Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A/N: Hi all, thanks for reading this! I really hope you enjoy it.

This fic is a depiction of the formation of Avengers in the 1980s (because who doesn’t love that era?), and is in the same continuity as my other X-Men fics (set in the prequel Fox X-Men films universe). You don’t need to read them (as it’s not a cross over and this fic will be self isolated), but if you like character based X-Men stories, please feel free. I just liked the idea of making that universe’s version of the Avengers.

It's also a stand alone sequel to my other Avengers story, A Rough Start to Things, where the Avengers unite for the first time to fight a cosmic vampire. None of the plot points are explicitly referenced in this story, but please feel free to read it.

With the continuity explained, please enjoy!

***

The bright lights of an evening New York City suddenly fizzed with a bright yellow light, overwhelming many senses. The cool night air did little to ease the incredible headache within Peter’s brain. Each swing, each jump, each movement, it all seemed to only fan the pain. He did his best to ignore it, he had to, for he had better things to concentrate on. The feeling of a bolt of electricity barely striking his ribs, for example, was something that Peter thought was more important than his mind. As he curled into a ball and spun himself into the air, the teen managed to avoid a lethal strike to his body. His teeth gritted. His body was getting slower, and he knew that he was getting more tired. Sleepless nights were not suiting his body, it seemed. At least, not as he dipped and dived over and over again, all the more desperate to avoid strike after strike. He succeeded, though. As he swung back onto the scarred and hissed brick rooftop, he was untouched.

The man before him was insulted by that fact. His pale face curled into a severe rage that made Peter’s breathing become uneven, as it often was with Max. Max Dillon was always a very unpleasant man to look at, and Peter often felt his anxieties flares just from the man looking at him. His pale, exposed arms were already covered in scar tissue, a gift from the day that he first gained his powers. His neck was also cut, though that was from a life of horrific abuse from cruel parents. On many an occasion, Peter had done his best to try to ease Max’s rage, to form some kind of humanity within the murderous lunatic that had killed nearly a dozen people in rather brutal ways. Nothing succeeded, though. It all ended the same. As soon as Max felt that he was emotionally exposed, he became dangerously defensive and tried to strike at Peter with lethal intent. Peter still tried, though. Perhaps it was Aunt May, but he never stopped feeling guilty or pity for Max and those of similar ilk. There were clearly more scars than just physical when it came to the man.

“Maxy, Maxy M…You know, I don’t like that name for you. Reminds me of a pug. Anyway, look…”

Max broke out into a wide grin, marked with the three teeth that his father had knocked out when he was a mid-teen and caught stealing for the first time. His dark hair suddenly straightened like a porcupine’s quills, and he rose into the air as Peter rested on top of a rooftop door.

“You’ve never liked my new name, have you kid?” He suddenly laughed in a high-pitched cackle, “It’s less boring than ‘Spider-Man’, at least in my opinion.”

“Hmm. See, I think ‘Electro’ is just lazy. I’m still insulted that you didn’t pick ‘Dazzling Electric Fiend’ or ‘D.E.F.’. Such a waste.”

“If I come across another man as powered as me, I’ll send them your way.” Electro grinned.

Peter’s spine tightened. Without thinking, the teen immediately leapt into the air. Electro had subtly kicked his foot forwards, sending a small but still painful volt towards Peter. The teen spun, swinging his way so that he was behind the increasingly bright villain. With decreased patience, Electro continued rising into the air. His skin glowed a brilliant hue of gold as electricity began to pour from his body. An ever-shifting crown of electricity with three prongs rested on his forehead. His dark green vest now shone brightly in the evening. Without looking, he threw his arm back and shot yet another stream of electricity at Peter. The teen immediately let go of his web, dropped several metres and shot forward another stream, hurling himself high into the air again.

Electro used the distraction to return to his primary focus. On the fifteen floor of an apartment towards the end of the street was within site. While the street below was deserted, excluding the pooling police, the houses and homes were still full of those thinking themselves as safe. Electro practically snarled as he aimed a palm at one house in particular. His heartbeat increased as a thrill and sharp joy raced through his system, only for confusion and rage to overcome him. A shot of web club to his wrist before yanking him down towards the rooftop. As he did, he immediately turned to shoot a bolt towards the nearby Spider-Man, striking him in the leg just as Electro rolled onto the gravel.

Peter shouted loudly. Every muscle in his body burnt and tightened, before a series of horrid spasms overtook his body. The red and blue hero dropped near to Electro, grimacing and wincing as the faint smell of burning filled his nose. He was able to look up. A still-crowned Electro was rising to his feet, his face turned to Peter with a severe look of hatred. Peter immediately snapped his wrist upwards, managing to shoot a thick glob of web into his opponent’s shoulder. The man grunted deeply as his shoulder nearly popped from the socket. As he turned to face forwards once more, a sudden force impacted with his chest, knocking all air from his lungs. The man flew back into the door, almost cracking it. Before he could fall to his knees, a layer of thick webbing coated his chest, making him seethe.

Peter did drop to his knees. The electric shock of gently punching Electro was almost enough to make him convulse again. His fist was numb, and struggling to respond to his commands. It was nothing that he couldn’t sleep off, he hoped. He was always optimistic about his healing capabilities, even if they didn’t necessarily pan out to be as powerful as expected. The teen slowly rose, ignoring his quivering thighs. As if there were heavy tires around his feet, Peter trudged forwards towards a murderous looking Electro. His crown had finally faded.

“This make you feel good? Playing the Grade A law keeper?”

“Max,” Peter sighed, breathless, “You’re wanted for like…six murders from last year alone. I’m not gonna argue with you. I failed my debate team.”

The last comment made Max grin widely. A sardonic chuckle left him.

“Same. Wanna know why? The day of the big debate, I was so excited that I accidently knocked off a wine bottle from the kitchen counter. Wanna guess how I got my first broken leg?”

His smile never faded, making Peter’s stomach twist.

“I…I…”

“You…You…” Max mocked, “That was the first conviction, thanks to you. Wanna explain the fairness in that?”

“Max, you killed him in cold blood. There are laws and we follow them. Otherwise, it’s chaos, and-”

“Jesus Christ!” Electro suddenly broke out laughing, making a level of agitated heat flush through Peter’s spine, “You really are young, aren’t you? Six convictions, right?”

Peter slowly walked forwards, waiting for the police to inevitably notice that the lightshow had ended and to investigate. It always happened the same. Peter would fight, Peter would sometimes win, and then Peter would be shot at by the boys in blue. It always made for a very interesting evening to ever-tired teen.

“More than that, Max. We both know that.” Peter muttered, sitting across from the webbed man.

“Yeah?” Electro rose his eyebrows, “Guess I lost count.”

Peter’s spine tightened. Without hesitation, he leapt to the side as Electro bellowed loudly. Several pulses of electricity escaped his now glowing body, singeing the webbing and releasing him. Without pause, he threw several beams of electricity at Peter, making the teen duck and dive without having time to do anything else. Metre by metre, Peter found himself being pushed off of the side of the rooftop, finally losing his footing as he tried to avoid a strike to the head. As he dipped below the ceiling level, Electro felt desperation once more.

He didn’t have much time. He rose into the air once more. He opened his palm again and prepared. An agonised noise escaped something close to him as he felt what was clearly a shoulder knocking into his ribs. Electro’s body stiffened in shock as he was thrown onto the gravel. Before he could understand what was happening, he was on his back and webbed to a door, and a swift force struck his head. His body relaxed immediately, and Electro suddenly became aware that his eyes were open and that he was looking around. The disorientation lasted for several seconds until a shaking and steaming Spider-Man trod next to him. His suit was several burnt and torn in many places, making Electro suddenly understand where he was. The man tried to summon an electrical wave once more, but his body and mind were sluggish and not quite understanding the command. He was concussed.

“You…You’re an arsehole.” Electro croaked.

Peter’s jaw was stiffly shut, as were his eyes. His breathing was deep as he did his best to ride through the extreme aftershocks of such an electric exposure. Eventually, he was able to stand above Electro, who was clearly struggling as well. It wasn’t a hard punch. Peter had been very careful with it. Though, given the clear mumbling and the dilated eyes, the punch was enough to slow him down.

“I know, but you can’t…go killing people.”

“Yeah?” Electro whispered, nodding towards the apartment block that he was targeting, “Guy was friends with my father. Wanna know what he used to do with me and other friends’ kids if we made too much noise in the yard?”

Peter was quiet, not wanting to hear the rest of the story. He didn’t have the stomach for it, and he never wanted to, either. Electro seemed to read the silence well.

“I’ve never hurt anyone that didn’t hurt me as a kid. Even when I was with the Sinister Six. Those bastards? Those bastards from home got to move on, live their lives. What about me? Huh? I got screwed over again and again.”

“That doesn’t justify anythi-”

“Coming from a nice home, right?”

The comment succeeded in getting under Peter’s skin. Before he could stop himself, he was close to Electro and thrusting a finger downwards.

“You don’t know what I’ve dealt with, Max. So just stop and-”

“I know you were beaten or cut. Had bones broken over your parents losing jobs. Never had a family friend laugh as his dog took pieces out of ya.”

Electro leaned back, resting his rest on the door. The pair became quiet as the looming sound of police sirens grew. Soon, Electro’s expression turned bitter as he stared off to the apartment complex.

“You must be a kid. Even without the voice, I’d know you were one.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked quietly.

“It’s the ignorance and the stupidity. You have all your power. All that you can do. And look at you. You can put me away, but that’ll never make anyone who fucked with me get any justice.”

“You could’ve gone to the pol-”

“And then what? Parents were kind enough. Didn’t leave too many visible signs of issues.” Electro grinned, baring his missing teeth again, “Too many voices against the one. Too many years have passed, and now? That asshole,” Electro nodded towards the apartments again, “He gets to retire soon. His office is gonna give him a fucking medal for long service. A medal.”

Electro shook his head before breaking into a humourless laugh. Peter felt his brow furrow.

“Arrest me. Doesn’t change anything. All that power and your scared to use it in a way that actually fixes problems.”

“What would hurting him fix?”

“Me.” Growled Electro, his voice breaking at the end, “Me. But no, it’s just too easy to arrest me instead of permanently putting down someone who assaulted kids. What a fucking hero you are, kid.”

The sirens grew louder and louder. Peter began to slowly walk back as Electro soon realised what was about to happen. Once more, he shook his head.

“Do you feel better? Do you honestly feel better that for all your power, he’s just waiting there, safe?"

Peter’s jaw clenched tightly. For the briefest of moments, his good hand flexed tightly.

“Be sure to tell the nice people at S.H.I.E.L.D. I miss them.” Peter muttered, his usual jovial mood gone.

With a leap into the air and a swing of some web, Peter disappeared into the city as several dozen people stormed the rooftop. He ducked down, soon landing on the side of a nearby building. A blob of web was nestled into the brick, supporting a camera that was still clicking. With a sigh, Peter gingerly picked it up and leapt off of the building once more. Perhaps he had gathered some interesting photos for work.

Despite the evening being a relative success, excluding the severe burns to his body, Peter felt no joy or excitement. His mood was dim as he flung himself from tower to tower. A faint guilt was whispering to him. Max was a horrible man, one with a lot of death on his hands. He was a criminal and had tried to kill Peter many times over his years as a hero. Yet, a sickening part of Peter couldn’t entirely blame him. As much as he tried to ignore it, there was an understanding to Max’s point. Sometimes people just got off, free of any consequences, despite the horror of their actions. They lived, they worked, they died. Some didn’t even work. It was just life, and the unfairness of society. Peter didn’t have any ability to change that. He certainly didn’t have any right to go on vendettas that ended in death. He didn’t want to. But, a horrible part of them could understand the need to. Such a thought plagued the gloomy teen as he slowly swung his way to his apartment.

He didn’t feel better, if he were to answer Max’s question. He didn’t feel better at all.

***

Jennifer Walters bit her lip, eyeing the scene before her closely. It was a darkly lit motel room, with a red tint in all of the lamps. It was a horrible, sleazy set of décor. The rug beneath her boots was grimy and thick, having turned from red and yellow to utter black and faded orange. The walls were lined with artistic paper that was torn or dangling, revealing bare white. Faint music was playing through the long corridor that Jennifer stepped through. From the softness that she could actually hear, it seemed to be disco music. Horrible disco music.

Door by door, she passed them all. She didn’t want to know what disgusting acts had been going on behind them. Unfortunately, she was about to. That was no doubt why she was even in the lowly place, over seven foot and with dark emerald skin. Her gloved knuckles were already stained with a small amount of thick red, a souvenir from the guards outside. The lights flickered some more, showering her purple and white suit in poor light. Her bare arms flexed as she neared the door at the rear of the corridor, her mind shouting and chanting as she revved herself up. With a mild set of deep breaths and a thundering heart, a large fist caved in the door.

A set of panicked shouts lifted through the room as the jade giant marched into the room. Six guns were already pointed at her, three of them shaking. Those were the ones that had heard about her, it seemed. The room was a large mix of a personal office and a bedroom. Many tables lined the ebony black wall, filled with paperwork. A small bar filled with half drunk bottles was towards the back. Towards the right of the room was a large set of sofas and cushioned seats, all resting above a white tiger’s skin that served as the rug. Many of the guards were spread out across the room, whilst several other occupants were huddled on one of the seats.

Several woman, all of whom as bare as the day they were born, were shaking. Their eyes wide and moving quivering, they did the only thing that they could think off: crawl to the corner of the couch furthest away from the giant woman. They were young, too, all of which were of different races or skin tones. In the middle of them was an older man, nearing his sixties. He boasted a bushy moustache and a thick mane of hair, which his rolled his hand through as he took in his newest guest. Unlike the four terrified women around him, he was fully clothed in a tacky grey business suit, other than the fact that his pants were open. He was calm, almost too much so. His leathery hand reached for the cigar resting on a glass collector and he took a long drag from it. Touching the embers against the glass once more, he looked up with a small look of contemplation.

“You must be the She-Hulk that’s been scaring so many of my friends.” He leaned back, even placing an arm around one of the girls, “Thanks for that. Big boom on business.”

Jennifer said nothing. Instead, she simply looked back at the six men holding handguns at her face or chest. She was not exactly impressed. The guards outside of the underground brothel had been more interesting, as at least one of them had brought a machete into the fight. Not many tried that against Jennifer, making a welcomed change of pace. It shattered on her forearm, however, just as she threw the man into a wall by the collar.

“You can turn yourselves in, or I will. I don’t care which.” Jennifer warned.

The man chuckled again. Sticking his cigar in his mouth, he looked at the girls around him as if they were having a social visit. The fact that none of them could meet his eyes didn’t seem to deter him. The sheer casualness of the man made Jennifer’s jaw clench. There was no shame to his actions, no guilt. To jab at Jennifer’s pride, there didn’t appear to be any fear of her, either. If there was, he was hiding it exceptionally well.

“I could.” The man nodded, “One way, I serve nearly forty years in a box where I shit near where I sleep. The other way, I wind up with most of my bones broken and I serve nearly forty years in a box where I shit near where I sleep. Which one would you pick?” He turned, asking the dark girl next to him.

The woman was shivering, turning to look back at Jennifer with horror in her eyes. It was within that moment that Jennifer remembered a rather consistent issue from the last several weeks of her work. The girl didn’t speak or probably understand English. She had no idea what was transpiring. Jennifer doubted that any of the girls in front of her could understand. They didn’t need to. Being shouted out and thrown into different rooms with naked men was a pretty clear instruction of what they needed to do to avoid being beaten or worse. It was a situation that made Jennifer’s mouth taste like bile. The tall woman took a step back, putting herself out of the way of the door. With a loud click, she thrusted her finger towards it.

“Go. Now.”

All of the girls moved without hesitation.

“Oh, no. Don’t be rude, dears.” The man chuckled with forced politeness.

His hand was the on the back of two necks, pulling them back down to him. Several guns changed direction, and the women shrieked in terror as barrels were pointed towards them. One openly started to sob, making Jennifer’s eyes narrow. The man chuckled, once more throwing an arm around one of the women.

“You stand down, or we shot.”

“You shot, and you don’t have hostages.”

“Yeah, but I have a hunch you won’t press me on this.” His smug face shifted into one of mediation, “Look, I just want to walk out of here. I’ll get up, we’ll get into a car, and you’ll never hear from me again. I’ll close up shop, and-”

“Start smuggling in girls somewhere else.”

“Scout’s honour, I won’t.” The man stated proudly, his hand on his heart.

Jennifer’s fists clenched at his tone, but she was careful to do nothing else. Seeing that she wasn’t going to do anything, the man beamed. He clicked his fingers. Several of the men grabbed a woman each, making them wail in confusion and fear. The sounds and scene pumped adrenaline into Jennifer’s veins, her heart racing loudly in her ears. An intense desire to charge filled her mind, so much so that it was difficult to focus. As the men and women all rose before her, Jennifer had a decision to make. The man before her grinned as the giant green woman stepped backwards. His eyes lewdly looked up and down her figure, imagine what she would look like without the shorts, boots or tight-fitting top.

“Shame this is how we end our first meeting. I’d have loved to have seen how big those breasts really are.” He grinned, “Could’ve paid for a small house for you if I did.”

Jennifer said nothing. Motionless, she watched the group carefully stepped through the door. At no point did any of them take their eyes off of her. Nearly a minute passed of slow, agonised steps as the men pulled the girls backwards towards the front door. Even as they neared the front door, which led to a small parking lot underneath the bridge, their guns were aimed at the shaking girls in their hands. The mouths of many of the guards were twitching, sweat covering their foreheads. As they neared the door, the first guard roughly kicked it open and pushed his hostage through. Jennifer stayed where she was, standing by the doorframe of the office. As soon as the front door shut, she sprinted forwards. Within a matter of seconds, she quietly shifted the door open to see the group pooling by something. One by one, the guards pushed themselves into a small, unnoticeable car without a numberplate. One by one, the girls were roughly thrown onto the pavement, left to shake in the cold, evening air. Guns were still aimed at them as the men entered, all of whom were staying at Jennifer with apprehension. The last to enter was the man in charge. His smile was wide as he held onto the darkest of the women, his own gun at her spine and a hand gently caressing her neck. Her eyes were widen, staring at Jennifer pleading as she sobbed.

“I think I’ll keep this one. Insurance that you won’t try anything.”

Jennifer said nothing, once more preferring to control any rising emotional outbursts. It would help no one, not in this situation. Instead, she subtly eyed the distance between the car, the girls on the road, and the man holding the last remaining victim. The man continued, his leg already in the car as its motor roared.

“If you follow me, I’ll kill her. Slowly. It’s a shame given how beautiful she is, but I’ll start with the cheeks. Make her smile wid-”

“I’m sorry.”

Jennifer suddenly leaned forwards and clapped her large hands together. The air around them cracked. A rush of wind shot away from her hands in many directions, knocking all of the women over again. The man skidded backwards, shouting as his leg was caught within the door, breaking it. The woman within his grasp shot back onto the gravel, making Jennifer felt sharp regret. It was needed, though, as it gave everyone distance from the gunmen. The car jilted forwards, and confusing shouts were heard within. Jennifer hastily looked at the women, still on the ground, and bucked her chin back towards the illegal brothel. Without a second of waiting, the women pushed themselves off of the pavement and ran with everything that they had left away from the terror that was about to unfold.

Jennifer swiftly walked towards the car. Her feet began to crack the ground below with the pressure that she was pushing on them. Several doors were already open, with Jennifer not even looking at the men that were shooting at her, screaming at her. Her outfit was already ruined, so she didn’t bother trying to avoid the bullets shattering upon her skin. She’d need another trip to Janet’s, it seemed.

As Jennifer walked near the ringleader, he managed to reach into his pocket and unloaded several rounds directly at her face. More irritating than anything, like a fly dancing on your nose, Jennifer covered her face before reaching for the gun. With a single flex, the metal cracked in her palm. The man was silent, his eyes wide as the gravity sunk into him for the first time of that evening. With a feral grunt, Jennifer pulled him up and threw him on the car’s bonnet. His screams filled the air as he clung to his bleeding leg, whimpering pathetically. Jennifer’s nose flexed. Someone had shot her nose. With a raised eyebrow, she turned her head to look at the guards. As soon as it was clear that their guns were pointless, they began to slowly step backwards. Jennifer released the man’s throat, turning her full attention to the others. They were already sprinting away. With a frustrated and sicken noise, Jennifer ripped a car door from its hinges and eyed the growing distance between two of the guards. She lined up her back. With a spin, Jennifer grunted as she threw the door forwards and into the air. A level of satisfaction grew as metal collided with the backs of several legs, knocking the two men into the ground with a terrified scream. She walked towards them.  

None held any severe wounds, outside of possibly a broken leg within one man screaming like a roaring lion. Other than that, the scum was relatively well-kept for having a car door thrown at him. Squatting down so that the men could see her face, she began to harden her expression.

“There’s still three more doors. Try to run or even move, I’ll throw another.”

The men stared at her coldly, one of them managing to do so whilst wincing. That was enough of a confirmation for the woman.

“You’ll be giving the police the names of the other two men.” Jennifer instructed fiercely as she turned back towards the man on the car.

He chuckled miserably. He was still desperately clutching the bleeding leg, and his skin looked slightly paler than before. It was due to that fact that the man could only manage a sneer as he made eye contact with Jennifer.

“You enjoy breaking innocent people’s legs, you freak?”

“I enjoy stopping freaks like you, yes.” Jennifer replied in a low tone, “Those weren’t the first girls you kidnapped and brought here. Far from it, so I advise you practice your right to silence. I take it you had a phone in your office? I have a quick call to the cops to make.”

It was true. Her eyes were wide open, despite it being the early hours of the morning. Her heart was pounding, her lip curled in a victorious grin. No one killed and no women harmed, which sadly had not been the case for all of Jennifer’s recent ventures. Some had been shot, thrown into Jennifer as a deflection tactic by cowards, or had knives pressed into them. Not that night, however. Jennifer had succeeded, and for that, she was ecstatic. As she walked towards the brothel once more, she did her best to remain focussed. The women were still scared and inside, no one had been arrested, the police hadn’t even arrived. There was plenty more to do before she could disappear into the night. That being said, as she smiled comfortingly at the women hiding in one of the rooms, she could help but think one thing: it had been a successful night and people were helped. For that, she was happy.

***

The aggressive sound of metal meeting metal made Peter jump off of the bed like a cat. His entire body erupted in agony as he did so, as many fresh burns suddenly felt very hot and raw. It took the teen some time to gingerly let himself out of his small, messy bed. His sleepiness faded as soon as he saw the small metal clock shaking by his bed. It was nearly ten. Ten. He had overslept for hours. The damn alarm clock had done it again. For something that was found by an alleyway on patrol one night, it really wasn’t worth repairing. It never worked at all. With a limp and a whine, the teen scurried about his small apartment. Apartment was generous. It was more a single room with a bed, a fridge, some shelves for cooking equipment and even clothes, an extremely small bathroom, and a very small table nestled next to his bed. Still, it was his and at least he could afford it. He didn’t want to feel guilty and need Aunt May to help cover the rent.

As he stumbled into the bathroom, he winced as he saw himself. A very lanky teen with some developing muscle, albeit not much, that was covered in poorly applied bandages. He needed an actual doctor. His mind drifted to visiting his usual one after classes, and hastily ignored any pain as he brushed his teeth. His eyes were still glassy and decorated with dark bags underneath them, showing no signs of easing as he slowly woke up. Not caring if the clothes were dirty or not, let alone if they looked good, the teen threw on the nearest clothes. He did nothing about the messy mop of brown hair on his head, and simply waddled out to grab his backpack. A sharp pain rose as a burn on his back rubbed against the material. With one last detour to collect his film reel, Peter ran as fast as he could tolerate. The apartment building was unusually quiet, though that was no doubt as everyone had already gone to work. His foot tapped against the elevator floor in agitation as he peered at his watch. He’d already missed one class, perhaps he could make the others. He didn’t need his grades to drop even lower, let alone to get a fail for non-attendance.

Peter hastily walked to the nearest bus stop, eyeing the schedule plastered onto it.

“Crap. Crap. Crap.” He began to mutter.

With a flushed face and growing anxiety in his chest, Peter swiftly turned and ran back into his apartment. Two minutes later, he had returned to the street with one of the last objects that also rested in his apartment, an old bike. The helmet on his head was already cracked in many places, none of which were thankfully caused when Peter was riding his bike. More often than not, the helmet was simply on the receiving end of whenever a frustrated Peter had thrown it. His teeth dug into his lip as he pushed himself forwards, the pain slowly easing as his body got used to the sensation. With many awkward requests for people to get out of the way, Peter began his hasty journey towards his campus.

It was nearly one in the afternoon by the time that he had arrived. It was when he neared a bike rack that he realised that, in his haste, that he forgot something. The bike lock. A faint swear was muttered under his breath as Peter picked up his bike once more. Judging by the relative lack of student travel around the grounds, classes were still on. With his bike in hand, the teen tried to jog towards his class, earning many amusing looks. As he entered a building which housed many lecture theatres, Peter took a side to the left. Near a staircase was a white door with pigeonholes resting next to it. Peter had learnt several months ago that if possessions, such as a bike, for instance, were left near the staffroom, students were more reluctant to steal it. With a hope that it would not be one of those days where a student decided to rebel or prank a professor, Peter dropped his bike next to a ‘Dr. Mell’ and scrambled through several corridors. Finding the right door, he gently crept in.

It was already full of eager first years, many of whom were aggressively taking notes as the mechanical engineering lecturer gestured to a projected slide behind him. His speech temporarily halted as he noticed Peter doing his best to sneak into a seat at the back. An eyebrow was raised, but nothing else was said or done. A moment later, the lecture resumed. Peter slid into his seat, squinting at the screen as he tried to understand what he was looking at. It all became too confusing, and he soon turned to the slightly older man next to him.

“What…What have I missed?”

Peter sense of warmth and relaxation was abruptly cut off by a very rough sound. The teen shook awake, confused and unsettled. There were too many chairs and desks for it to be his apartment. With a pained noise, the last few minutes of his life sunk in, and he peered up to see a highly unimpressed professor staring down at him. The lecture hall was empty, and the open doors revealed the bustling streams of students running to their next classes. Peter sighed in embarrassment, for this was not the first time that this particular professor had caught him. The beak-nosed man peered down it him, his angular face sharply drawn into a scowl.

“You arrive late, and then spend the fifteen minutes that you’re actually here for sleeping. I could ask you to leave this class, Parker.”

The fact that the professor actually knew his name was a testament to the latter’s annoyance in the young man’s etiquette. Peter felt himself go red as he hastily pushed all of his things into his backpack. As he did so, his long-sleeved shirt rode up, revealing several of his bandages. His professor eyed them, before then examined how exhausted the teen looked.

“Mr. Parker, if something is causing you to not have the full college experience, we have services that you can talk to. Anonymously. We can see what we can do to improve living situ-”

“What? Oh. Oh! No, no. Nothing like that.” Peter chuckled, slowly standing up, “I got hit by a car when riding here a few days back. Just that, sir.”

“Hmm.”

The professor raised his eyebrow once more. With an unimpressed sigh, he flourished his arm and examined his watch. Another unimpressed sigh left him.

“Well, I need to prepare for the lab sessions. Mr. Parker, if I can offer some advice? You’re clearly overworking yourself. You spend more time here sleeping than working, which is a shame because your last paper was excellent.” Peter’s lip twitched, “A fool overfills his basket and tries to carry it up a mountain.”

“What?”

Another sigh left the older man.

“Take on less. You can’t do everything at once. If you’re not going to commit to college, then why come? Just something to think about.”

As the professor slowly made his way towards the door, Peter was left with a red face. A swirl of shame and guilt merged with his growing tiredness, making him feel very lethargic. It wasn’t his fault that Electro tried to murder someone last night and he was the closest hero there. Well, the only hero there outside of Strange. The latter, though, rarely was seen outside of his Sanctum, so in Peter’s mind he hardly counted.

Peter jumped slightly. Counting reminded him of mathematics, which in turn reminded him of his next class, one relating to understanding and developing complex equations for research. With a frustrated noise, Peter forced his heavy and aching body forwards and into the next class. It was going to be a long day, that much was clear. What Peter wouldn’t give for a decent sleep in…

***

Jennifer meekly sat prim and stiff as her superior, a rather blunt woman by the name of Samantha, continued concluding her rather severe defence of their client. It was a little overkill, in Jennifer’s opinion anyway, for a matter such as being accused of carjacking an ex-girlfriend’s car. While a serious issue, it was not exactly a hard case to push against given that the accused was filmed inside a gas station a state away when the alleged theft took place. It was no doubt that reason which was why the small courtroom was empty, bar some family members trying to support their respective side of the issue. Even the judge, an older lady with curled hair, seemed unimpressed that the proceedings had taken several weeks and four separate sittings to address.  

A sharp cracking sound made Jennifer jump, her pale cheeks turning red as she saw Samantha clicking her fingers at her. Without needing further prompting, Jennifer hurried through their stack of notes and passed the document being discussed to Samantha. The statement continued, leaving Jennifer to exhale softly and regain her calm composure. Her hands were already red from having played with them so many times during the sitting. They often were times that she was preparing to stand up and question a witness. While the room was filled with perhaps fifteen people, that was still too many people for the socially anxious woman. She was just excellent at hiding it and as being professional as needed whenever she addressed the court.

Jennifer had encountered something of an issue as a teen. Whilst highly academic gifted and with offers for scholarships into law, her dream profession, there was just the tiny issue of needing to actually talk to people, many people. Whenever she did, her mind would become cruel to her. Her chest would become tight, her stomach suddenly feeling very full and uncomfortably heavy, and her mouth would always be so painfully dry. Then there was the fact that she was simply awkward around people, never knowing what words to use or how to strike up a conversation that didn’t end with long, uncomfortable silences. Jennifer either over spoke and terrified people, or was silent altogether. People were just so…hard, sometimes.

The statement continued. The client to her far right was agitated, sweating. His once straight and smooth dark hair was now fizzy with the amounts of times that he had ruffled it during the session. Jennifer didn’t player him. Whilst a strong amount of evidence had been laid to say that he wasn’t guilty of theft, there certainly were a lot of arguments that he was the one that took the car. He was the former partner, after all. It all made Jennifer’s mind begin to drift. It was hardly the type of legal issue that kept her up at night. The client was a first-time offender. If charged, it’d no doubt be a hefty fine or community service. It was one of the easier situations, and Jennifer didn’t like easy. She had become a lawyer for the exact opposite reason, to aid those in incredibly difficult situation. Jennifer felt a strong sense of purpose helping those that were pinned for crimes that they clearly didn’t do. Even when she had first entered her current law firm and was just aiding in collecting precedence cases, there was a feeling that she was contributing to something. Such a feeling had a dulled in recent months. With a small promotion, which didn’t bring as much lasting joy as she’d have expected, Jennifer was suddenly the silent aid to her boss when it came to…less significant cases. Day after day, it slowly became a cycle of preparing the notes, asking the client many questions, sometimes asking the police for statements, and then shaking as she addressed the court. It was going through the motions, that was all that it was.

Movement shook Jennifer’s mind away from outer space. The closing statements were over. Samantha sat next to her, grumping about something as she roughly placed some notes on Jennifer’s side of the desk. Jennifer looked up, seeing an exasperated judge turn to the jury. The client was sweating as the judge directed the jury to deliberate, taking time to careful explain the rules and requirements of the process. As she did, Jennifer found herself mouthing them, having heard it dozens of times. The jury rose, led from the room. A moment later, the judge dismissed the court with an instruction to remain within the building. As Jennifer rose, something was pressed into her chest. A set of folders.

“Run these down to Faulkner, I think he’s on the third floor.”

Jennifer peered down at the notes, frowning.

“You…You were doing another case?”

Samantha’s eyes turned, seeing the client still positioned in his seat, alone, and quiet. He was entirely lost in his own thoughts of being convicted.

“He didn’t do it. The camera footage is enough to prove that. No point in wasting on conscious effort on a proven case. Which is why you need to be quick. The jury will be out soon.”

“I really think we shou-”

“Jennifer,” Samantha drawled, her eyes suddenly looking very tired, “Do what I said.”

Jennifer bit back a nervous response. Turning away from an owl-like stare, the short woman hastily jogged from the courtroom, politely yet awkwardly excusing herself as she passed through the guards by the doors. Most of her job involved passing notes, one way or another. It was all just so monotonous, repetitive. While excitement was something concerning to the rage monster, some work life thrills would be appreciated. Anything. It was for that reason that her mind already drifted to the night ahead, to actually doing something productive. There was a time when she couldn’t have felt more fulfilled then when in a courtroom. Now, her mind fixated each day when she could leave it, when she was satisfied in herself and what she was doing for others. When she did enjoy her job.

***

Peter massaged his eyes once more, doing his best to focus. It was difficult, however. His more tuned senses made standing in a room smothered with a red glow barely tolerable. Unfortunately, he needed to shove himself into the environment at least once a week. The small photography studio on campus was willing enough to allow Peter’s usage in one of the smaller rooms, so long as he ‘told his friends and professors about it’. The complete silence of the entire floor was indication enough of how well the endeavour to get more student engagement was going.

Placing the tips of his fingertips on the edges of a photograph that was hanging on a string, Peter assessed how dry the image was. It was reasonable. He checked his watch. A few more minutes. One of the more annoying issues of selling such photos was the fact that his boss never quite seemed to take the time and effort needed to develop photos into consideration. Still, it was enough to pay rent, Peter morbidly guessed. It just meant that fancy restaurants were out of the question with his budget.

Restaurants. Peter’s face grew pale as he once more checked his watch. A pained exhale filled the room. Without any further thought, Peter grabbed a small paper packet from his backpack, opened it, and began placing the hanging images into it. They were developed, enough. Peter believed so, anyway, even if he wasn’t exactly in the position to analyse anything well. With a hasty and messy clean up and a turn off of the red lights, Peter sprinted from the studio. It always already evening, making Peter’s face became even more gaunt. Thankfully, there weren’t many fellow students wandering about. Practically leaping onto his bike, he raced forwards, only to immediately wince as his burns ached deep into his muscles. Much to his frustration, he wheeled himself at a far slower pace than desired.

As he entered the small Italian restaurant, he checked his watch yet again. Thirteen minutes was hardly late. He’d been far later in the past. With a polite explanation of his booking to a rather bored looking attendant, Peter was led to a small table where a young blonde was sitting, looking equally bored. She was one of Harry’s friends, Cynthia. No, Cait. No, Carla. Carla. Peter thought it was Carla, at least. It wasn’t like he organised these things. Peter’s childhood friend simply had the habit of throwing such dates upon him out of pity. As much as Peter would appreciate a girlfriend, he wished that the girls that Harry directed towards him just had some things in common with him. Dates usually ended in dullness or disaster due to that.

With an apologetic smile, Peter sat across from the cute blonde with a short nose and round cheeks. It took her a moment to realise that he was actually there and not a figment of her tired imagination. She, too, gave him an apologetic smile as she jumped back to life. She did her best to subtly scan Peter’s skinny frame, his messy hair, and the fact he was clearly hiding some bandages. Out of politeness, she avoided staring at them.

“Traffic.” Peter smiled sheepishly.

“Harry said that you use your bike?”

“People traffic.” Peter felt his cheeks go red, and he was quick to reach out towards her, “I’m Peter. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Kristie. So, Harry says you like…robots?”

It became apparent why Harry thought Kristie would be a good match for Peter. Apparently, during one of their shared lectures, Kristie had made a comment to a third party that she had seen an episode of ‘Robo Wars’. It was a show depicting teams of engineers sending machines to tear themselves apart. Peter often taped such a show. However, Harry, in either his eagerness or desperation for Peter, didn’t bother to ask about her interests beyond that. She wasn’t talkative. Not that such a thing was an issue by itself, but getting any words out of her was a problem. It didn’t help that Peter’s natural response was to ramble. Nearly incoherent sentences about completely irrelevant topics were strung as Peter feared the silence and blank stares that he was getting. When Kristie did speak, it was about things that he honestly had no idea about. She owned several dogs, which was the main focal point of her discussions. As much as Peter loved animals, he didn’t exactly know how to respond when haircare products for short-haired canines was brought up. More and more silence was generated. Kristie had no major interest in science fiction or engineering, while Peter had no idea about art or fitness routines. By the time Peter ordered the desserts, it was more out of obligation than anything. The mousse was eaten in near silence, with eye contact being greatly avoided.

As the pair left the table, a set of awkward smiles and mumbled thanks was exchange before they departed. No numbers were exchanged at all. Peter walked into the alleyway with a disappointed mood. As he reached behind the large bin to retrieve his hidden bike, he tried to be optimistic. It wasn’t as bad as the girl that ranted faster than he did, debating the role of gender in the sciences. Then there was the very shy girl who fainted as one of Peter’s bandages accidently unwounded, revealing a horrid cut given to him by a knife-wielding lunatic several days prior. The girl that abruptly cut into one of Peter's tirades about a show that he liked to announce that she had no idea or interest in what he was talking about also came to mind. He couldn’t blame them. Peter knew that he rambled, and that he was nerdy. Neither were great elements for dating, and his rather plan build didn’t help either. Though, the issue was shared. Peter didn’t exactly find any of them entirely interesting, either. Sure, many were cute. Nearly all of Harry’s female friends were. The joys of his wealth, Peter supposed. Yet, despite that, nearly none of the girls had any shared interests. As bad as he felt to admit it, sometimes Peter just felt bored with them, as if he was talking just to go through the motions or to ease his anxiety. None of them made him feel…eager.

It was with that melancholic note that Peter began to peddle towards the road. A steep sigh left him as a pang of loneliness struck him. He’d figure something out. One day at a time. It was what the young man told himself often as he did his best to ignore the isolation that living alone and trying to balance an adult life brought him.

***

Jennifer exhaled loudly, feeling her entire body ache with exhaustion as she entered her apartment’s elevator. It was times such as these that she regretted not being able to turn green in common areas. While her jade self was extremely difficult to tie, the young in her mid-twenties found her pale self always cramping or aching as the days wore on. It wasn’t like she was unfit, far from it. She was a hero, after all. It was just…she felt older. Perhaps it was the stress or bored of reading through thousands of pages a day whilst trying to protect someone’s life. Or, perhaps it was the shouting that her co-workers made her deal with. It could have also been the many social situations thrust upon her, each requiring a significant amount of mental energy in order to survive it. Whatever it was, it left her tired and wanting a nap.

The only positive of the day was the fact that her client was deemed innocent of the car theft charge. The poor man resorted to sobbing as the verdict was read, much to Samantha’s annoyance. Jennifer did her best not to frown as her boss rolled her eyes at the display. The many hugs and handshakes by his family members were a tad overwhelming, but it was a pleasant experience. It was those types of experiences that kept her in the line of work. She was good at what she did, even if she was relatively young and fresh in the field.

As Jennifer watched the door’s opened, her hallway appeared before her. A familiar young man with a shaded jaw and cropped hair was dangling by his door, clearly trying to find his key. Jennifer’s eyes widened and her jaw tightened, for this was a chance to converse. As her counsellor often said, take any opportunity to overcome a fear of social interaction. It didn’t hurt that he was one of the nicer neighbours and actually tolerated both her incredible rants and awkward head nods. With a fast pace, Jennifer made a line for him.

Hearing her, the man peered up. By his lack of a reaction, it was clear that he had become used to such interactions. A polite smile overcame him as he stopped fishing in his pockets.

“Jennifer.”

“Declan.” She nodded several times until realising that she needed to stop, “Have a good day?”

“Yeah, was decent. Just…worked, and stuff. You?”

“Hmm. Just…um…worked, also. Went to court. As a lawyer,” She hastily added, “I wasn’t arrested.”

“I know.” Declan smiled gently, already knowing her profession, “Ah, put away any criminals?”

“Different type of law. I work the defence. Not even the exciting defence. The…boring stuff. Theft. Graffiti. We once had a rich guy hire us to get his daughter off of a jaywalking charge.”

Declan smiled again, his hand leaving his pocket with a familiar set of keys.

“I’ll make sure to call if I ever need a lawyer.” He joked.

“You can call me for other reasons.” Jennifer was nodding once more, “To talk, read. I like to read in groups. My couns…My friend says it healthy, too. In fact, I signed up to a sci-fi book club a few months ago, and they’re really nice. One of them always brings free tea, and its so…I’m so sorry for ranting again.”

