you for surviving.”

They finished their breakfast and cleaned up the dishes in companionable silence.

“John, as much as I'd love to stay with you, I’ll have to leave sometime today,” Mummy said apologetically. Before the sorrow could set in, she quickly added, “Don’t worry. I intend to fly Martha over to keep you company in my stead. It will require a little subterfuge on my part to keep Mycroft in the dark about it but I should be able to sneak her within the week.”

‘Why can’t Mycroft know?’

John was pretty sure that Mycroft was Mummy’s son and Sherlock’s brother. Though John’s longest memory of the man was of their confrontation, he did recall some snippets of him. The umbrella, God Save The Queen, and a fondest of sweets he was relentlessly teased for. His overall impression of Mycroft was overbearing but ultimately an alright bloke. To John at least. Mycroft’s enemies would likely beg to differ.

Mummy smiled with all her teeth. “John, dear, I’m afraid Mycroft has made many mistakes in the last year. If he hadn’t hidden your photos from me, we might’ve found you a lot sooner. Not to mention, that conversation you briefly told me about. I’d like him to sweat a little longer before I tell him of your safety. Though, I would like to conceal your whereabouts until we take down Moriarty’s web. I’m afraid Mycroft frequently oversteps and it would not do for him to intrude upon this safe space you stumbled upon.”

John chirped in reply. He thought it was a little harsh but who was he to tell Mummy how to handle her child?

“He needs to learn that he does not know best. Thankfully, he eventually asked for help, but I fear he’s still keeping things from me. So, for now, I’ll leave him to stew in his guilt.”

He nodded to demonstrate his understanding. Mummy’s logic was sound but John couldn’t help the twinge of disappointed running down his spine. Mummy’s punishment had inadvertently punished John too. He would have loved to have seen some of the people he used to know, even Mycroft.

“Do you remember Martha, dear? Martha Hudson?”

‘Landlady!’ John enthusiastically signed. ‘Not a housekeeper!’

Mummy ruffled his hair proudly for the answer. “I’ll explain the situation to her and bring her over as soon as I can. Just hang in there, alright?”

‘I have friends here,’ he signed to reassure her.

She just smiled in response.

They spent the rest of the day doing much of nothing, both of them content to simply bask in the reassurance of one another’s presence. It still hurt when the inevitable separation came. He stood there, with the Avengers, having to pretend like he didn’t feel four again, at preschool for the first time watching his Ma’s car drive off, not understanding that she would be there to pick him up again after school.

The Avengers let John mope for the rest of the day, though they didn’t leave him alone. Someone was with him at all times, if not by his side, then somewhere in the room. So John sulked and then he consoled himself with the knowledge that Mrs Hudson was coming soon and Mycroft was in trouble.

As he stared out at the night sky, John felt the couch dip slightly beside him. He looked to the side. Thor sat beside him, a wistful expression on his face as he too watched the stars. “That, right there,” he whispered, pointing at the sky, “is Asgard, my home.”

John tried to follow Thor’s finger to the star but they weren’t things that could be easily seen in cities full of light pollution.

Thor chuckled lightly, “At least, that’s where it would be if you could see it from Midgard.”

John rolled his eyes fondly and gave a slap to the thunder god’s bicep. To a normal person, that slap would’ve left a mark (John had gotten a lot stronger after… everything. Fortunately, he had enough time to learn how to control his new strength), but Thor barely felt a thing.

“Blue– Apologies, I have yet to ask your preferred name. I am aware that some people get upset when you call them by the wrong name. Tony hates it when I call him Man of Iron or Anthony.” Thor conveniently left out that he sometimes called him ‘Man of Iron’ to annoy him anyway.

John had to sit and think about for a long while. If he were to be honest, Blue had become his name just as much as John was. Not to mention, half the time, Clint and Tony liked to use random nicknames for him, like Toothless, or Jay Jay, or Birdy.