Her eyes were shut and her cheeks were red. Once more, the tightening in her stomach had caused her mouth to go into overdrive. The overwhelmed look in Declan’s eyes said it all. He didn’t seem too perturbed, however. He was still smiling, albeit tightly.

“You’re getting better.”

Her cheeks reddened again, though it did ease the tightness in her chest and the dryness in her mouth.

“Thanks.” She replied softly, “Well, have a good one.”

“You too.”

The pair split, Jennifer walking to her own door as Declan entered his. As soon as the mopping Jennifer opened her door, a white object collided with her ankles. Snorts and sneezes filled the room as the white pug eagerly kissed and nibbled at her pants. A tired smile grew as Jennifer put down her bag and reached down.

“I trust you had an exciting day napping, Maxxie?”

The pug in question licked her cheek. Jennifer’s smiles grew as she kicked off her shoes. Her apartment was small, but comfortable. There was a sofa directly in front of a small television. A wooden dining table against the wall, suitable for three non-existent guests. Towards the back of the room was a small kitchen, with a single hallway leading to her bedroom and bathroom. It was decent enough while she saved for something bigger. Putting Maxxie on the couch, Jennifer did what she always did after work. She kicked off her uncomfortable work pants and slid into her couch, where Maxxie soon joined her by sitting on her lap.

“I spoke to some people today.” Jennifer mumbled, her eyes closed and her head resting over the top of the seat, “Outside of work, too. I said ‘hi’ to Declan. Oh! And I managed to give directions to someone without looking like a tomato. Remind me to mention that in the journal.”

The pug only snorted in response. Jennifer nodded in agreement. With what energy she had, Jennifer pushed herself up and crawled towards the kitchen. A simple dish of rice and chicken was made, with Maxxie getting her own meal. The pair ate in silence, with Maxxie sleeping at Jennifer’s feet as she finished her own food. After cleaning, she snuck into her bedroom without disturbing her sleeping friend.

Her bed was messy, evident of restless sleeps. Much of her room was covered in folders and books, all given to her by work as ‘advice’. It was their way of having her do extra work without the needed pay. On the wall nearest to her bed, a large painting of Klingon Warbird rested, one that was given to her by a certain Avenger that shared her rather nerdy interests. How Peter found it still fascinated Jennifer, and the younger idiot refused to answer any questions on it. Jennifer reached to carefully lift it up, revealing a wall covered in images, maps and sketches. Many were linked by strings or drawn lines. Many of the photos were also very familiar, for Jennifer had seen them the previous night during her venture into the illegal brothel. With a satisfied sigh, Jennifer took each of the photos off of the wall and placed them within a small bin. She would shred and burn them later. A strong sense of accomplishment rose within the meek woman. Two months of work and a major success at the end of it. Not a bad way to send one’s evenings. Within a minute or so, she was left with another blank wall. A new target.

It was always the worst part of figuring out what to do. Big Issues like sex trafficking were hard to come by, and many hints and whispers came from either the police officers that she knew from her job or from criminals that tried to hire her firm for defence. Something would pop up eventually. One of the many horrors of New York City was that organised crime or a horrific criminal would appear. They always did.

With such a fact in mind, Jennifer strolled over to her small cabinet as she began unbuttoning her shirt. A shirt that soon fell on the ground. Followed by a bra, and then underwear, and finally, too socks. With an unflattering grunt, Jennifer placed her back to the cabinet and pushed with all her might. It was almost comical seeing the short woman fighting a piece of furniture. Eventually, it shifted enough for a hidden sack to poke out. One that was already smelling. Jennifer made a mental note to wash it as soon as possible. It was a set of dark purple and cream padding, in the shape of tight-fitting shorts and a top. The sweat-stained suit clung tightly to her body, perfectly fitting her. Even the gloves were snug against her fingers. A moment later, the woman was putting on a second set of looser, more overbearing clothes. A set of loose pants for yoga, a winter top, and a long coat that her parents gave her for Christmas.

As Jennifer finished placing her boots on and grabbed her cheap backpack, she leaned down to give the snoring pug a kiss on her forehead. With her usual nightly routine complete, the brunette left her apartment. An excitement in her system brought a bounce to her step. A nervous, almost childish grin was decorating her face as she exited the apartment block. It was evening, a pleasant and warm night that felt gentle around the skin. Jennifer nodded shyly as she passed some people. Her wandering aimless, she travelled for nearly twenty minutes. People became fewer and fewer, the noise almost dying out until it did. Her feet took her to a dark set of worn-down buildings, with only a few cars in sight. Peeking around to ensure her security, Jennifer ducked into a nearby alley. Her outer clothes were thrown into her backpack, which itself was hidden amongst some boxes.  

Jennifer breathed deeply several times, her cheeks expanding as she puffed them out. A loud crack filled the area as she violently punched her open palm. Pain erupted in the small hand but that did not stop the woman from striking it once more. Again and again, her palm ached and swell as she bit into her lip. Her heart was within her ears, her mind going into a frenzy at the panic and multiple sources of pain. Soon, she couldn’t hear herself breathe over the sound of her heart. Jennifer reached her peak.

Her skin darkened into a brilliant jade as a glorious, intense feeling of pleasure and power overcame her. Her confidence overtook her fears as she suddenly became very energetic. Inch by inch, she grew and grew until she was two feet taller than before. Her arms and legs thickened considerably, as did her hair, which adopted an emerald tinge to it. Her suit adjusted with her newfound growth spurt, clinging to her body without tearing it at all. Unfortunately, Jennifer had forgotten the bullet holes from the night before. She truly did need to visit Janet, and very soon. The suit could handle another night, though. With that in mind, Jennifer leaned back, squinted, and then leapt towards the nearest rooftop.   

***

Peter’s melancholy did not ease as the night progressed. Even as he rested within his apartment, his newly developed photos splayed over his floor as he lied on his bed, he could not help but feel slightly down. Electro’s barbed words about enjoying life still rang in his ears, only getting louder as the horrid date still rubbed raw. College was tolerable, but he was struggling to keep above the rising waters. It didn’t help that assessments kept popping up, with Peter struggling to find time to do them between work, his nightly activities, and eating and sleeping. The latter was the one to suffer, which only worsened his emotional control. Before he could stop himself, his funk had spun into a lethargic feeling. Peter suddenly became reluctant to move, even as he watched the evening roll by. He had to have some redeeming qualities, he was a superhero after all. He could catch moving cars, even if his arms weren’t exactly an indication of that.

With a soft noise, Peter pushed himself up and waddled towards the bathroom. With a delicate but tired hand, the bandages were unwound and thrown in a bin. One already full of medical coatings and ointments. What Peter wouldn’t give for a bulletproof suit…The teen winced as he looked at his fresh burns. A venture to Strange’s wouldn’t be too far away. With that in mind, he carefully redressed his red and raw skin the best that he could before walking towards his charred suit. Once more, he needed another replacement. With some luck, perhaps Janet wouldn’t yell at him like she had during the last time. While Peter knew it was out of concern, that didn’t make the very short woman equally terrifying to that of a vampire. With that in mind, Peter carefully put on his suit and did his best not to aggravate his wounds. With a careful look out his window, the teen crawled upwards and onto the rooftop.

It was a beautiful sight. Millions of lights surrounded him, making him feel as if a heavenly glow was encasing him. It was an odd sight in the sense of having such bright lights biting into his tired, sensitive eyes. Peter did his best to tune that out. While his white lenses did a fair bit of work with that, they didn’t filter out everything. The boy turned, murmuring to himself as he tried to remember the direction to a familiar, distant building that a certain doctor resided in. Finding his way, there was a kick onto the ground. The rooftop suddenly was a distant memory as Peter spun in the air. A horrid pain cut through his body immediately, removing any desire for fancy flips or showing off. It should be a quiet evening, however. Electro’s defeat would no doubt demotivate any powered criminals for at least a few weeks. That only left ordinary murderers, thieves, and other pleasant non-mutants. Nothing that a crestfallen, burnt Spider-Man couldn’t handle.

That was what Peter held within his mind as he detoured ever so slightly. His ears rang with the sound of a police siren and a screech of wheels. With a pained grunt, he turned and threw his body to the right. A police chase was underway, with the car ahead of them swerving and nearly hitting anyone nearby. Gunshots pierced the air as Peter drifted downwards, gaining speed as he dived and felt the wind whip against his body. Metre by metre, he sank within seconds until suddenly jerking up, shooting two lines of webs either side of him. The sudden change in momentum allowed him to position his feet directly ahead of him.

His aim was solid. His feet crashed into the hood of the car just as the two lines of web attached themselves to its back, ensuring it didn’t flip. The occupants rolled forwards, almost hitting the glass or top of the roof. Peter’s spine tightened, and he hastily flipped to the side. As his body cringed in agony, he managed to miss several shots aimed for his head. A door was pushed open. A confused and possibly concussed man staggered out, gun in hand. Before he could use it, a blob of web push it, along with the hand holding it, into the car door. The fat man howled in frustration as he realised his hand could not be pulled free. As Peter smiled lowly to himself, he hastily noticed that there had been a second person in the car. The man was stumbling through the road, desperate to avoid or hide from the red and blue hero. Peter’s spine once more tightened, prompting him to leap behind the car.

Only a single shot was heard, but then so was a woman’s terrified scream. With utter dread, Peter looked up to see a blonde woman behind dragged into the arms of the criminal. He was snarling something into her ear as she began to sob, her body convulsing with terror as the gun was pressed to her temple. The siren grew closer and closer until the nearby vehicle stopped. Two officers peered out over their doors, guns, for once, not aimed at Peter. The criminal hissed, snarling something else into the woman’s ear as he did his best to shield himself from both Peter as well as the police. Slowly, he backed away.

Peter’s hidden face was pale, for he knew not what to do. Rarely, in his few years of serving his role as Spider-Man, had someone used a hostage. In fact, most criminals looked at his skinny form and just tried to fight him. Those that tried to run usually just sprinted with all they had. The few times that a hostage situation formed, Peter was in an environment that favoured him. Closed spaced, with ease room to web a nearby person. Distance was not in his favour. His movements would need to be too elongated and the criminal would shoot. It all made Peter feel very sick to the stomach. He thought of several possible solutions, all just ending with horrid flaws. As each one crumpled in Peter’s mind, his began to panic. As it often happened when such a response occurred, Peter began to ramble.

“Look, man, let’s not do this. We’ve all had a long night, and I’m sure you don’t wanna be adding some decades to your sentence. She’s a nice lady, nothing done to you. Let’s not ruin lives here, man. You can put the gun down, and that’ll go in your favour. That’s all. We just need to put it down and-”

“I’m already dead, freak.” The man snapped.

“Cliché, but cool.” Peter sighed to himself, “Why?”

Peter turned to the car. Even with his vision, he could only just make out some boxes in the back seat. Pearls, or something similar. White orbs of some kind. They looked very fancy, whatever they wore.

“Who’d you steal from?” Peter asked carefully.

The question made the man pale. The gun shook in his hand, making the woman sobbed louder. Peter back away, an action that seemed to ease the man.

“We can help. Whoever owned those…things, we can help make sure that you-”

“Yeah, you don’t fuck with those kinds of people. The ‘friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man’.” The man chuckled nervously, “You ain’t got that reach.”

“Reach to stop who?” Peter asked in genuine confusion.

“DROP IT, NOW!” A microphoned voice boomed.

One of the officers had found one, it seemed. The pair were still aimed directly at the man. Assistance was no doubt only minutes away, but a horrible feeling in Peter’s gut made him feel as if a minute wasn’t enough. The criminal glanced to police across the street. The teen panicked. He took his chance. His wrist jerked. As a shot of web hurled forwards, there was a gunshot and a terrified scream.

A hand holding a gun was now webbed to the woman’s shoulder, much to both parties’ confusion. Peter leapt forwards, ignoring the pain in his body as he quickly closed the distance. One hand on both shoulders, Peter pried the screaming man away from the crying woman. The man continued firing, but Peter aimed the man’s webbed arm to the pavement, which ate the bullets loudly. Without further delay, Peter pushed the man into the car and webbed him with thick layers.

“You…You’ve fucking killed me.”

“Then let me help.” Peter said calmly.

“Go fuck yourself. I’ll see you in hell.”

Peter closed his eyes and turned to look at the crying woman. Much to his relief, the first bullet had missed her. Peter was lucky. His reflexes were sharp enough. It was shallow victory, though. Peter was aware of just how lucky the shot was, and just how out of his control the situation was. Still, he leant over her as she fell to her knees.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. I promise. You’re safe.”

The woman looked up, still terrified and possibly in shock. Peter sighed, looking up.

“The police are here. They’ll look after you.”

They were running forwards. Whether they wanted just the criminal, to comfort the crying victim, or to have a crack at catching Spider-Man was anyone’s guess. Peter didn’t want to gamble it. With a tired smile that couldn’t be seen, he turned.

“Thank…Thank you.” The woman managed.

Peter stopped as his exhaustion faded away. The words were enough to make a very warm feeling overcome his otherwise aching self.

“Always here to help.” Peter beamed.

With an extra spring in his step, Peter flung himself into the air. The teen disappeared from view, catching his breath and waiting for the burns to stop aching. His legs were thrown over the ledge of a nearby building. More and more police were arriving, with many comforting the hysterical hostage. Otherwise took the screaming man into a van, an action that took more than handcuffs to pull off. The criminal was like a bull, determined not to be captured. Someone truly had rattled him, making Peter very curious about what or who it was. It was an idle curiosity, however.

As his body relaxed, the excitement of the evening soon wore off. It was difficult, for the fear of the hostage situation going poorly was immense. Peter once more felt uneasy about his life, even after saving someone’s life. It was a silly feeling, in his sensitive opinion. School and work and bills and dating were nothing compared to saving people and hero stuff. It just…felt hollow sometimes. Like there was something else to happen next, and Peter was waiting indefinitely for the next step to finally occur. It just wasn’t, though. Harry, of all people, was moving well through college and had somehow maintained his relationship with Liz Allen. Harry was Harry, so miracles could clearly happen. It didn’t help that many of the other superpowered people were off doing their own things, being awesome and happy. Few, aside from Strange, ever bumped into Peter. They had their lives, even their hero lives, under better control than Peter, who felt like sand was slipping between his fingers. It was an anxious feeling, not knowing why one feels bland and why they can’t figure out how to fix it. It was horrible for the teen, who was still sorting himself out in life.

Peter’s spine tightened. His musings ended as he jumped onto the ledge with perfect grace. Within a second, he was turned. He remained motionless, his jaw open as a horrible confusion and even a fear overcame. An image that he had not seen in over a year was before him, and his mind could not work out how to react.

“Well,” A smooth voice whispered into the air, “Haven’t you been in the wars tonight.”

“Felicia.” 

***

It was a relatively quiet evening, at least by Jennifer’s standards. It was a strange come down when it came to busting a sex trafficking ring just the evening before and now simply prowling the rooftops and more ridden areas of the city. Even the few issues that she came across, those of people trying to break into the odd house or selling single guns in dark alleys, were easy enough to deal with. Most people dropped to their knees with arms raised or dashed into the night as soon as they saw a giant green woman stomping towards them. Jennifer couldn’t complain, though. It was at least still helping some communities.

Such a desire brought her closer and closer towards the waterfront, a place that occasionally housed some of the more problematic residents of the city. Though, in recent months, people had learnt to avoid the area. Something about people disappearing and getting arrested by a green monster kept them at an arm’s length. That didn’t mean a quick check in wouldn’t be appreciated. Jennifer silently crept through the abandoned docks, feeling a level of nostalgia as such a place resembled where she had first met several of her powered friends. That felt like decades ago, not a single year. Jennifer didn’t even have a suit back then, having to resort to oversized exercise spandex.

The dusty and cracked moors were quiet. The water was the only thing that sparked any noise, and that was only a gentle way against wood and rock. Jennifer took her time, peeking into the usual abandoned factories and offices. All in all, they were silent and empty. It was a good night. A quiet night. Jennifer took a step back, only for the sound of a gigantic thud to catch her off guard. Immediately, the woman side-stepped, using the momentum to spin. The sight before her made her heart spasm as she tried to understand.

He was gigantic, even for Jennifer. He was well near nine feet tall, a creature of pure muscle. His arms were alone were the size of ordinary people. His skin was pulled so tightly over his harsh muscle that Jennifer wondered how easily it would tear. He was topless, bound only in a torn set of dark shorts. A level of familiarity struck Jennifer, but there was something wrong. She knew it in the pit of her stomach. The man was orange, a deep bloody orange colour. No hair decorated his head, and around his sternum was some strange form of colour. It was thick, metallic, and looked very heavy. His face was calm, but the intensity that he was staring at Jennifer didn’t relax at her at all. She felt as if she was trapped in some sort of horror novel and the creature had just cornered her.

“You…Who are you?” The question was careful.

“I know Bruce.”

To her surprise, his voice was gentle and utterly contrasting to his brutal appearance. Jennifer heart skipped a beat at the name, having not heard it for years. Apprehension filled her spine, making her hastily look around. Something felt very wrong, and it wasn’t just the gigantic red man before her.

“Please forgive me if I’m a little uneasy. I don’t usually have giant red dudes cornering me in factories.”

The monster chuckled with what seemed to be genuine amusement. He took a step back.

“I’m desperate. I’ll cut to the point, Jennifer. Yes, I know your name. Bruce told me. He asked me to find you. We don’t have much time, your cousin and I. We’re sick. I was exposed to the same procedure that he used on himself and-”

“How?” The question made the man tilt his head, “Bruce zapped himself with enough gamma to do…Well, you can guess. They said he ruined his lab. How’d you replicate it?”

“He recreated the process. He wanted to perfect the procedure on me, and he almost did.”

Every single alarm bell in Jennifer’s mind flared at the explanation. Jennifer had never directly seen or spoken to her cousin in years, and that was well before he had gone missing after a freak accident. An accident that was hushed and any scientist that the Banner family spoke to gave them sad, but silent, looks of remorse. Outside of it being gamma related, as it was Bruce’s specialty field, no one knew what on Earth Bruce had been doing, Jennifer included. His lab was ruined, and he disappeared soon after that. Nothing was ever mentioned after that, at least not publicly. She could only guess the last time that she had actually been near him.

It was after being run over and left to bleed out on the road. Someone managed to sneak into her hospital room and transplant some of matching blood into the near dying woman. Even with the poor quality for the security cameras, it wasn’t a hard guess who it had been. Less than a week later, Jennifer went green for the first time as she struggled to find a reference journal. Jennifer was a smart woman. It didn’t take many hours for her to start linking the series of events together to form theories about what happened to Bruce and why he was hiding.

There was, however, one other interaction that Jennifer had shared with her cousin. A small set of notes, each page laced in misery. They were found when she tried to track him down. It was a pathetic effort of three weeks of library hunts and asking about his old researchers and co-workers. The only success was a small stack of papers that a desk buddy had given her. Each and every single page outlined Bruce’s utter desperation to undo whatever the hell that he had done to his genetic structure. Unless if something had changed in the last few years, Jennifer doubted that the man would ever want to replicate such a procedure. It just showed how desperate he must have been, if he had given his blood to Jennifer to save her life.  

“Why would you want something like…that?” Jennifer murmured, eyeing the red man’s bulk.

The question made his lip twitch. Whilst no frown was made, Jennifer had been in courtrooms enough to know when someone had a sore reaction to a question. It only made her concerns grow, and she began to subtly plan a way out.

“Because I wanted to help people, to be a hero.” He spoke with apparent earnest, “I’m not a mutant, but I wanted powers.” His elongated face creased, “Look, I know this seems suspicious. I know I look like a freak. I probably am. But I’m a desperate freak. What will it take for you to come with me?”

“Why isn’t Bruce here?”

“His condition isn’t like mine. Have…Have you ever seen what he looks like when transformed? He’s dying. It’s killing him. Both of us. Please, Jennifer. I’m begging you.”

As a dramatic show of such desperation, the hulking creature dropped to his knees with a bang. It didn’t ease Jennifer’s mood at all. In fact, it only impressed her slightly. He wasn’t a bad actor. In fact, had it not been for the one comment about Bruce’s replication of the experiment, she’d have believed him. He was still huge, though. She couldn’t fight him. The fact that he was lying to her didn’t help, either. He wanted something else, something that he didn’t feel at ease to admitting. He could attack her at any time if she gave him any cause to. It all made Jennifer nod.

“Okay. I’ll trust you, for now. I want to some rules, okay? I want you in front of me at all times.”

“Of course.”

“No tricks.”

“I’m going to take you to a truck, if that’s okay?”

“Anyone else in it?”

“No.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Out of the city. Near Sheldoon.”

“That’s a hell of a drive.”

“It’s a hell of a situation. Please.”

“Why do you want me? What could I do?”

“Something about your blood. I’m not the scientist, he is. But he thinks the key is your blood. His eyes lit up when he figured it out, I swear.” He chuckled.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, god. Sorry. Harold. Harold Elden.”

That was a poor lie, as well. Jennifer nodded once more. She didn’t care about the details. She just needed to get him near the water. The man made a gently nod towards the door and then he slowly and carefully walked in front of her. Jennifer’s heart began to pound so much that her chest ached. She’d handled worse. She’d handled a giant magical Orangutan that was a vampire, after all. She could handle a giant…red man. She just needed to play it smart.

The pair slowly walked out of the factory, neither speaking a word. Every so often, the man would throw a glance back at Jennifer and she would stare blankly at him. Eventually, they walked past the docks. Massive feet crushed the ground as they made their way. Jennifer’s eyes narrowed and she curled a fist. Seeing her chance, the jade warrior leapt forwards. The man in front of her was caught off guard as a fist struck his ribs. To Jennifer’s pride, she had mustered enough force to send the colossal creature into the water. With no hesitation, Jennifer turned and leapt as far away as she could. A manic panic pushed her into using every part of her stretched strength.

There was a thud. A crack like thunder. It made Jennifer’s jaw tighten and she did her best to run faster. Out of instinct, a decision to roll to the side was made. The ground shook around her as a foot landed where she had once been. A ferocious snarl left the red giant as he glared at her, a wolf finding its rabbit. Jennifer stood her ground, circling around him several metres away.

“Don’t do this.” He whispered, “We don’t need to do this.”

“Then tell me why.”

“I…You…You need to trust.”

“A giant red guy lies at least three times in a dodgy warehouse.” Jennifer tattered, “Yeah, I’m not an idiot. I go with you, then you can screw me over at any time on your own turf.”

The red man shook his head silently, clearly frustrated by her refusal. It was honestly a terrifying sight. Each of his veins swelled and rose from his skin as his muscles flared in anger. Before Jennifer could protect herself, a fist the size of a human body struck her face. Her vision blurred, and when it refocussed, she was on the ground. Her lip was bleeding. A shocked yelped escaped her and she kicked herself up. The man was before her. Like a wild animal, she leapt directly at him. The action surprised her foe, who did not expect such courage. She was faster than desired, too. Before he could reach for her throat, she was on a knee and slamming a carefully aimed fist into his own. A pained scream left him as she rolled out of the way of his own fist. As soon as it crashed into the ground, Jennifer leapt at him again. A successful jab collided with his ear, and then another to his ribs. She was careful, and the giant man quickly understood how calculating of a fighter that she was. He adjusted.

With a faux swing, he encouraged Jennifer to strike at his ribs. He leaned back. A foot savaged slammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs just as a hand grabbed her throat. Her own hand crashed into his wrist, but he did not let go. It was only after the three following blows that he released her. It offered Jennifer little relaxation. As she was dropped, a second fist struck her shoulder. Incredible pain erupted into her body as something hot spread within her shoulder joint. Jennifer did her best to recover, but the injury took too much out of her. Her roll was too slow, and a hand grabbed her ankle and threw her into the harsh ground, making her gasp weakly. A defiant kick cracked against the man’s fingers as adrenaline and desperate fear took hold of the green woman. He did not let go. He only threw her against the ground behind him, making her entire front and side ache. Her outfit was torn in many places, and dark green blood was dropping onto the pavement. Her breathing was a rough noise.

She was rolled into her front and a large hand easily grabbed her head, holding her still. Something cold and hard was pressed against her wrist, snapping around it. Jennifer’s eyes widened.

“This…could’ve been…so much easier.” The man panted, “Didn’t…need to break a rib.”

Jennifer’s free hand latched onto two of the fingers on her head. Her hand snapped to the left. An agonised scream filled the docks as Jennifer was freed. She crawled up, one arm still shackled, and she spun to slam several violent strikes into the man’s chest. It did little. The shock of the broken fingers only made him froth with rage. A cruel backhand to the face made Jennifer see stars. Stumbling back, she was only just able to avoid another blow to the head. As she pulled her head back, she followed with a swift leap at his head. His jaw snapped to the side as the impact rang through the air. It wasn’t enough. A fist lodged itself into Jennifer’s stomach, making her gag and wheeze. A hand was on her throat. Her feet were no longer on the ground.

face was swollen and bleeding in many places, making Jennifer want to smirk. His grip tightened on her throat. Her body was tired, throbbing in many places. A dark chuckle left her as she resorted to one last, very dumb idea. She clapped. Her hands were brought together as violently as she could manage, and she did so directly in front of the attacker. The ground shook with the force that she mustered, and then from the screams. Jennifer was dropped to the ground as the man cupped his bleeding ears.

“Fuck! Fuck!” His tone changed with each exclamation, proving Jennifer’s damage.

The green giant ran as far as she could. She didn’t care if she was seen by people, or anyone of the like. All that she cared about was hiding. Her heart rang in her ears as she ran and ran, buildings passing her by as if she were on a train. She took no note of the bellowing slowly dying off. She didn’t care. He had clearly been following her. He knew her name and her relation to Bruce. He knew something about what happened to him, and was willing to lie about it in order to shackle her. She needed to run, to hide. Her apartment wasn’t an option. Maxxie. She would need to go to Maxxie. No. She would have to get someone to…She wasn’t safe, not alone. She needed somewhere to hide, and she knew of a nearby friend. Two. With that in mind, Jennifer veered and disappeared through dark alleys, not trusting herself to be on a rooftop and in the open. She would get Maxxie soon. She just needed to have a detour to some friends first.

***

The large concrete research centre was always so barren to be in. It felt so needlessly utilitarian with its greys and whites. Having originally been built as a multi-roomed training centre for new researchers, the centre was soon hollowed out and filled with much larger sampling machines and particle analysis equipment. Whereas students once sat at tables, now large bodies of metal and glass sat against walls and pillars. It didn’t help that it was so silent, either. Even the machinery, the ones that worked, at least, was relatively quiet. Most were decorated with webs and insects, others with rust and stains. Only the recently used pieces of equipment were clean and tidy, with the owners having little care for anything else.

Towards the very end of the large complex, the front entrance opened. A lean man in torn shirt staggered in. His skin was severely tanned, and he had a very squared shaped head. His hair was a dirty blonde, and his shorts were also very torn, looking far too big for him. His ears and neck were stained with thick patches of drying blood, for he had given up on cleaning it all up as his hearing returned. With a hideous glare, he wandered into the facility. As he did so, his hands latched onto the metallic collar on his sternum. With a pained gasp, he angrily unclicked the front and opened it. Several trails of blood flowed as the rawness of his skin was exposed to the air once more. With a grunt, he tossed the equipment to the nearest table.

“You’re alone, Philip.”

Philip chuckled darkly, crossing his arms.

“Aren’t you always the genius.” He muttered bitterly.

He looked up, noticing feet were in front of him. Several metres away, a lean, tall figure floated gently in the air. In front of him, several screens were mounted onto walls and depicting various chemical formulas. Formulas that had not changed since Philip had left. No progress in fixing the problem, then. Philip turned back to look at the man. He was taller than a normal human, nearly seven foot. He was skinny, almost unremarkable. He wore a simple dark tank-table that was too big for him, and some well fitted tracksuit pants. The only distinguishing features of such a man was easily his skin, which was a pale green, and his head. His bulbous head that looked as if a balloon had grown hair and a learned how to frown.

“She…”

Philip’s anger soon dissolved into anguish. His face curled into a weakened expression as he struggled to hold onto himself. The failures of the evening wore heavy on his heart.

“I’m sorry.” Was all that he that managed, his eyes tightly closed.

A hand gently squeezed his shoulder. A squared head, minus the spherical top, smiled gently at him. His eyes lit up like small lights, and a thin line of facial hair ran around his lips and chin. Excluding the skin tone and cranial features, both men looked very similar in both appearances and stance.

“It’s okay. We were smart enough to plan for setbacks.”

“Sam, I don’t know where she is. She did some…thing to my ear.”

“Hmm. A new strategy?”

“I won’t let her try it again.”

“I trust you.” Samuel nodded, taking a step back, “Like I said, we planned for such issues.”

“I tried to track her but lost her scent. She’s either going to the Pyms or to the wizard.”

“Sorcerer.” Samuel corrected in a whisper, “I believe it was you that told me that we shouldn’t be lazy with our variables.” There was a pause as the two men thought over their options, “Even if she manages to reach the others, they’ll be distracted.”

“Brother, what if…”

“Phil,” Samuel’s voice grew deeper, “Trust me, please. No one will be able to focus on her. When she’s alone again, then we’ll collect her. Together. After that, everything will be okay. I promise. We’ll fix it. We just need a few more days.”

***

A/N: Hi everyone!

I hope that you enjoyed the first chapter! Always great to start with Spider-Man and She-Hulk. Next chapter will focus on a certain engineer that’s in struggling with his new stage in life, and a certain married pair of scientists that begin to notice a mystery is being put around them.

If you have any suggestions or feedback, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. They’re really fantastic to see.

Otherwise, have a brilliant end to the week!

Fact of the chapter: According to medieval time conventions, a moment of time is one and a half minutes. This is “derived from the work of Bartholomeus Anglicus, writing in 1240 that each hour was divided into four points, each point into ten moments, each moment into twelve ounces, and each ounce into 47 atoms.”. I honestly barely know what that even means…  

Chapter Text

The salty air cut deeply into the nose of Travis, agitating his already sore throat. The lanky, pale youth tugged at his scraggily beard in the desperate hope to relieve the throbs. It didn’t work. As the foul air from the nearby sea attacked his senses, he busied himself by remembering his instructions. Open the door to the car, smile, pat down the guest, and then lead her to the shipping bay. Simple enough. Despite being so very simple, Travis couldn’t stop sweating in the night air. He rubbed his damp forehead and wiped it on his dirty green sweater. Maybe he was coming down with something. Before he could ponder his health further, two lights slowly appeared down the road of the industry complex. With an intake of breath, he repeated his instructions one last time and watched as the smooth black car pulled up in front of the shipping factory. Travis swallowed.

On gigantic legs, the young man stumbled forwards and reached for the car door.

“Welcome, welcome.” He greeted in a clumsy voice.

A short, blonde woman in her fifties nodded in response. She allowed Travis to take her hand, pulling her out of the car. As she did so, four other hulking men got out. Each were wearing business attire, making Travis feel oddly out of place. With blushing cheeks, Travis made an odd gesture with her hands. The woman sighed. Her hands were raised evenly to her sides, and Travis hastily cupped and felt all that he could. Her unimpressed eyes followed him as he searched her, making Travis want to run away or apologise every three seconds. As he finished, the lady moved to the side, replaced by the first of the guards. One by one, the group was searched.

“Well, thanks for that.” Travis managed, smiling, “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Her voice was sharp, direct. It was clear that small talk wasn’t going to be on the table for that evening. Travis didn’t mind. He just wanted to be home already, preferably after being paid. He led the group into the shipping factory’s visitor entrance. As he did so, they passed four more men, each looking at the newcomers very closely. Each of them was also cupping a handgun resting upon their hips. Further and further into the factory they went. Soon, they arrived within the loading bays, large crates and shipping containers surrounding them like buildings and towers. More men stood within the centre of the factory, all surrounding a tall, dark man with fine glasses and slightly uneven lip. Such a lip curled into a smile and took several steps towards the woman, offering her his hand.

“Lisa. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Michael.” Lisa greeted, shaking his hand, “Four men, unarmed, as promised.”

Michael chuckled lightly, and he gestured towards some containers behind his collection of men.

“You didn’t need to bring any. Not when I’m going to give some power that you ain’t see yet.”

He was almost like an innocent child fawning over a new toy. With a noticeable stride, he walked towards the nearest crate and flipped open several latches. His men pulled away shipping straw and foam, revealing several boxes of thick televisions. He picked one up and placed it on a nearby table. A man offered him a crowbar. With a mild grunt, he popped the screen away from the box behind it, revealing a hollow chamber filled with a moderately size gun. While it could be held with one hand, it was clearly heavy enough for both handles to be recommended. With smooth fingers, he gestured to the grips, the chamber, the barrel, and then the material itself.

“Straight out of Germany. The U.S.S.R.’s been pumping these babies into the east side for months. Relatively quick reload. Three hundred rounds a minute, might sound slow, but it packs a punch with any bullet. Small enough to hide under a coat or in a back. Light enough, too. We got four hundred of these, as well as several other models.” Michael tilted his head in humility, “It all depends on what you’re looking for.”

Lisa silently held her hand out. Without hesitation, Michael offered her the weapon and an empty clip. She took her time weighing the object carefully, reloading it as swiftly as she could, and peering down its small frame to aim it at her shoe. Without any prompting, Lisa tossed it to the guard behind her, who growled as he violently smashed the gun into the concrete ground several times. Michael only watched in a neutral manner. The guard soon retuned the gun to Lisa, who repeated the entire inspection again. As she reloaded the gun and heard it click several times, she nodded.

“Still works.”

“Nothing but the best. We know how much of perfectionist you are.” Michael grinned, his hands resting on his dark blue suit jacket, “Interested in the other models?”

“Of course.”

Without looking, Michael raised his voice.

“Joey, my man. The midrange stuff, if you please.”

There was no response. Michael cleared his throat as Lisa tilted her head at him, a faint smirk on her face. His cheeks flushed, the large man turned to the nearest associate, who unfortunately happened to be Travis.

“Could you be so kind as to find him? And if you can’t,” His voice turned to a whisper, “get the damn crate yourself.”

Travis nodded, and bounced away. As he did so, he heard a sheepish Michael continue his pitch.

“Now, as usual, we do deals on large purchases. I am, after all, keen on satisfied and returning clients.”

Travis’ stomach warped. He had no idea where Joey was meant to be or where the guns were stored. He was just the simple door man. He cleared his throat, walking through the passages formed by so many shipping crates and boxes. Michael’s voice grew fainter as he turned and coiled and twisted through the maze, hoping to find the foolish man listening to music or something. His breathing turned into sharp exhales as the seconds went by. He would need to find the guns. Why did he need to find the guns? No one had ever told him where the guns were. He was just there to earn money for his college debts for marketing of all degrees.

He made a turn, almost jumping with joy as he saw Joey’s feet poking out behind some of the crates. He was napping again. Michael was going to kill him this time. This was the worst possible time to catch up on sleep. The lanky man silently ran to him. He was sleeping, resting on his back and hidden amongst the crates of radios. Travis seethed.

“C’mon, man. This ain’t the damn time.”

He roughly kicked the sleeping mass. Joey didn’t move. An entirely new anxiety formed within his gut as he kicked Joey again. He didn’t move. While he was breathing, something was wrong with the large man.

“Jo-SPLUUGHH!”

Travis gagged desperately, his legs frantically kicking. His skinny, bone carved fingers clawed at the strong arm around his throat, the arm pressing an elbow into his airways. His attempt to make noise, any form of sound, was ripped away from him as a figure in strange red and black leather held him tight. He couldn’t even beg. His eyes watered as his lungs burned.

“Trav, what the fuck…Hey, get the fucGHHHH!”

Travis’ glimmer of hope, his one salvation in the form of Gus, a large, dominating member of the organisation, faded. As soon as the man appeared to their side, something appeared out of thin air. A splash of yellow and black grew and grew, expanding from behind Gus until it took solid shape. A humanoid form appeared, growing as it leapt into the air. In a similar fashion to how Travis assumed he was being held, the figure in yellow and black leather coiled its arms around the much larger man’s throat and crushed their arms towards their chest. Gus frantically tried to reach for the figure, but they were clever enough to manoeuvre themselves to capture one of his arms and use it to secure a grip around his throat, tugging on it once more.

Energy left Travis and a burning spot of black appeared in his vision. His kicks became lame, weak. The circle grew and grew. His arms fell to his sides. The darkness encased not only his vision, but all other senses. Not much longer after that, Travis was dropped to the floor. Weak breathing left his nose, but he was far from awake. Several moments later, Gus joined Travis in the world of sleep.

The red figure eyed both figures carefully, soon kneeling and feeling their clothing. Even with the bizarre helmet that he had on, he did his best to see where the guns were kept. It was a round dome of a thing, silver and circular with large red lenses at the front and two radio antennae at the back. Connecting the helmet to a separate mouthpiece was a set of mandible-shaped chambers. The woman in yellow wore a very similar suit, with a slightly smaller helmet that was darker in texture. Together, they pulled away any guns that they could find and threw them into a nearby crate.

“I count a dozen.” Hank radioed to the woman next to him.

“Five aren’t armed. The newcomers.” Janet elaborated, “Seven. We wait and let them go looking for the others?”

“That’ll maybe work once more.” Hank mused, “They’re not idiots. That’ll still leave a large group of them. We need to make them panic.”

“Small explosives and I block the exits?” His wife suggested, “Worked last time.”

Hank chuckled warmly and nodded. Without further delay, the pair split up once more. Hank pressed the symbol on his belt whilst Janet pressed something by her outer knuckle. A wave of a gas was thrust into their noses and around their bodies. Within that very moment, their heads throbbed as senses warped and misled them. Colours expanded, as did shapes, and the ground faded away from their feet. Within a second more, their feet connected with the hard surface again. Crates and boxes, so tall that the Pyms couldn’t see beyond them, surrounded the pair. The once average sized humans stood no taller than an insect, hiding amongst the concrete floor.

 With a sharp intake of air from the both of them, both Hank and Janet Pym sprinted in opposite directions. Their previous actions did not go unnoticed. With a silent head jerk, Michael signalled his men to close ranks and form a circle. He opened his mouth and turned to look to Lisa. Her hand was open and her face expectant. With incredible reluctance, Michael reached into his pocket, placed a clip of bullets into the gun he was once displaying, and passed it to her. As quickly as he could, Michael opened another television up and passed two more guns to some of Lisa’s guards.

“I thought you weren’t followed.” He hissed, the smoothness to his voice all but gone.

“I wasn’t. I came straight from the office, no eyebrows raised.” Was Lisa’s snappy reply, “If I didn’t know any better, Michael, I’d say this was pla…”

The sounds of panicked shouts and gunfire made Lisa silent. Michael’s chest tightened as he heard several thuds. Without warning, the door leading to the visitor’s entrance slammed shut. A moment later, and there was a loud crash behind it. A dent appeared upon it. Michael titled his head a little.

“Not cops.” He whispered.

He nodded to the nearest guard and pointed to the damaged door. A short, darker man by the name of Francis carefully strode towards the door, gun aimed at the door. Behind him, nearly a dozen guns were pointed to his back. The petite man swallowed. He took a step closer, his grip tight upon his gun. A thud, blunt pain erupted on his jaw as he felt it shift unnaturally to the left. The pressure was so great that something snapped, leading to a muffled screamed as another force struck his chest. The impact was so great that he flew into the wall, groaning and whimpering. A third strike, another to his head, made him limp.

“Fucking mutants.” Michael growled, aiming his gun at the thin air that assaulted his worker.   

 With careful aim, he shot directly above where Francis’ body was resting. Nothing. More crashing noises made the group jump. What sounded like the loading bay door slamming to the ground echoed throughout the room. Michael turned to the next two men, paranoia sinking into the businessman. His mouth dropped slightly, curling as he watched the man furthest away hurl into the ground, screaming as they cupped their ankle. The man next to him aimed his gun squarely at the leg, no care for his co-worker. The gun bounced up. With utter horror, Michael noticed that the metal of the barrel was dented. Something then struck the gun wielding man’s nose, cracking it and sending him screaming to the ground. A second scream was heard. With cold sweat, Michael saw the man behind him fly into the nearest crate. As if boxing a phantom, his stomach was pushed inwards. Seconds later, his jaw snapped to the left. His man was limp after that.

“Fuck this.” Lisa hissed.

Without much thought, the woman tried to sprint away. Something caught around her ankles, making her fall over roughly. Silver, metallic rope. She looked upon it in confusion, not feeling it wrap around her. It was the last thing that she remembered seeing, for her vision turned to black a moment afterwards, her nose bleeding thickly. One by one, Michael watched both his men and his clients being struck by invisible forces. He swallowed, weighing his options as quickly as he could. He closed his eyes, knowing he was being outplayed severely. Guns were one thing, invisible soldiers were another. As his last loyal guard screamed and fell to the ground, Michael threw his gun to ground. He was kneeling a moment later, his hands on his head.

“Enough!” He screamed, “Take what you want. Just leave me the UGH!”

An ever-growing elbow appeared out of thin air and struck his temple in a perfect position. Michael’s vision dazed, and the control over his body faded. He was faintly aware that he was now on his back, but he didn’t know much else. His hands felt bound, handcuffed, but he didn’t know for sure. His glassy eyes stared distantly to the ground as he let his concussion take over.

“Everyone?” Janet asked carefully, scanning the room through her helmet.

A strange, ripping sound occurred next to her as the image of her husband expanded more and more. At normal height, there was quiet the difference between the two. While Hank was average height for a male, perhaps even a little taller, Janet was very short, barely meeting his shoulder. The man in the red suit turned, looking the room over.

“I think so.” Hank nodded, “You got everyone by the exits?”

“Ah, lord!”

Hank snapped around. Janet was staring at her side, tentatively poking at the leather. It was torn. No, it was cut into. Fresh blood was leaking onto her suit as she carefully cupped the wound. Hank was at her side in an instant. He pressed the latch to his helmet, popping it open.

“Sweetie, are you okay? Goddamn it.”

“Michael Lurer must’ve stuck me with something. Or I got caught on something as I reverted.”

“If that was the case, you’d explode.” Hank whispered, more to himself, “You can’t shrink. Suit’s gone. I’ll need to carry you an-”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Janet whispered firmly, “It’s a flesh wound, and it’ll give me another excuse to make another suit. So, hush.”

Her gloved hand cupped his face and held it for a moment. A soft smile met her face as Hank squeezed it.

“Let’s call the cops and get home.”

The trip home was quiet, uneventful. Nervous glances towards Janet’s side occurred by the minute, with Janet’s hushing doing little to soothe the anxious man beside her. They drove in the non-descript car for many miles, nearing the outskirts of the city before parking it in a small, community storage centre. Carefully, they changed out of their suits the moment the shutter went down. Hank Pym was a moderately shape man in his mid-thirties, soft-faced with sandy blonde hair that was trimmed and well groomed. His nose was pointed, his eyes were a vibrant blue, the latter suiting his soft voice and gentle mannerisms well. What was once gentle flab was a trimmed line of muscle, for Hank had committed himself thoroughly to gaining an appropriate physique for handling his nightly activities. Janet Pym was short woman, with smooth skin and sharp cheeks. Her dark hair was cropped around her jaw, hiding a small scar from a knife attack several months previously. As soon as they had bagged their unusual attire in thick garage bags, they were in yet another car, one set towards their home. Their residence was humble, yet slightly odd in design. Much of the modest house was hollowed out, converted in a small laboratory and a tiny office space, should either of the pair desire to work or research from home. Across from the rather long building was a small stack of walls that was their home.

 Without saying anything, Hank led Janet into the bathroom. His hand automatically dug into the space above the sink, both Pyms used to needing to get the medical equipment. By the time that he had filled a syringe and collected some stitching equipment, Janet was already shirtless and leaning over the sink with a distant, emotionless expression. It was her attempt at mentally distancing herself from the pain that she always believed she was about to endure, not taking into account that the anaesthetic was used for a reason. The cut wasn’t too deep, much to Hank’s relief. It was a foul scratch, one that went deeply through the skin. What had she caught herself on that ruptured both suit and skin so?

“We could go to Stephen.” Hank suggested as he pressed the needle in.

Janet hissed, her knuckles white as the burning chemical washed over her wound.

“We can’t go to him every time we have an issue.” She sighed in a drawn out manner, her voice soon turning light, “Besides, you’re getting a lot better at stitching.”

Hank snorted and held her shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. A minute passed and he carefully stroked near the wound. Seeing and hearing no reaction, he pressed into it. No reaction. With a sigh and the sound of gloves being snapped on, Hank sat on the edge of the bathtub and pressed needle to skin. Several moments later, Janet felt something on her neck and almost jumped. It was Hank’s lips. His arms loosely hung around her shoulders as he held her close.

“You need to stop getting hit.” He whispered with mild frustration.

Janet snorted.

“I remember someone getting short in February. That did require a trip to Stephen’s.”

Hank laughed quietly before kissing her shoulder again. Despite that being true, it didn’t ease the deep fear and hysteria that swelled whenever she was hurt. He never liked seeing her injured, nor did he ever want to be apathetic to it. The scientist leaned back just as she turned around. Her hand stroked his cheek affectionally.

“You need a shave.”

“It’s barely stubble. You’re changing the subject.” Hank shook his head, looking mockingly offended, “I’m sorry for caring about my wife being stabbed.”

“Oh, don’t you pull that one.” Janet’s eyes widened and she tattered, “Manipulative, Dr. Pym. Very manipulative. And I wasn’t stabbed. I…don’t think so?”

Hank grunted, his expression souring. Just as he looked away in a sulking manner, Janet gently pulled his head to face her once more.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I won’t still be doing this if I wasn’t.”

“You’re stubborn.” Hank cut in, “You’d do it even with only one leg. Steve got to you.”

A loud laugh boomed from Janet, and Hank couldn’t help but laugh too. Her hands moved to his shoulders as she tilted her head.

“I remember a certain man, that when he first met the missing hero, was worshipping his feet.”

Hank laughed louder this time. His cheeks were a shade of red and he bit his lip. It wasn’t entirely false. He, like any other normal American, was startled to discover that Captain America was still alive, let alone in a local bar. In the year following such a meeting, while more confident around the national hero, Hank still found himself bubbling over the man during the few recent times that they had met. It was a shame that there had been so few opportunities to catch up with the man. Both Hank and Janet had enjoyed working with such a man during the formation of the group Peter Parker so adeptly titled the ‘Avengers’. Even a simple social call would be welcomed by the couple.

“You were as well.” Hank tried, but Janet was having none of it.

“Nope. You. Only you.”

“Only me?” Hank rolled his eyes.

“Only you.” Janet repeated, her voice slightly huskier.

They stared at each other for several seconds until Janet suddenly glanced at his lips, then his throat, and then his chest. Shame and guilt hit Hank.

“Not tonight.” He whispered, “You’re injured.”

“When’s that stopped us?” Janet whispered, her hands sliding to Hank’s neck.

It was always like this after a mission. There was no point in trying to sleep. The adrenaline was pumping into their veins and would last for hours more. The excitement, the thrill, the fear of fighting criminals was not something that easily subsided. No, it was something that would keep them up until the rapidly approaching morning. With such energy in their systems, the pair quickly found a way to burn it.

Before Hank could offer a responsible answer, Janet was kissing him gently. He remained still, rigid. Such a resolve melted as soon as she kissed the spot behind his ear, the one that made him visibly shudder. Her smirk was met with a determined expression as Hank ripped off his shirt. Hands so very carefully explored chests, lips softly kissing at bruises and aches. The recent anxiety of the night made Hank impatient. Before Janet could say anything, her lower set of clothing was removed. He followed a moment later. As he held up her leg around his rear, he looked up.

“This okay?” He whispered softly, his eyes darting to her stitches and the various other wounds that were still healing.

“Just gentle, okay?” She nodded, and he did as well.

With a moan and a hiss, Hank entered and held his wife close. It was not a long session. Both were too needy for anything prolonged. Hank held his wife the best that he could, determined to at least take the weight off of her side. With an excited squeak, she held onto Hank and carefully and very slowly positioned herself on the bathroom counter. Hank was breathing in her ear the moment after. Her hands held his wrists as he held her hips. There was no style, no rhythm. Just simple, hungry thrusts.

Their eyes met. They were undone a moment afterwards, for eye contact was always their undoing. With a high grunt and a whine, pulsing was met with tightening. Warmth grew and grew. Not once did either ever look away, even as Hank gingerly withdrew himself.

“Love you.” Janet panted.

“Love you, too.” Hank whispered, leaning in to messily cheek her cheek.

“Good. That means you’ll agree to clean up while I put something in the microwave.” She chuckled throatily, her hands relaxing in his hair.

***

One of the more irritating elements of working near a mountain was the cold. Yukov did not appreciate the cold. The silvering man had known it for all of his many decades since birth, but that did not mean that he enjoyed it. No, he much rather Cuba or another more humid nation to tour. Instead, he was forced to wander through mountainside forest and wet terrain for days at a time. A car or a train would certainly have been appreciated, though. He did not like being in the wilderness, not at such a time. Whispers had sunk into men within his line of work, stories uttered over cigarettes and whiskey. Hushed murmurs. A monster hunting their kind, leaving them for dead. A being impossible to kill, one of rage and severity. One that had left more bodies than had been counted. Yukov’s eyes scanned the foliage as he thought such thoughts. He was not a superstitious man. He had survived wars through practical action, not prayer. But there was something in the blank eyes of those that told him such stories that unsettled him. Maybe it was the shivering he saw, or the total conviction they gave as they spoke, but there was something off putting to even a man such as Yukov.  

Yukov was a boar of a man. Muscular, large, broad. In the military, he had easily towered of the men in his command. Even as the years rolled passed him, he was still a beast to behold. Large tuffs of hair curled on his upper lip, the grey moustache only aiding to the intimidation that often flowed around him. It was partly why so few of the men accompanying him had spoken during their journey. It was a shame, for at least conversation would have eased the hike. They were young men, lean and scrawny. Locals. Their attire was thick and woolly, but torn and old. The guns that they carried around were clearly from World War Two. Yukov remembered holding one of the guns during his induction into the military during the final year of said war. His had been far better quality.

The group of ten soon marched over a large hill caked in deep snow. Yukov spat as he almost sank into it. Leaning on a tree, his eyes caught something. The forest was thinning, revealing the edge of the mountains. With a thick voice, he uttered a command. Binoculars were placed into his extended hand instantly. A town. The town. Days of travel for a damn town barely connected to the world at large. A single, worn road led from the collection of stone and brick houses, snaking along the mountain base. Yukov almost spat again. The money that he was due was severe after this. Throwing the binoculars back into the hands of the skinny lad, Yukov barked another command. Exhausted moans left half of them as they pressed on, walking the several kilometres between their current position and the small hamlet.

Their presence was not unnoticed by the locals. Many were old, jittery and roughened by the decades in the ice and rock. Many were tending to what animals could survive in such conditions, only glancing at the newcomers from under their thick hats. Yukov said nothing. He did his best to pretend as if no one was there. As they entered the town itself, past the decaying barns and craft houses, the sound of running echoed off of the stone walls. A plumper man, one clearly not from the town, panted as he neared. Without saying a word, several of Yuokv’s men slid their hands to their guns and watched with anticipation. The plump man smiled with red cheeks as he stopped in front of Yukov, the latter looking at the situation with stoicism.

“Welcome, welcome. I, uh, trust the climb wasn’t too difficult?”

Scoffs and sneers broke out amongst the men. Yukov allowed it for several seconds before silencing it with an authoritative stare. Silence hovered in the alley. The heftier man chuckled nervously. Yukov only looked blankly at him further.

“Well, Mr. Reynholm is ready, if you are? He’s resting in the old barn.”

Yukov said nothing. After a moment of very uncomfortable silence, the shorter man smiled and chuckled again. With a hasty gesture, he began to the lead the soldiers through the town. It was quickly noted that they were going through the backstreets and quieter areas. Why this was done was beyond Yukov, as the wiser man knew that such a small town already knew that they were there. There was no point in being secretive now. Still, Yukov allowed himself to be taken to the outskirts. A snowy pasture rested before a small barn, a thin wooden fence surrounding two dozen or so goats. A seat was lying in front of the barn. A tall, skinny man with bronzed features was sitting, smiling to himself as he watched the goats munch on the chilly grass. His hair was fair, wavy and thick. Unlike every single other member of the town, he wore a European suit made from a glossy, blue material. A thick white scarf decorated his giraffe-shaped neck, only deepening how little Yukov felt for him.

The short man ran to him, earning a curious look. As soon as he saw Yukov, such curiosity turned to glee. He rose to his feet, utterly ignoring the short man, and held his arms out like a bird stretching its wings. As he did so, Yukov noticed movement around the barn. Nearly a dozen men were either by the windows or loitering around them, all armed. Yukov said nothing.

“My friend. You are welcome, very, here.” The American chuckled, delighted.

Yukov was silent. Reynholm chuckled uncomfortably and finally acknowledged the shorter man.

“Maybe an issue with the language. Translate for me.”

The shorter man did. No words were exchanged. The American did his best to appear calm and nonplussed by the stature and demeanour of the notorious man. He opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say. Abruptly, Yukov finally spoke.

“My men walked for days in the wilderness, as instructed.”

The shorter man translated. An embarrassed, slightly confused expression formed on Reynholm. He nodded and clapped his hands together.

“Of course. Absolutely ridiculous, if you ask me. But…your organisation did agree with me that…certain privacy and tracking concerns needed to be addressed. These are uncertain times.”

“Demon.” Yukov said in a broken cadence.

“Excuse me?”     

“The demon with metal skin. We know of it.”

Reynholm’s mood festered before their eyes. His coolness, almost naïve expression, turned into a snarl. Yet, he was able to collect himself, even straightening his suit and chuckling once more. There was no mistaking the displeasure in his eyes, however.

“This is…no demon. At best, it’s just a few European militaries sniffing out some…small collections. Barely anything. At worst,” His voice grew thick, “A mutant. That’s all. An X-Man, perhaps?”

“No X-Man shines in the sun and can crush metal with their boot. No X-Man sees in the darkest of caves and burns the sharpest light. This is no X-Man.”

Reynholm gritted his teeth. It was a rumour, that was all. A few fellow traders losing materials and men to the army, to the police. They had been careless and gotten themselves ambushed by people. The survivors had lost their nerve, gone mad and told foolish stories of metal monsters. Nothing more and nothing less. There was no demon lurking around their necks, waiting and prowling. Reynholm was a smarter man than to believe such ilk.

Reynholm whispered something to an attendant by the barn, who promptly disappeared into the house. A moment later, several men were folding out small wooden tables and chairs. Afterwards, food and wine were placed upon them.

“You must be starving. Please?”

Yukov marched forwards. At random, he ate several slices of meat and drank from several cups of wine. He waited. Feeling no ill effects, he nodded to his men, who promptly tore into the meal. Yukov reached into his pocket, fetching a poorly maintained cigarette.

“Oh,” Reynholm smiled again as he held up a thick cigar, “Allow me. It’s on the house.”

Yukov stared at him as he lit his cigarette, watching the American slowly drop his cigar back onto the table.

“Guns.” Yukov grunted.

“Guns.” Reynholms nodded, a sleek smile back on his face, “Guns. I’m willing to import quite a few for your Slavic friends.”

“I am not a Slav.”

Reynholm struggled to retain his smile after that particular jab.

“My apologies. But with the climate in Yugoslavia being so…tense, I’m sure your organisation could do quite well supplying the region with my kind of arms. We can offer thousands of crates of assault weapons, ammunition, standard combat gear like helmets and vests.” Reynholm’s smile grew sickly, “I can even throw in five tanks, American made.”

“Seven.”

“Excuse?”

“You told my superiors seven.”

Reynholm’s swallowed. The foul look in his eyes returned, and he reached for some wine.

“Well, I had seven. We ran into some issues near northern Africa.”

“The demon.”

“There is no…” Reynholm reigned in his hiss, “It was army, nothing more. The Americans tipped them off, but the rat in my farm is dead. I made sure of that myself. Now,” He straightened himself, “Shall we have a look at my stock?”

The barn was filled with crate of ammunition rounds, casings, the odd piece of uniform or gear, radio equipment, but it was mostly guns. A lot of guns. Small guns for the hidden hand to weapons that threatened to snap arms if held incorrectly when firing. Reynholm’s flourished his hands as he gestured to each crate.

“We have German. We have French. Hell, we even have some Black Lynx Industries and Stark Industries before they stopped selling weapons.”  

Reynholm’s looked over. Yukov and his men were each holding a different model of weapon. Before Reynholm could stop them, they locked the weapons, aimed it at the ground and fired a single shot each. The noise was almost deafening. With a flushed face, the American waved at them.

“Are you mad? You could get everyone and their mum peering in here to see what that was.”

“The guns work.” Yukov noted, “What is the price per crate?”

Reynholm’s sour expression eased into a relaxed one. An assistant placed a clipboard into his hand. Soon, he was at the side of the boar shaped man and pointing to images and prices as if he were selling Tupperware.

“Now, if you buy a tank, that lowers the price of everything else by two percent. If you buy several tanks, that…What the hell is that noise?”

The ground shook. Something roared in the field, and there was many sounds of shock and confusion. All of Yukov’s men held their weapons to the door of the barn. Shouts were heard. Screaming and panicked yells filled the valley. Reynholm’s staggered back, his stomach feeling very heavy. His jaw was trembling as he watched Yukov march forwards. He turned to his men, nodding at them. Their aim never left the door, even as he opened it.

Smoke. A thick, burnt smoke clouded most of the paddock. It was as though a great fire had taken place only seconds before. It wasn’t natural. It did not burn Yukov’s eyes as smoke often did. It was dark, but moved easily around Yukov’s careful hand. Bursts of light pierced it. Manic gunfire lit up the smoke as bullets hit something solid enough for a bang to ring out each time. As the gunshots became fewer and the screaming quieter, Yukov could see an emerging form. Yellow, slitted pierced the smoke. A light within them so strong that the darkness could not contain it. It was large, rigid in its movement. Each step took considerable effort from the being. A second light emerged, one sharp to the eye. Blue. A strong, blue light. A light that revealed blood-red skin that shone under the light, that cracked the ground beneath it. Each movement of the titan was met with an uncomfortable noise of force and tearing. It was unnatural. It was unnatural for metal was its skin, a ghastly image that had been whispered countless times in recent months. The demon.

Without hesitation, Yukov stepped to the side as his men poured forth as many bullets as they could. They, too, recognised the monster that had killed so many arms dealers and criminals. Reynholm did not wait, nor did he muster courage. With a mad dash, he leapt through the furthest window and ran with all his might. He did not care if his suit was torn. It was not worth his life. Yukov, a man that had weathered many wars, held his heart reach his throat as he watched bullets bounce off of the monster. It moved forwards. With mighty hands, something burst from them. A light so bright that many of the men winced. Two young men screamed as the light sent them crashing into the wood behind them. Burns sunk into their legs and arms, but they were not lethal wounds. Not yet. Yukov growled. He ran behind his men, desperate to reach the grenades in one of the creates. A wolf-like howl was ripped out of him as a pain took hold in his side. It was a pain so great that he fell to his knees. He watched as the demon lashed with metal claws at a gun, snapping it into three. A brutal strike to the man’s shoulder sent him rolling onto the floor.

It was over within a minute. Each man was thrown, burnt, and struck so fiercely that they did not recover. They lied in a bizarre circle, unconscious or whimpering weakly as they tried to crawl away. Yukov reached into his pocket, pulled a small revolver, and shouted as he unloaded it. The demon, with its blank, lifeless yellow eyes, just stood there. Each bullet marked its skin, but did little more. Yukov was shaking as he lowered his gun.

“Demon.”

“I’m not the one dealing weapons that kill kids.” The creature replied.

It was an American accent, but the words were of his home. Yukov blinked, trying to understand. He didn’t need to. The monster grabbed a crate of the weapons and pulled it into the paddock. It did so with all crates, leaving the men less scared and more confused by the demon’s actions. As it hauled the large cache into its mighty arms, it hesitated, reading the ‘Stark Industries’ insignia upon it. It was then hurled into the opening. A mighty roar of fire and hundreds of popping sounds escaped as the monster shot light from its very hands at the collection of weapons. The ammunition exploded or burst, whilst the flames licked at the guns thickly. The demon turned, stared at Yukov, and with a thunderous roar, it leapt from the ground as it shook. It was gone, leaving Yukov and those of his men still awake to idly ponder what had just occurred to them.

Tony Stark’s lip twitched, his eyes switching from one of the two monitors pressed inches away from his face. He did his best to ignore the logo on that last crate, to focus on the blue and green screen showing the skies around him, but he could not shake the heated feeling that shook his stomach side to side. It was a feeling that pricked him, refusing to let him calm down or to breathe with ease.

“Heat map.”

There was no change in the screen. He bit his sweaty lip.

“Heat map.” He hissed in a louder noise.

A gear clicked from behind the left monitor. He peered to the ground, several dozen metres in the air, as he watched blues and reds overcome his vision. He winced, his eyes stinging from the colour change. Within monuments, he caught movement. His lip twitched. Jerking his hands and feet, he rolled through the air and dived downwards, feeling the armour around him shake in protest. It could handle such a stroke of swiftness. He built it to do so. At least, that is what he told himself as he practically rammed into the snow and mud, directly in front of a man whose face Tony had seen in a report given to him. Jakob Reynholm. The heat map did a poor job of illustrating just how terrified he was at the sight of Tony’s suit. It did show him stumbling back and falling down, however. Without a word or a threat to the quivering worm, Tony raised his arm and jerked his wrist. Nothing occurred.

“For fuck’s sake.” He hissed, trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes.

He jerked his wrist again. Once more, nothing happened. He jerked it a third time. A cable shot out of a small compartment within his arm, latching onto Reynholm with such force that it once more knocked him to the ground. Tony’s audio equipment picked up the pleading and poorly offered explanations, but he didn’t say a word. He felt dehydrated, sick. He had flown to another continent without pause. Such a feat would leave anyone on edge. He grabbed Reynholm, soured into the sky with the screaming man, and hurled him towards the barn. He was in the air within seconds.

Tony closed his eyes, licking his salty lips. The vibrations of the suit rocking through the air, piercing the clouds, soothed him. It gave him something else to think about, to latch on to. The sickness eased, but the dehydrated feeling did not. He wanted to desperately ease it, to sate it. Before he could stop himself, all he could do was to envision himself drinking again. His lip twitched. As he almost lovingly imagined the task of scotch down his throat, he forced his eyes open. He was in the air. Upon his right monitor, elevation levels and wind direction information pieced the black screen with bright green digits and vector lines. He was high, very high. His eyes flicked to the left monitor, seeing only clouds.

“Normal screen. Normal scr…Normal screen!”

The heatmap disappeared. He leaned forwards and dived. The armour shook, Tony’s face turning red as the pressure grew and grew. The mountain range beside him grew thicker as the ground expanded before his eyes. His heart pounded. The blood raced through his veins in a way that only few liquids and chemicals could cause. He felt alive. A bright laugh escaped the inventor as he shot down like a missile. Faster and faster, the ground grew and grew. Tony’s eyes darted to the second monitor. He jerked his feet and his body shook as more power was given to the boosters. Tony gritted his teeth. Tiny peddles were becomes large boulders. Dots were now trees. Every vein swelled through Tony’s face as his heart pounded over and over. His looked at the elevation information again. He veered up.

A howl of laughter left the man as his boots missed the ground by mere metres. The adrenaline, the sense of being alert and strong, brought a large smile to the man as he raced through the air. The thoughts of sickness and dehydrating sunk away, but never permanently. It never left permanently.

The return flight took many, many hours. As the metal man landed within a secluded mansion by the water, hidden by the night, all he felt was a headache. As he had always done, he landed within a small opening that led to a basement, one surrounded by mechanical equipment and tools. A dull thud filled the room. His arms tugged at two latched around his chest until something popped. The armour around his body weakened, clicking in dozens of places. It took several minutes for the weary, exhausted man to escaped his armour, carefully placing each detached piece on a workbench.

Tony Stark was a fit man, lean with muscle that glistened with the sweat that saturated him like a second skin. Beneath such sweat were bruises. Dozens upon dozens of bruises caused by the strain of wearing such heavy and bulky armour, and from being hit by weapons that his armour could not deal with entirely. It was due to that fact that Tony limped slightly as he reached for a nearly empty water bottle. His dark hair was messy and wavy, very unlike the perfectly cut moustache and goatee that he sported. Dark, sunken eyes inspected the bottle, reading it out of boredom, before he greedily drank what few sips he could manage.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing a late dinner.” A slightly judgemental voice stated.

Edwin Jarvis was an aging fellow, a weasel-shaped man with balding features and a deep, overwhelming eyes. The still well-dressed butler placed a tray of steaming curry, naan bread and water at Tony’s side. A grateful smile formed on the tired man’s face, and he squeezed Jarvis’ shoulder affectionately before drawing a stool away from a bench and eagerly eating. Jarvis watched him for several moments, inspecting each of the new bruises on his old employer’s body. Tony looked healthy, far healthier than he had done so in the previous year. Jarvis was grateful to God and all his angels for that. He had colour in his skin, energy to his movements, and joy in his voice. There was no desperation or addiction in his desires. But Tony was still caked in injuries, sweaty, and looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

A displeased expression formed on Jarvis’ face. Eventually, Tony sighed and wiped his mouth.

“I’m okay.”

“I didn’t say anything, sir.”

Tony raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

“Yeah, right. Anyway, I just need to figure out a new padding option. And the suit barely works in the cold. We need to rework its heating systems. Still, my best one yet.” He hastily added, watching Jarvis open his lips.

Behind the bench where his current armour rested, there rested four racks lined with pieces of the four previous models. A silver suit that was nearly entirely torn up, a gold and red suit with many dents and punctures, a blue and silver model with a missing leg, and a green and brown model with looked as if it was shot at by the X-Man with beams shooting from his eyes.

“I do agree with the move back to red and gold, sir.” Jarvis admitted, almost against himself.

Tony smiled. A sudden wave of exhaustion hit him, leading the man to rub his stinging eyes.

“Called Fury yet?”

“As the data came through the computer, sir.” Jarvis had some pride in his voice, “Mr. Fury sounded most pleased as I informed him.”

“Yeah, well…If he wants anymore raids, let me know.”

Tony watched as the look of displeasure continued on Jarvis’ face. Tony titled his head, shaking it in confusion. With a stony expression, Jarvis held up a long, continuous sheet of paper that the computer had been printing. It was the flight records that his suit fed into his computer for Tony’s later analysis. The inventor closed his eyes.

“It was a small jump.”

Jarvis looked at the reading and dramatically straightened it.

“Several hundred metres in mere moments. Most impressive, sir.”

Jarvis’ tone was seething, but still forcefully polite and respectful. It made Tony hate it all the more. The man rose, taking the readings out of Jarvis’ hands.

“It…It was just a test.”

“As were the last two times. You keep leaving it later and later to pull up. One day you won’t.” Tony blinked, as the politeness suddenly faded, “You’re being reckless, Mr. Stark. Dangerous. I can’t on Earth understand why, though. You already sore through the air and shoot energy from your hands. What more could you want?”

Anything. Anything to match the blissful feeling that he hadn’t felt in months. Anything to make him watch to dance, and laugh, and embrace others as he used to. Anything to handle that heavy feeling in his gut. He didn’t manage to state that, however. Instead, the man’s tongue became heavy, as did his head. Jarvis sighed, picking up the plates and stacking them. A pang of guilty, of self-loathing, hit Tony as he heard Jarvis begin to near the door.

“One of the crates was Stark weapons. Dad’s. Vietnam era.”

Tony’s voice was weak, uncertain. He could not bring himself to look at Jarvis. There was silence. Soft feet hastily walked to his side and a hand was on his damp shoulder.

“You are not your father, Anthony.” Tony’s jaw visibly flexed, “Stop acting like you have to clean up all his mistakes. You don’t. You’re Tony Stark. You’re,” Jarvis sighed, “the Iron Man. I don’t know what you’re looking for when you do all of this. I’m sorry.” Tony looked up at that, staring at Jarvis with offense at such a stupid view of fault, “But this isn’t a good way to find anything. You can’t help people with a broken body.” Jarvis sighed once more, “Or worse.”

“I know.” Tony lied, his throat thick and raw, “But I’m fine. I promise. Get some sleep.”

Jarvis took his turn to scoff. A slightly amused look overcame his worry.

“Only if you do. But a shower first. You smell like a gym, sir, and not in a good way.”

***

Janet wiped her mouth, finishing her late breakfast with a large gulp of juice. Before she could reach for another napkin, Hank immediately passed the dispenser to her without looking up from the newspaper. The smaller Pym bristled, the man less than a metre away not noticing.

“I can lift things.”

“The stitches say otherwise.” Hank murmured idly, “You tear them too often.”

“I didn’t snap mine through sneezing.” Janet muttered to herself.

Hank looked over the paper suspiciously.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Janet smiled sweetly.

Hank grumbled as he gingerly stood. They had managed to gather a few hours sleep, their energised bodies finally collapsing after their small dinner. The cooling period allowed their activities to catch up to them. Bruises were starting to swell around their knuckles, and it hurt to move their fingers. They felt tired, exhausted. Each step took considerable force and determination to complete. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that Janet’s wound showed any signs of infection. That was the last thing that they needed. Hank cleaned most of the dishes, refusing to allow his injured wife to aid in anything strenuous.

They went about their usual routine with showers, gathering suitable clothes for the office and lab, and rounding up any missing research notes or business memos. One exception to their daily plans was their morning yoga session. Janet was almost annoyed that she was not allowed to put the tape in. She could still manage some positions, and it was a pleasant way to bond with her husband before work. As she finished carefully putting on her jacket, she noticed Hank lifting up several photo frames and peaking around the bookcase near their kitchen.

“Lost the keys?”

“They’re not in…the usual bowl.” Hank murmured in an annoyed tone.

Janet frowned. Hank was rather pedantic about where his belongings were to be kept. Even the towels had a very specific place within the cupboards. His keys, in particular, rarely strayed from the ornate bowl that her mother had given them for a Christmas gift some years prior. Janet squinted, murmuring to herself as she looked around the books that the bowl sat in front of. Reaching through, she blindly felt around until she heard something shivering. Hank stopped looking through the fruit bowl and peered up. With a tatter, Janet put the book back within its place and held up the keys to their office.

“Someone was exhausted yesterday after work.”

“Still managed to avoid a knife wound.” Hank countered with a playful smirk as he snatched the keys from her hand.

“I’m frankly offended.”

The trip to Pym Technologies took less than forty minutes. It was a small complex, with a set of research and administration offices on one level and a series of labs on the ground floor below. The newer component to the building, a relatively large complex for testing new designs and technologies, sat at the back and joined via a small path. Upon the front door, a large ‘Pym Technologies’ logo, fixed with an atom, was stuck for all to see. The pair smiled at reception, Janet idly chatting with security as they both checked themselves in and allowed their belongings to be checked. The introverted Hank smiled tightly, forcing a chuckle as the guard attempted a joke. He may have hired these people, but that didn’t mean that Hank enjoyed socialising with them. To Hank, nothing suited him better than a quiet day secluded within the lab. Unfortunately, his wife highly disagreed with her husband being a recluse.

The pair smiled and greeted any researchers or technicians that passed their way until they reached their office. With a loud sigh, Hank threw his satchel on the small armchair next to the small bookcase. Janet shook her head as she watched him sit at one of the two tables in the round office.

“It was…five people. You can handle that.”

“Loud people.” Hank mumbled as he pressed the ‘on’ switch to the bulky computer in front of him, “I can handle quiet, normal people. It’s the…loud ones.”

“You sound like Jen.” Janet smirked, sitting at her own desk and withdrawing her notes from her bag.

“I can socialise. I don’t fear people, I dislike talking to them. There’s a difference.”

“Jen can talk to people.” Janet quipped defensively and Hank raised an eyebrow, “What? Sure, she’s still a little awkward, but she’s come a long way. She goes to a book club now.”

“The last time I saw Jen talk to a stranger, she started off asking for directions, panicked, and ended with a three-minute rant about what Fall does to paint.” Hank’s tone was monotone at best, “I’m not Jen. I just…like the quiet.”

“And moving my favourite pen.”

“What?”

Hank looked over his computer to see his wife huffing as she opened all of her drawers. Hank did his best to snicker at her clear frustration over such a small thing. Well, she was a small woman…Hank bit his tongue, not game enough to air such a comment.

“My favourite pen. The one Barbs from…Ahuh!”

She disappeared from view, slowly rising again with a wince. Hank’s mouth opened in concern. Before he could say anything, Janet glared at him. It was a silent challenge to repeat yet another utterance of, in her opinion, needless concern. Hank changed topic, although with much heat down his spine.

“Rolled on the ground?”

“Yeah…,” Janet’s voice was vague, “Should be in its little cup by the computer, though…Anyway.”

She shrugged, soon busying herself with preparing for the first meeting. The pair were silent for an hour, eventually dragging themselves to the nearest boardroom. Several executives were already waiting, offering smiles or greetings as the company heads and owners strolled in. Their exhaustion was clear to all, with someone frowning with deep concern as they saw such dark circles and withered lines near their eyes. Sensitive hands shook others, with Hank having to bite down on his lip as the pain soared each time. Eventually, all were seated and reviewing the notes placed before them.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again,” Bart, a rather plump man with a sweaty face, slapped the desk, “Diversity. We need to increase the markets we tap into.”

“We expand too fast, we die.” Cecilia, a leaner, older woman with a hooked nose, countered.

“We stay stagnate and we die.” Bart scoffed, “I say we continue down the electronics line. Stark is tapping into as many marks as he can, including electronics, but slowly. We’re a smaller company, so we can make changes quicker. We can expand quicker, too. Now that Stark’s still getting the investors off his back over the lack of weapons bomb, we can get into that market befo-”

“Tony Stark has developed limitless energy.” Hank stated in an even tone.

The room went quiet. Hank dropped the note that he was reading to look direct at his colleague.

“He owns the majority stake in his company. He’s being polite, at best, to his shareholders. Do you seriously think that he won’t overtake us if we try to cut him off?” Hank shrugged, “It’s suicide. We can’t compete with them. Not when it comes to scale or production. We need to be realistic here. We are not Stark Industries, not yet, anyway. They have been…decent partners to work with over the last year. We should keep it that way. I mean, it’s not like we can compete with them anyway.”

Bart sighed, but did not press the issue further. In a quieter voice and with a meeker face, he spoke once more.

“I just…worry that if the only thing we’re developing is computer chips…Hank, outside of the computers that Stark is making, no one is using our chips. They’re too advanced and expensive for the homeowner.”

“We need another contract.” Alistair, a younger man with wavy hair, agreed, “We could…make a simpler version of other processing units. A cheaper one. One that affordable computers could use.”

“Or we make another bid for the N.A.S.A. contract. We’ve won one before.” Natasha suggested.

“Years ago.” Janet sighed, finally bringing herself to speak, “We could always open discussions with a list of companies. See what they’re looking for and if we have the scale to meet requirements.”

The debate lasted an hour, with each participant debating the worth of suggested ideas and companies to approach for partnerships. Hank was silent for most of it, taking notes and usually interrupting to quell an argument. As it came to a close with an agreement to draw up a list of possible partners to approach, both Pyms were left with the feeling of wanting nothing else but to sleep. The fact that it was only eleven in the morning made them want to consider death.

***

Jarvis did his best not to grimace at the speed that Tony was devouring his food. The man was a wolf amongst sheep. Still, at least he was eating something healthy. The pair sat by the pool, basking in the warmth of the morning sun. By the time Tony had fallen asleep, he had turned into a brick. Sleeping past multiple alarms, it took Jarvis holding his nostrils shut for Tony to violently snap away. The man was not entirely happy with his butler for such an act. Still, he offered no objections to food and he begrudgingly readied himself for his day.

As he finished his juice, he looked over his glass to see a pensive Jarvis looming over something on the table. Tony sighed and crossed his arms.

“If this is still over yesterday, I’ll write a legally binding promise to-”

Jarvis cut in rather quickly, yet there was clear hesitation pulled over his face. Upon the most recent newspaper was a headline that made Tony’s lip curl ever so slightly. ‘Stark Industries Burning’. Beneath such a miserable title were two pictures of Stark Industries factories that were set on fire. They were old buildings and looked half broken even without the fire. The story below didn’t improve Tony's mood.

‘Stark Industries has joined the fold in a slate of Western businesses attacked within Vietnam. The old Stark factories, built over a decade and a half ago to aid American-occupied Vietnam by supplying munitions, were confirmed to be destroyed two nights ago. This is the fifth Western business in three weeks to be the victim of arson by a growing anti-Western movement. The only buffer to such an attack is the fact that the factories were abandoned several years ago, when newly appointed CEO Anthony Stark, pictured on page four, publicly announced a change in direction for the company. Turn to page four to see our interview with Senator Grimslaw on this development in the East.’

Tony blinked twice. The paper was thrown down. Jarvis smiled sympathetically as he watched Tony suddenly ride and stretch his back out, murmuring to himself.

“The factories were abandoned, sir. In fact, if memory serves me well, we were looking for someone to buy both properties.”

“It’s dad’s old crap.” Tony grunted, turning to look at Jarvis sardonically, “Some old bullet factories aren’t really an issue.”

Jarvis resisted the impolite urge to shrug. His eyes glanced back to the wrinkled paper.

“It is curious, though. All this…unpleasant business in the country, just as things seemed to be calming again."

Tony was already walking away as he muttered to himself.

“That’s what happens when a prick ships more bombs than people to a place.”

Tony tightened his dark navy tie, adjusting it as he looked at himself in the mirror. His beard trimmed, his cheeks shaved, his hair contained, and his bruises hidden. He looked well. Tired, but well. As he hastily walked through his bedroom and collected the last of his reports, he stopped by his bedside table. Without hesitation, he skimmed through to the most recent entry and jotted several notes of yesterday’s activities. Emotions and cravings, rather than activities, would be more accurate. His mouth almost dried as he described his desire to dunk his head in the elixir that was whiskey. Tony cleared his throat. With almost shaking hands, he finished his journal with ‘Day 247’ and closed it. With thick metal letters, the title of the journal struck Tony’s mind, as it did every single day. ‘Do better’. Tony swallowed. The journal was placed on his bedside table, and he pulled himself towards his garage. He was in the mood for something sleek and black.

The roar of his engine made his heart twitch in excitement, in pleasure. A wonderful, thickening smile slathered on his face as he raced through the streets. He knew where the police stayed. He had been pulled over by them well enough by now. With a howl of laughter, his foot pressed harder on the pedal. Annoyed and panicked screams zipped past him as the ocean hair played with his once gelled hair. He could go faster, he could feel better. The adrenaline was a horrific pleasure for Tony, for it offered his heart a dangerous passion. Once his lips tasted it, he was never quite sated. So, he pressed faster, barely avoiding any cars. It was with the grace of God that the man arrived at his company alive and without murder charges. With a grateful nod, he gave his keys to an attendant and strode into the large, glass complex that was Stark Industries.

His office was grand. Almost four other offices could easily fit within his own. Collections of music and signed photographs of famous race cars were strung upon the walls. Decorative carpets lined the floor entirely, while a glass table that oversaw the ocean was positioned at the back. Tony threw his suitcase at his feet and sighed loudly as he looked at the notes and memos placed in front of the threw computers on his desk. Production updates. Developer notes. Budget projections. The next hour progressed quietly. Tony silently wrote on each note, licking his lip ever so often as he did math within his mind or whenever a difficult question, such as preferred country of manufacture, would come up. Such questions and concerns took him to his first meeting.

With a coffee in hand, the young man smiled as he strolled into the large, clear room full of bustling and loud old man. Many had worked with his father, some even his grandfather. There were more bolding men than anyone with reasonable hair. Bushy moustaches lined many noses, and the odd person under the age of fifty looked as if they were being brought to work by their much older father. As soon as Tony sat, there was silence. The man closest to his left, Reginald, spoke first.

“Morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Reginald, Arthur, Luther, Cindy, Johns, Mathew.”

Reginald glowered somewhat. His mouth opened and closed several times, and Tony didn’t need to guess why.

“Vietnam’s little bonfire a few days ago?” He quipped, shrugged slightly.

“Disgraceful.” Cindy hissed, her pruned nose rising, “Utter animals. I heard that there are other companies hit, ones not in the papers yet.”

Grumbling was heard.

“It’s a terrorist unit.” Luther stated, “Like usual, anything American will go first. We’re just lucky the damn buildings weren’t being used.”

“Maybe if they were, they wouldn’t have been in a position to be attacked.” Reginald growled.

Tony smiled to himself. With an almost jarring set of movements, he forced his still smiling head to look at Reginald. The urge to stab him was so severe that Tony was thankful that he wasn’t holding a pen.