He opened his mouth, clenching his fists when his fingers suddenly went tingly. “Blue,” John answered. It felt important to keep Blue alive and not buried under the resurfacing John. He was a dragon now. It wouldn’t do for him to erase that.

Thor gave him a kind smile. “Friend Blue, Midgard has many tales about Asgard, and some come close to describing the golden city, but none can compare to being there, experiencing it in all its golden resplendent in person. It still steals my breath sometimes and I grew up there!”

John tried to picture Asgard as Thor described it, but he knew the Asgard of his imagination could not capture its beauty. He was known for having a terrible sense of style.

“But I oft find it difficult to return home,” Thor confessed quietly, shame muffling his voice.

“Mrp,” John chirped in surprise. For as long as he’d known him, Thor had been making trips back home at least once a month. That wasn’t the actions of someone who dreaded returning.

“I have always been a part of a pair. There’s not a moment in my life that I can remember not having Loki as my brother. We used to terrorise the halls together as children. Every inch of the city is filled with memories of my brother, and I miss him terribly,” Thor’s voice faltered and his fingers flexed anxiously where they lay in his lap. “Forgive me, I did not mean to speak of this. Loki’s actions had cost this city and its people dearly; I shan’t speak so dearly of its villain.”

John placed a gentle hand on Thor’s arm and squeezed. ‘He’s your brother. You’re allowed to love him.’

Thor’s lips twitched. “Aye, but not everyone sees it that way. They’ve only known him as an invader. They don’t know the man I grew up with for over a thousand years.”

John can understand why Thor never spoke of his brother. Even when calling him a villain, there was a faint undertone of affection in Thor’s voice, and John knew it would not be well received by any, especially those in New York that day. The other Avengers, though they loved Thor, would not take it well either. They still spoke of him with anger in their voices, though sometimes they would remember Thor was his brother and keep their thoughts to themselves.

“I try to speak to Loki but he would not see me. If I try against his wishes, he ignores me, and destroys his room after I leave. Thrice now, he’d gone on a hunger strike after my visits. Mother forbade me from visiting until Loki was more willing. She was apologetic about it but I feel she is punishing me for letting Loki fall into the void, for forcing us all to mourn him, only for him to return a villain.”

“Brrrrrrp!”

Thor couldn’t possibly believe that to be true. From what Thor’s told him about Frigga, she was a kind and benevolent mother. There was no way she blamed Thor for what happened to Loki, for what Loki had done.

“So, that is my reason for not going home. What is yours?”

John blinked, caught off guard by the sudden diversion. “...Mummy,” he said after a moment of consideration. “Myc. Bad.” ‘He thinks he knows best. She’s punishing him by not letting him know she found me,’ he finished in BSL.

Thor made a thought hum. “So, in trying to help Myc grow as a person, she inadvertently punished you too. Just like my mother did by trying to help Loki. I had to stay away from my brother. And you have to stay away from home.”

“...Brrp.”

John rested his head against Thor’s shoulders. He’d always been homesick, even before he knew where home was. Avengers Tower helped but in the end, it wasn’t home.

And he feels ashamed and guilty for thinking that. The Avengers have opened up their home to him when all he had known up to that point was an unforgiving mountain and a cold basement. Their home became his second home but all he could think about was London and its constant rain.

John’s fingers twitched.

‘London is a dreadful place. Always raining and filled with litter. People are rude to each other and incredibly judgemental. If you smiled at a stranger on the street, they’ll think you’re trying to scam them of their life savings. Not that they’ll have much. London is a very expensive place to live… But I couldn’t live anywhere else. I miss running through streets and alleys, chasing after mysteries and answers.’

Thor wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders. “It is not forever. My brother will let me see him someday; be it in a year’s time or a century’s, I will always wait for him. You too, my friend Blue, will one day go home. In the meantime, we have the Avengers Tower, a second home inhabited by friends.”

John smiled and stared out at the night sky. Home wasn’t in the stars but a plane ride away. He just had to be patient.