“Yet again, you seem…displeased by the change in supplies we create.” Tony extended his hands diplomatically, “We’re improving our profit margins.”

“Which are still less than half of what we were making a decade ago.” Reginald countered.

Out of all of the senior members of Stark Industries, Reginald had been the most vocal about the change away from weapon manufacturing. The fact that the man bought half a dozen small mansions from the Vietnam War alone was a testament to his strong investment in the arms trade. It was also why he and Tony’s father had gotten on like loving siblings since they had first met.

“We’re stable.” Tony’s pleasant façade was maintained, “We’re making steady profits in the electronics industry and in the computing industries. These will only grow with our new prototypes. Nothing in any competing sectors can come close to what we’re offering. That is fact. We just need to wait it out a little more. The money will come.”

“Not billions, though.” Reginald continued, “Not the steady growth that we once had under your father. Never once did he downsize a project. We’re to the bone now. Your father-”

“Never saw a corpse of a girl or boy killed with a Stark Industries bullet.” Tony’s voice silenced the room, “I have. I can get you the pictures and film reels. We can have a swell old time tonight, Regi.” Tony’s malice threatened to crack through his patience, “It’s all well and good for us all to sit in armchairs and complain. None of you went to Nam, did you? I did. We can be better.” Tony’s voice shifted into a softness rarely heard in the boardroom, “Regi, we can be better. We can make our money…We can…” There was an exhale, “We can make our money without it being exchanged in blood. We can do that much. We have done that much.”

Reginald bristled but did not counter. He was well aware that he was not as adept at playing with morals as he was with finances. He didn’t need to look like a villain in front of the others, even if most of them agreed with his points. He watched as Tony, his face now red, reached into his suitcase. A thick folder was thrown in front of him.

“What is that?” Luther asked carefully.

Tony rubbed his eyes as he tugged the folder closer. He opened it.

“A proposal to Stark Industries to use Arc Reactor technology to power Eldon’s factories in Europe. They’re offering two hundred million for the entirety of the renovations.”

The last part was aimed directly at Reginald. The man almost licked his lips. It had been a long time since such a contract was offered, and the first for one relating to their energy initiatives. An excited chuckle escaped several mouths and Tony cleared his throat as he looked at the first page.

“If there aren’t any pressing issues, shall we begin?”

One meeting stretched into another, which bled into another. Almost like an athlete, the businessman ran throughout many of the complexes within his company, whether it be to inspect a new computer model or to discuss sourcing the individual parts within the mock production factory that they used for tests. With little time for lunch, Tony resigned himself to eating a small meal whilst squatting near the storage warehouse. As the evening draw on, as did Tony’s dry lips. His eyes dancing over the clock as it neared five. He needed to leave. Growing ever more structured, the unpleasantness of a late meeting made Tony frown and exhale loudly. The woman in front of him, Jess from advertising, didn’t seem to notice or care. As she dramatically gestured to the poster of a computer beside her, Tony gritted his teeth. It was almost five. Almost. No, it was five. He needed to leave. He always had to leave at five. His routine couldn’t handle it otherwise.

“Ah, yes. Yeah, ah…Go with the blue one.” Tony smiled sweetly as he rose and lifted his already packed suitcase, “Thank you so much for your hard work. You’re really nailing this upcoming launch.”

She had only gotten through two out of the five possible options for marketing packages. Jess could not air this, for Tony was already out of the door within seconds. His driving did not improve. With a desperate speed, he veered around car after car. His eyes often lingered on his watch. Time was marching on without him. He became faster, not caring for the police. He had his routine. He needed to fulfil it. He didn’t trust himself not to.

The city soon sunk behind Tony’s rear view mirror, the darkness encasing him. His rather luxurious car looked out of place as he parked it behind an old, local school. Tony rose, collected his suitcase, straightened his suit, and locked the car behind him. His steps were fast, almost manic. He was late. He didn’t like being late. It was not that he loved or eagerly enjoyed the upcoming occasion. Part of him loathed it. It was just that he didn’t trust himself not to be there, not follow his routine. He needed to fulfil it.

He pushed through the unlocked side door, into the darkened hallway he went. His mouth was dry and he swallowed. A grimace came after. The door was already open. Tony could hear faint noises, chatter followed by silence, and then more chatter. Tony licked his lips. With suddenly heavy feet, Tony entered the small classroom. Two dozen chairs were placed in a circle within the centre, most full. As Tony crept in, several interested eyes glanced at him before hastily looking back at the woman currently speaking. Tony only half listened as he filled a foam cup with cheap coffee placed by the wall. Carla always had the same, torturous updates about dragging her nails away from the bottle. Entirely unpleasant and possibly loathsome for any to hear. Thankfully, as Tony took one of the free, her update finished.

A small, skinny young man in an often-worn button-up shirt smiled at her warmly. He had cropped hair, soft yet tired features, and sat in a somewhat rigid manner.

“Thank you, Carla.” Dave smiled warmly, “It’s always very…direct to feel your honesty, like you show us. I think we all appreciate an unfiltered view on what some of here are probably facing too.”

Tony silently sipped at his coffee, idly hoping that Dave would be distracted by whatever he had missed to have enough time to focus on Tony. Unfortunately, the younger man turned in Tony’s direction, a welcoming smile on his face.

“Before I move on too fast, good evening, Anthony. I hope you’ve been well?”

Tony was tempted to offer a sarcastic snap. He didn’t. Instead, he offered a somewhat meek nod.

“Yeah, alright.” He answered, “Just…work.”

“Still enjoyable?” Dave asked.

The subtle question was masked. He was truly asking if Tony was functional at work. At least it was a different question from those that he was asked last night. Tony nodded sombrely again and he sipped his coffee for a moment.

“Yeah, no issues. I’ve been…” Tony paused, “I’m Anthony, I work in the technology and energy industries."

"Hello Anthony.” Nearly two dozen voices chorus and Tony still almost flinched, despite hearing it hundreds of times.

“I’ve been sober two-hundred and forty-seven days now. No alcohol, no drugs. Not even weed.” He snorted, and several others chuckled.

Many others offered soft claps while others eyed him with mild envy at his success over the past year. Tony licked his lips.

“Well, Anthony, why don’t you tell us about your day?” Dave suggested, much to Tony’s misery.

The rest of the meeting went by swiftly, almost too swiftly. It was a very strange feeling for Tony. It was easy to loathe and despise the meetings, to spit at the gravity dragging him closer. Yet, once the fall down the mudslide began, it was so easy to enjoy the experience and even cling to it. It was fast, distracting, and over all too soon. As the group murmured their thanks and rose towards the coffee pots, a pang of sorrow struck Tony. He aided several other members in stacking the chairs back behind the school tables. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Dave spoke to several others. Tony stacked more chairs. He eyed Dave once more. He was free. With an attempt to appear casual, the inventor strolled over to the organiser of the meeting. Dave met him with his usual pleasant smile.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming.” He chuckled.

“Traffic.”

There was a huskiness to Tony’s voice that sounded like gravel. Dave eyed him, sipping at his coffee gently.

“Everything okay? You’ve seemed off the last few days.”

The pair found themselves outside, lingering by a water fountain as Tony leaned over it. His breathing was deep and fierce, and his knuckles turned white as he clutched the metal bowl tightly.

“It just feels empty. All the damn time. It just…I feel heavy.” Tony hissed, still staring at the fountain below, “Whenever it’s silent, quiet, and I just hear myself…That’s when I feel it. The heaviness. It gets…so hard to not…I passed a bar a week back. I can’t tell you how hard to it was to rip myself away.”

“But you did.” Dave added evenly.

Tony snapped around to stare at him with darkened eyes.

“Barely. I could smell the beer. Even just thinking about it…”

“When you feel that void, that heaviness, what do you do?”

Tony sighed, feeling a mixture of shame and stupidity. He straightened himself, turning to Dave directly.

“Stupid crap. Anything to make me feel…alive. I can’t tell you how many speeding tickets I’ve gotten this year alone. I already told you about the amateur boxing tournament I joined last month…”

To Tony’s surprise, Dave laughed gently.

“Yeah, we were curious about the nose. You were addicted to drinking and to drugs. It gave you a…reason to get up and cope with life. That’s something that takes years to flush out of your body and your head. Do you think your life, even without alcohol, is better than last year?”

Tony gave it severe thought. It was easy to say no or yes automatically, but the truth wasn’t quite that simple. He was aiding in stopping weapon trafficking or other horrors. He had stopped selling weapons and actually started attending charity events, cheque book in hand as well. He was less snappy, less prone to foolish impulses. Yet, if he were to say if his life were happier, fuller, he did not know. Sometimes, he even felt worse as he woke up.

“I think,” Tony began, his tone quiet, “it’s a healthier life. I don’t know if it’s one I enjoy more.” He admitted.

Dave nodded knowingly. He thought to himself for a moment and then smiled comfortingly.

“Tony Stark was on the news every weekend for the shit he used to do. Every weekend he did something wild and terrifying and hurtful, either to himself or others. I think that void you’re feeling is an absence of the intense pleasure that you once felt when drinking. You leaned on it daily for years. You need to find something else worthwhile to get up in the morning for.”

“I’m trying.” Tony’s voice was almost desperate, “Extreme sports, charities, even…Even things I can’t legally tell people. I’m doing so much. Nothing is fitting, not like the drugs did.”

Dave’s optimistic expression faded just a tad. His smile didn’t face, however. As he spoke once more, his hand was in his back pocket, fishing around for a contact card.

“Here’s my phone number and my office number. If you feel the void again, let me know before you do something stupid. That being said,” Dave titled his head, “we’ll find something. Maybe not a hobby, but a calling. Something you actually thrive on and live for.”

Tony stared at the card with some guilt. He shouldn’t need to be babied like this. Still, as the card was pressed into his hand, he took it. Cynicism and self-loathing hastily ensnared him, his mind mocking his lack of worth for not finding a reasonable source of happiness in life. Not even saving the world appeared to do the trick. What type of selfish man was depressed as he did such a selfless thing?

“Hey.” Dave patted a forlorn Tony on the shoulder, “You’re not alone, never when you’re apart of this community. We’ll get you that motivation, just you wait.”

Tony managed a jarred smile. He did not share Dave’s view on his life. He could not bring himself to.

***

“I think if we…use the resin within increments of three millimetres, that should give the hexagons enough flexibility to generate force for lift off.” Janet called out.

She was sitting a steel workbench, notes and schematics flown in front of her. To her left was a crinkled mass of black and yellow leather with a familiar helmet resting on top. Behind her, Hank sat at a second workbench, his eyes glued to numerous chemical formulae. He, too, had his suit next to him, although his was evenly spread out and the domed helmet placed directly in front of him. To his right were a dozen small vials of a bright red liquid, a liquid that had been researching and developing since college.

It was only with the aid of his wife and Dr. Stephen Strange had he perfected the Pym Particle, the source of their ability to alter mass and density with such effect and safety. Such a breakthrough had many false, disastrous steps, ones that Hank would bear within his mind until the day he died. As he pondered on them, his eyes naturally drew to the back of Janet’s head. Even as the earlier versions of the particle brought out the worst of his paranoia and pain, she stuck with him, even going so far as to fix it. A foul taste spread on his tongue. She shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t deserve her to, especially after snapping one evening and shouting at her so cruelly. Even without taking the fact that he was placed in a cell as a result, it was impossible to forget that night. It was the night that she looked miserable and hurt to be near him.

“Hexagons?” Hank blinked, returning to the present, “Why…What are you…You were telling me about you feeling nauseous after dinner lately?”

“Sorry.” Janet turned, her cheeks flushed, “Forgot to contextualise. The wings. They need to be flexible so that they can fold to generate the force to push me up and keep me up.”

“The wing…Oh Lord, Janet…” Hank closed his eyes.

“What? It’s a good idea!”

“Just…Just have Tony put rockets on your feet or something.”

“That would mean an Arc Reactor. Plus metal supports for the thrust. Plus supports for the force if I go too fast too quickly. No, no.” Janet shook her head, “Tony’s little…armour set is too clunky.”

“Tell him that.” Hank snickered to himself.

“And I want mine to be…stealthy.”  

“We’ve been stealthy enough without flight.” Hank noted, pointing at the wall without looking.

Within the small, hidden lab by their home, several of their hidden activities were coordinated. Namely, the maintenance and development of their suits, as well as locating and hunting down those that would harm others. It was a tight workplace, one that looked more like a garage than anything else. Upon one of the walls were seven photos, each with a ticket across them. Every single one of them had been arrested due to their intervention. A hefty score, one that both were proud of.

“Always seek improvements.” Janet sighed in exasperation.

“Yeah?” Chuckled Hank, “I’ll do the housework for a year if you get the wings to work without using magic.”

“You’re talking to the woman that solved the Pym Particle problem.”

Hank mockingly sneered at her before looking back down at his notes, a gentle smile returning as the pair silently went about their work. Notes were made, sketches drawn, and peanuts munched on. The hours of the evening drifted on peacefully until a horrid vibration rung through the room. Janet squinted in irritation as she turned to face her husband. Hank hastily lifted his notes, doing his best to find the source. It was a dark pager marked with tape in several places. Hank’s jaw tightened as Janet’s eyes widened. They rose, Janet too sharply. She hissed and clutched at her side.

“I’m fine,” She shooed Hank away, “Got a working suit?”

“We’re not tearing anymore stitches.” He growled.

He was already tugging on the Ant-Man suit. Swiping several of the vials, he followed an annoyed Janet into their car, Hank soon shrinking and hiding. The drive took far longer than desired, but the storage centre was designed to be away from prying eyes. Within an old industrial centre, one of the buildings was a storage facility hired by Pym Technologies to toss all their failed or retired projects. Many were simply old computer chips or parts that they didn’t want to destroy in the event that they needed them on. Their research team were hoarders in that sense. Yet, as the Pyms drove into the empty parking lot, they didn’t feel like hoarders. They felt anxiety, no, dread. A pure dread that made them want to run in any known direction.

Janet reached down as she parked the car, Hank clutching to her hand. The tiny man felt the vibrations of mere steps as his wife almost ran into the dusty, practically empty building lined with dozens of shelves and thousands of marked crates. It was dark, silent. Janet nervously flicked the heavy switch to restore light with flickering lamps. It was empty, silent.

“Hello?” She called, her voice trembling.

She did not like the feeling of such an environment. Someone could be lurking in hundreds of tight and secluded places. Remembering her superpowered husband was literally within her hand, she swiftly walked towards a row of crates towards the left. It was an ordinary, completely inconspicuous, but that was the point. It was an average building in an average part of the country. Clearly, the tactic did not work. Hank’s breathing misted his lenses as he passed giant crate after giant crate.

“Anyone here?” Janet tried again.

Silence. The small woman reached their target. A small box labelled ‘Dyes’. She lifted the cardboard, revealing a very thick, solid safe that could withstand bullets. A gift from Tony. Beeping, ever so soft, echoed into their ears. The tiny door at the front was ajar, the rim flashing red. The metal looked melted, warped, curled. Something had been poured on it, dissolving and weakening it to the point where it had been clearly ripped away, triggering the signal.

Janet’s air left her lungs, making her stagger back. Something hit her back. It was Hank, full grown once more. He ripped at his helmet, forcing it off to look at the safe with his own eyes. It was empty. Someone had stolen it. The vial. The one, last vial of the first Pym Particle. A formula that could shrink a person, but with horrid mental effects. A formula that ruined a man’s ability to think straight, to control his emotions. A formula that very much brought out the worst paranoia and anger within a man, an anger that Hank felt towards his own wife and himself. A formula that Hank didn’t trust to go near, to feel the addiction once more, so he had Janet lock it away for safe keeping. Clearly, they both failed.

Someone had stolen the faulty Pym Particle, and Hank collapsed, hyperventilating on the ground.

***

Soft music played through the cassette player, Tony gently murmuring along with the tune. The man sat on the floor of his basement, surrounded by tools, parts and sheets of paper. His skin was stained with oil, lubricant and other substances, whilst his hands cracked with the hours spent ripping metal apart and forcing it into new shapes and combinations. It was a useful distraction. Forcing himself to consider new designs, new technologies to implement, it all gave him something to focus on with a severe hunger.

A skeleton of a suit was spread before him, all joints and bearings. The reaction times needed to be better, faster, especially within the cold. He didn’t need a frozen wasteland to be the place that his armour failed him and allowed him to die. It was just a matter of finding what exactly the issue was within the previous model. The hours into the night disappeared around him, but Tony did not mind. It was something to do until he could pass out peacefully. It was something to fill his mind with.

As the darkness of the night crept past the windows, the sound of a door opening clapped over the music. With mild curiosity, Tony looked up to see a pyjama laden Jarvis walking towards him. Something was in his hand. Tony paused the music and looked up curiously.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked softly, “Wait…What time is it?”

“Still evening, sir.” A dreary Jarvis replied, “I needed the restroom when I noticed something…something by the door.”

There was something in Jarvis’ voice that made him shift slightly.

“In or by?”

“By the window.” Jarvis whispered, “To be seen.”

“Check the cameras. We’ll see who liked midnight deliveries.” Tony sighed, “What was it?”

A video tape. Tony blinked. Taking it from Jarvis’ hand, he carefully pulled away the plastic case and examined it. No bombs, no powder or suspicious gases being released, nothing. Without saying a word, Tony disappeared. A moment later, Jarvis saw him moving a bulky television up the stairs, much to Jarvis’ bewilderment. Several cables and a tape player came next. All were played at the far end of the property, by a large stone wall used to keep the cameras away. Connecting several cords together, Tony placed the materials together. He slotted the tape in the machine. There was a made run a moment later. Nearly two dozen metres away, he stood next to Jarvis. The remote was in his hand.

“I doubt this is safe enough, sir.” A tired Jarvis groaned.

“No bomb is tiny enough to fit in a tape that can reach here. We’ll be fine. I think.” He added in a whisper.

He pressed play, and both men flinched. Nothing. The television hissed with static for a moment as it reads the tape, only for winding images to spin and straighten. It was a fire. A horrific fire that was being filmed as it tore through entire walls and licked at the concrete floor. The quality and the distance from the screen made it hard to see details, but it was clear that it was a factory on fire. Jarvis recognised it first, then Tony. It was the Stark Industries factory in Vietnam. Unlike the images that the news offered, this was an up close and personal shot of it all turning into madness. Ancient crates and bags were ripped open by screaming men and women. Tony blinked. It was a different scene. The footage of the people was not of the factory burning, but something else. Many looked starved, weak. Almost all were bloody and wounded. Some missed limbs, others had clearly been shot and disease had clung to them shortly after. The bags were filled with food. The camera changed again.

A woman was sobbing on the ground as a soldier stood above her. With broken Vietnamese, he screamed in her face, thrusting a finger violently at the bag of food. It had been stolen. Or, perhaps, they were threatening to take it from her. Suddenly, he pressed a gun to her forehead and a dozen terrified screams came from behind the camera. Tony’s blood felt cold, but he couldn’t stop watching. The gun pressed to the woman’s face was engraved. Stark Industries. Moments later, the footage changed. Line after line of gun and grenade was shown. They were being stacked in wet tents by the hundred, all with the same logo. Stark Industries. The footage changed. Bodies. Jarvis gagged violently and Tony closed his eyes, hissing and sniffing roughly. He was too slow to miss the shot of a young man lying in a field with half his head missing. Tony waited, and opened his eyes again. A village full of corpses, a field full of death. Children, the elderly, entire families. Everyone dead.

The final segment looked far less grainy. It was more recent and clear to the eye. It was another factory. One still filled with crates of computers and components. Such parts had not existed a year ago. It was an American factory. Whoever was filming stepped backwards and tossed something to the ground. A trail of fire roared into the air as it ran up the wall, splitting and spreading into new shapes. Tony’s heart pounded as the camera stepped back, revealing the words burning into the factory wall.

‘A family of murderers’.

The final shot made Tony pause the footage and run to the television. He rewound it and played the last five seconds again and again. Jarvis walked towards it, his eyes stuck on the screen, his jaw open. The camera panned down, revealing a gloved hand. One holding a small, perfectly circular device that glow a beautiful blue. Tony didn’t need to guess what it was. No, it made him sick and almost vomit with a cold terror that none but he could truly understand. It could be a fake, but something in Tony’s gut told him otherwise. It was real, it was genuine. Someone had stolen his gift of fire. Someone had managed to build a functioning Arc Reactor and was burning anything relating to the Stark’s that they could reach.

Jarvis watched and screamed loudly as Tony collapsed, heaving and gasping for air.

***

An excited whistle filled the large, concrete research centre in the early hours of the morning. Light had still yet to rise, and the dimly lit environment would be haunting to most. For the lanky, gauntly shaped man strolling and almost skipping down it, it was nothing more than a boring lab for lame nerds. Nerds that paid well, however. Due to that reason, there was a spring to his step and a curve to his unsettlingly wild smile.

He was a young man, in his mid to late twenties. His ginger hair was wild, messy, and tossed in many directions. His skin was spotty and scared, with hollowed cheeks and the impression that he could use a warm meal in the belly. His light eyes were betrayed by the sharpness they held. There was no softness or gentle nature within them, only a clear determination and ferocity. As he skipped, he even murmured a tune and dramatically slide his hands down his black and red leather jacket, chuckling to himself as he passed several abandoned and rotting cots. The place really could use a renovation, in his opinion. Still, the insects and the dampness were not enough to stop the man from mimicking another dance move from one of the movies that he had snuck into as a child.

“Your mood better mean something, O’Grady.”

The chastising voice made him roll his eyes. He turned on his heel. A lean man with a very square head and dirty blonde hair was leaning over a table, a small microwave meal in front of him. Next to his meal was a large, thick metal collar, one that could snap around a small whale or a dolphin. O’Grady clicked his tongue.

“Always so serious, lil Sterns.” The Irish man chuckled, “Come on, mate. Lighten up a lil.”

Philip clenched his jaw. He made no secret for his distain for the man in front of him. O’Grady didn’t care. The science freakshow could mock and look down upon him all that he wanted. He wasn’t a mistake of nature, unlike Philip.

“Eric.” A softer voice filled the room.

O’Grady’s back tightened. Paranoia and anxiety flooded him as he turned. A tall, very skinny man with light green skin and a bulbous head floated into the room. O’Grady started imagining the strangest of thoughts that he could. While he didn’t know if Philip was lying about the telepathy, O’Grady didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t trust ‘the Leader’, nor would he ever be dumb enough to. There was just something about the moustached man that freaked O’Grady out. It wasn’t the mutated, bowl-shaped head. It wasn’t his green skin or the floating. It was his voice. An ever smooth, liquid voice that seemed to sink into O’Grady’s head and unsettle him greatly. Then there was the smile. The wide, gentle smile that he would give at the most random of moments.

“Mate.” The thief nodded, “Just havin’ a chat with ya wee brother here. Not in a talking mood. Weren’t…Isn’t there meant to be some green babe here with us?” He looked back to Philip and grinned, “You…You didn’t fook it up, did ye?”

Philip reached for his collar, only for it to slide out of his reach. His older brother tilted his head in warning, much to the childish amusement of O’Grady. The ginger laughed like a hyena, high and whistly.

“You really are in a good mood, my young friend.” The Leader noted, Philip smirking, “May I see it?”

O’Grady chewed his tongue. Without complaint, he reached into his pocket. A thick, dark red vial was held between his fingers. The Leader grinned, clapping his hands together as O’Grady looked as if he had conquered the world.

“Told you I can get into anything.”

“That you did, that you did.” The Leader chuckled, “Well done. Very well done!” He beamed, clapping O’Grady on the shoulder.

Even the younger man, usually uncomfortable near the green creation, managed a similar smile. He offered it to the Leader, who gently placed it within a compartment on his belt.

“You can make more of it, right?”

There was a tone of nervousness in O’Grady’s voice. Despite his rough and weathered appearance, his youth started to show. The Leader pulled the vial back out, holding it into the light.

“I think so.” A smile formed, and he looked back to O’Grady, “After all, we promised you this. I don’t break my promises. Besides,” His tone became light and turned to face O’Grady completely, “We have more work to complete before we all get what we want. And I think you deserve a few toys for you to play with.”

***

A/N: Hi all!

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, and I’m very sorry for the delay. Work is…fun. I hope you like this depiction of a sobering Tony and a content Pym marriage. Plus, who doesn’t love Eric O’Grady, arguably one of the creepiest people to ever wander onto a Marvel page…

Next chapter will show what a certain war veteran has gotten up to during the past year of his life, as well as a certain Nordic has been doing live a ‘human’ life. Much like this chapter’s theme of a work/home life balance, next chapter will also follow a specific thread for both characters.

If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. It’s always fantastic to see, and to interact with you guys and gals. Otherwise, everyone have a very Merry Christmas.

Fact of the chapter: A comet’s ‘tail’ will always face away from a sun because of the sun’s solar winds, which knock the comet’s ionised gases away from it.

Chapter Text

There was a strange smell to the air the deeper that a person travelled through the cold, sterile underground facility. The oxygen felt rougher in the throat, courser. As one stepped through thick, bomb era vaulted doors and rooms that looked a mix of a laboratory and a storage room, it was not clear why anyone would want to work in such a place. There were no windows, no colour to the rusted and corroded metal and cement rooms, and even the furniture was too simple and unattractive to be seen as anything other than uncomfortable. Yet, many had operated within the research centre. Originally labelled as a fancy office complex for elite snobs during the thirties and constructed into a shallow hill, it was clear that such a pitch was a lie.

Steve Rogers did not remember offices being made so thick, evening during the height of the Second World War. Never had he seen anything so alien looking, so dull and damp. Even knowing that the site had not been taken care of for decades, Steve questioned what the research centre looked like during the peak of its operation. Money had clearly been spent on the fifteen-level complex, for H.Y.D.R.A. had soon taken control of it and all operations within. H.Y.D.R.A., an elusive organisation from the Second World War with strands still surviving to this day, was known for its questionable funding. That, and the atrocities caused during their decade long attempt at controlling the outcome of several wars. They were quiet in their works, and very persistent. Even with Steve having previously crippled the organisation before being left frozen, they had continued to linger in small remnants.

Such a remnant was said to operate within their old purchase. For what purpose, S.H.I.E.L.D. did not know. Or at least, they were not telling the war veteran. Spy organisations had a way with not stating their business, even to their own operatives.

The super soldier was silent as he stepped through vaulted room after vaulted room in the shadows. His attire, thickened leather with dark navy and blood red in design, did not groan or crease as he moved. He appreciated that. His face was mostly hidden by his helmet, a keepsake from another life that he refused to put down. That, along with the perfectly circular red and white shield that he now held. Such a shield was infamous in Western history, yet now it was only known to enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D., for Steve Rogers was still missing and assumed dead. No one, outside of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D., knew that blood still pumped in his veins, that the shield was still primed for their protection. No one. In almost all ways, Steve was still dead.

The blonde man tried his best not to focus on that miserable thought. Emotions were not welcome in times of strife. He was on a mission. He had to focus. He pressed on, trying to hear for any disturbances. It was somewhat difficult, given the earpiece in his left ear. Several members of S.T.R.I.K.E., the assault and infiltration arm of S.H.I.E.L.D., murmured their locations as they also scouted a level each. Steve did not mind them, but he would hardly call them friends. They were blank, mute, and often lacked any warmth in their souls. It made Steve wonder just what they had experienced when working for the organisation.

Steve moved on. There were no signs of life. No signs at all that anyone had been within the base in decades. Yet, he repeated his location softly, and continued down the broken and sharp staircase to travel below. As he entered an auditorium, the faintness of a light drew his attention. Steve’s shield rose, and his hand prepared to reach for his gun. Step by step, he neared the gloom of a small, portable light that was flickering. It was resting near a small table and some rotten lounges, where a mass was residing. Steve edged closer, his tool covering his chest and the bottom of his head. He needed not to worry. The body was dead. The woman was slouched over a glass book table, fresh blood pooling around her head and black hair. Steve silently held the light. Moving it over her unfinished book, he saw a long arrow piercing her heart with perfect aim. An arrow with purple fins.

“He’s already here. A woman’s dead on level thirteen.” Steve hastily stated into his ear.

There was calm, yet eager, chatter in response. Steve ignored it as he hastily made his way through the auditorium. The nearby kitchen and, what Steve assumed was some form of chemical research lab, were massacres. Scientists and those in casual garb covered the floor, all with arrows piercing their bodies. At least two dozen were dead on the thirteen floor alone. Steve did his best to be quite but quick. A hard thing to do when holding such a power weapon on his arm. Still, he managed to be somewhat nimble as he made his way through the chaos. So many dead. It did not matter if they were H.Y.D.R.A., as they could have been arrested and taken in. Even without that, no one deserved to die so severely whilst reaching for a bagel.

Steve cleared the floor, and once more, he descended. The stairs groaned under his weight and Steve knew such a mistake would cost him. He raised his shield as he entered the fourteen level. Two more bodies rested on the ground, directly in front of a decayed tree. Yet, unlike the others, a person was next to them. A shorter man with cropped brunette eyed Steve blankly with grey orbs. His body was taut, and mighty arms held a recurve bow aimed directly at Steve’s shield. His attire was strange. A dark suit that covered almost all of him, yet purple lines crossed over his chest and his hips. It had been the first time that the two had met, even after half a dozen close calls. Even as a resurrected national hero stood before him, the archer did not look impressed or intimidated. Steve could respect that, if it were the recent murders.

“Seven months.” Steve said calmly, “Nice to finally meet you.”

The man said nothing. Instead, he merely flexed the muscles in his arm. The bow groaned in response.

“I know you have an issue with these guys. We wouldn’t keep meeting like this, otherwise. If you want to stop H.Y.D.R.A.’s little thugs from reforming, you can do it in a better way. You can help S.H.I.E.-”

“Like they help themselves?”

It was a softer, far younger, and clearly feminine voice. As she spoke, something sharp pressed into Steve’s back and then left. A warning. Steve felt as a fool. Of course, there had been more than one archer. It explained the severity of what they could accomplish in such little time. Steve cautiously lowered his shield. The attempt at easing the tension did not do much. The arrows were still aimed at his chest and to his back.

“These are not good people.” Steve said slowly, “But they deserved a trial. They didn’t need to be so-”

“A trial?” The girl scoffed, “A trial? That’s a funny term for recruitment. You commit tests on humans, and now you get a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. afterwards. That’s not really a trial.”

Steve hid his reactions well. She was baiting him. They were sent to investigate. If anyone was even found, they were to be extracted and then questioned, before being publicly turned over. That was the brief. S.H.I.E.L.D. made no mention of anything other than such. A sudden cynical voice whispered within Steve’s mind. It was not above Fury or those superior to him to slightly tweak details when needed.

“Let me guess,” The girl continued, “You have to bring them in alive at all costs. Hmm. I wonder why that is?”

“We don’t recruit terrorists.”

“You are the most naïve S.H.I.E.L.D. agent we’ve bumped into. Some of the smartest people in the world used to work here, all planning games with bodies and kids. You seriously think S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t want freaks like that on their side, not against them? Dingus.”

Such a question irked Steve, but something else made him tilt his head. He couldn’t resist it.

“Kid, how are old are you?” He questioned.

It suddenly dawned on him just how soft and young her voice sounded. Movement draw Steve’s eyes away from the girl behind him. The male archer was moving his fingers in well structured, unique movements. Not once did it look like the arrow was going to slip from his grasp, however. There was movement behind Steve. Once more, the male made more gestures. This time, his mouth roughly moved to poorly mimic spoken words. The archer was displeased about something.

“He can’t hear us, can he?” Steve asked gently.

There was an irritated grunt. It was not a well-received question.

“Shut up!” The girl hissed defensively, “He can still kill you like the rest.”

The male archer’s face suddenly grew irritated. He was not enjoying the look upon the young girl’s face. He aggressively signed a message, earned a grunt from the girl.

“Apparently, you’re meant to be…someone famous. A…soldier?”

“You…really don’t know me?”

Steve was not offended. In fact, he had some to enjoy the rare opportunity that he was a stranger to a person. He was not Captain America, not a war hero, not a soldier. He was…Steve. The girl chuckled at whatever the male was signing.

"I didn’t attend a lot of my history classes.”

“Clearly archery class, though.”

Steve only needed a little bit more time. The members of S.T.R.I.K.E. were murmuring in his ear as they ran down as many flights of stairs as it took. Unfortunately, it seemed that the pair of archers were aware of this. The male suddenly signed something yet again. The girl sighed.

“If…you are who he thinks you are, you should be better than this.” The male signed some more, “And...why the hell are being a government pet when…people are still hurting in the dark. As a kid… I…wanted to be you…not meet you in dark places…with bad people…you want to give jobs to.”

The look that he was giving Steve was contemptuous and even that of betrayal. He lowered his bow, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cylinder. Before Steve could stop him, a button was pressed. The walls groaned as the floors themselves shook. Dust and concrete dropped from the ceiling. The voices in his ear were now shouting.

“Be better. We don’t regret what we did today. Not to these kinds of people.” The archer finished, the girl narrating it.

The walls shook again. Movement occurred in the corner of his eye. The girl was short, very short. Her dark hair was in a bun, and she too was wearing a dark suit with purple lines. Her bow was longer, and not many arrows remained in her quiver. She was young. Very young. Mid-teens, perhaps. The male flexed his bow as Steve moved towards her, drawing him to a stop. The girl ran towards the darkness, stopped, aimed at Steve, and then allowed the other archer to run behind her. The pair repeated this, and soon disappeared. Steve was alone, surrounded by the corpses of those he was meant to extract. The bodies of scientists that were meant to be tried, at least he hoped so. The pair had been murderers. Listening to twisted logic was not something Steve wanted to make a habit of. Yet, something had cut into his mind. There was enough of a distrust of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s honesty for the man to think it possible.

Now was not a time for pondering politics, however. He did his best to run up the stairs, but many had been broken. Smoke. He could smell and see thick smoke coming from several levels and their doors. The fires were severe. The labs were burning. The archers had clearly intended to make sure that no trace of what the scientists were trying to conduct survived. Perhaps, they were in on it. Perhaps, they wanted to hide their own associations with what had been going on. Or, just maybe, the research undertaken within the compound was so heinous that it didn’t deserve to see the light of day.

Steve held his breath as long as he could. As the toxic air swelled around him, he barked orders into his earpiece. Only a few voices responded, many in signs of distress. The walls were cracked, and rubble was already dropping from the ceiling. Amongst the caches of burning lab equipment and stale plants, poor movement was seen. Steve did not hesitate to run towards it. Holding his shield to his back, the large man pulled an agent to his feet, and then over his shoulder. The man was barely breathing. The same could be said of the woman with darkened, soot-kissed skin that was lying a few metres away. With the pair on a shoulder each, Steve ran to the nearest agents still conscious and piled each unconscious person into their arms. Steve was gone again, back into the smoke and fire.

***

It was somewhat peculiar whenever Donald Blake would attend his volunteer shift at St. Josephine’s Medical Centre. The local centre had many volunteers, so his presence alone wasn’t unusual. There was not enough funding for many of the services needed to keep the clinic running without a helping hand or two. Many of the volunteers were elderly people that worked the front desks or helped clean. Those that were younger were often medical students, hoping to gain some exposure and experience within a real hospital, even if it was just watching the already qualified doctors conduct their work. But these volunteers were young, skinny, and often mouse-ish.

Donald Blade was seven foot, and nothing other than muscle would describe the middle-aged man. His long, greying blonde hair was tied back, fully showing a scared and withered face, along with a greying and very thick beard. His stormy blue eyes, however, had much life to them. The giant of a man could have easily been mistaken for security, were it not for the volunteer medical garb that he was wearing. A blue shirt and pants that needed to be extended just for him. Many of the delirious patients that he worked with often assumed that he was some figment of their imagination. The human bear that took notes as their doctor worked, and who helped move patients around from room to room.

It was even comical this day as Donald gently wheeled an elderly woman from an X-Ray test back towards her room. Mrs. Leery. She was shrivelled, nearing her nineties, and easily looked a quarter of Donald’s size. Yet, she was not intimidated, for she was a regular. She had come to know Donald quite well during her visits to St. Josephine’s.

“-nd that’s why I always save a little extra, so I can go on the scratchies.”

Donald chuckled deeply at her tale. It sounded like a motor powering up. He politely acknowledged several of the nurses as they were passed. Both smiled back at him.

“A wise tale, Mrs. Leery. Should I partake in…the scratchers, I shall hope to receive the same luck as Louis had.”

Mrs. Leery giggled, and then coughed.

“Do you have them in Norway?”

Donald hastily thought, opened and closed his mouth several times, and then smiled to himself.

“I believe so, but I cannot admit that I used them.”

He had learnt to use such answers often. They were regularly accepted as reasonable truths. Mrs. Leery nodded thoughtfully. Soon, they entered her shared room. Mrs. Sintaze was already asleep. The large man carefully wheeled her to her bed, lowered it with the press, and then carefully held onto her arm and back. With an excited wheeze from the old woman, Donald pulled her into her bed and began to slowly tuck her in.

“How are classes?” She continued.

Donald smiled widely behind his beard.

“They hold much challenge to them.” He leaned in, “I will conquer them, though.”

The old woman chuckled, but it was clear that she was already drifting off. Donald waited a few extra moments, and then withdrew a clipboard resting on her wheelchair to place it in front of her bed. The large man checked the time. While he enjoyed his time at the hospital, he was certainly ready for his break.

He sat within the small, nearby park as the sun began to set. The wooden seat, stained and flaked, groaned beneath his immense weight. A metal lunchbox was at his side, and a medical textbook was in his lap as he ripped into the large sandwich that he had prepared. It was entirely meats and spices. The park was quite and pleasant to read in. The book’s contents were less so. Images of hearts and how they reacted to certain drugs was not something commonly read whilst reading. Yet, Donald had seen far worse in his very long life. And it was a very long life, indeed.

Donald Blake. The man leaned back, reflecting on the name. It had been almost a year since the name had been given to him. It had originally been two separate names that he had heard when he first arrived to Midgard. It was a small joke of his to present such an identity to the human Nick Fury. The man needed to blend in with the locals if he were to stay, so it was only natural that he assume a human name. The rest was left to Fury. For all of his suspicious of the spymaster, Fury truly had kept his offer: a human identity for the Aesir god and Prince of Asgard, Thor. No questions asked and no attention given, so long as no attention was drawn.

Such a god had been to Midgard many times in his youth, challenging any foolish local to test him in combat and to slaughter any Jotun residing in the realm. He was brash, angry, and full of a desire to be the strongest of the gods at any cost. Such an arrogance and bloodlust had only caused pain and sorrow, so much so that his own kind viewed him with apprehension. Nearly causing the end of all worlds through neglecting your own brother was a swift way to remove any love from your subjects. And so, Thor was thrown from the golden realm for almost aiding the start of Ragnarok, given an impossible task to overcome a demon from Midgard, Varnae. He expected to die, and he welcomed such an outcome. He deserved it. Yet, he survived. Not only that, the demon was imprisoned deep within Midgard’s seas due to a band of strange yet capable warriors.   

In his time living amongst the humans, much enjoyment was found. There was no more brutal killing, no more chaos, no more disappointment given to those around him. He had gathered a practice amongst his chest: learning to become a paramedic. It was somewhat fitting, given the pain and slaughter he often took glee in during his youth. And with much relief, human physiology was not difficult to understand. Thor was the prince, after all. He had received the best education possible, as well as steep experience in seeing how healers worked across many realms and worlds. There was pride to be felt in studying how to aid lives, not take them. Whether the pleasure it gave was as much as battle and death, a horrid part of Thor still debated. It was a topic that the god refused to dwell on, for he was too afraid of the answer.

So, he continued reading as he ate. Eventually, the time drew near for him to return to his volunteer experience. The gigantic man returned to St. Josephine’s and silently returned his studying materials to the small pigeon hole that he was offered near reception. As he checked in, he noticed a commotion by one of the doors. It was geriatric ward. Without pausing, the large man silently strolled forwards, a deep crease in his head. It was never a door sign to see several doctors and nurses rushing through a single room whilst gathered elixirs and fluids. Another volunteer, Malcolm, was attentively listening to a nurse’s orders over blankets and clothing. Someone was haemorrhaging. Two doctors hastily confirmed their plan of action as they entered the room. A single name drew the god’s attention. It was Mrs. Leery.

***

Steve’s drive home was silent. He didn’t even bother to turn on the radio to distract himself from his glum views and thoughts. Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents didn’t make it out of the facility. Not even Captain America himself could get them out. Even amongst those that had passed through the rusted outer doors, many had been burnt and their skin soured. It was not the mission that Steve had been told it was. The archers were clearly intent on burning it all to the ground. The research was worth even killing agents, it seemed. Though, Steve didn’t believe that such a fact would weigh too highly on the archers’ minds. A teen. One of them was a teen. To bring such a young person into such a life…

Steve did his best to ignore what possible life that the girl had lived to be brought into such things. Peter was only slightly older, yet he had contended with foul forces for several years. Peter didn’t kill, however. That girl hard.

Steve was midday by the time that Steve had returned to his small street. It was quiet, on the edge of the city, and lacked much noise. He gave a gentle wave to the elderly man, Mr. Lubosa, who was watering his plants. He was a pleasant neighbour, one who always offered to share his advice on growing flowers, even when it wasn’t asked for. He got out from the car. As he did so, a shrill voice called forth.

“Home a bit early, aren’t we?”

It was Mrs. Barely, a homemaker whose eyes often danced on every coming and going of the street. She was young, plump, and very prone to gossip. Steve smiled, but always kept his distance from the blonde. He merely nodded.

“Made a good deal in the morning. Decided to treat myself.”

 Without another word, he pulled a large sack from his boot towards his door before letting himself in. It was a small house, one that Fury had precured for him. Single storied, with a single porch for Steve to sketch on during weekend afternoons. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a loungeroom, a kitchen, and a small yard. That was all that he needed. His shield was placed by his sofa as he immediately collapsed upon it. He had already showered before debriefing, so the desire to sleep was heavy upon him. It had been a long, minute by minute retelling of the dire situation. Steve was wise enough to hide any questions about the nature of the scientists, and just what S.H.I.E.L.D. to do with them after being detained. His paranoia had grown during the flight home.

He yawned loudly, idly wondering how many of his neighbours were already on the phone to Fury. They were all, after all, agents sent to keep tabs on him.

It hadn’t taken long for Steve to assume as such. Luther, the neighbour closest to the main road, was the first give away. He asked far too many probing questions about Steve’s mental wellbeing for a mere schoolteacher. Then there was the time that Mrs. Latchers was found taking a rather deep interest in Steve’s belongings during a baseball game barbeque that he had hosted. That was the last time that Steve encouraged any of them to come over.

Feeling like relief from the politics of the world around him, Steve reluctantly rose and kneeled near his television. To the left, there was a large stack of tapes, all with dates on them and many with ticks across the titles. Picking the next date without a tick, Steve pressed it into the machine and strolled towards the kitchen. Beer in hand, he slumped back into the seat and watched the black and white footage begin. It was baseball. A relaxed smile drew as he watched the nineteen-fifties game begin. It had taken months, but he had finally reached the fifties. Perhaps, in another year or so, he would catch up to the current series. He didn’t mind, however. He was happy to catch up and watch how the sport changed over the years.

He was able to watch half of the game before the anxiety struck him again. It was a lawnmower, this time. The sudden and sharp noise cut through his almost sleeping mind, making him shake. It was always something. They were always there. Always. Even in the night, he knew that the neighbours were watching him. Sometimes, he still felt like a prisoner in his own country. He shouldn’t feel so claustrophobic in the country that he almost died fighting for. Some privacy and space was due. The beer on his tongue suddenly tasted sour. The game felt unappealing and bland. Steve rose, turned it off, and breathed deeply. It wasn’t even the afternoon, yet he was still feeling as if a thousand eyes were on him. In his own home. It was in that moment that Steve felt a level of empathy towards what the archers’ had said. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was capable of doing this to their own agents, what were they willing to do for their enemies.

With such a thought, Steve cleaned up after himself and changed into some casual clothing. He needed a drive. He needed to clear his head and breathe. He…He needed a familiar face. With a mixture of guilt and excitement, Steve walked towards his front door and left the place that should have been his safe haven. He didn’t need to escape a fire to be thrusted into such a constricting environment. Even super soldiers needed to breathe and recover from hellish missions.

***

Thor’s return home was sombre and quiet. As usual, no one dared antagonise or annoy the goliath as he entered the bus. Several younger males eyed his build with clear envy as he sat near them. His eyes were aimless and blank as they stared towards the streets around him. As familiar sights passed him, he rose, signalled for a stop, and silently thanked the driver as he exited. It only took him a few minutes to walk home, and he appreciated the gentle breeze. It felt pleasant, and eased his mood just a little. Soon, he was at his small home.

His shallow eyes looked towards the gravel in front of the garage. There was no motorbike. Barbara was still at the shop, tending to one car or another. It only made Thor more glum to be alone. The house was modest. While Fury had offered some funding for the Aesir to find a home, it was not much. Foreign gods were not exactly common candidates for large amounts of home funding. Still, it had a bed to sleep in and kitchen to cook in. That was all that Thor could ask for.

As he turned on the lights, he placed his college textbook on the pile of other required readings for his course. Carelessly, he tore off his clothes and tossed them into a hamper as he entered the shower. Several minutes later, a bitter god walked to the kitchen, but not before putting on the television. He enjoyed the background noise, and there was a travel show on. Thor had grown to greatly enjoy seeing all there was to Midgard since his last visit in his youth. He pulled some meat, vegetables, and rice from the fridge and freezer, and was quick to turn on the stove. It was with lame hands that Thor cooked. Only when the door opened again, was there a jilt to his movement.

Barbara Norris was a tall human, sharp in her features and in the ways that her eyes scanned others. She was not any overly soft woman. Nearly her fifties, she was still very beautiful, but her frame was hardened and strong by many years of manual and physical activity. The left side of her hair was shaven, reminiscent of Scandinavian women that Thor had once known. It was one of the many things that first attracted him. She was also covered in grease, and clearly in a foul mood as she threw down in her gloves onto the table.

“Fucking clutches. Every fucking time…” She hissed as she removed her bike jacket, “Won’t go through what the hell caused this.” She gestured to her oily self.

Thor didn’t notice it, for his back was still to her. His face was unusually focused on preparing the stir-fry dish before him. He had seen it prepared before on the television, and been keen to master it ever since. That was not, however, the reason for the lack of eye contact. Barbara chewed her lip, eyeing the large man curiously. With a silent sigh of clear annoyance, she leaned next to him.

“And how was your day, lord of all thunder?”

Thor almost smiled. Almost. He felt gentle, very surprisingly strong, fingers pull his chin so that he would look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“A…patient that I have known for some time has passed today.” Thor’s tone was not depressed, but merely accepting, “Misdiagnosis. There was internal bleeding where there was thought to be none. Healers on this world are truly virtuous. There not seers.”

The last sentence grounded the atmosphere in the house considerably. Barbara released his jaw, and allowed him to resume cooking. With several kisses to his shoulder and neck, his partner disappeared into the shower for several minutes. It gave Thor some more time to deal with grief in his own way. He had slaughtered hundreds, if not thousands, before. He had grown used to death and battle. He had sought it and given it to many in his violent and cruel life. None had been those he was attached to, however. He had given himself enough wisdom to dampen his sympathies towards those that he crushed beneath his hammer. That was not healing, however. Warfare was one thing, watching a patient die was another. It was entirely new type of pain for the god to harden to.

As Barbara entered the kitchen once more, this time without grease saturating her sharp and pronounced features, she attempted to reorganise herself for the day ahead. It became clear that the shower had not eased her frustrations, either. She was patient and muted, but it was clear from her facial expressions that Thor was moving too slowly in the small kitchen. Her hand movements were manic and grasping as she glared at the back of Thor’s head whilst he blocked her way to the laundry. Eventually, they stood side to side as she tried to pull out something to put her lunch in. Their hands touched.

“Seriously? It’s my damn kitchen, you barely pay rent.” She hissed.

Thor silently turned to face her directly, his mood spiking. She didn’t back down. She was tall for a human woman. Her arms were not skinny, either, and she was very capable at using them. As soon as it came, the urge to snap at her faded. Foolishness swelled around him as he looked into her beautiful eyes. As he sighed, she too seemed to ease off. A large hand squeezed her on the kitchen cabinet.

“One of those days.” Barbara muttered as she watched her hand squeeze his back.

“Tis one of those, indeed.” Thor sadly nodded.

She kissed his shoulder again. The travel to his neck was in short, skittish kisses. Soon, her hands were stroking the sides of his face as he held her hips. They simply held one another, content to enjoy each other’s company and support after such a day. Then, she kissed him again. He returned it. Within moments, it was aggressive. They both desperately sought a reprieve of the exhaustion of the day. Thor’s pants were tactlessly tugged off as Barbara found herself on the bench. Thumbling movements followed. A mixture of a gasp and moan soon after that. Teeth sunk into Thor’s shoulder and hands roughly pulled at his hair. Barbara had never been a gentle lover. She adjusted to his size swiftly. His large hands gripped at her buttocks as he thrusted in long, strong movements. She was gasping and tightening around him. The mixture of the stress of the day and the size of the immortal in front of her unwound her easily. It was an uncoordinated series of jerks, but it was all Barbara needed.

Within only a few minutes, Thor felt her walls tighten around him. He lasted several more minutes, with Barbara content to hold him tightly as he continued him pumps. Eventually, she heard familiar guttural noises leave Thor. Mere moments later, warmth was spreading within. Thor gave her three more lazy thrusts before leaning into her shoulder. They were both panting mildly.

“At least…no harm…came to the furniture…this time.” Thor noted, smiling softly into her shoulder.

“Still…owe me money…for that.”

Thor slid back, making Barbara hiss. She gingerly hoped onto her feet and tugged on her pants. As she turned to go to the bathroom, she paused. A thoughtful look crossed her face.

“I’m happy to talk about it over dinner. If you want.” She added carefully.

A strained, weary look returned to Thor. He smiled in appreciation, though.

“You honour me with such words. It should be ready soon.”

***

The palliative care home was relatively fancy. It was not one of those homes that appeared occasionally in the news for abusing its residents. The nurses were kind, if not also exhausted, and took to each guest with much care. The gardens and large trees around the complex was often full of them, each monitoring an elderly man or woman that was enjoying some fresh air or tending to some flowers that they were allowed to care for. All of the guests were very old, with too many sadly not knowing where they were anymore. As Steve exited his car, his face dropped.

An elderly man was crying. A frustrated yet miserable young nurse was trying to explain why he couldn’t drive anymore, and that his wife was going to visit soon. Steve had seen that man before. His wife wasn’t going to visit. She had been died for three years. A second nurse, one older and more experienced, smiled soothing at the man as she did her best to calm him. Steve contemplated offering to help. He didn’t. Helping those that struggled to know themselves wasn’t in his skillset. As much as it hurt him, he’d probably cause more problems. With that in mind, he sighed, lowered his head and placed it within a baseball cap, and walked towards the building in the middle.

The reception area was only mildly busy. Most of the people around the rows of chairs in the waiting area were young families wanting to see their parents or grandparents. Steve kept his head lowered as he neared the reception desk. An elderly woman looked up with a rehearsed smile. As soon as she saw Steve, it flickered. Steve reached into his pocket, pulled out his driver’s license, and silently passed it to the woman. The woman looked at the fake documents, reached for her clipboard, and began writing down information. She didn’t even bother to ask who he was visiting. She already knew. He was one of the few people that S.H.I.E.L.D. allowed near her, and she knew why. Steve didn’t press for any answers to the questions that he had. It was a silent understanding between the two of them.    

“She’s in her room.”

Steve nodded as he took back the license. With some concern, he asked.

“How has she been?”

The receptionist shrugged a little, easing her guarded exterior a little.

“She’s had her ups and downs. If she asks about ‘Mole People’, say it’s a case that’s still being explored by senior branches. That often calms the dear down.”

“Thanks. Have a good one.”

“You, too.”

Steve spent the next few minutes walking to the dementia house mentally preparing himself. He always had to when he visited her. He told himself over and over that she was still in there, that he could still find her. He passed into the next building in the facility, nodding to some nurses and two security guards that were checking the posters and flyers near the main door. They always did that. It was simply a cover to let them make sure no one wandered off and got lost. Steve passed several doors, each filled with a family trying to engage with a loved one. Each had mixed success. Eventually, Steve arrived in front of door 113. He closed his eyes, sighed, and forced the door open.

Peggy Carter was staring vacantly at her desk. ‘Files’, nothing more than mock reports to calm her down and to orientate herself, were scattered in front of her. Her room was spacious, and could almost pass as something not from a medical facility. Towards the far end, there was a private bathroom, a small bed with a dresser nearby, a desk in the middle of the room, and some chairs by the large window that overlooked some trees.

She was old. There was a sharp pain when he saw her. It was always painful, no matter the mental preparations. Nearing her eighties, her skin was rough and creased. Her shaggy brunette hair was grey and thin. Her eyes no longer had their vibrance. She looked worn, confused, and beaten. Yet again, Steve regretted coming. Such a feeling always happened. It would only get worse.

She looked up to see who had entered, only to back away immediately. She looked confused, startled. As Steve reluctantly removed his baseball cap, Peggy’s eyes began to water. Steve’s stomach turned to lead.

“I…What’s going on? I don’t understand.” The British former agent began.

Her once melodious voice petered out into a harsh wisp. Steve sighed. Then came the horror and anger. Then the overwhelming feeling that she was being tricked by an enemy of the state. H.Y.D.R.A. was mentioned more times than Steve could count. It was only when Steve mentioned in precise detail an evening in Paris that they had spent sneaking behind enemy lines that the frail woman stopped threatening to shoot him. Her voice croaked as understanding hit her. Then came the desperate questions about his survival. Almost automatically, he answered them all. Many had been asked many times previously. Eventually, they were sitting on her bed as he recounted his latest issue. His tone was soft. Being a soldier didn’t realty instruct a person how to hide emotional pain, at least not when he was trained.

“She’s a kid.” He continued, “Barely a teen, but what she was doing with that bow.”

“Sounds like poor mentorship, if you ask me.” Peggy snorted bluntly.

Steve smiled lightly.

“Using bows and arrows in a gunfight. Fools. How has S.H.I.E.L.D. not caught them yet?”

“We don’t know. Or,” Steve began, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach forming, “they’re not telling me how.”

Even with her haze, Peggy was still focussed enough to pick up on the tone. Peggy was still good like that. You just needed to remind her of the topic at hand, and she was sink back into it. It was just maintaining that flow that was impossible. Even Steve could not contend with Peggy’s mind shifting from one year to another. Every few visits, she would stand up to show him something, only to forget what she was getting. On the worst of such occasions, she had simply resumed reading, having completely forgotten that he was there entirely.

“You think top brass is hiding something? Bold comment, Steve. Any actual evidence?”   

“No.” Steve said quietly.

He sighed, looked away, and collected his thoughts. He needed to be swift. He had no idea how long that he would have her for.

“Did…Did S.H.I.E.L.D. ever recruit former H.Y.D.R.A. agents? Or terrorists? After the war.”

Peggy’s face darkened. It was all that Steve needed to see. He cupped his head and massaged his eyes. Thankfully, the news wasn’t a painful as expected. Part of him already guessed the answer.

“It’s complicated, Steve. We were trying to rebuild half the world. Millions were starving and homeless. Entire economies were broken. We needed to keep people safe.”

“By hiring the people we tried to fight to be agents?”

For the first time since falling under ice, Steve actually stared at her challengingly. Peggy looked at him like a parent would to an unknowing child. She shook her head.  

“We can’t be picky when we’re…If we want to hire Zoltan, we…Zoltan.” She shook her head again.

An apologetic smile crossed her face. Steve’s chest dropped as he knew the following question.

“Why are we talking about Zoltan again? It must have slipped my mind.”

“I…Zoltan was…is being recruited?”

“Yes, well, he’s…He’s…”

Peggy was now eyeing her room very closely. Paranoia and concern etched over it as she became aware that she was not in the meeting room that she thought it was. There were no photos or dossiers on Zoltan on her desk. The files in front of her meant nothing. She knew none of the names upon them. She looked back to Steve, who was already standing with a miserable look on his face. Her eyes widened. They were watering soon afterwards. Hysterical cries left the old woman and Steve backed away to the front door. On the wall next to it was a red button, reachable for those in a wheelchair. He pressed it, and waited. Question after question was loudly thrown at him as Peggy demanded to know how he dared impersonate ‘one of the most noble people she’d ever known’. The nurse, as well as a member of security, soon entered.

“It’s happened again.” He stated in a low tone.

“Hey, hey.” The nurse smiled warmly at Peggy, “What’s happened here?”

“Have a good day.” Steve said to the security guard as he hastily hid behind his cap.

“You, too, man.”

With a sombre expression, Steve walked towards the reception area again. He wanted to cry, scream, and hit something. No, he wanted to hide. He had dealt with enough people and enough pain for one day. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep was easier than this.

He kept his head lowered as he once more entered the reception centre. There were less people in it now. The day had dragged on into the afternoon. Steve silently walked to the reception area, watched as the apprehensive receptionist marked off the time that he was leaving on her clipboard, and turned to leave. Leaving was almost as bad as first arriving. He always felt as if he were abandoning her. Maybe she would be better in the evening, without him triggering another moment of severe confusion.

“Margaret Carter, please. Someone told me that she was asking for me this afternoon?”

Steve stopped. His hand flexed defensively. For the first time since leaving Peggy’s room, the tall man stood straight and looked directly at the man behind him. He was similarly tall, albeit slightly shorter. His hair was longer and messier, a dark brown. He looked strong, well defined beneath his clothes. Steve hastily remembered himself. He turned, lowering his head once more. The other man was already looking at him, though. He was in his late thirties, possibly forties, with a very square jaw and sunken blue eyes. He looked faded, worn. It was quite possible that he was far younger, yet had lived a much more draining life than needed. Even the way that he held himself was stiff and filled with discomfort.

He was looking at Steve. The two men eyed one another. Steve with defensive interest, the stranger with recognition and suspicion. He was no man that Steve recognised. He was no S.H.I.E.L.D. or S.T.R.I.K.E. that Steve had ever come into contact with. Many that knew of what Peggy Carter actually was currently resided within high ranking offices with S.H.I.E.L.D. or within their own retirement experience. Her family had dwindled, with the few that remained having stayed in the United Kingdom. Yet, there was a complete stranger, a relatively young man at that, who knew her as well as Steve. Very few could align with both categories, and it only fuelled Steve’s paranoia over Peggy’s safety.

The man looked around, seeing just how frigid the receptionist now was. There were no other nurses in sight, only guards by the odd door here and there. The stranger stood close to Steve, eyeing him eye up. Steve knew it was too late to hide his face, so he didn’t both. Instead, he stared directly back. He was curious to see what was next.

“Outside.” Was the soft request.

His voice was laced with an accent from Georgia. Steve followed the man. His hands were near his chest, ready to defend himself if needed. Perhaps it was a mere family friend that had out-lucked Steve, causing him to expose himself for a silly reason. Steve honestly hoped that was the case. But Peggy didn’t have many family friends. The pair walked near the tree line towards the end of the facility. It was quiet, and cool to the skin. The stranger cupped his large chin. He gritted his teeth. Clear frustration and something unknown crossed his face, making Steve wonder just how close he was to being struck. He wasn’t.

“Are you…Are you who I think you are?”

Steve straightened slightly.

“Depends.” He replied coolly, “How do you know Peggy?”

The question made the stranger look stricken with an illness. His eyes widened as his head went back. Then, he crossed his wide arms. He looked as if he wanted to spit at Steve’s face.

“You…They never mentioned anything, did they? S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Steve’s expression hardened. The man saw it. He laughed bitterly.

“I know S.H.I.E.L.D., yes, sir. And I know how Peggy knows them. I don’t know you. Not really.” His voice suddenly lowered, “You’re meant to be dead.”

“I’d rather it stay that way.” Steve admitted.

That comment seemed to upset the man further. His face turned into a deep scowl.

“America’s greatest hero, and you wanna stay dead? Is that a joke? Do you know how many people idolise you? How many people need you? And you wanna play dead?”

“There are better people-”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” The man snapped, “You…You’ve been hiding all this time? Did Peggy know?”

The question made Steve tighten. The sensitive part of his chest that had been leaving Peggy was rubbed raw. Without any reasonable explanation, Steve felt himself also growing quite frustrated.

“It’s not that simple. And again, how do you know Peggy?”

Steve’s voice left little room for argument. The man lowered his head. There was some silence. He looked as if he were about to sob. His grimaced deeply. Then, he straightened himself fully. A small smile on his face.

“You honestly don’t know me, do you?”

“No.” Steve answered, not knowing why he should.

As far as past S.H.I.E.L.D. agents went, Steve only knew of the ones that he needed to bring in for questioning or the ones that had saved his fellow teammates’ lives at one time or another. Tales that would be occasionally told while enroute.

“You ain’t be back long, then. For a real short time.” The man nodded, as if deeply agreeing with his own logic, “In that case…I’m John Walker.”

He offered Steve his hand. A more sincere smile was upon his face, yet didn’t know if he entirely trusted it. Steve still felt as if a knife was about to be drawn.

“Walker being my dead dad’s surname.” Walker continued, not noticing that Steve didn’t actually ask for details on his name, “Don’t know why. Not like I knew him at all.” A bark of laughter came from the man.

Steve took his hand and squeezed it carefully. John’s smile grew.

“I know Peggy because she’s my mother.”

The comment felt molten to Steve’s ears. His body tensed as a reaction. Without realising it, he had attempted to jerk his hand away. John was still holding it with a strength that Steve was only just taking into account. He was strong, strong enough to hold Steve in place. Anxiety and caution flowered within the super soldier. Something was wrong. The air itself suddenly smelt foul. There was something just…off. He needed to steady himself and on his terms. He just needed to get free of the man and work out what was going on. For once during his stressful day, he needed to not feel as if he were being surrounded by others that knew more than he did.

The man never let go.

“We could argue or freak out who my dad was. Is. I think it’s just easier for you to work it out on your own.”

With that, Steve felt the air leave his body. A punch that felt like an oversized bullet lodged into his upper chest, taking him by complete surprise. The enhanced man’s back was already against a nearby tree. A tree that used to be nearly two metres away.

***

Thor was leaning over his lap as he read his textbook. More photographs and scans of the brain’s reaction to certain drugs were being examined. To his right was a small notebook filled with writing. It had taken several months to get into the habit of writing in English. On a few occasions, he had slipped back into his native hand, only to severely confuse whatever classmate was next to him. It was an amusing day for the god, indeed.

Barbara was next to him, her eyes lazily watching the television as she sipped her beer. It was a late night screening of a show with a legal enforcer with a large moustache and bright clothes. The clothing irritated Thor to the point of not watching it. Such an enforcer of the law would herald more respect with stronger colours. As the pair rested in comfortable silence, time passed. It was deep in the evening, so it was unlikely that either would be up for much longer. Thor had college classes in the morning, and Barbara was due in for another shift.

Thor sketched yet another note, only to stop. His entire body was still. It was unnoticed by Barbara, who was used to the incredibly slow Aesir by now. The god sniffed the air ever so slightly. His hair throbbed slightly. Something was off. He couldn’t explain what, but he knew something was not right. Thor rose, shifting Barbara into almost falling off of their small couch. An annoyed yelp was silenced by a severe stare. Barbara’s annoyance turned into controlled concern. Thor held his finger to his mouth. Without hesitation, he walked to their opened bedroom and leaned near the ground. Under their bed, something glowed vibrantly. He extended his hand. Thunder roared.

A large hammer with a short handle flew into his palm. He squeezed its perfect leather grip tightly. The metal was thick and smooth, yet carved with many signs of battle. Upon its thick hide, there were two separate runes. In the middle, there was a series of encircled engravings that all linked together. A promise of worthiness that glowed a lightning blue. Around it rested an upside down triangle of bright yellow. A promise to be better, to never use a weapon for egotistical violence or gain. A promise to only protect, never assault without reason.

Thor exhaled in preparation. As he did so, small storm clouds sifted from his nostrils. He looked at Barbara again, signalled for her to stay, and then left the house. It was already storming. The skies crackled and whipped above him as he walked over his small lawn. He could smell it. Something wasn’t meant to be here. At his house of all places, with Barbara so close. Thor’s fears for her safety turned to anger. He impatiently wanted to find who was so arrogant as to arrive unwelcomed to her home. His keen senses did not take long to find who it was.

A slender figure was gathered on the silent and empty street. She was a tall, far too tall to be a human female. Her height was not the most obvious indicator that she wasn’t human, however. It was the wings. Once dark, the painted gold upon them drew a circular decoration on each wing. Her helm was round, silver, and glittered even in the dim streetlights. As her wings rested on the ground, it was clear that her broad shoulders were lowered in a bowing position. Her sheathed blade was on the ground in front of her, resting in surrender towards the god. Thor approached.

The winged woman said nothing as he did so. It was not her place to speak first. Her red hair was short, sliced either side in a way that resembled Barbara’s. Her chest armour was thick but scarred, showing many horrors of war that she had been exposed to and caused. Thor sighed as he stood no more than a metre away, looking down upon her.

“What is your name, Valkyrie?”

For the first time in months, Thor had spoken the tongue that he had been raised to speak. It brought more joy than he had anticipated.

“Hlokk the Severe.”

She was still not looking up, nor had she risen. Thor dropped his hammer to the ground. The ground shook and the skies cracked. A mildly sympathetic expression grew on the older man’s face.

“You can stand, young one. There’s no formality that dwells here.”

“You honour me, prince.”

The response made Thor’s jaw tighten. As Hlokk rose, Thor idly pondered as to the reason for her visit. He was still considered a prince, it seemed. That was an interesting piece of information alone. As the tall woman rose, it was clear that she was, in fact, a Valkyrie. Muscles that rivalled human men were exposed within her arms. Many scars and tarnished marks covered them. She was young for a Valkyrie, but had clearly tasted much blood before. Hlokk took her blade, attached it to her wing, and lowered her head.

“What cause summons you to Midgard?” Thor asked gently.

As he did so, he picked up his mighty hammer. It was quiet, and no one else was near the street. Most of the households were already asleep. With that in mind, Thor began to walk down the quiet street. Without hesitation, Hlokk was at his side, head still lowered.

“Many questions have been raised as to your whereabouts, my lord. I have been sent to-”

“I’m where I was last year.” Thor smiled almost cheekily at her, making her almost frown in confusion, “I was tasked with protecting Midgard. I am protecting Midgard.”

That was enough to crack the young maiden’s mask. She was clearly young enough to not know how to hide her reactions. If that were the case, why send her? Thor knew of dozens of old and experienced Valkyries, soldiers that could contend with many of the gods. She was perhaps in her early hundreds, despite only looking like a human in their early thirties.

“Forgive me. I was told that you were sent to slay a demon as…”

“Penance.” Thor ended, smiling encouragingly at her, “Yes. I was. I don’t see why, as a god no less, I cannot protect the people that once worshipped me. They, for all their crafts and sciences, are still threatened by those that they cannot explain. So, after I brought the foul demon to justice with my new companions, I stayed. I protect this realm when needed, as I should have done in my youth.”

Thor’s last sentence turned into a loathing growl. Hlokk was busy unpacking all that Thor had just said. So many questions burned within her mind.

“The demon was…You have companions?”

“Friends that I do not see often enough.” Thor answered, “It is clear that Tyr did not send you. My brother knew all of which I’ve said. And some more.” Thor chuckled.

Out of all of his brothers, he did miss Tyr sharply. There was something sweet about having an older sibling that offered wisdom and guidance without judgement or bitterness. Hlokk was not at his side. Thor turned. She was still, her head ever lowered. Thor frowned, his hands feeling fuzzy. Something was not right.

“My King wishes for you to return.”

Thor straightened himself. His entire bulk was on full display as he gritted his teeth. Odin. Thor had thought that he had some time before his inquisitive father asked probing questions. It had only been a year…  

“And for what purpose does the Allfather want me? Yes, I passed his test. I still disgraced him. I disgraced Asgard itself. I almost brought Ragnarok through my bloodlust. What could a king want with such a prince?”

Hlokk was hesitant. She was clearly under the impression that Thor would strike or kill her if she spoke the wrong words. Thor suddenly felt very ashamed and lowered himself, for had he been younger, he very well could have done so.

“Odin regrets sending you away. He wishes for you to return to the family.” Thor eyed her in suspicion, so she continued, “He wishes for the mightiest of his sons to return, to protect Asgard’s citizens, to destroy all those that threaten them. He wants you to take your old place as Asgard’s greatest weapon against the cold and the chaos of the Nine-”

“So, he wants my hammer but not the man that wields it.”

It wasn’t a question. Thor had suspected as such. That did not blunted the pain that it caused, however. Thor had been bloodthirsty in his youth, but sons only learn things from their fathers. There was many a reason for some humans to worship Odin as their god of warfare and death. Odin was a master of wisdom, and with wisdom, came creative ways of killing your enemies. A younger Thor would not have cared, he had joined his father on many an expedition. Thor was not as young, however. He was weary.

“I thank you for your visit. I truly do, young one. But I am not the…god that Odin requires. I protect Asgard’s citizens on Midgard, who we had also sworn to protect. We have been most lacking in recent centuries. I do not kill without mercy. I protect with cause. These humans are still vulnerable, and it is my duty to protect them where I can.”

As he spoke, he raised Mjolnir gently. A strong finger tapped the triangular rune around the circular pattern. Hlokk could not under its specific meaning, but she was quick to understand its purpose from the context of Thor’s words.

“I do not carve blood. In truth, I am learning to heal in their ways.” Hlokk tilted her head ever so slightly, “They call it a ‘paramedic’. I have been studying for some months in their guilds.”   

Hlokk was once more silent. She was processing the information so very carefully. This was not what she had been told of the god. In fact, she had expected the beast that had rampaged during her youth. The one that held Jotunheim by his fist and his hammer at its throat. The one that forced the elves into seclusion with his very presence. Yet here he was, gentle, soft, and studying medicine. How to heal a body, not break it. The young Valkyrie exhaled, hoping that her training could come in use.

“That is…most unexpected, Prince Thor. But all wisdom is welcome with Asgard, as you know. My quest is still true. I must ask that you return to Asgard, to your father. I…I must ask you to come with me.”

Thor smiled sympathetically once more.

“I thank you for visiting Midgard. But my place is here, protecting its people, as we once swore to do. I am a protector, no longer a warrior. Tell my father that…that if he wishes to summon me, he may do so himself.”

Hlokk was very pale. Thor did not blame her. Part of him pitied her for the situation that he had just put her in. Still, he held still. If his dear father wished to drag him into another conflict, then Odin could do so himself. Sending a Valkyrie to do so was beneath them both. Hlokk knew that the conversation was over. She reluctantly bowed once more, her wings lowering as she did so. Thor, to her surprise, lowered as well. He even placed his hammer on the ground as he did so.

“I mean no disrespect to you, Hlokk the Severe. But I am happy. And I have a purpose. It will take a force greater than thou to take me from it.”  

“Please…know what you are doing, my prince.” Hlokk’s tone was cautious on his behalf.

“I know all too well.” Thor’s smile was dry, “I still accept it. Safe returns to Asgard.”

“My prince.” Hlokk lowered her head even more.

There was light. So much light. Liquid colours engulfed her, saturating her skin and pulling it to the sky. Within a second, she was no more. The colour faded into the dark evening sky. Thor exhaled, feeling tired and older than he had in some time. Odin was upon him, that much was known. An unusual feeling was within him. Anxiety for the future. He lifted his hammer again and turned away from where Hlokk had left. A circle of Asgardian flowers marked where the Bifrost had kissed the road.

Thor took his time returning him. He attempted to gather his thoughts, yet they sunk around his grasp like sand. A fear of his father, of how his home would view him after his mistakes, sunk to his view bones. He held his hammer tightly, rubbing his fingers against its grip. The action offered his mind no relief. As he entered his home once more, he lamely placed the hammer by Barbara’s shoes and stumbled in. His face was blank, deep, and vacant.

“What the fuck is happening?”

Barbara was hissing to his left. Within her hand was a long weapon with a single barrel. It was a tool that she kept under their bed, next to Mjolnir. Even with the mystical weapon, she slept more easily with her own source of protection close by. She lowered the gun as soon as she saw that Thor was alone. The god didn’t verbally reply. He merely pulled his heavy feet towards her. Barbara didn’t react as she was pulled into a hug by the bear of a being. A heavy exhale moved her hair as he nuzzled her left shoulder. She slowly moved her hands to his back, not understanding but not fighting him. She held him close.

“I…” Thor began with a deep voice, “It was a mere family issue. One I fear will grow like a weed.” He explained in a transient voice, inclining his head as he relaxed into her shoulder.

***

Steve’s paranoia was still high as they walked. Part of him was profoundly unhappy that he was without his shield. He felt as if agents were hiding within shrubs and trees, all watching him. Perhaps, they were. Steve did not entirely care. He was still entranced by John Walker, his son. The man certainly had some of Peggy’s features. Her eyes, for one. They were as sharp and inquisitive as hers were. John also had her hair, thick and brunette. He had also apparently gained her dark sense of humour.

“Seriously?” He asked for the fifth time as they walked through the grounds of the clinic, “Not one mention?”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle.

“If they had told me about you, I’d had visited.”

He stopped, sighing. He wanted to cry, shout, and run all at the same time. The amount of conflicting emotions that he was feeling was almost crushing. Steve gave John a weak smile.

“I need proof.”

“I just hit you-”

“I know mutants and other people that can do the same. You need to give me something else. Anything. Something only Peggy would tell her son.”

John smirked as if offered a challenge. He put his hands in his pants and stared vaguely forwards. After some time, he smiled in a sweet and genuine manner.

“When you and mum had snuck into France…”

Steve was silent as he listened to the tale. His heartbeat rose with each sentence as he heard of how he had infiltrated a H.Y.D.R.A. outpost in Nazi occupied France. He patiently felt his breathing become deep and heavy as he was told of how they had impersonated French artists that had impressed the Nazi bureaucrats in charge of the reason. He had to ask John to stop as he heard of how Peggy saved his life through detecting a poisoned drink without Steve noticed. John, sheepishly, murmuring that it was their first kiss that they shared. Hearing of her in such a lively way hurt Steve too sharply, especially with her current condition. Steve doubted if even Peggy currently remembered such a moment.

He shook his head, feeling the urge to cry and run strike him again. He didn’t trust the man, but the intimate story was enough to have Steve lower his guard somewhat.

“When did she…”

“Tell me or have me?” John asked quietly.

“Both.”

John looked uneasy.

“I got curious why I didn’t look like the man I saw around the house. When I was eleven, she finally cracked and told me. I didn’t believe it. Not until I could…” He gestured to his expanded muscles, making Steve smile gently, “I think about six, maybe seven, months after you had disappeared. What…What the fuck happened? She never stopped looking.”

John’s tone had turned from soft to vengeful so quickly that Steve needed a few moments to register the change in emotions.

“Frozen. Crashed into the Artic, of all places. We think the serum helped me survive the cold.”

“And S.H.E.I.L.D. pulled you out?”

“Yeah, they did. Until I escaped for a little bit.” Steve smiled, and watched as John laughed in pride, “Came back there, though. It’s…It’s something to be a part of.” Steve frowned suddenly, “You know them?”

John looked as if he wanted to spit again. Instead, he nodded solemnly.

“They kept tabs on me. I mean, they guessed who my father was.” John laughed darkly, “I wanted…I wanted to be like you.” John’s cheeks were red as he admitted this, and guilt swelled within Steve, “So, I joined the military straight outta high school. Did a year of ‘Nam. It was clear that I inherited…certain parts of you. They dragged me into S.H.I.E.L.D.” John shrugged, looking miserable once more, “Was there for a few years as a contracted agent. Then, they stopped calling me. I reached out. They didn’t respond. So, I kinda just gave up. By then, mum started to show early signs of dementia. She was retiring, so she couldn’t help.”

“They sidelined you? Why?”

If S.H.I.E.L.D. was willing to hire former enemies, then it made no sense for them to ignore Captain America’s son. Especially when he had clearly inherited certain abilities of his. John scoffed in insult, but not towards Steve.

“They never told me. I…Steve, I did missions, man. I did shit for them. A lotta shit for them in the Middle East and Asia. Shit they won’t let me talk about. But that’s S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, right? You probably know more than anyone.”

Steve’s head leaned back gently as his eyebrows creased. His son certainly was a confident and direct man. Another trait of Peggy’s.

“Meaning?”

John chuckled dryly.

“I mean that…You’ve known them since the Second World War. You have to know what they were like, hiring those Nazis for their projects. They use, and use, and use. They don’t care who or where from. If you have a service for the ‘safety of the world’, they’ll give you a seat at the table. Once you’ve done that service, you’re out. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it.”

There was venom within his words. Steve wished that he was taken aback by them, but he wasn’t. The man was only mirroring his own thoughts with such likeness that it made him feel sick. He had not known about the Nazi recruitment into S.H.I.E.L.D., but he had his suspicions. Ever since he had seen names within the archives that he had thought executed decades previously, he had a horrid feeling as to what went on during his frozen state. Maybe the archer was right. Maybe, S.H.I.E.L.D. was not the bastion that he had once thought.

Still, he had only just met this man. To trust him so blindly would be a mistake. Steve was wiser than that. Yet, he could not pull himself away from a single question. Why hadn’t Fury ever told him? It was an angry thought. Steve did his best to guard his emotions. Now was not the time to reflect on such things. That thought alone, however, was becoming a recurring notion. Steve never seemed to find himself in a place to think anymore.

“I didn’t…know about what happened after the war.” Steve answered carefully, “S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps me very separated from overall operations.”

“Yeah, might have something to do with you being dead.” John smiled widely, “Don’t worry, though. They also kept most of S.T.R.I.K.E. alone from the others. They didn’t like people reminded that S.H.I.E.L.D. had an infiltration force. You know, they’re probably watching us right now.”

“I know.” Steve nodded, “I look forward to next week’s debrief.”

John laughed loudly.

“You think you’ll go a night without a visit now?”

“No.”

“Exactly. It’s fine, though. I doubt us meeting is worth either of us getting shot. Though, S.H.I.E.L.D. is…”

Steve idly wondered just what S.H.I.E.L.D. had done to deserve to many tirades about them. Being cut from S.T.R.I.K.E. was surely not enough to cause such insult, especially if he was contracted on. It made the super soldier uneasy as it was clear that something invisible was circling around them. John soon finished his last muttering and instead smiled once more. This one was genuine and not bitter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dusty pencil along with a shopping receipt. He looked around. Eventually, and whilst muttering, he placed the paper on a nearby tree. His handwriting was messy, and the words were tiny. But Steve could still make out the address and the phone number as he was given it.

“It’d be good to…y’know, actually talk. I mean,” John chuckled, “I…It’s…It’s good to finally meet you. Better than good. Weird that we’re almost the same age, but still good.”

“I can’t even word it well.” Steve shrugged, smiling gently as John clapped his shoulder laughing, “I’d like…to know about Peggy.”

John’s laughter eased into a sombre expression. He nodded knowingly.

“Anything and everything.”

The two walked back towards the carpark of the centre. Not much was said between them, for it was still overwhelming to know of each other’s existence. Steve felt beaten and struck, whilst John was a mixture of gleeful, sour, and mournful for lost time. As they neared the entrance, John turned.

“Keep yourself together, okay? Shit can get confusing with S.H.I.E.L.D., even for the good soldiers. It was for me, and I was a very good soldier.”

“Good to know.” Steve nodded, not quite knowing what else to say, “Take it easy, and, uh, I’ll reach out soon.”

John beamed.

“I’d love that. See you around Cap, pops, oldie. Whatever you want to be called.” John hastily stated in a playfully mocking manner as he walked away, “We need to figure out names.”

“We’ll…Yeah.” Steve called out, chuckling.

As soon as Steve sat within his car, his head was upon the wheel. He breathed. He just…breathed. That’s all that he could do. A son. A Goddamn son. In all of his visits to Peggy, not once did she mention him. Yet, it was clear that he knew her in great detail, even with just the mere fact that he knew where she was being cared for in retirement. Had she forgotten him? No, even Peggy’s memory hadn’t collapsed to such a dwindling amount. But for a mother to not mention a son to the father? It made Steve feel cold. Something was very wrong, but he had no idea where to even start looking for answers. That made it all the more worse.

And John knew S.H.I.E.L.D., in many capacities, as well. Not once did the organisation that thawed and housed him ever mention that he had a son. Steve ripped his head away from the wheel at the thought. He felt hot air leave his nostrils. As he put the car into a hasty reverse, all he could think about was just what the hell was going on within S.H.I.E.L.D.

***

Upon the small black screen, hundreds of bright green pixels of text loudly came into existence. The large computer, with white box after white box of extra parts finely attached to it, was something out of an action or science-fiction film. The gears and modems spun and beeped loudly, hundreds of small lights flickering on and off. Philip Sterns aimlessly stared at the screen, watching the variables slowly be presented. Atmospheric data mixed with various types of radiation readings. It all read rather plainly, in Philip’s experienced opinion. His older brother eyed his reactions with some annoyance. The taller, green man with a bulbous skull had expected some reaction to the data that was being generated. It took nearly seven minutes, but the screen was eventually filled with the completed dataset. Philip lazily scanned the contents yet again. He sighed, wishing he was elsewhere. He had only taken courses on this content as an elective in college. He never truly invested himself in it.

“Mostly similar variables. Different, though.”

“Different?” The Leader impatiently rolled his hand.

Philip sighed once more. He tapped several sets of numbers on the screen.

“Those don’t appear around Thor. Might not be from Asgard.”

“Or it might be a different god results in different types of readings being generated. We’ve discussed this possibi-”

“Sam.” Philip groaned, rubbing his still sore shoulders from where his collar once rested, “We don’t have any control data to go off of. It could be Thor’s father or sister or a…horse breeder. It could be something alien. It could be something from hell. I don’t know. We’ve never seen Thor leave Earth. We haven’t collected that data. We don’t know if the person was from Asgard.”

The Leader scoffed in sheer irritation. His brother merely rolled his eyes and looked back at the screen. As his older brother began to mutter, Philip tapped the screen again.

“I think they left, though. Atmospheric data changed twice, going back to normal afterwards. Thank God.” Philip leaned back on his foldout chair and rubbed his eyes, “I can maybe fight Thor. Without the hammer, which is a tall fucking ask.” Philip muttered, “Two of them?” He shook his head to himself, “I’d be dead in a minute.”

His brother was suddenly at his front. The computer could not be seen. It took Philip a second to understand why. Once more, Philip had been the victim of silent telekinesis without realising it. Within a blink of an eye, Philip had been swung around to face his heavily breathing brother.

“We have a plan. You play a key part of it. You handle the Walters girl, not Thor. We have a contingency for-”

“One I still don’t agree with.” Philip cut in, “We need a fucking contingency for the contingency.”

The Leader groaned in an almost childish way. His hands even balled up into fists.

“Do you have any idea how perfect this all needs to be? You know why we’re doing this, so-”

Philip was on his feet, his hand on the Leader’s collar. For the first time in a very long while, Philip saw fear in his brother’s eyes. It made him feel sick. Philip immediately released him as the Leader hastily evened out his emotions and resumed his confident expression.

“I came to you.” Philip said quietly, “Fucking lecture me ag-”

“I chose poor words.” The Leader admitted, “I’m…sorry.”

“Good.” Philip grunted, “Same.”

The Leader nodded and the two men awkwardly stood for a moment. Soon, the Leader refocused.

“We won’t know what the Asgard situation is until we look into it more. We must be patient. In the meantime, we keep to our plan.”

“Fine. So long as there aren’t any delays.” Philip added, “Not a single one. We stick to the schedule. We separate Walters’ friends, then I go after her. Soon.”

“Agreed.” The Leader nodded, “We’re still in agreement that…option two is off the table?”

The atmosphere in the sterile, concrete room changed considerably. Philip and his brother had spoken many times about the situation that they were in, about the ways that they could escape it. Few came to mind, two to be specific. One was horrid, but bearable. The other…Both scientists had their limits. They had to do what needed to be done, nothing more. Certainly nothing more.

“It’s not…an option. No.” Philip shook his head.

“Good. We still have that line.” The Leader nodded, “Get some rest. I’ll notify you as the next phases start.”

Philip nodded.

“You, too. Goodnight.”

“Evening.”

As his younger brother pushed his exhausted body away, the Leader straightened himself. His soured face was creased in unpleasant thoughts. The plan wasn’t going well. His brother had failed to capture the gamma-infested woman. Another possible Nordic god had appeared. It had been a matter of days, as well. The Leader liked plans and backup plans. He liked when all of the variables that he had mapped out acted as he had expected or, at least, within reason of what he had guessed. A god appearing out of nowhere was nothing something that either brother had included in the plan.

He did not like this. While everything was a mere variable to be expected and prepared for, that didn’t mean that he had a god-like ability to predict everything. The Leader exhaled smoothly. He needed to be calm. Calmness of thought before brashness of action. A motto to live by.

The Leader passed through a rarely visited area of the abandoned centre. Philip was soon to be asleep, and the others were gone. A series of vials and Styrofoam boxes in glass fridges filled the room. Using his mind, he silently opened one of the fridges. Each of the bottles of filtered liquids floated around him. Something clicked. The base of the fridge turned and groaned. A panel was opened. From within, a small wooden box floated upwards. Paranoia snuck into the abnormal man. He looked around. Even with his mental powers, he felt the need to be certain that he was alone with his own two eyes.

Thankfully, he was. Using his mind, he opened the box. There, weighing less than three kilos, was a single crystal that shone a dark, ocean blue. As hastily as it was opened, the Leader hid it. It was there, that was all that he needed to know. He returned the box to the fridge, and the bottles within afterwards.

The Leader gritted his teeth and tried to act calm. The current plan was moving ahead. There was no need to be desperate because of two minor hindrances. Only two. Just…two.

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope we’re all well.

I’m very sorry for the delay in updating, but I hope it was worth the wait. I very much have missed writing Thor, he’s one of my favourites. I hope you didn’t mind the slight change in origin for John Walker, but not too much was hopefully given away. The main crux of Steve’s story arc will very much be him trying to understand what’s missed over the last few decades and what’s really been going on in S.H.I.E.L.D. while he froze.  

Next chapter will see a certain redhead vampire trying to navigate life whilst trying not to be hunted by a certain knight, and a very weary, worn down sorcerer doing his best to be better than he used to be…and to be happier. Or less grumpy, I should say. Plus, more hints at what the Leader and Madman want with the Avengers.

If anyone has any feedback or suggestion, please feel free to comment or leave a kudos. It’s really awesome engaging with you all. Otherwise, thanks for reading and have a lovely week!

Fact of the chapter: When a country ends in ‘stan’, like ‘Tajikistan’, the ‘stan’ simply means “land” or “land of”.   

Chapter Text

Ice, winds, howling, and fog. The mountain base brought it all to bear in the early evening. The air was so thick with shards and puffs of ice that one could not see mere metres in front of them. One could still hear, though. One could hear the horrific screams and shouts of terror, the hisses and snarls, and then the silence that momentarily came after. The small village was full of it. The screaming, the hissing, the silence.

Those that dwelt within did their best to cling to one another as they ran for what safety they knew. A series of old wooden buildings was surpassed by a hall carved to show many beasts no longer known to man. The locals left their homes, for they could not protect them from the screams and snarls. The elderly held the young close to them. With squinted eyes and chattered teeth, they blindly pushed themselves to the hall. Many of the villagers were already within. Cabinets, chairs, tables. All were being dragged to the doors and readied to bar it. Dozens of crying and screaming children were thrown or dragged into torch-lit hall by their parents or neighbours. Not all parents or families made it. The elders screamed into the winds, frantically calling for all who could still hear in the village. They needed to make it to the hall. They needed to make it soon.

Not all did. Within the blizzard, the screaming, and snarling, and silence continued. There was a dark slither within the icy white. Something that appeared when one blinked against the snow. With frozen blood and cracked skin, a villager held to his weeping son. He pushed them through the snow, praying that his son could not hear the screaming. He could. His son was still, motionless, hoping that it was a nightmare that he was experiencing. It wasn’t. They were so far from the hall. The father knew it. He knew it with a desperate, manic beat in his heart. They couldn’t go faster. The wind was too much, and the screaming was close. It was so close. The son wept, finally shaking as he too heard just how close the snarling and thrashing was. The sounds of something having the life constricted from their flailing bodies. He wept harder.

The father pressed on. He needed to. His small legs fought the snow bravely. It wasn’t enough in the end. The darkness of a form appeared in front of him. Even amongst the blizzard, he could see a fluid motion of pure black and oil. The father held his son close and whispered to him. His arms wrapped around the lad’s eyes, shielding them.

Blue. Blue and red. Blue and red mist and light surrounded the oily form. A shriek left the creature as it appeared to curl and writhe. Coloured clouds and shards of light burst through the icy winds. The father stood still, hiding his son as he tried to understand if he was already dead. The lights continued for several seconds. The oily figure stopped screaming. It disappeared under the snow below. A new figure of black appeared. The father held his son closer, whispering to him as he watched the being approach. The black grew larger and larger, almost three times the size of the man and his child. Desperate pleas were shouted into the snow as the man hoped the beast could understand mercy. The beast drew closer. The father curled up, throwing his son behind them. Something touched the father’s shoulder. It was a hand. A shaking, human hand.

The father looked up, only barely seeing a human towering above him. He wore black robes with some red outlines to them. Without a word, the human pulled the pair up from the snow and pushed them into a blinding light. They were warm. Toasty. The father rose to his feet, shielding his son with his waving arms. They were in the hall. They were safe and in the hall. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He was not the only person confused. Flashes of light lit up the hall several times. For each glimpse of colour, a family or a stray villager dropped into the room.

A sorcerer. It was a sorcerer.

The tall, hunched over human clapped his gloved hands together and whispered an incantation. A bubble of still air wrapped around him, offering him several metres of vision and protection from the frozen winds. His robes were indeed black with a red line that went in a half arc across his chest and with another red line traveling down the middle through it. His belt was a red sash loosely wrapped. Upon his square head there was a handlebar moustache and black hair with greying temples. His dark, beady eyes scanned the calm air around him. A snarl.

He turned on his heel. Behind him, also shielded in the bubble, was a large creature of oily skin and foul, rotting breath. It looked like a serpent, but its eyes were parallel to the sides of its face. A long, skinny fine ran both upon its spine and under its belly. Four fangs dripped from its scaled lips. A Qalupalik, a sea spirit from the frozen lakes and rivers of Canada. A quiet, hidden species with a fondness for tasting and snatching the children that played too close to the frozen waters they dwelt in.

The sorcerer whispered again. With shaking fingers, he pushed outwards and a spear of fire hissed into existence. The Qalupalik spat and gnashed at the air as the brightness hurt its eyes. The sorcerer extended his arm to the side. Several glowing limbs crept from his flesh, allowing him a second set of arms. With such arms and hands, he cast another spell. Small orbs appeared around the creature. They shone and pulsed, distracting the beast as the man thrust his fiery spear forwards. He timed poorly. The beast snapped its head towards him, forgetting the orbs. With impressive flexibility, the creature curled under the tip and lunched for his chest. The sorcerer let go of his weapon and immediately whilst shouting a spell. The force knocked the beast away, but back into the hidden winds. The human dropped to his knees. He scooped snow and hissed a spell as he smacked the chilly substance into his eyes. He opened them.

It was as if the snow had stopped falling. No longer did he take much concern over it. He could see the writhing form of the Qalupalik curling behind him. The man leapt back. The beast hissed and snapped its jaw again. Something made it whimper and growl. A form wrapped around its jaw, forcing it shut. A fabric. Like a snake, it tried to curl and constrict around the red fabric, but to no avail. It could no longer bite the sorcerer. He took his chance.

His hands moved wildly as he spoke into the winds. Thousands of particles of snow paused within the very air around the Qalupalik. They bond together, forming several icy skewers. With a shout, the man finished his spell. The skewers sliced through scale and flesh. The Qalupalik stopped coiling. It slumped. The fabric flew from the beast’s maw and hastily perched itself on the man’s shoulders. It was a cloak made from a fine red fabric that swayed to its own thoughts and desires. A loyal companion to the man that wore it.

Such a man stood back. With his new eyes, he peered into the winds. Hissing still cut through the roaring winds. The sorcerer walked through the empty village. He murmured and rolled his wrist. A circular shield with dozens of runes hovered around him. As he carefully walked towards a barn, the hissing stopped. The sorcerer became still. With a deep breath, he knelt and started to draw within the snow. A moment later, he stepped back from the trap cut into the snow with runes. The Qalupalik was not to his side, however.

No, it struck his side. The shield flew to protect him, only just knocking back the beast. The eel hissed as it slid back, rolling its oily skin into a new striking position. The sorcerer placed his hands together and slowly pulled them apart. A pool of liquid was within them. A pool of perfectively reflective liquid. The sorcerer slowly threw it forwards, forming a mirror in front of the beast. The Qalupalik tilted its head. It did not know what to make of the Qalupalik in front of it. As it turned to strike, so too did the one in front of it. Yet, it could not smell or hear the fellow being. What was it?

The distraction worked. A flashing rune appeared behind it without it knowing. Then a man dropped out of it, a flaming spear in his shaking hands. The beast thrashed only for a moment as its brain was impaled and scorched. With an undignified grunt, the man fell from the Qalupalik’s body and rolled onto the snowy ground. He took a moment to gather himself. His skin was dirty, cold, with frozen blood on his left cheek from a barely healed cut. He would tend to himself better when this was done. With that in mind, he gingerly returned to the village’s main street. It was so cold and so windy. Each step was physical pain, though that may have also been the injuries of the evening as well.

He peered into the winds, trying to locate any sounds. His wait was short. A hiss and a flash of flash of black struck at him from mere metres away. Before he could dive to the ground, there was a flash of purple. The beast writhed and hissed as a purple line traced up its scales. Behind the line, there was stone. Within an instant, a perfect stone sculpture of the Qalupalik was in front of him. The sorcerer let out a pained breath of relief. From behind the stone, a shorter figure emerged. Another bubble of air encased the sorcerer. In front of him was a slightly short, very lean Asian man in a thick red and blue robe with furs around his shoulders. While very rangy, the slightly older, middle-aged man had thick, wispy eyebrows to compensate for his lack of any hair upon his head.

“Five.” He spoke with a thick accent given from Hong Kong, “Five.”

“That’s all of them, Wong.” The first man counted, “Good. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Wong was never one for overly long sentences, which the other man didn’t mind. Neither man were exactly conversationalists, and they had no issues with being to the point on most matters.

“Good. Let’s clear the bodies and return. You’ve done well. Be-”

“The Lutin, Strange.”

Dr. Stephen Strange peered upwards, looking at the hall. He shrugged apathetically.

“What about it? They’re safe. They’ll be able to bury their dead when the snow p-”

“They should know the sorcerers have returned.”

Wong was junior to Strange, having only joined the ranks of sorcerers within the previous year. In fact, he was Strange’s first student. It was hardly surprising, given Strange’s relatively young age as a sorcerer and the fact that he, himself, had only been a student himself when Wong had appeared at his door. Masters of the mystic arts were no longer common. An endangered species whose absence allowed the magical species to run amok on Earth, just as it had in the small Canadian village of Lutin around them.

Strange grumpily grunted, not in the mood for social calls. He was always so horrible at them, even as a doctor. But Wong was right. He was a sorcerer, and he had duties beyond just summoning magic. It didn’t help that the magical garment around him, the Cloak of Levitation, was pulling him towards the hall as well. Strange grunted again. Without a word, the hunched over man walked through the icy winds and pushed himself towards the hall.

Rather than bang upon it and wait for the Lutin to move the barricade, Strange whispered and clicked his fingers. A rune appeared before the sorcerers. The hall was warm and bright and safe. As Strange stepped out of the rune and into it, he was encased in the feeling that the danger had gone. He was safe. It was…homely. His presence made most Lutin gasp and whisper. Strange peered down, for the Lutin were only the height of his knees.

The small beings whispered in joy and merriment as they circled the two humans. The Lutin were a native species, almost entirely identical to humans were it not for their severed heights and an unusually long nose. Several of them were curled into the corner. The children. Many had drying tears on their cheeks and were clutching one another. The Cloak of Levitation slid from Strange’s shoulders and glided over to them. It shuffled its fabric and bent several times. Several of the children were confused until one of them whispered. A fish. The cloak had shifted its shape to outline a fish. Then, it changed again. It turned sideways and lifted its collar up, showing itself as a strange dog or wolf. The children giggled, soon clapped as the cloak removed any remaining fear that they had.  

The adults turned back to Strange, walking towards him still. Many of them spoke at once, slightly overwhelming Strange. He held up his hands, trying to quell them. Thankfully, who he assumed was the mayor or elder shushed them all into silence as he stepped towards them. He was old. A thick beard decorated his neck and much of his chest, and his hooded sweater was decorated with many badges and ornaments. Strange and Wong inclined their heads.

“You’re safe now.” Strange stated in a respectful tone, “The Qalupalik are dead. They must have crept in from a nearby river, but most nests are more than four. You should be safe. We’ll remove their bodies when we leave.”

The elder Lutin hastily shook his head.

“Qalupalik meat is…not common. Do not worry yourself with…cleaning.” He said meekly, “Sorcerers once more.” He boomed, making several Lutin applaud, “You have returned. We had heard…that the vampires had hunted you-”

“We survived.” Strange cut in, his tone sharp.

He placed both of his hands in his robe. They were shaking, as they always would with their nerve injury. Yet, they were increasingly shaking more often whenever Strange’s sweat turned cold and his breathing became laboured. He didn’t need the Lutin to see such a thing.

“The Sanctum Santorum, and all other guilds are rebuilding.” Wong added, taking the pressure off of Strange, “You do not need to fear our extinction yet.”

Such news was met with shouts of joy and many Lutin jumping up in the air. The elder turned to a woman next to him, pointed to something down the hall, and watched her run off.

“Today is a day of sorrow and of joy, then. Long have we been protected by human sorcerers.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Strange answered with a forced smile.

The woman returned. The elder took something from her hands, inspected it, and then held it up for Strange to take.

“A gift. To the Sorcerer Supreme. Long may he or she protect the mystical world.”

As soon as the phrase ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ had been uttered, Strange’s shoulders dropped and he could no longer maintain eye contact with the Lutin elder. His mouth was dry, and his stomach felt sick. His mouth was open, but he could find nothing to say. The phrase had removed his ability to feel any energy.

“We accept and shall hold it onto our mantle.” Wong pushed past Strange.

The older man took the wolf’s skull decorated with a strange, dark purple rock, and curled it under his arm.

“We’re sorry for your losses.” Strange whispered, suddenly aware of his ability to talk.

The elder nodded in sadness as he strokes his beard. The joys of the sorcerers were slowly diminishing as the horrors of the night slowly took hold again. He looked even older.

“Yes, yes. Of course. We will commit our ceremonies when the wind is not cursed. Once more, thank you.”

Both sorcerers inclined their heads again. The townspeople, sensing their departure, thrust their hands upon their robes, as if to touch them was to receive luck or ease from their pain. Slowly, Strange and Wong passed through them to an empty area of the hall.

“You need to answer questions about the vampires better.”

Strange raised a displeased eyebrow at the stoic Wong. He began to move his hands and summon the doorway.

“I’d be careful. You weren’t there when we were…picked off.”

“No.” Wong agreed, before stepping forwards the nearly formed rune, “Neither were they.” 

 Strange found himself motionless. A conflicted sense of pain and guilt swelled up. With discomfort, he turned towards the watching Lutin and smiled shortly at them. With more effort than realised, he even waved. The Lutin called back in appreciation. As Strange turned back to the portal, the smile faded. A hollow, empty feeling returned as he took a step towards the Sanctum Santorum. A Sanctum Santorum with no more Sorcerer Supreme.

***

“…nderstood that physical discipline can have lasting impacts on children, which was why the legislation on school discipline was changed. Now, you need to understand that children, especially teens, are not emotionally developed. So, when thinking of ways to punish students, you need to consider…”

The lecture droned on. Time seemed to still and refuse to incline at all during Monday mornings and Wednesday middays. The topic of ‘The Psychology of Children’ seemed an interesting elective at the time, yet for those that took it, it was clear to be a nightmare of boredom. The lecturer, Dr. Wilson, was an elderly woman that seemed to have lived through each major breakthrough when it came to studying the responses of children to various things. Many of the students in the theatre were either asleep or fighting it off valiantly.

For Jackie Falsworth, it was impossible not to feel drowsy even with her supernatural condition. The young woman from England was barely into her twenties and already reconsidering her plans in life. Perhaps teaching wasn’t for her, not when subjects such as the one in front of her were so dull and miserable. The pale redhead wrinkled her nose, her mind wandering elsewhere. Taps.

There were so many taps and clicks. Her highly attuned senses fixated on each tap of a pen and click of a cap that they could. Without proper stimuli in the classroom, her body latched onto everything else. The taps grew louder. Click by click, they all started to ring in her ear. The redhead straightened in her seat and she tried to focus on the words of the lecture.

“Empathy. You need to empathise to some extent…”

Jackie’s eyes flicked from pen to pen to pen. It was causing a headache. It was also so loud. Her nose was almost blocked with the thick scents coming towards her. Perfume, bad hygiene, sweat. It was coming from so many different people and her mind couldn’t focus on any one particular direction or target. Her breathing became ragged and poor. Her jaws clenched. Four teeth suddenly rose above the rest, prodding her cheeks and gums. A near panic rose as the fangs refused to go down. Her body was too rigid and in a fight stance.

Eyes closed. Breathing became slow and even. She was safe, she was okay, and there was no danger from pens. Slowly, her senses relaxed. No longer did they latch onto every minuet sound near her. Her nose did not pick up all scents around the theatre. She was Jackie, and Jackie was merely attending class. With that in mind, she opened her eyes as her fangs slid back into her gums. She would be extra hungry that night. She already knew it.

As the lecturer ended, the students could not run fast even out of the door. Jackie had to slow herself down as to not draw too much attention to her pace. She exhaled loudly as clean air and sunlight met her yellow sweater and blue jeans. It was such a nice day. A shame that it had to be ruined by such horrible class choices.

“You sound like I feel.” Someone giggled next to her.

Louise was a taller girl with dark skin and thick hair. A year younger, she was very beautiful with dark eyes that many of the boys tended to drunkenly compliment at parties. Jackie nodded, still recovering from her small sensory episode.

“These ones are just getting bloody worse. I mean, fuck me.” She laughed with Louise.

“I know. It’s mostly what we can’t do instead of tips on what to do. My old teacher used to put people in the closet for timeout.”

Jackie’s laughter slowed.

“That…That doesn’t sound legal, love.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Louise answer nonchalantly.

With that admission, the pair walked to the food court whilst complaining about several other of their shared subjects. It had taken considerable time for Jackie to feel comfortable being surrounded by so many people. It took even more time for her to feel comfortable having friends. Still, she managed to find a small group of people that tolerated her oddities. Most of the time, they just assumed it was because she was from England and she was being normal for an English girl.

As they entered the food court, Jackie took a deep breath in through the nose. Her eyes wandered as she focussed in one several particular scents. She pretended to look around aimlessly, only to then pat Louise on the arm. She pointed to a small table by the vending machines where several familiar faces were. Louise beamed and pulled Jackie along with her. Jason, Carol, and Carly were playing with their foods whilst arguing over something. Jackie had known them for a few months as they were all studying to be teachers. Despite being overly loud and excitable, they weren’t the worse people to be friends with. 

“Sorry we’re late. Psychology again. Ugh.” Louise gagged onto an empty plate as she sat down.

“Sucked in, man.” Jason grinned, “We just had lesson planning methods for two hours. Easy as.”

“Seriously?” Carol snapped, “Seriously? Easy as? I still have no idea what’s ‘ethical’ to put in a forty-minute class.”

“It’s all about maintaining those highs of attention and focus from the kids.” Jason smirked.

“Oh, you listened? Well done.” Carol snapped again.

As Louise pulled out a sandwich from her bag, it was clear that Jackie was the only one not eating again. In fact, it was a recurring whisper that no one had ever seen her drink or eat at any point. Jackie was keenly aware that everyone was now staring at her. Carly sighed.

“This diet you’re on…”

“I don’t…eat outside of certain hours. It’s very big in London.”

“You’re in New York. Eat a hotdog.” Jason grunted as he bit into his burger.

“This isn’t to impress some guy, right?” Louise whispered.

“Oh, my God. Again, no.” Jackie sighed.

“You’re hot enough as it is. Bit short but-”

“Jason.” Carol whined, somewhat jealous of the comment.

The discussion shifted from Jackie’s lack of eating to Jason’s lack of tact. Jackie didn’t care, she was happy that the conversation had changed away from her. While she had finally gained some comfort in friends, she was still a very long way from fully fitting in. Eating was a big issue, but so was physical touch. People were so…fragile. Bones easily broke, so she rarely trusted herself to hug or even give a handshake. It all made her feel as if she were an imposter. Someone trying to be human. Sometimes, such a feeling made her resentful. Others, just miserable and seldom desiring company. It was not easy for everyone else to have such a similar experience with life, and then there was just…Jackie. It was isolating at the best of times.

“…nd then there’s Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Carol asked, tilting her head to Jason.

“Humanities party. Some frat is gonna host the afterparty nearby. We’re all in, right?”

Jackie noticed that Carly had turned to look at her. Her fork was already pointed at her.

“Lemme guess. No drinking?”

All eyes were on Jackie once more. Her lip twitched slightly, and she tugged a strand of redhead behind her ear.

“Gotta watch those calories.” She smiled weakly.

“This isn’t healthy.” Louise sighed, “Whatever guy told you that you were fat is a fucking dick.”

Jackie wished it was due to the weight. Put simply, she didn’t trust herself to be drunk. She didn’t want the risk of drunkenly snapping bone or moving too fast thrust upon her. She needed control, and control was boring at the best of times. The conversation on Jackie’s mental health continued for some time, with Louise even offering to introduce Jackie to some nice guys in her class. Jackie fidgeted. At least they cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing at all. It eased the isolation, just a little.

As the day ended, Jackie bid her goodbyes to her classmates. The evening was darkening as she stepped onto an overcrowded bus. She stared at the ground as several people pressed against her, one of which was leering at her chest as he looked over her shoulder. Jackie turned. Looking him straight in the eyes with nothing more than an emotionless threat, the girl did a remarkable job at making the bald, older man turn red and look away. She didn’t stop staring at him. She wanted him to be just as uncomfortable. It was a long ride to the edge of the city, but Jackie was patient in her pursuits. Even as she walked off the bus, her eyes lingered on the deeply on edge pervert.

“Arsehole.” She muttered.

The street was quiet, with most people already home. Several of the houses were blaring their televisions or radios as she passed them. It took her fifteen minutes to walk home. Thankfully no one was dumb enough to give her an issue. She neared a large gate in front of series of flats. She pressed her code and waited. With a loud groan and an electronic noise, the gate heaved and rolled on rusted wheels to allow her entry. She passed stacks of bicycles and abandoned boxes. Unit 13. She dug into her pockets, retrieved her keys, and sighed deeply as she entered her small home.

It was cosy, if one could call it that. A single bedroom with a bathroom, a small kitchen attached to the living area, a tiny television, some drawers. What more could a college student need? Jackie reached into her backpack and withdrew her textbooks for the day. Throwing them on the table, she ventured into the shower. She was relaxed, but her low mood had not improved. She would love to get drunk and act like an idiot at parties. Nothing would suit her better than to actually act like a college student for once. But she couldn’t. She needed to be better. With that in mind, she lazily walked to the fridge. Peeling away a hidden compartment, she retrieved a plastic satchel filled with a thick, red liquid. Human blood.

The redhead flopped on her couch, thrust a straw into the satchel, and aimless switched stations as she sipped on her blood. O positive. One of her least favourites, but she couldn’t be picky. It was also one of the last remaining pouches left. She would need to return to Strange in the next day or two. The very thought made her uncomfortable. Dr. Stephen Strange, the sorcerer that accidently released Varnae, the first vampire created. Varnae, the vampire that bit her. While it was clear how apologetic and self-resentful that Strange was for his actions, and that he had fought with the other Avengers to stop Varnae, Jackie did not trust him. She accepted him and would talk to him at times, but she did not like him. It was because of his stupidity that Jackie possessed fangs. It was because of his arrogance that Jackie was robbed of a normal life. It was because of his…

Jackie curled herself into a ball as she watched the nature documentary on show. The fact that the presenter was David Attenborough, a fellow Brit, offered her some sense of company and familiarity. The night continued. Rarely did Jackie need to sleep. It was possible for her to, she just needed to be true exhausted. That didn’t stop her from hiding away in bed and trying to, anyway. She wrapped up her empty pouch, as well as several other torn boxes and scrap pieces of paper. The bin in her kitchen was empty. With a groan, she pulled the bag up and grabbed her keys.

Her face was a scowl as she waddled her way towards the front gate. She didn’t need this in her life right now. A soft bed away from living people was what she needed. Maybe a coffin to sleep in was called for. She wasn’t a real human any way. Might as well live in the cliché.

As she such miserable thoughts swelled within her, she dropped the garbage bin near the gate. She smelled the air deeply. There was a foreign scent. A very warm and thick smell. Her ears twitched at a sound. Without thinking, she leapt backwards. Her eyes widened as a flash of silver swung down and crashed into the pavement below. A figure in glossy black was before her, holding something now embedded in the ground. A sword. Jackie’s face grew into a grimace as she suddenly ducked and weaved to the side. The person in front her had already withdrawn his blade to swing once more. They were fast. He was no human.

The vampiric girl ducked once more, gasps leaving her terrified form as her face was nearly cleaved in two. It appeared to be a man, once in black armour. Upon his frame was black steel. His height was immense, but he was leaner than brawnier. Upon his head was a dark helmet that concealed his eyes, gold lining making the armour look even more expensive. Jackie rolled onto her back and leapt into him. She was knocked back. A shield held her at bay. A medieval shield. The redhead rose to her feet, took in the appearance of the knight, and her mouth gaped.

“What the fuck is this, you twat?” She called, feeling confused and irritated.

The knight chuckled in a metallic noise. He drew his blade along the pavement in front of him, drawing sparks against its darkness. Jackie rolled her eyes and audibly sighed. It was no vampire from the council, she doubted that it was a mutant, and she did not think it was one of Thor’s kind. The Aesir, as Thor had described, had a very specific aesthetic that this idiot did not have.

“This is payment for all you’ve killed, you-”

Jackie’s fist collided with his helmet with startling speed. His armour absorbed much of the impact, but he still staggered back and wildly swung his sword as a defence. He was disorientated. Naturally, he charged at her with inhuman speed. Jackie dipped and dived with the grace that Thor had shown her. The blade missed her side, and then her chest, and then her side once more. Jackie exhaled, growing impatient. She did not want to kill him. She didn’t want to kill anyone. This man, however, was simply making her horrible mood even worse. What was even worse was when his shield collided with her face.

Jackie was knocked the ground. A boot slammed into her ankle, making her call out in pain. Out of instinct, she moved her head to the side. The blade shrieked as it pierced the pavement next to her cheek. Some of her hair was severed.

“You fucking…”

Her hands were on his arm in a blink. She squeezed. The mental groaned underneath her strength. Soon, a pained scream left the man, and he released his sword and moved his foot. Jackie rose. She threw him to the wall. Her hand was under his helmet, on his throat. She squeezed. He writhed.

“Listen here, you fucking wanker. I am a vampire. Yes. Well done. Do I kill or eat people? No. I fucking don’t. I get my blood from a fucking doctor. Do I want to live a normal life? Yes. Leave me the fuck alone, okay? Fucking…medieval…dick.”

She had struggled to think of a good enough insult for the man. She threw him down to the ground moments later. Her hands went to her damaged hair. A depressed whimper left her as she was pushed closer to the edge.

“I don’t fucking need this today, okay? I don’t…Whatever the fuck this is…Fuck you!” She snapped, watching the man in armour crawl towards his sword.

He was slow. No, he was as fast as a human. The sword gave him his powers. As he grabbed it, life returned to his weakened body. He rose to his feet and seemed to appraise his options very closely. Jackie took a step towards him, extending her arms out to challenge him.

“What?” She barked, “You wanna try it again, ya nonse? I was trained by a fucking god and a super soldier. Fucking come at me!”

Her words seemed to confuse the knight profusely. He didn’t run, but he didn’t attack either. His pained breathing rattled against his helmet as he stared blankly at her. Jackie shook her head. She didn’t have time for this. She wanted bed. She wanted a life. She wanted normal hair. She bit back a sob as she turned and started to march back to her apartment. She couldn’t even have normal nights anymore. She was bound to deal with stupidity like knights attacking her. Another sob left her as her mind became clouded and erratic. No longer was she thinking straight.

“Fuck off. I’m going to bed.” She turned and pointed at him, “Go anywhere near me again, and I’ll fuck you up, ya fucking…fuck.”

The knight’s sword almost dropped out of his hand as he watched the bizarre display from the vampire. It was an act. Surely it had to be. Never before had he seen a vampire have an emotional breakdown and start sobbing. But, as he watched her slam her door shut behind her and leave him in silence, it was clear that she wasn’t returning. He watched almost two minutes, seeing if she would strike him from behind. She didn’t. Her doors and windows remained silent. The only difference was that the lights and television were turned off.

The knight hesitated. He was told that one of the greatest vampires lived in such a house, that she was capable of great acts of violence and danger. He had spent weeks investigating her, understanding her cover story and the ways that she was hiding as a human. Then it struck him. He turned, looking at the garbage bag several feet away. He walked towards it. Within, he saw several pouches of blood. He also saw several notebooks and printed exercises from college classes. A teacher. She wasn’t just attending classes, she was taking the effort to complete multiple drafts of each assessments. The knight sheathed his blade, frowning as he looked at her door. She didn’t kill him. He was at her mercy, and she didn’t kill him.

***

The warmth of the Sanctum Santorum was a blessing. Even the Cloak of Levitation shuddered and ruffled away any remaining snow as they entered the antique home within New York. Several stories high, the Sanctum was a wooden building with dark green drapes and emerald carpets. The wooden floors were a dark mahogany that seemed to extend for an eternity. Sometimes that did. The Sanctum seemed to lightly groan as it accepted the presence of the two sorcerers. It was an old place, with much unknown magic within. The air itself seemed to buzz with an electricity that was hard to describe. The rooms and many hallways were lit up with candles and torches that possessed emerald flames that could trap one’s eyes for hours if they weren’t careful.

Strange peered around. They were within the reading room on the first floor. It was deep within the night, as well. Strange turned to Wong, his eyes soon turning to the skull in his hands.

“We should probably…put that…somewhere.”

“An astute observation.” A swift, Haitian voice called.

Someone else had been within the reading room when they had appeared. Towards a row of decaying books was a tall, muscular man with a playful, yet slightly condescending, smile. He was younger than both Strange and Wong by some years, his eyes still joyful and bright. His long hair was bound in many dreadlocks, wrapped behind his red and green robes. Whilst most of the remaining sorcerer’s wore a traditional version of the robe, the man before them allowed his muscular arms to be on display. Upon his wrists were several rows of bones in tight pendants.

“Jericho.” Wong greeted.

“It’s late. Are the children asleep?” Strange asked, hoping for a direct answer.

He was not in the mood for Jericho Drumm’s typically jovial and smug attitude that night. There was only so much glee that Strange could handle in one sitting before he felt nauseous.

“Some. Others were determined to hear tales of the great Strange and Wong battling demons in the Canadian blizzards before bed.”

“Hmm.” Strange grunted, not too fussed, “Ever come across this?”

Wong carefully handed Jericho the skull that the Lutin had offered them. The sorcerer hummed dramatically and tapped his chin, making Strange roll his eyes. He was not in the mood for straight answers, then.

“Ah, no. No. No, sir, I have not seen this.” He chuckled, handing it back to Wong, “Looks very spooky, no? Gonna really scare some of them guests.”

“We don’t have guests.” Strange hissed, “Put in the Reliquary for the moment. We’ll see if it’s cursed in the morning.”

“Wise.” Wong murmured, suddenly frowning at the skull.

Taking a sudden increase in pace, the older sorcerer was quick to make his way from the room to relinquish touching the unknown object. Strange turned back. Jericho was looking at him.

“He is a good student. You should be proud.” Jericho was smiling, showing off white pearls in an infectious smile, “Not many can withstand the Qalupalik with only a year’s training.”

“He’s a good man.” Strange replied evenly.

He wasn’t sure what angle Jericho was playing, the paranoia of the depressed man eating at him. For Strange, it couldn’t simply be a normal conservation. Not when he was in the mood that he was. No, Jericho had to be planning some snide remark or insult somewhere.

“Of course. I’m merely saying that, when I first met him, I wasn’t expecting a student to have such potential. Well, especially when he was being taught by another student.”

Strange bristled. He took a step closer to the grinning sorcerer and straightened his hunched back. They were at eye level now. The tired, unwavering eyes of Strange seemed to make Jericho uncomfortable. He flinched first and looked away. Strange didn’t stop staring.

“We don’t have the luxury of many masters of the mystic arts being left. I do what I can to help.”

Jericho lost his smile. When he looked back up to Strange, there was a glint of challenge in his eyes. A challenge Strange was willing to take. He didn’t need some overly cocky Haitian sorcerer that bound upon his doorstep several months prior judging him. No, he did not. He was too tired for it.

“We should all being doing what we can to help.” A stern Spanish voice hissed.

Both men looked to see a short woman with curly blonde hair glaring at them both. Her robes were red and silver, with many animals sown into them. She was about Wong’s age, maybe a little older, and from sect of sorcerers that hid within a Spanish desert of an unknown location. Jennifer Kale, one of the last surviving masters of the mystic arts. One of the very few that had survived Varnae’s purge of the sorcerers of Earth. One of the few that managed to hide until Strange was able to locate her several months ago.

Not many had survived the vampire’s culling of their kind. In fact, many of the American and Southern Asian-based sorcerers were with Strange when he had accidently summoned the beast. Only Strange and Varnae had survived that day. Within a matter of days afterwards, the eternal vampire hunted every sect of Strange’s order down, slaughtering master and student alike. Many masters hide their students while trying to fight, resulting in what few survivors being of…mixed skill and knowledge. Only three masters had survived. Jennifer Kale of Spain, Rintrah of Greece, and Topaz, a rather reclusive sorceress from India who had trained at Nepal. While all very capable masters, it was not exactly a fantastic situation for their order, even with Varnae vanquished.

“Mistress Kale.” Strange inclined his head, “The Qalupalik situation is gone, and the Lutin are…very happy we’re back.”

“Muy bene. Muy bene.” She nodded, turning to Jericho, “Try to show some respect, por favor? I don’t need this headache.” She murmured in Spanish.

Jericho bit his tongue. A brilliant smile, albeit a fake one, flashed on his face.

“I meant no insult. You’ve both…done our order proud.” The last part was spoken with some pain, “Now, I have some translations I need to finish. Strange, Kale.”

“Mr. Drumm.” Both Strange and Jennifer inclined their heads, watching him leave.

“You look exhausted.” Jennifer stated in a softer tone, “You some rest.”

“I’ll just check the runes and if there are any report-”

“Stephen,” Her voice was now firm, “I already have. There’s nothing more coming in tonight. So, eat and sleep. That’s not a request.”

They both chuckled and smiled as they walked towards the dining room. The tapestries seemed to move and crinkle as they passed them. The ever-present hum of the Sanctum echoed in Strange’s ears as they moved past several historical paintings of previous sorcerers.

“Every time you pass these paintings, you look so…glum.” Jennifer observed, “Feeling the judgement of older sorcerers?”

The words cut deeply, for they were true. Strange could only nod glumly.

“I can see it in their faces. I know…I know that sounds like I’m insane. I just…I think I shouldn’t be here sometimes. Jericho fucking believes it half the time. I’m shocked that he hasn’t said it openly. There’s not even a Sorcerer Supreme anymore because of me.”

Jennifer stopped walking. She tilted her head as she looked up at Strange in sympathy and remorse.

“Jericho is insecure and in pain. You were not the only student that watched their masters die at the hands of Varnae. You weren’t the only one that crawled away, barely alive, after that fight. Jericho Drumm is a fool, but one that is improving. We all are.”

Very carefully, her hands raised. Strange closed his eyes as he felt their warmth on his face, consoling him. It was such a strange, maternal feeling thrown onto him. It wasn’t the first time that she had this to him, either. Warmth, safety, and calmness encased him, like there were no dangers left in the world. He felt very vulnerable and wanted to throw her hands off. He didn’t. He stayed where he was, eyes closed and lips bitten.

“You suffered greatly from Varnae. You made mistakes with him, si. You did. But you learnt. You rebuilt. Because of you, we have a future, Stephen Strange. Let go of your pain and the loneliness it brings. You are doing good deeds. Enjoy them.” She turned away and began to smile, “You…You have given us a new generation to enjoy.”

Her hands slowly left his head and Strange opened his eyes. Peering to the left, there were several small figures anxiously waiting in the hallway by the dining room. None were older than fourteen, with the youngest being seven. The youngest of them ran forwards. Her blue eyes were wide and eager, framed by a perfect grin underneath. Her skin was a light purple, contrasting the set of four shining, insect-like wings tugged under hoodie. She was bouncing on her heels, unable to contain her excitement.

“You survived!”

As she spoke, the Cloak of Levitation pulled up and waved in excitement to the young children.

“I…I did.” Strange replied and cleared his throat, “It’s late, Shaylee. You all have classes in-”

“Did you use the Illumo spell to freeze the monster and shatter it?”

Strange blinked. Shaylee Moonpeddle, the half human and half fairy hybrid, interpreted his reaction as confusion. She ruffled her orange hoodie and withdrew a small text. Strange’s mouth twitched as both he and Jennifer leaned forward. That particular book was not meant to leave the library. This was the fourth time that the seven year old had taken a priceless tome away for her own personal study. Usually, they were the book with the ‘coolest pictures’.

“This one.” She tapped a page with an illustrated spell, “It’s called the Illumo spell. I think. Did you use it?”

“No. No, I did not.” Strange cleared his throat again, “C’mon. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow mor-”

“I told you he didn’t use it.” An older, entirely human, girl called.

Emily Bright was only a few years older, but very lanky and deer-like for her age. Dark curls of hair rested on her shoulders, barely hiding the headphones that rested around her neck. Next to her was a much taller, broader teenage with a large tummy. Calvin Morse was tanned, a tad too laid back for Strange’s liking, and was prone to compare most things to a science fiction concept. It reminded Strange of Peter Parker and Jennifer Walters too much for his tastes. Two more students stood by his side. A tall, darker girl with thick dreads that flowed around her head. A beautiful sash with moon decorations rested upon her forehead, and she otherwise wore a sleeveless shirt and gym shorts. Zoe Laveau, one of the least excitable and more straightforward of the new students. The final of the crowd of children was another teenager, if that title even applied to her. A short girl with blood red skin, ashy black hair, and thick, ram-like horns that protruded from said hair. Dessy, a demonic being that…appeared on their doorstep without any knowledge of where she was and why she was there. She was the most silent of the children, often having an issue with speaking in words that didn’t terrify the younger children.

“He could have!” Shaylee called, angrily tapping the page detailing the spell, “He could have!”

“I used several spells using light to distract the beasts, and then I…dealt with them afterwards.”

“Was there blood?” Shaylee asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Why…No. I…No.” Strange sighed.

“He’s lying.” Dessy murmured, looking at him with cold analysis, “There was, indeed, blo-”

“Learn to filter, my dear.” Jennifer said with a forced grin, “Since you’re all still up, why not some fruit before bed? Dr. Strange hasn’t eaten yet.”

Strange almost impaled her for that revelation. The children shouted in excitement and all rushed towards the dining room. Jennifer gave her Strange a humoured look as he grumbled and muttered to himself. As he made his way to the dining room, the children had all taken seats around Wong. The older man eyed them all suspiciously as they smiled and waited for him. He blinked, not knowing what to do.

“They want to know tales of our glorious battle.” Strange explained as he sat between Emily and Dessy, whilst Jennifer disappeared to find them some food.

Wong snorted in amusement. The Cloak of Levitation slipped off of Strange’s shoulders, sliding onto its own chair whilst ruffling the hair of several students affectionately. Wong turned to Calvin.

“What do you wish to know?”

“Did you get stabbed? Impaled? Cut?”

“I am alive.” Wong said simply.

Calvin huffed in annoyance. His arms were thrown out as Shaylee and Zoe giggled.

“Man, that’s not what I mean. Like, was it a fight to the death? Were you on the edge of your life and then made a heroic comeback?”

“We’re not the X-Men.” Strange replied, “We study, we train, we deal with threats. There are no glorious battles.”

“Was it not glorious to fight with a Nordic god?” Dessy asked quietly.

Strange eyed her carefully. His own left eye almost twitched. The red-skinned girl merely looked confused, as if genuinely not understanding what was the issue.

“Where did you…No, that wasn’t…That was different. This was a Qalupalik. A simple river creature.”

“I was unharmed.” Wong continued, “I did throw one of them into another. I found it…funny.”

Shaylee slapped the table in sheer glee. The children continued their inquisition as Jennifer returned. Two plates of a stew were in her hands, whilst several bowls of fruit hovered behind her. Wong forwent talking as he delicately ate his foot with the utmost grace. Strange practically demolished his, answering questions between mouthfuls.

“When can we go on missions?” Calvin asked eagerly.

Strange wiped his lips. All of the children were looking at him, some with eagerness and others with curiosity about the question. The topic made Strange’s stomach twist.

“Not for years. You’re still students.”

“So are you.” Calvin countered, but he was quick to lower his head as Jennifer gave him a scrutinising look.

“I’ve been training for some years. You haven’t. I’m an adult. I’m a teacher.”

“You’re a heaps rad teacher.” Emily agreed, “We’ve nailed everything you’ve shown us. Even Shaylee’s keeping up with the lessons.”

“Like a master.” Shaylee crossed her arms and nodded.

Strange gritted his teeth, feeling frustration boil.

“This isn’t a game or joke. We go out there to protect people.”

“We can protect people.” Emily shrugged.

“You can barely protect yourselves. We train softly here. If I wanted to have a serious fight, do you think any of you would walk away? What we do isn’t a game.”

The group became silent. Shaylee’s body dropped and sagged, and even Calvin looked deflated. Emily clearly regretted continuing the topic, given that she was refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Even the Cloak of Levitation looked depressed, its collar dipping towards the table. Jennifer sipped tea, clicked her lips, and gave a tight smile to the gathered children.

“Dr. Strange is right. It’s a serious thing, being a sorcerer. It’s why we train you so much. So hard. In time, you will earn the right to join us. I know this without a doubt. But it will take time, focus,” She stared pointedly at Calvin, “and skill. Think on that tonight and we will discuss it further in the morning. Now, now. Sweet dreams.”

The gaggle of children uttered their mixed goodnights. Calvin was quick to sneak a pear into his pocket as he hopped behind Zoe. Strange quickly noticed that Wong was staring at him.

“Would you rather I lie to them about what it’s like?”

Wong didn’t speak immediately. He continued staring for some time, making Strange deeply uncomfortable.

“I think you should show ease. They are children.”

“Agreed.” Jennifer stated in a gravely tone, “They’re restless and curious. All kids are. Don’t give them nightmares because of that.” Jennifer leaned back, sliding her arms in her robes, “For that, you can do the dishes.”

Wong snorted, containing the smallest of smiles as he rose. Strange exhaled in annoyance, but nodded. Arguing with Jennifer was never wise. Besides, perhaps the repetitive work would give him something to do and draw his mind away from his regrets.

***

Jackie winced slightly as she was herded into the museum with the rest of her classmates. The enclosed sounds of children shouting and parents struggling to control them made her ears ache. It didn’t help that there were so many different scents in the air. It almost made the vampire gag at the overload. It was as if thick air was being shoved up her nose. A horrible, horrible feeling.

Still, she followed her lecturer with her clipboard in hand. Louise was at her side, equally annoyed. Though, that was because museums were considerably boring to her and thought there were better options for field trips with students. Within a few moments, the lecturer gathered them all and began her discussion on using field trips as a way to both excite and educate young children. The importance of needing to craft learning points through entertainment was uttered again and again, making Jackie almost zone out. As the redhead was nearly drifting off whilst still standing, there was a set of movement. Papers were being handed out groups within the class. Jackie blinked, staring at the sheet that she was now holding.

“Heck.” Louise sighed, “I got American history. You?”

“Natural history.” Jackie replied, eyeing the tasks closely, “Oh, lord. Well, there are worse things to make a lesson plan from, I guess.”

Louise was wrinkling her nose as she inspected her own paper.

“How many black people do you think will be in this exhibit?” She squinted suspiciously towards where she assumed the American history exhibits were housed.

Jackie offered her a sympathetic look.

“I’ll catch you in the food court for lunch?”

“Which you won’t eat?” Louise tattered, “Sure thing. Be safe. Avoid strange men unless they’re cute.”

Jackie flipped off her friend before looking for the nearest map of the museum. There was one towards the centre of the entrance, displaying a huge metal map of the various levels and room names of the museum. In front of her, also inspecting a map, was a small family of a dad with two daughters. The two young children were yapping in excitement, but both wanted to start with different collections. Jackie’s lip twitched. She never wanted kids, or really thought about them. She was only just in her twenties, after all. Still, it made her feel lonely that she may not be able to have them. Yet another experience that Varnae denied her for eternity. Another part of common life that separate her from practically everyone else.

Jackie’s mood dropped in seconds as such thoughts crushed her. Her eyes drifted back to the map. She gritted her teeth. The displays that she needed to study were all the way towards the end. Of course. With a moan and a scowl, the redhead carefully squeezed past family after family and walked towards a lift. Jackie paused. Her nose flared. Taking a deep breath in, she was quickly aware of a very familiar scent. Her fangs almost pierced her gums. The scent was cool. He wasn’t near her, not directly. Jackie’s mood crashed into a mixture of heated animosity and misery. She couldn’t even enjoy a faux field trip. She truly was being stalked. With exhales that resembled a bull, Jackie walked away from the lift and followed her nose.

The scent got stronger. She hastily strolled down to the basement level, pushing past all of the students that were oogling Egyptian ceramics. Jackie didn’t know what she was going to say or do. She had been more than polite. She had let him live after ambushing her flat. Should she have killed him? Maybe. Probably. That didn’t mean she wanted to do it. She still didn’t. She wasn’t going to kill him in a public museum, was she? No. But that led to many questions that she chose to ignore, specifically what was she going to do once she found him?

She stewed on her emotions of exhaustion and sadness until she stopped. The smell was thick. In front of her were two men, one slightly shorter with cropped, red hair, and another with a thick, brunette mullet. Both had a series of tools around their belts and eyeing clipboards. Judging from their matching black uniforms, they worked together. A display of a headdress was beside them, but it was clear that it was only recently built. The paint was still missing and sawdust was at their feet. A small red rope encased them, no doubt holding curious children at bay as they worked.

Jackie eyed one man and then the other. It was difficult to tell which was the damn knight that wouldn’t leave her in peace. Both were about the height of the man in the armour, and the helmet had muffled the voice enough for it to be difficult to tell who sounded the most like him. Eventually, one of two, the redhead, turned to look at the strange young woman staring at them. He smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Jackie’s eyes slithered to the second man. The man that visibly jumped as he saw her for the first time. It was him, the one with the mullet.

Jackie took several steps forwards. The man took a step in front of his co-worker, even as he started to sweat. Fear was within his eyes, but there was courage, too. He didn’t run or even take a step back as he was approached by the vampire. His co-worker frowned and clicked his tongue.

“Ah, can we help you, miss? Not to be rude, we’ve just got to set up-”

“A word.” She said through gritted teeth.

The knight exhaled slowly as to calm himself. He faked a sheepish smile and a wink to his co-worker.

“See you in a sec.”

“Don’t take too long, Dane.”

He crawled under the rope and, with very stiff legs, followed a marching Jackie towards a more reclusive hallway full of Canaanite sculptures. The knight’s hands were drifting towards his hammer and drill, as if they could stop Jackie from cutting into his throat. Jackie’s nostrils were flared as she did her best to intimidate the man. It didn’t help that he was far taller than her and very well built.

“How’d you find me?!” She hissed.

Dane blinked and leaned his head back in what could be assumed was confusion. His mouth opened and closed several times.

“I work here.”

“No, you don’t. You’re after me, you weird creep. You-”

Silently and with an exasperated expression, Dane tapped his chest. ‘Dane Whitman, Installation Team’ was written on a small badge. Jackie’s mind tried to logically explain the revelation, but soon, there was just blankness. Her mind failed to effectively draw anything out. She was so caught up in her head that she didn’t put together what his tools or uniform actually meant. A museum worker had tried to kill her. Jackie didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or be insulted.

“How do I know you’re not trying to kill me?” Dane asked carefully.

“I’m not out…” She lowered her voice as a group of school kids passed, “I’m not outside your bloody house throwing a sword at you. Is…Is that from here? Did you find from freaky sword in the museum and decide to hunt me with it?”

Dane’s face became gaunt. It was clearly a sensitive topic, one that made him roll his jaw back. His left hand, the one that held the sword in question, also appeared to flex.

“You have no idea what that sword is. You don’t know what I can do with it. So, back off.”

“You started this shit.”

“You’re a damn vampire.” Dane countered in a heated tone.

Jackie raised both of her eyebrows and placed her hand on her chest.

“Oh, that’s it? Because I clearly signed up on being kidnapped by a vampire, bitten, ordered around, and having my life taken from me. Yeah, that’s on me, is it? Wanna say that again?” She challenged, and his jaw tightened again, “I didn’t choose this life. I’m stuck with it. I don’t need this. I don’t need a weirdo hunting me. Okay? You leave me alone, I leave you alone. Fair?”

Dane weighed her words carefully. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that she had all of the power in the conversation. He had no weapons or armour, and she could easily rip his throat out if she wanted. The only thing that was keeping her at bay was either witnesses or her morality. He just didn’t know which one it truly was.

He spoke gently.

“How do I know you’re not hunting people? How do I know where those blood packs came from? For all I know, you’re just…hunting innocent people, just like the other vampires.”

Jackie closed her eyes and took a moment to calm herself. In her humble opinion, Dane was an idiot.

“I could’ve killed you. I didn’t.”

There was a pause.

“I know.” Dane admitted.

“Have you even thought a vampire before?”

Dane flushed a tad. The question seemed to insult him and he began to cross his arms.

“Yes. Several. A werewolf, too. Spirits. A wendi-”

“That’s great. You know I was pulling my punches. You know Varnae?”

The air around them changed as the name was mentioned. Dane looked at her carefully, not knowing or liking where the conversation was going. Few vampires mentioned that name, even in the few vampire written texts that Dane had come across in his life. They tended to omit the fall and overall existence of the creator of their kind. The pride of the vampires was high indeed.

“The first vampire.”

“You know what happened to him?”

Dane broke eye contact, looking irritated.

“He…A group…He was thrown in some magical prison.”

“Yeah, by me.”

Her answer seemed to deeply confound Dane, so much so that his lips were slightly agape. He almost forgot what type of creature that he was talking. It had been a secret jealousy of his that he had not been there when Varnae was defeated. In fact, given his recent dedication to punish the malevolent supernatural, Dane sometimes felt that he would have been perfect in such a battle. Inexperienced and fresh faced, for certain, and there was a high chance that he would be dead within minutes. But he was still envious of those that accomplished such a task as bringing down the first ever vampire.

“That’s…” He struggled to find any appropriate words to say.

She could have been lying. It was well within a vampire’s nature to lie, though it was a bold move to proclaim you created the founder of your species. Dane couldn’t quite figure out her angle. As Dane did his best to remain on top in the situation, Jackie felt her violate emotions deflate and cool. Soon, she was able to speak without venom lacing her words.  

“I just want to have a normal life, if that’s even possible for me. That’s all. We can…have peace.”

She gave him an awkward nod and, without further words, turned and walked away. He wasn’t stalking her, which was good. Unless he was so deep into his cover story that others knew him, yet it was only sheer luck that she had found at the museum. If crossing her at the museum was part of his plan, why didn’t he plan better and try to kill her? No. It was coincidence, Jackie was sure of that. She had done her part, she had been mature and stated her case. The ball was in his court. She could put the situation behind her and try to actually complete her tasks like a normal college student. Normal. She snorted bitterly at the thought. That was a luxury that she could no longer afford.

Dane’s hand stroked his thick hair as he watched her leave. She was, without any doubt, the most bizarre vampire that he had ever seen. He had faced several, nearly all trying to kill him immediately. They were animalistic, not prone to logic or fact. Many were dirty, living in the dark, with blood clinging to their torn clothes. He knew of more prompt and proper vampires, the older of the clans. High Vampires, but Dane knew his limits. He had not challenged one to combat yet, for he knew he would perish.

Perhaps, Jackie was a High Vampire. The logic made sense if Varnae created her. She was so…controlled and normal. A college student of all things. One that was capable of mercy. Dane shook his head, not knowing what to think of the supernatural creature that he had been told to hunt. The creature that had just asked for a ‘normal life’.

***

The sound of a hissing kettle woke Strange up. While a typically unsuspecting noise, it was the sound of the Sanctum Santorum letting the guests know that something was wrong. Strange was swift in his movements. He leapt from his bed and aimed his scarred, shaking fingers to his closet. A set of blue robes tightly wound around his hunched frame. Without caring for his appearances or shoes, he pushed outside. A storage closet next to his room opened as well, revealing the Cloak of Levitation groggily floating around as it, too, woke up.

“Go to the children. Make sure they’re okay and keep them in their rooms.”

The cloak nodded and flew off with thunderous speed. Strange sprinted towards the upper floor, passing several stone and ceramic ornaments which he almost crashed into. Within one of the large rooms in the Sanctum Santorum, there stood several enormous maps of continents on each wall. Several circular runes slowly drifted from country to country, sensing any unusual uses of magic worth alerting the sorcerers about. In the centre of the room stood several lines of glowing runes, each hissing and pulsing. Some were shrinking whilst others grew. Strange slowly walked towards the runes, not quite understanding what they meant. In front of them, a giant of a beast was examining them. It was easily eight foot tall, with muscles that would make Thor and Jennifer Walters envious. Green, matted fur hid its skin, whilst a loose set of white and blue robes concealed his fur. Two bull horns rested on his head and as he turned to acknowledge strange, the human sorcerer saw the face of a Greek minotaur. Rintrah.

“Something’s trying to push into the Sanctum.” The minotaur spoke with a highly pronounced Kytherian accent, “I don’t know what. There is no sign of what spell it is, or where the person is trying to come from. They’re…They’re just pushing a lot of dark magic into whatever they’re casting.”

“We get the students out?” Strange asked immediately.

“Wise. You take them to what’s left of Kamar-Taj and-”

“What is it?” Jennifer asked briskly.

She was still wearing her elephant pyjamas as she, along with an older Indian woman, stormed into the room. Strange inclined in his head to both Jennifer and the final master within the Sanctum, Topaz. Topaz was a short woman, with thick curls that decorated her wise and experienced featured. Out of all of the masters, she was least prone to speaking and more likely to merely stroke her chin and watch as events occurred. She smiled at Strange as she strode in, but was quick to read the runes.

“Stephen, take the children, the adult students, and Topaz to Kamar-Taj.” Jennifer ordered.

Her clothes melted away and reformed into a set of red and silver robes. Topaz clicked her tongue.

“It should be you that goes. I am too old to-”

“Exactly. You have the most wisdom. You die, and the most knowledge gets lo-”

Strange grunted as he clapped his hands. Shouting a spell, he was quick to stand in front of the women as round, rotating shield filled with red runes appeared in front of him. The air before them hissed as fiery tendrils lashed out and writhed. Rintrah slammed his hoof into the floor as his horns hummed and pulsed with magical energy. Icy shards grew upon them, ready to tear into flesh and organ. The tendrils grew and whipped at the air, pulling open a hole in between them.

“Strange, the students. Go.” Jennifer ordered.

Strange bit his tongue, wanting to argue. He wanted to stay and protect his home. He didn’t want to run and be a survivor again. But he didn’t. Instead, he carefully stepped back and allowed Jennifer to take his place as she formed her own shield. The tendrils hissed, only to go silent and completely still. Strange dropped his shield and prepared to run. He was thrown into the floor. A shriek curled through the halls and Strange called out as he clutched his ears. Rintrah was thrown back as well, swearing in Greek as he crashed into a map of Australia. The tendrils had ripped the hole open to over a metre in size, allowing someone to step through.

She was tall, fine in her stride, and lift her chin up with an arrogance that belonged to Tony Stark. She wore an elaborate purple dress that left her shoulders and arms exposed, along with the many bracelets and jewels that she adorned her body with. Her short hair was ashen white, and her strong, intimidating eyes were a beautiful green. She turned her defined jaw to the tendrils within the portal. With a simplicity of a master, she blew at it. The tendrils slipped within the portal, allowing it to shrink and disappear altogether. With her business concluded, the stranger turned to armed sorcerers with some clear amusement.

“Whoever you are,” Jennifer began, her shield blazing in the air, “you are not welcome here. This is the Sanctum Santorum, and you-”     

“Oh, I’m in the right place. Perfect.” She held her hands before her as if she were a diplomat and she had just started a meeting, “The Sorcerer Supreme. I must speak to him. I come from the Dark Dimension seeking aid.”

There was silence. The newcomer raised a perfect eyebrow, looking at each person around her with impatience and confusion as to why they weren’t immediately fulfilling her requests. She clicked her lips in thinly veiled annoyance.

“Is this not the right language? Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Strange replied evenly.

His response made her glare at him. She took a step towards him, but each of the sorcerers took a step towards her. She looked offended.

“What is this? Is this how you treat those that seek your aid?”

“It’s how we treat those that break into our home.” Rintrah answered, “We do not know you, but we know of the magic you used to get here. Put your hands up slowly, fingers spread.”

She turned to him and looked at him as if he were the dumbest person that she had ever met.

“Dark magic, from the Dark Dimension. That seems like a perfectly logical thing to do to me. Tell me. Where is the Sorcerer Supreme? I grow impatient of being treated like an animal. My people are dying.”

“If your words are true, then you have no issue earning our trust.” Jennifer explained.

The stranger rolled her eyes. Slowly, she raised her hands as if she were praising a god, and spread her fingers. Rintrah strode towards her, soon encasing her wrists in a glowing binding.

“Softly.” She ordered, “This is a rare dress from my home.”

“The Dark Dimension?” Strange asked quietly, looking at both Jennifer and Topaz.

Jennifer opened her mouth to answer, but the newcomer scoffed.

“You haven’t heard of it? What are they teaching sorcerers here? It’s a realm. Well, a type of realm. It’s hardly Asgard, is it?” She chuckled softly at her own little joke, “It exists below many realms, linked to them all.”

“It’s a universe filled with dark magic.” Jennifer explained, “Few sorcerers from Earth have ventured within it, even less have returned. It is said to be a place where worlds collide into one, and it is easy for so many versions of a single history to turn one insane.”

“Multiple realities?” Strange asked, the edge accidently leaving his voice.

He had never heard of the Dark Dimension. In fact, prior to meeting Thor, he had not really known of any other universes or realms of existence. He couldn’t help himself. His scientific curiosity was getting the better of him.

“All within one, single, universe. Scholars have said it’s hard to keep track of what’s real and what is being projected into your mind as being real. Because, from a point of view, all realities are real.”

“Unless if a Sorceress Supreme does her job and keeps the lines focussed and not blurred.” The woman puffed up her chest.

The comment made everyone silent again. Even Topaz looked at her with open fascination. The intense looks seemed to make the stranger mildly uncomfortable as she flushed and cleared her throat.

“I am Clea, Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension.”

As she spoke, she did her best to move her bound arms and adjust the tops of her dress. There was a chest piece with many familiar engravings upon it. It was gold and shone in the torch light, with deep runes cut into it. It covered her chest and the base of her neck, and she was quick to hide it under her dress once more. Strange had seen a very similar garb before only once. His master, the Sorcerer Supreme, used to wear an armour piece on his shoulders and upper chest. Many of the symbols that Strange had observed on his master’s piece were now observable on Clea’s.

“Now, for the third time, I am here asking for the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.” She held up her wrists, shaking her bounds mockingly, “I’m even willing to play hostage. But I must speak with him.”

The sorcerers of Earth exchanged glances, seeking guidance from one another. Topaz cleared her throat.

“We do not have…one.”

Clea chuckled, trying to understand the joke. When no one else laughed, she stopped. She peered down at the elderly sorceress.

“What do you mean? I’ve travelled a long way to get here to speak to him.”

“He’s dead.”

Clea looked over her shoulder. Strange was staring at the ground with loathing. His swallowed.

“He’s dead. We’re all that’s left. Vampires hunted us down one by one. We’re…We’re the ones trying to rebuild.”

Clea took in the information carefully. Part of her viewed it as some sort of joke or a trick to further insult her. Yet, there was only misery and pain in the eyes of Strange, making her doubt that he was lying. She weighed her new options. She did not have many. No, she did not have many at all. It made her swallow, before trying to maintain her sense of control over the situation.

“Then, I hope you may be able to help me.” She suggested, “In my dress, there’s a prism. Be careful and retrieve it for me.” Rintrah stepped towards her, “Someone that isn’t the brute.”

Rintrah looked as if he were about to ram one of his horns into her. Strange sighed and walked towards her. Clea looked at his every movement, giving him a silent warning of where he should avoid putting his hands. Her eyes pointed to a hidden pouch in her dress. With care and mild embarrassment, Strange reached in. Clea felt his shaking hands. Her mouth opened to insult him, but she noticed how both hands were shaking without pause and that both showed scarring from a medical technique.

Strange stepped back, holding a small glass cube up in the air as he examined it. There was a drop of a liquid within it. Some small protection runes were also cut into the glass, but they were barely noticeable. Signs of a master of her craft. Strange backed away and offered it to Topaz.

“It’s a magic-inflated disease. One that’s tearing through countless worlds in the Dark Dimension. I cannot cure it, nor can any other sorcerer in my dimension. I’ve come to see…if anyone here may.”

Topaz continued to inspect the prism with a grave expression on her face. It was clear that she did not like whatever it was that Clea was storing within. She seemed agitated by the idea of such a cursed disease being on Earth.

“Could such a thing spread between dimensions?” She asked.

“I don’t know. It spreads across space and matter like an insect to food. While it does not appear to infect all species, like myself, the death toll is still…horrific. Surely you…could offer aid. Anything. My dimension is desperate.”

Topaz looked at both Jennifer and Rintrah. While the latter looked as if murder was on the table for the arrogant interloper, Jennifer was as collected and calm as ever. She and Topaz conducted a silent conversation that lasted several seconds as they debated what to do.

“We will deliberate.” Jennifer stated, her voice unwavering “Strange.”

He grunted in response. He rose his hands and formed several hovering blades over his body. After another moment of thinking, he continued to cast several more spells as subtly as he could. He was not overly happy at the prospect of being alone with the snide woman. She reminded him too much of Stark. Rintrah, Jennifer, and Topaz slowly left towards the exit. Each looked at their guest with unease distrust.

“We’ll get you some company immediately.” Jennifer whispered in Strange’s ear as she passed him.

As she left, Strange and Clea were alone. Clea seemed mildly amused at the glowing knives Strange was threatening her with. With gentle steps, she strolled to and fro with her chin held up.

“You must not consider me too much of a threat.” She scoffed, her finger flicking to a magical sword, “A mere shield could knock back the swords.”

Strange did not move. After several seconds of vetting his words, he spoke.

“They could.”

Clea chuckled. She gave him a condescending look.

“Being silent won’t hide the other spells you cast about. What mastery of magic have you shown me?”

She chewed her cheek as she scanned the air around her. There was something about her tone and the complete lack of any respect that made Strange want to throw a shoe at her. He silently bristled as Clea finished her inspection.

“A beast at my feet?”

Strange grunted.

“It’s a crocodile. Very strong bite force.”

“I’ve dealt with elder dragons.” Clea immediately cut in, “I’m disappointed.”

“I really don’t care.” Strange replied honestly.

“I think you do.” Clea smirked, “That’s why you cast the sinking spell near my feet, what I think is a blinding rune to my left ear, and what could be easily assumed to be a portal into a sun between us. Did I miss any spells you tried to hide?”

Strange didn’t answer her question. Instead, he changed the topic.

“We don’t need to pester each other. We can just wait in silence.”

“Gods, you’re boring, then.” She sighed, shaking her hair about, “You’re old for someone who isn’t a master.”

“I started late.” Strange soon smiled sarcastically, “It’s why I’m such a good student. I have so much to catch up on.”

“Three masters and what I can assume are a collection of adult students?” Clea murmured to herself, thinking it over, “This dimension must be worse off than I thought. Are there other worlds with sorcerers?”

Strange began to feel slighted, insulted. She didn’t even know what they were capable of, and yet she was already thinking of prancing off to another world. He did his best to cool himself. He was an adult, after all.

“Yes, of different types and kinds of magic.”

“Well, let’s hope some can be of use. It’s a very complicated curse. Not even I can understand it, and I’m the most talented sorceress in my dimension.”

Strange blinked.

“I’m sure.”

The monotone reply and the complete lack of emotion of Strange’s face made Clea tilt her head.

“You doubt me? The student doubts me?”

Strange blinked again. He then sighed and spoke in his usual low voice.

“Look, you’re probably a great sorceress. I don’t doubt that. But I really don’t need some arrogant girl yapping in my ear and insulting my order every sentence. You can do what you can do. I can do what I can do. Let’s leave it at that.”

Clea seemed a mix of insulted and curious by the dismantling. Her mouth curled in what Strange guessed was to be a snide reply. She never gave it. To Strange’s interest, she didn’t insult him. Rather, her eyes had once more drifted to his bare hands.

“That’s no curse.”

Almost self-consciously, he hid his hands behind his spell. He felt like a child in doing so. Clea raised an eyebrow but didn’t verbally question his reaction.

“Crushed. They needed surgery on the nerves, but it didn’t work. It meant the end of being a doctor, a healer, and so I learnt magic.”

“A healer?” Clea had genuine curiosity in her voice.

“A very talented one.” Strange took his turn to smirk.

Clea continued to look at him with some interest. Her cockiness was still there, but it had mellowed somewhat. Her eyes examined everything from his salted temples to his robes. Strange’s body shifted in discomfort at the blatant analysis.

“A sorcerer that was once a healer. You must have some talents, then.”

She didn’t sound like she was insulting him this time. Before Strange could question her, the doors opened once more. Several older initiates, including Jericho Drumm, walked in. Several spells were charged as they circled her. Clea looked at each and every one of them intently. She wasn’t impressed. Many of them had poor posture or stances. Others were holding their hands in incorrect positions. It all reeked of poor teaching and lack of talent. Jericho inspect the guest with deep interest. He stepped back, turning towards Strange.

“Who is she?”

“Clea, Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension.” Clea held her head up high, only to immediately roll her eyes, “You. Behind me. If you’re going to stun me, at least put your elbows up and cast the damn spell correctly.”

The woman behind Clea shifted her feet a little, but actually did as instructed. It was nearly ten minutes until the masters returned. Clea stood proud with her arms awkwardly crossed the entire time. None of the other sorcerers said a word as they carefully guarded her, intent to make sure that she didn’t try anything. Strange’s heart was beating fast. He didn’t like how long it was taking the masters to decide her fate and he didn’t like keeping such a foreign being within the Sanctum. He was also fearful of his inability to deal with her, should she turn on them. He didn’t need another massacred on his hands. By the time Topaz, Jennifer, and Rintrah had returned, Strange was deeply grateful.

Jennifer interlaced her hands as she stood before Clea. A look of authority rested upon her features as she slowly inclined her head. The sorcerers all dropped their spells.

“While we absolutely do not appreciate how you have come into the Sanctum, the mantlepiece is no forgery. Nor do we believe in abandoning countless billions to die of a mystical disease. It goes against our values and our cause. We will aid you, if we can, but with condi-”

“Wonderful.” Clea smiled.

She lifted her arms and whispered something. The glowing bounds around her faded into the air within a second. Rintrah growled, his mood becoming even worse as several of the students whispered in awe. Jennifer frowned, but did not comment on the idle display of power before her.

“With conditions. We request that you be under supervision until you have earnt our trust.”

“Fine, fine.” Clea waved them away, not seeming too pulsed by the idea of being watched.

Jennifer’s face grew mildly uneasily and her words were carefully picked.

“As this is a medical concern, as well, we believe…Strange would be of use.”

Strange’s frown could crack stone. His head tilted as he seemed to silently threaten the senior sorcerers in front of him. It was a joke, surely. He was not even within that form of medicine when he practiced. They merely wanted someone else to deal with the smug invader and were using his barely connected career as an excuse to do so.

“I was a neurosurgeon. I did not research diseases in…as much detail as needed here.”

“A neurosurgeon?” Clea questioned.

“Nerves, the brain, the spine. I focussed on fingers minuet complications in the human body.”

“With incredible skill.” Jennifer pointed out, much to Strange’s infuriation, “We lack any healers or sorcerers that primarily specialise in that area of magic, so you’re the best we have.” Jennifer turned to Clea, “Strange will aid you where he can and oversee your access to our libraries. We would ask you do not interrupt any day-to-day functions of the Sanctum or the training of students.”

“I’m not hear to eavesdrop.” Clea looked bored by the very idea, “No, we have more important things to do. Strange, where are the libraries? I wish to begin immediately.”

Strange smiled tightly waved his hand downwards. Several hisses could be heard as he dissolved his spells. A small chuckle left him.

“You missed one. A mirror spell to distract you.”

Clea raised both of her eyebrows as she tried to guess where he had hidden the runes. Strange gestured to the door with his hand. Clea departed without another word, striding outwards as if she were on a catwalk. As soon as she left the room, Strange was before the masters.

“I’m out of my depth. I don’t know how to cure diseases. One of you should do this.”

Jennifer gave Strange a diplomatic expression, one that gave little room for debate or argument.

“I’ll be honest, we want her out as soon as possible. None of us trust her. She used dark magic to get in here. She got past all of our shields in minutes. You’re the only one with a medical background here. You’re the best option we have. I know it sucks, but it’s the best option we have. Do what you can, and keep her in your sights. We’ll start scouring the libraries ourselves. Topaz will be returning to the ruined Kamar-Taj archives to see what remains. I will send several of the older students to scout other temples and training houses. Maybe one of us can find what Clea seeks.”

“And if we can’t?”

Jennifer’s jaw tightened. There was a deep exhale as she looked away.

“We do what we can, but we draw a line in the sand. Understood?”

Strange nodded. While Clea was an unknown variable, Strange doubted that any one of them could fend her off or tell her to return to her home if she didn’t already want to. Then there was the matter of him actually being of use. How they thought he could suddenly change medical disciplines so quickly was beyond him. Still, they were the masters and he was still a student. With that in mind, Strange bowed to Jennifer, Rintrah, and Topaz before leaving.

Clea was eyeing the artworks with a mixture of confusion and distaste. There was something about seeing a sorcerer being burnt alive by small, pixie-like creatures that didn’t seem to be to her taste.

“Are you done complaining about me?” Clea asked, still squinting at the painting.

“For now.” Strange’s lips tugged into a small smile, “I’ll be honest, I don’t know how much I can help you.”

“If this is some attempt to remove you-”

“But I’ll do my best. I promise.” Strange continued with sincerity in his voice.

Strange turned to him. She chewed her lip as she read his expression. She didn’t see any mockery. Her hands were placed behind her back and she inclined her head.

“Where is the library? We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Strange grunted.

***

Within the concrete confines of the lab, there was a strong level of glee to be felt. For Eric O’Grady, his newest toy was certainly worth grinning like a child over. He stood before the Leader, tall and confident as ever, as he adjusted the mechanised belt around his hips. Upon him was a suit of silver and red leather. A dark silver helmet decorated his head. A thin, narrowed shape of a helmet with two bulbous dark red eyes. Eric finished making his adjustments and ensured the helmet was airtight to his suit before turning to the Leader.

“If I die…”

“When I am wrong?” The Leader asked with some humour to his tone, “Press the button on the belt to acti-”

O’Grady was gone. The Leader rolled his eyes and waited. He would give the man several seconds to play with his latest invention. If he didn’t return, then the Leader knew that he was, in fact, wrong in how he replicated Pym’s suit. It had not been overly difficult once Sterns brothers had access to the Pym Particle. The nature of the suit and how it worked could be ascertained quickly enough. It had taken some time, but the suit soon ready for O’Grady’s tests.

The Leader’s eyes flicked to an old clock ticking upon the wall. Perhaps more reviews of the suit were needed. He hoped not. He didn’t have a lot of Pym Particles to spare and O’Grady had proven useful. Thankfully, a coughing O’Grady suddenly appeared. He clutched a nearby storage crate and took time to regather himself. His body was shaking.

“Are you okay?” The Leader asked calmly.

A bewildered laugh left the thief. He turned around and hastily unlatched his sleek helmet. O’Grady took even deeper breaths as his ginger hair sprouted out from under the helmet. His pale skin was already damp and red.

“Fucking weird. Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

“Good.” The Leader nodded, “I still want to do some tests. I don’t want there to be any…questionable side-effects to the particles.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” O’Grady was only half-listening as he stared at the helmet, “When do I get to still stuff again? You-You said I’d be able to score enough for an island with this stuff.”

The Leader stepped in front of him and gently pushed his helmet down, encouraging O’Grady to look directly at him.

“We need to be patient. I don’t want any unneeded attention on you.”

The Irishman chuckled in an unpleasant manner. He clicked his tongue as he gave the Leader a slimy look.

“You promised me money.”

“I just gave you the powers of a god.”

“Which…you’re not letting me use.” O’Grady counted as he pressed the helmet into the Leader’s chest, “You can go on about your whole ‘saving lives’ shit, that’s great. I wanna save my life. I like food, water, houses. That kinda thing that money offers.” O’Grady continued in a curt tone, “I got you this stuff. Let me use it.”

The Leader contemplated the thief’s request for a moment. A reluctant expression overcame him, for he did need to keep the thief at least somewhat happy.

“We will have tasks very soon. That I promise. I merely ask…for a few days of patience, while we run the medical tests. You can’t be rich if you’re dead.”

O’Grady laughed and gritted his teeth. He was smart enough to see where he was being herded. He allowed himself to be. Truth be told, he was nauseous and disorientated. There was something wrong in his gut from the moment that the mist encased his body. Some stupid nerd tests maybe wouldn’t be the worst idea. And the Leader had a point. It was hard to rob places as a corpse. He just needed the Leader to keep his promises. For the first time in Eric O’Grady’s life, he had the powers to actual get his life sorted. To actually eat warm food and to not take anyone’s crap anymore. Such a thing was worth killing for.

“Fine. Just be quick.” O’Grady relented, “I wanna see what this thing can do. You said it makes you strong when tiny?”

“As strong as a bullet.” The Leader confirmed.

“Fook yeah.” O’Grady grinned, “I wanna have that soon.”

“Still alive?”

Both the Leader and O’Grady turned to see Philip looking at O’Grady’s new suit with mild curiosity. There was a small bag thrown around his shoulder, and he wasn’t wearing his metallic collar. He looked stressed and his clothed was messily ordered. It was clear that he wasn’t excited to go wherever he was going. O’Grady smirked at him as he gestured dramatically to his suit.

“Works like a charm. Cheers, lad.”

“Don’t ruin it. It wasn’t fun to make.” Philip snorted and his brother chuckled, “I’m heading out for a few hours. Mind the house?”

“I’ll be here making sure Mr. O’Grady doesn’t pass out.” The Leader confirmed in a light tone, “Have you got the parcel?”

Philip nodded. Without much more, the lean man left the research compound in a small, banged up car that he still had from his college years. His hand gripped the wheel tightly as he bit into his other hand anxiously. The drive took too long. He didn’t like it, though he didn’t like the destination much either. It always swallowed him up in sickness and sadness. Eventually, the traffic relented and he was able to make it to the hospital.

As he closed the car door, Philip sighed and rested his head on top of the car. He took several moments to mentally and emotionally brace himself with his eyes closed. He then stood straight and entered the hospital. With a glum experience, he checked himself in at reception. With heavy feet, he led himself to the third floor. Despite the many painted walls of animals and cartoon characters, Philip did not smile. Instead, he swallowed.

A nurse kindly opened a door for him. Inside was a small room, crammed with many machines offering readings and cords that were endless. In the middle, by a large stuffed hippopotamus, was a bed with a small girl on it. She was a skinny thin, with more bone to her than muscle. Her dirty blonde hair was thin and glossy. To Philip’s immediate concern, she looked even more exhausted than usual. Her eyes were buggy and dark, though they seemed to sparkle with life as soon as she saw Philip enter the room. He swallowed again.

“Hey, sweetie.” He forced a smile as he rushed over to her.

Small arms around his chest and did their best to squeeze the life out of him. They were so weak that Philip could barely feel it.

“You’re late.” The young girl frowned as Philip sat next to her.

“Traffic, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” He apologised.

He was about to continue, when he noticed a small tub of something green on her bedside table. Philip frowned.

“You haven’t eaten your Jell-O?”

The eight-year-old looked confused for a second. Philip pointed and his daughter soon looked where he was.

“Wasn’t hungry.” She shrugged innocently.

“You promised me yesterday you’d eat more, Charlotte.”

The small girl shifted in her sheets, looking annoyed at being lectured. She shrugged again.

“It makes me sick when I eat too much.”

Philip closed his eyes and nodded knowingly. Of course it did. Even the smallest amounts made Charlotte throw up in recent weeks.

“I know. But you need to eat and be strong.” Before Charlotte could argue back, Philip took a lighter, mockingly disappointed tone, “If you’re strong, you’d be able to get Uncle Sam’s present. It’s a good one, too.”

Charlotte grimaced, her mouth open as she looked at her father with shock and disgust. She looked down, thinking it through. Soon, her small arm reached for the cup of Jello-0 and she took a scoop. After about three stabs into the desert, her face was even more pale and her fingers were digging into the sheets. Philip hastily took the cup off of her.

“That should be okay.” He said uneasily.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out Samuel’s ‘parcel’. Charlotte giggled with excitement as she was given a tiny wooden box. As she opened it, she became confused. It was a series of gears and cogs, all placed underneath a mechanism. Philip chuckled a little. He leaned over and gently took her fingers into his, placing them at the mechanism.

“It’s a music box. Twist this a few times.”

Charlotte did as told. Several pins rolled along the sheets of metal in front of her, producing a gentle lullaby. Charlotte was motionless. Her entire body was enraptured by the tiny device. Philip leaned back and smiled softly to himself. To see her so calm and so content for once was almost enough to make him sob. As the song soon ended, Charlotte was quick to immediately wind the device up again and to let it play.

By the third rendition, the small girl was curled up on her bed. With utter care, Philip gathered the music box and placed it upon her bedside table. While being asleep meant that Philip had less time to talk with his daughter, at least she was resting. By the sight of her, she needed that. A soft hand slowly tugged some of her hair behind her head before walking outside. As soon as he left her room, he closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall. It was almost painful to breathe. Charlotte was a loud child, full of stubborn energy. She could barely walk to the bathroom two days prior. Philip clenched his jaw.

“Dr. Sterns.”

He opened his eyes, seeing a short, older man with caramel skin and long, dark hair. Philip swallowed. Without bothering to fake a smile, he spoke.

“She’s not eating again, Miguel.”

The doctor sighed and stepped closer to Philip as to not impact any of the running doctors around them. He crossed his arms in a lame manner.

“We can get her to have one meal a day. But if things don’t improve, we’ll need to discuss other ways to get nutrients into her body.”

Philip became even paler. He rubbed his mouth as he thought.

“Her blood?”

Miguel sighed deeply. Philip felt his heart drop a pace as a result.

“Her body is still breaking down. Worse, it…looks like its adapting to our treatments. The condition in her blood wasn’t getting better, but it wasn’t getting worse. Now…”

“Now it’s getting worse.”

Miguel nodded with hollowed severity. He sighed again.

“One of our doctors is reading up on a therapy in Hong Kong that they’re trialling. That could be an avenue-”  

“I don’t have enough money for something like that.” Philip said weakly, “Even if I did, she can’t travel to Hong Kong. Look at her.”

“I know.” Miguel said gravely, “Dr. Sterns, I will do my best. I promise. Please, I know it feels horrible. I’ve been in a situation with my daughter, as well. A fucked up one.” Miguel admitted, “Have some faith. We’ll do our best.”

Miguel squeezed both of Philip’s shoulders and murmured a farewell as he returned to attending a patient. Silently, Philip slumped back into Charlotte’s room and dropped into the visitor’s seat. His head rested on his hand as he watched Charlotte’s sleeping form. A bitter, foul feeling overtook. A rage that he couldn’t put into words or any logical sense. It was cruel and unfair, that’s all it was. Charlotte didn’t deserve it. No, she deserved to be able to eat, and play, and go to school. A pained exhale left him as he looked at her.

The plan had to continue. It had to work. For no other reason, it had to for her. Seeing Charlotte so weak only hardened Philip’s resolve. His jaw tightened and his mind drifted to the collar that he often wore so recently. Jennifer Walters. He needed to find her and soon. The others needed to be dealt with now. Philip bit his lip. He could find her. He needed. Jennifer Walters needed to be found.

***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and sorry for taking so long. I had some work issues that have thankfully been resolved, so I can update more often.

I hope we enjoyed our grumpy and depressed sorcerer and our isolated and withdrawn vampire. I’ve missed writing them. I also hope the introduction to Dane and Clea went well. I’m keen to see what I can do with them.

Next chapter will showcase Jen on the run from Philip Sterns, as well as introduce our final Avenger, a certain sea prince, as well as Peter meeting Felicity for the first time in years.

If anyone has any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. It’s always great interacting with everyone. Otherwise, thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend. Also, if you’re interested in my other works, I’ve just finished another X-Men story set in this universe.

Fact of the chapter: The original name of the ‘Snickers’ bar was ‘Marathon’, and was only changed in 1990 when the parent company Mars wanted to bring the U.K. based product into a global market.  

Chapter Text

Peter did his best to hide the panting, the uneven breathing, the growing pain in his lungs. Something was wrong. It may have been anxiety, the coiling sensation that he was in danger. Maybe he was. It didn’t feel like anxiety, though. Not entirely. His burnt skin dragged along his damaged suit as he moved, making him grimace behind his mask. The pain was rising. Something was wrong. He took a step forwards. He couldn’t appear fragile. Not now. She would claw into his mind at the first sign of weakness. She always did. Doing his best to appear casual, Peter leaned against a chimney and put his weight against it. It was enough to take the edge off, but something was still wrong. Peter pushed the pain to the back of his mind, for the young man had more woeful issues to behold. He needed to be strong.

The beautiful woman before him was much shorter than the rangy teen, almost by a head. Her shoulders were broad, however, with an uncomfortably curvaceous body below. She was clearly still athletic. Within her leather catsuit, outlines of defined muscle could be seen. The body of a gymnast, perhaps, but one that was strong and powerful. Her cheeks were still soft and round, perfectly holding a thin mask that concealed her blue eyes and small ears. White fur puffed out of the leather around her neck and shoulders. A white mane of thick hair rested above the fur. Hair that travelled around her neck to rest upon her very exposed and very noticeable cleavage. Peter closed his eyes as soon as he noticed. Thankfully, another wave of agony crossed over his skin so that he was quick to forget the woman’s appealing nature. Why was she still so beautiful? The teen hated that it made his pulse quicken. She was powerful, too. Her chin was held up and there was nothing but confidence in those beautiful eyes.

The woman tattered in sympathy. She took several steps towards Peter, eyeing his burnt suit and the peaks of raw, damaged skin that could be seen behind. What could be interpreted as concern coloured her face.

“Electro?”

Peter let out a dry laugh. He nodded stiffly.

“I still have major…issues with the name. Not a fan.”

“Says ‘Spider-Man’.” The woman chuckled lightly.

She was still walking closer to him. Peter swallowed. He hated when she did that, when she got near and close. He felt his space being ripped away from him. A sickened feeling in his stomach formed. Despite almost shaking from the pain, his body became very still as she stood before him. He didn’t like this. No, he wanted to run. He wanted to be away from her, where it was safe.

“Why are you here, Felicia?”

Peter’s blunt tone appeared to take Felicia by surprise. The mildly older woman blinked, only for a smile that belonged to a lioness to form. She could never allow herself to admit any form of disadvantage, after all.

“You’re in one of those moods. I see.” She stated as if he were an overtired child, “Well, Pete, I-”

“Peter.” He corrected, before he could stop himself, but it mattered little.

“-was just returning home for some…family business.” Felicia lazily threw her hand to side as she rolled her eyes, “Ya know, wills are still such a nuisance to sort out for the extended fam-”

“You didn’t…You didn’t kill an uncle, right?”

A high-pitched laugh rang out of the beautiful girl. Peter felt himself turning red. He still meant his question. Despite knowing Felicia for a year, Peter never quite knew her or what she was capable of. In hindsight, Felicia had a very good reason for that.

“Always with the mouth, sweetie.” Peter’s teeth gritted, “No, it’s…my father, if you must know. The old toad finally croaked, as they say. A shame.”

Felicia didn’t exactly look too depressed. In fact, she was entirely apathetic by the admission of her father’s death, if it was even true. When Peter had last known Felicia Hardy, conversations about her private life were minimal at best. The most that she ever let slip was that she was from New York and that her parents weren’t particularly role models. Outside of that, Felicia was primarily fixated on his personal habits and tales.  

Peter, for once, didn’t say anything. His mind wasn’t fixated on Felicia, a rarity. The pain in his skin was flaring once more. His legs were struggling to support him, and he was clearly aware that his vision was starting to become muddled. This was not the state to meet Felicia in. The lanky teen pushed himself to the side, hoping that the momentum would help his legs to stiffen. He failed. He almost fell onto the ground. A curious, possibly even concerned, look flashed on Felicia’s face as Peter clung onto a clothesline for support.

“You really don’t look too hot, Pete.”

“Yeah, like I said, you can thank your old buddy for that one.” Peter sighed.

There was some venom in his tone, and it was not missed within his poor state. His breathing was deep and rugged now. Something was very wrong. An exasperated huff left Felicia. A mixture of annoyance and regret sculpted her features to both glare and pout at him.

“I said I’m sorry. I didn’t have a lot of choices. I was in debt, they had enough to get me out, and I-”

“Lured me into a trap and-”

“I knew you’d survive!” She snapped with frustration, “The witless wonder that is the Rhino. How many times have you beaten that comrade? And then there’s Shriek. I mean-”

Peter almost laughed at what he was hearing. Part of him wasn’t surprised, but it still depressed him that almost being killed due to an intentional betrayal was viewed so lightly. Surely, he was worth more than that? He had some personal pride. Not much, but some.

“You threw me under a bus.” Peter sighed.

Felicia gave him an even, guarded look. After a few seconds of careful thought, she opened her perfectly coloured lips.

“I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough.”

The softness to her tone made Peter swallow again, and then feel resentment towards himself for doing so. He was already regretting challenging her. Yet, another part of him hated that he was so quick to feel mushy near her. He felt sick just being close. To make matters worse, she continued talking using such a gentle voice. One that made Peter’s cheeks red.

“I was a selfish bitch, Pete. I know. I…” She sighed.

Felicia took a seat not too far from him, resting on the gravel and leaning against a foldout chair. Her body was stretched as she leaned back, making Peter once more keenly aware of just of developed certain parts of her wore. Peter swallowed. He hated how often he’d blush near her. He felt like some stupid, idiotic highschooler again. One that acted like a horny dog the moment skin was shown to him. He wasn’t. He didn’t want to be. He was Spider-Man. He was better than that. He was better than blushing for her again so damn quickly. He was better than getting hurt by her again.  

“It’s…Look, there were more than one reason why I wanted to come back.” Felicia continued, “I wanted to say sorry again. I know I can’t undo what I did. I know that. But…”

She looked genuine. There was no smugness or pride to her being. Peter couldn’t remember the last time that he saw her in such a way. Peter felt even sicker, for he deeply desired to hold her shoulder and comfort her. He could let her know that it was all alright, that everything was forgiven. That no one was perfect and that he had moved past almost dying thanks to her.

He didn’t, though. He hadn’t moved past it at all. It wasn’t everyday that someone that you held close to you turned out to be part of the Sinister Six. Peter barely crawled away from that ambush alive, but certainly not without a part of him breaking as soon as he realised who had betrayed him. It took him weeks to heal and move like he once could. Remnants of physical and emotional turmoil from that period of his life returned to him. Peter suddenly felt small again. He needed to go. He didn’t this meeting, not when he was in a good time of life.   

“I needa go.” Peter managed.

He finally pushed himself off of the clothesline. It was difficult to walk. The burning was the least of his concerns. There was a new weight to his legs, one that made it so very difficult to drag himself forwards. At least it was a good distraction from the woman next to him.

Felicia rose as well. Peter tried to ignore the jiggle. Her lips curled into a forlorn expression as she slowly followed him. Yet again, she looked genuine in her remorse. Maybe she was. Maybe she had changed and learnt her lesson? Peter didn’t want to trust that, not at all.

“Pete-”

“Peter.” He corrected again, “If I catch you breaking into anywhere…”

Another high-pitched giggle left Felicia. The sudden change in emotions from Felicia made Peter scowl. Of course theft was just a joke to her. It always was, never mind Peter’s views on it.

“Old habits.” She smirked, “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be in the city for a few more weeks. Who knows? We might just bump into each other again.”

Peter was still limping his way towards the edge of the rooftop, only half listening. Something was wrong. He did his best to work out just where he was in relation to the only medically trained hero that he knew. From within his mask, he squinted as he tried to recognise any nearby landmarks or unique buildings. After a few moments, Peter pulled himself onto the edge. His legs immediately gave out and, with an embarrassed gasp, he felt onto his knee. An entirely new wave of agony swept through him.

His spine tightened. Before he could understand, a delicate hand was on his arm. Felicia was smiling at him encouragingly as she gently helped him to his feet once more. Her hand was so soft and warm. Peter remembered how giddy that he’d get when she would hug him.

“I’m not asking to be besties, Peter.” Her voice suddenly became softer, “But you and I both know we’re two of a kind. No one knows each other like we do.”

The words filled Peter with nothing more than dread. That was the last thing that he needed to hear. He had been doing so well not thinking of Felicia in recent months. Now, all of that mental effort seemed to crash around him as she simply spoke to him again. His cheeks were red again. Every single memory of the two of them exploring the city at night returned to him. All of the times that they stole hotdogs and ate them on the bridges, commenting on the cars below. All of the times that they tested just how far each other could leap or dive. She was truly the first person that understood what it was like to have powers that didn’t want to kill him, not initially.

“Keep…out of…trouble.” Peter warned weakly as he kicked off the building and swung into the air.

Peter missed the small chuckle that Felicia gave at Peter. He still kicked off as he always did, even years later.

“See you around!” Felicia called, winking at him.

Peter barely heard. He tried not to. His heart was pounding in his ears. If he was right, he was only ten or so minutes away from the Sanctum. Ten minutes was a long time. Peter’s hands were weak gripped against his webs. His vision was slow and lethargic, struggling to keep up with the rapid speeds of his movements. More than once, he almost crashed. Yet, dying or injury wasn’t his main concern. Felicia. She didn’t need to come back. He doubted her father was dead or that she cared if he was. Peter was actually doing well. He was in college, he had a job, a crappy place that was his own, he was a hero. Yes, he was restless and at times low, but he didn’t need her back. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the excitement forming in his chest. She was back, and part of him was happy.

The busy city around him seemed a blur as he rolled his way through the air. His eyes were barely opening properly. His spine was constantly tightening as he barely avoided every second tower and skyscraper. His eyes caught a familiar, old-fashioned wooden building. His heart fluttered in hope. With an awkward leap and a pained gasp later, Peter was hurling downwards towards the building below. His spine tightened as he did not pull up. He closed his eyes.

A warmth surrounded Peter as he passed through the magical barrier. The sensation of falling continued for several more seconds until something strong and tight wrapped around his entire body. He opened his eyes. He was in a part of the Sanctum Santorum that he had seen often. It was a fairly wide room, without any of the usual decorative carpets or paintings. Rather, it was just simple dark wooden panels along the floor and walls. The training room for recruits. It was also the only area big enough for Peter to safely swing into. Hence, Strange was kind enough to link a portal to such a room from the outer shields.

Peter was floating. He gently craned his head up and saw that he wasn’t alone in the room.

A tall, very skinny, icicle-shaped person was standing in front of him. His arms and legs were exposed, revealed ice-like flesh that was as skinny as a bone. Blood red eyes that lacked pupils gave him a humoured expression. Talon-like fingers were jutted in front of him, allowing Peter to assume that he was practicing a spell. The half Crystal Warrior, half Man-Thing raised two fingers to Peter in the form of a ‘peace’ sign.

“Toth. How’s it…going?” Peter tried.

The silent student shrugged. With his expressive, ice-shard eyebrows, Toth began to gesture and portray what the ill Peter could only assume was boredom from classes. Toth then pointed to the guest.

“Strange. Help. Sick. Peter.”

Toth nodded. With an awkward gallop that rivalled Peter’s own sprinting habits, the gangly mystical student ran and disappeared from the room. Peter bit his lip, desperate to stay awake. He was scared of what would happen if he let himself blackout. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he heard a familiar set of voices.

“…rst possible time.” An older man grumbled as he entered the room.

Peter felt himself being slowly lifted onto his feet. Whatever spell was holding him up soon eased and faded away, allowing Peter to limp himself into a straight position. Dr. Stephen Strange was standing in front him, looking as tired and irritable as he always did. In fact, Peter found an odd comfort in seeing him as so. It meant that he was okay and his usual self. Yet, as annoyed as he appeared, Peter noticed that Strange was already examining the burns to his suit and skin with considerable interest. Strange’s jaw visibly tightened and his beady eyes sunk back into deeply judgemental gaze.

“What happened this time?” He asked as he stepped forwards.

As he did so, Peter noticed that another lady was with him. A sorceress that Peter had met only a few times. It was not like he had happened upon the Sanctum often, particularly with Strange so busy. In fact, he had only met some of the sorcerers within the Sanctum on the half dozen or so times that he had visited. Such occasions were typically when Peter was near unconscious or coughing up blood and, due to his nightly activities, could rarely go to a doctor.

“Electro.”

“Ah, of course.” Strange scoffed, “The boring one. Well, let’s get this addressed. I don’t like those burns, Peter. Jennifer, could you…entertain our guest for a while.”

The older woman, Jennifer, inclined her head. She smiled welcomingly to Peter before departing to parts unknown within the magical adobe. Another Jennifer. Peter immediately thought of his old friend and how she was doing. For an untold time of the night, Peter’s cheeks turned red. The teen stumbled several steps before feeling a gush of air sweep his legs up. The walls seemed to snap and rolled away as he flew forwards through what appeared to be entire rooms. Peter gasped loudly, fearing for his life. His body landed on a soft bed. Peter groaned as he slowly pulled off his mask, wincing as he looked around.

He was in a room with several small beds. The walls were lined with shelves holding hundreds of vials, cups, jars, and odd herbs. Towards Peter’s bed, there was a fridge with a glass door, revealing dozens of packaged needles and vials to withdraw the medications from. A tired exhale made Peter turn to his side. Strange was sitting next to him, pulling out a clipboard and a pen.

“I take it you got hit more than once?”

Peter chuckled weakly.

“You should see him.”

Strange smiled dryly. He murmured a soft spell and Peter noticed the room was mildly colder as a result. He peered down, seeing that he was now only in his underwear. His torn suit rested on a nearby rack. Black, crisped skin was already spotted along a fair amount of his chest and arm. Even some of his upper thigh was swollen, blackened, and cracked. Strange bit his lip and leaned back, his handlebar moustache twitching in displeasure.

“This isn’t fresh, Peter. When did this happen?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably at the severity of his tone. Despite being a doctor, Strange really did lack the patience for good bedside manner. He was more akin to the scary librarian.

“Last night. I would’ve come earlier!” Peter added, seeing Strange cup his eyes, “I had classes today and I didn’t thin-”

“You went to college with electrical burns?” Peter looked away, feeling like an idiot, “These already look infected. Some of the burns are still open.” Strange’s face softened somewhat, “Just come here quicker. These aren’t simple injuries.”

“I’ll…You can fix em, right? Right?” Peter asked with a frown.

“I am good at my crafts.” Strange smirked as he stood up.

A wave of relief overcame the anxious teen. Strange uttered several incantations, his fingers glowing with many colours and hues. Gently, he began to trace markings into Peter’s skin. Peter’s eyes glazed over as he became sleepy. His focus faded in and out as he became vaguely away of spells being cast and ointments being slathered over his burns. Several times, he was told to drink something. Peter couldn’t remember if he did so or not. It all just seemed so foreign for him.

By the time that Peter could understand what his surroundings were, Strange was washing his trembling hands. Used vials and jars were flying about and sliding back into a sink for future cleaning. Peter blinked several times, noticing that his vision was sharp again.

“Ah, good.” Strange murmured, looking over his shoulder towards Peter, “The infection should be dead, so that’s good. The burns will heal in the next day or so if you don’t swing for two days.” Peter opened his mouth, “Two days. The city can handle that.” He added gruffly.

Strange sat back down at the side of Peter and crossed his arms. He appeared to be less moody, which was often the case whenever he had the opportunity to practice medicine again. It was a shame that his fingers limited that avenue. Peter always found Strange to be one the better, if crankier, doctors that he had ever been with.

“How’s college? Attending classes?”

Peter laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. Like, totally. All of them.”

“On time?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

Peter laughed awkwardly, but Strange smiled and even chuckled.

“I was always late, too. Though, that wasn’t due to my…nightly habits. I just hated classes.” Strange admitted, “Textbooks were better for me.”

“Was it the people?”

“I don’t hate…people.” Strange grunted.

Peter tilted his head and scowled a little. Strange scoffed indigently.

“But you’re still having a social life? That is important. As your doctor, I cannot recommend a healthy social life enough.”

Peter nodded a little too fast.

“Yeah, I’m still hanging out and stuff. Harry is a little busy, though. Dating a girl we went to school with. Most of the guys in college are nice enough. Sometimes we’ll do stuff after class.”

“Good.” Strange nodded.

“Oh! I might be seeing,” Peter lowered his voice to a whisper, “some of the Avengers tomorrow. There’s some gala thing that J.J. is having me tail because my name came up in the approved media list. I think Hank put me in. I should get him something.”

“Send them my regards.” Strange smiled softly, “It’s been a while since I saw the Pyms. Outside of you and Jackie, it’s been months since I saw any of the…team.”

Peter couldn’t help but smirk at the visible awkwardness Strange possessed at acknowledging being in a team for once.

“And Jen?” There was mild hope in Peter’s voice as he asked it.

“No. I haven’t heard from her since not long after the…Varnae moments.”

Strange’s whole posture changed in an instant. He became slouched again, his eyes lowered, and his face looked even more gaunt. He did so whenever Varnae lingered in his thoughts. Peter immediately spoke up.

“Hey, look around. This place is banging with people. Every time I’m here there’s more students. Speaking of which,” Peter leaned up, “I was-”

“No.” Strange cut in, rolling his eyes, “We’ve been through this.”

“I could be a really awesome partner in crime. Or…magic.”

“If you had magical abilities, however dull or untrained, I would know by now. Be happy with the gifts you already have. You’re a local celebrity. You’ve stopped a lot more murderers, villains, thieves, and other criminals than you want to admit, Peter.”

Peter snorted. He thought that he would make an even better Spider-Man if he had magic. Less electrical burns, for one. As life returned to his body, Peter slowly crossed his arms over his chest.

“So, who’s the special guest?”

“Hmm?”

“The guest? The one you asked the other Jennifer to keep busy.”

“Oh.” Strange rolled his eyes and exhaled, “Someone arrogant and blunt. Worse than Stark. I’m helping her with a magical medical issue.”

“Oooh.” Peter grinned, “Sounds right up your alley.”

“Yes.” Strange grunted, “That is what the masters believe. She’s a hard one to communicate with. Though, I…reluctantly admit she’s a very talented sorceress.” Strange suddenly shrugged, “Let’s hope she doesn’t kill me by the end of the venture.”

Peter’s mind soon shifted to his own female issue. With another shift, Peter sighed and opened his mouth. It wasn’t like he had a father to ask about such things. In fact, older male figures weren’t exactly in high supply within Peter’s life. Strange surely couldn’t be the worst person to talk to.

“Speaking of chicks possibly killing us,” Peter started with an uncomfortable laugh, “some…old flame, girl, person I liked, is back in my life. I think. She’s been vague. She’s back. But, like, things kinda…ended really bad nearly two years ago. Like…very badly and-”

“Cut her off.” Strange said simply as he rose.

Peter blinked, taken aback by the direct answer. He watched as Strange threw his clipboard into the air, making it dissolve into another dimension. The older man turned, saw Peter’s confused face, and sighed.

“Look, I’m hardly happily married, so take what I said mildly. But two years? That’s not a lot of time to change. It’s possible. Of course it is, but not really for teenagers.”

“She’s slightly older.” Peter whispered sheepishly.

“How much older…”

“Two or three…”

Strange’s face creased into horror.

“How old were you when you dated this…older girl?”

“We didn’t date. Relax.” Peter sighed, “We just…had a connection, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” Strange grunted.

Peter groaned dramatically. She wasn’t that much older than him. It wasn’t weird at the time, at least, no in Peter’s hormonal mind. They didn’t even do anything, not really.

“I don’t know if she’s changed or not.” Peter reluctantly admitted.

“Exactly. Which means she could hurt you again. You’re leaving yourself open for pain for the hope that she has changed. And then? You date or whatever? What’s the outcome here?”

“I don’t know.” Peter’s discomfort turned to annoyance as Strange continued.

“Exactly. It’s not worth it. You’re in a good place, Peter. You’re in college. You have a job. You’re saving lives.” Strange looked Peter directly in the eyes, “And you’re a good person.” Peter swallowed, “Don’t ruin where you’re at for an ex. There are more women out there and you’re just in college. Wait ‘til your first toga party.”

Peter looked away again. Feeling a mixture of discomfort, embarrassment, and an unjustified anger, he wasn’t able to fully process what Strange was saying. He knew that Felicia wasn’t a reliable person. Perhaps, she never was. But part of the young man’s mind desperately wanted to believe that she was being honest with him. Simply put, a part of him didn’t want to stop talking to her now that she had returned. He was aware enough to know that it wasn’t a good idea, but at the end of the day, Peter missed Felicia. There was no point in lying about it. How he handled those feelings were another matter entirely.  

“Do you still go to those conventions abo…”

Strange drifted off as he looked at something over Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned, seeing a patch of long, red hair and a very unimpressed girl beneath it. Peter’s mouth boomed with a wide smile as he saw Jackie standing in the door. It had been months since he had last seen her. Jackie, noticing how bright Peter looked when he noticed her, felt her chest rise with flattery and happiness. She had missed him, too, even with his reluctance to stop talking.

“Jackie!” Peter bellowed, “How are you? How’s college? I’m still annoyed we didn’t go to the campus. We could’ve been lunch buddies. Do you do lunch? I’ve always wondered-”

“Peter, I’m good.” Jackie cut in, “You’ve gained weight.”

“What?”

Peter looked down, suddenly aware that he was still only in his underwear. Peter turned as a red as his suit as he tried to cover himself with his hands. Jackie smirked a tad in amusement. She turned to Strange, her expression becoming more sombre and neutral. Silently, she raised her hand. Several pouches of thick red liquid were revealed.

“I was running out.”

“I’ll mark down that we need more.” Strange nodded.

He became silent, not knowing what else to say to the woman that became a vampire due to his own actions. An uncomfortable noise left his throat.

“How’s college?”

“Good. I’m still learning. I haven’t eaten anyone.” She replied automatically and without tone, “How’s magic?”

“Good. Still…studying and casting. The students are doing well, too.”

“Good.” Jackie turned back to Peter, “See you around. Try not to swing into a wall or anything.”

“Ah, never habits.” Peter laughed, “Often. Kinda. Well, sometimes-”

Jackie smiled as the teen began his usual ramblings. Part of her missed the time they all fought Varnae together. Peter was a very sweet person, albeit loud. Plus, it helped to have someone near her age go through some weird nightmare, too.

“-nd then there’s when I had hay-fever. Dude, that was horrible for my senses. I couldn’t see probably and ugh. Just yuck.” Peter finished, shuddering.

Jackie, only half listening, let herself offer a fake grimace.

“Sounds horrible. Strange, you know anything about magical swords giving people superpowers? Strength, speed. What about people dressed as knights trying to kill vampires? Ring a bell?”

Strange leaned back, his head titled in curiosity.

“Knights killing vampires is an old concept. It’s hardly original. Though, in this decade…,” He stroked his chin, “I’m more interested in the sword. Did you see any markings? Did he utter any spells?”

“I didn’t notice. I was too busy not dying. Without it, he could barely fight. He seemed determined to rid the world of dark creatures.”

“Such hunters are not rare.” Strange murmured, lost in his thoughts, “Hmm. I’ll look into the sword. If you are in danger, you’re welcome to-”

“I’m fine.” Jackie snapped, making Peter blink, “I have college, anyway. And I didn’t exactly lose the fight.” She smirked, “Anyway, speaking of college, I need to study and sleep. I’ll see you around, Pete. Strange.”

“Jackie.” They both called, Peter beaming as he did so.

The redhead turned and, with her blood in hand, she left the room. Peter eagerly turned back to Strange.

“You’re on talking terms again. Improvement.”

Strange scoffed. He turned, seeming to suddenly be very interested in the medical collections around him.

“I store blood for medical needs and emergencies. Jackie sometimes takes the extras. It’s hardly a social call.”

“She’s not trying to eat you, though. Improvement.” Peter smiled, “I wonder how far she can leap, though. Like, if she’s able to get in through the same portal that I do-”

“She doesn’t.” Strange answered, still looking at his vials, “She comes in through the front door.”

Peter’s eyes widened in offense.

“Why…Why is she allowed to use the front door and not me?!”

“Because, Peter, she’s not wearing that outfit.”

***

By the time that Steve returned to his quiet street, night had started to drift down. He didn’t mind, after all there were less neighbours staring at him as he walked about. Rather, they spied on him through cameras and binoculars when it was evening.

He didn’t need them ogling him tonight. As Steve killed the engine, he exhaled and went limp in the car. A son. He had a damn son. One that was near his own age and that he had missed his entire life. No baby moments, no school pickups, no football games, no weddings. Nothing. Steve had missed it all. Peggy had to raise a son by herself. Steve couldn’t imagine what that would have been like, especially as her illness had set in. He wasn’t there to help her. He had abandoned more than his country when he was asleep in the ice. Such a thought made him almost break the car door as he shoved it open. A loud, metallic groan filled the cool air. It was followed by a frustrated hiss.

Steve didn’t make it far towards his front door before stopping. In the darkness, something caught the side of his vision. Something felt wrong and out of place. Following his gut, he walked along the thin path on the side of his house. Though it was dark, he could still see one of his windows in some detail. It wasn’t locked, as it had been when he had left. The smallest of openings could be seen. Steve remained calm. As quietly as he could, he walked forwards and slid the window up. He crawled through. No noise left his feet as he reached into his jacket. A small gun was retrieved. As he saw light from the living room, he flipped the safety off. Creeping forward, the soldier held his breath and stepped deeper into his house. The television was on. Without pause, Steve raised his gun towards the man sitting in his favourite sofa.

A tall, large man thickened with muscle and scar turned to look at Steve. An unsuspecting smile came across his handsome face. His ocean-coloured eyes glanced at the gun. A condescending eyeroll followed. He slowly pushed himself up, as if he were reluctant to move at all. He was almost as tall as the super soldier. His hair was dark and far more unruly than the last time that Steve had seen the man. Thick curls had started to form, almost hiding his pointed ears. He wore a black turtleneck with simple blue jeans, far more than Steve had ever seen on the deep ocean swimmer. Slowly, Steve lowered his gun.

“Prince Namor.” He greeted in a tight, displeased voice.

“Captain Rogers.” Namor’s accent was as bizarre and foreign as ever, with his ‘r’s being heavily emphasised.

Steve had only met Namor a few times in the previous year, all to do with the business of locking up Varnae and stopping the ancient vampire from using Atlantean technology to rule the world. Since agreeing to hold the vampire as prisoner, none of the Avengers had heard a peep from the reclusive half-breed prince. Perhaps, that was for the best. As Steve looked at Namor’s entitled and strong posture, he was quickly reminded of the prince’s smugness. Still, Steve took a step forwards. A hand was offered. Namor looked bemused but shook it firmly. A mild look of enjoying the act crossed Namor’s narrow face.

“Interesting choice of entertainment.” Namor nodded to the television, “Though, I don’t see the appeal of watching events decades completed. A historical fancy?”

“Pardon?”

Steve looked down and, to his irritation, saw that it was a baseball game tape that he hadn’t reached yet. Before he could stop himself, he glanced at the teams playing and the score that was being counted. An annoyed twitched came across his mouth. Today was not his day. Namor looked in confusion as Steve paused the tape.

“I hadn’t watched that yet. I’m…catching up on things I missed.”

“Oh, I see.” Namor said, looking nonplussed, “Well, I can help and mention what at least four of those tapes offer. I don’t really know what year they are from. I wasn’t watching that closely.”

“F-four?” Steve contemplated throwing something at the prince but resisted, “It’s fine, I guess. Well, your majesty, welcome to my home.”

“Thank you.” Namor nodded, looking around the unlit house, “Cosy.”

“Is there a reason you broke in?”

“Yes. The door was locked. And,” Namor chewed his cheek as he pointed towards the houses that could seen through the windows, “I don’t mean to worry you, but you have spies watching every centimetre of this house. I found it very amusing how they tried to track me. Clearly magic is beyond them.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D., an intelligence agency that I work for. They…keep tabs on me.”

The mention of S.H.I.E.L.D. made Namor scowl. A venomous glint in his eye formed as he slowly walked away from Steve.

“Ah, I know them. The arrogant fools. Did you know I requested to join them? They had the disrespect to turn me away. Me. Namor, Prince of Atlantis. Prince! It was I who banished Varnae for the surface dwellers.”

“I could’ve sworn a few more people were there that day.” Steve challenged lightly as he began to turn on some of the lights.

“Whose prison does he rot in?” Namor chuckled cockily, “Mine. I reminded your little S.H.I.E.L.D. of this. They treated me like a small child. They thanked me, offered me some wine and food and a home, and then told me that I am not what they look for in their ranks. What possible madness is that?!” Namor spat.

“I had to go through five evaluations before I joined.” Steve shrugged before looking into his fridge, “Don’t take it personally.” He added as he grabbed two cans of beer.

As he did so, he noticed some of his soda was already missing and that several of his attempts at baking cookies were already eaten. Steve gritted his teeth. When he rose, he offered Namor one of the cans. The prince nodded in gratitude and pulled the can close to his eyes.

“When I first discovered these devices, I felt like such a fool. It took me an hour to understand how to open it.”

“Hmm. You should’ve seen me try to understand disco.”

The two men took long sips of their drinks, both sighing in relief as they did so. Steve felt himself cool off a little, even if the alcohol barely affected his system.

“So, why my house? Shouldn’t you be helping rule Atlantis?”

Namor didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he took another deep sip of the beer. As the can lowered, Steve could see the smugness no more. There was just a sullen look that hollowed Namor’s face.

“I decided to travel the dry world. If I am to rule the seas below, it would be wise to understand the land above. I’ve seen many countries in my months of journey. Besides,” Namor’s tone turned more severe, “I am capable of doing much for this world. I am Prince Namor. I stopped Varnae, no? I could save countless lives from disaster if given the chance. Yet,” Namor began to massage his wrist as if there were some injury, “no one in these damns lands knows what I could accomplish for them.”

Namor was almost childish in his tone and choice of words, at least in Steve’s mind. The soldier didn’t exactly know what Namor was expecting. He wasn’t American. He wasn’t a soldier trained by any recognised government. While Fury was open to unconventional method for the sake of international safety, Steve doubted that he would allow someone so…self-focussed as Namor into fold. There was also the very high likelihood that Namor would use the chance to spy for Atlantis.

“Even the X-Men turned me back.” Namor continued, growling, “Some…bald man spoke to me for less than an hour before deciding I wasn’t worthy of joining children. I had some blue German with a demon’s tail toss me in the middle of a forest!”

“And why did Nightcrawler, the most passive of the group, do that?”

There was an edge to Steve’s voice that Namor quickly caught. In his capacity at S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve knew of the X-Men to some extent. Not much, but he knew of their actions in Cairo several years prior and of what the mutant team was capable of. None seemed overly hostile, however, with many of their files detailing their youthful and placid natures. Steve was quietly happy that there was some superheroes left without cynicism dominating their actions.

Namor scoffed, before looking surprisingly sheepish.

“I merely…raised my voice.”

“And?”

“I aired my rightful opinion on the insult they gave me. Not worth being thrown like some loose kelp.” Namor took another sip of his beer.

“And…you’re here because?”

Namor suddenly straightened. His face became neutral, diplomatic in expression. His hands sprayed out, as if he were offering some metaphorical platter to Steve.

“You are similar to me. We are both…exceptional men. The group of champions that challenged Varnae are of similar ilk. I wish to join your ranks, to aid in helping this world. Let me help you, Captain America. You have seen my abilities in combat. That was a taste. A shadow. Imagine what I could do for you as a leader.”

Steve almost coughed into his beer. He looked at Namor closely. The prince was serious. There was no humour or irony to be deciphered. Steve took a moment to consider what angle to approach this from and how gently to speak. He didn’t need the water ripped from his body by an insulted prince.

“There’s no team.” Steve replied directly.

Namor almost stood back. Confusion crept onto his face and his hands lowered to his hips.

“What?”

“We disbanded. We only were together for Varnae. Once you took him to the oceans, we went on with our lives. Thor is…I actually have no idea about Thor. Peter and Jackie are studying in college. I see Hank and Janet on the news sometimes. They’re still researching. Tony’s always on the news. He’s…Tony. Stephen is teaching students, I think.”

“And the green beauty with glorious breasts?”

Steve’s mouth gaped a little.

“Jennifer is…Actually, I don’t really know about her, either. I think she’s working in law again. I’m sorry, Namor. I’ve been with S.H.I.E.L.D. since we last met.”

Namor suddenly looked far younger than he once had. His eyes were wide and weak, as if a toy had been taken from him. He blinked several times, his mouth agape.

“No heroes?”

“No heroes.” Steve admitted, feeling the wind being taken from his sails as well, “We moved on.”

Namor appeared disorientated for several more moments until he hastily hardened himself. His arms became crossed and he grimaced as if he had tasted something foul.

“I see. I was misled in my understandings. I heard the Iron Man and the Spider-Man still roamed.”

“They do.” Steve nodded, “But not as a team.”

“I see.” Namor said delicately, thinking to himself, “Well, I am sure I can find myself of use. S.H.I.E.L.D. listens to you. Perhaps, given my help to you with Varnae, you could help me?”

Steve closed his eyes. Of course, this was Namor’s play. Steve was hardly surprised. After the day that he had just gone through, Steve was tempted to just call Fury and beg him to take Namor. It would get the man out of his hair, at least.

“I’ll see him tomorrow. No promises.” He hastily added.

Namor smiled cockily but inclined his head just the same.

“I understand, Captain Rogers. I know you will do your best for an old…ally.”

Steve nodded sheepishly. There was minimal chance Fury would accept him if he had already rejected the prince. Still, it was worth a shot in the name of Steve’s sense of quiet. As soon as the agreement had been made, an awkwardness overcame both men. Namor was looking at Steve as if he were expecting an offer of some kind. Steve dropped his shoulders.

“Where are you staying tonight, your majesty?”

“Hmm?” Namor asked innocently, “Oh, well, I have been travelling. Some nights I’ve even camped in the woods and wilderness. It’s been…an interesting but not unpleasant experience.”

Steve read between the lines. Today would not end as soon as he had originally hoped.

“Do you…want my spare bed? It’s a foldout and-”

“Acceptable.” Namor immediately stated.

There was clear relief on his face and Steve almost felt bad for him. He clearly had nowhere else to go, making Steve question just how much long term planning that Namor had for this interaction. He prayed Fury would reconsider things.

“Where is this…foldout?”

Steve walked over to the sofa next to his favourite and kicked it lightly. Namor’s eyebrows rose in clear displeasure. He didn’t say anything, however. He turned, smiled falsely, and took a final sip of his beer.

“You have anything?”

“Hmm? Oh, I already brought in my few…personal necessities.”

Namor walked next to Steve and gestured to five large bags, as well as a hooked sceptre of gold with pink and yellow jewels. Steve turned to Namor, who shrugged.

“I have good muscles within my back. I am deeply excited for this. I have never had a roommate, as Americans call them, before. This will be enlightening for me.”

“Yeah.” Steve took a long sip of his own beer before walking towards the fridge.

He needed another.

***

Hank glared as he stared at his watch. He had only fifteen minutes to come up with an excuse to get out of the gala. He could claim illness, family death, being arrested for arming a small nation, anything. Anything to get out of the cameras and the people and the loud noises. It was an introvert’s nightmare. There were so many better things to do than prance about in front of the press and being loud and obnoxious for the shareholders. His particles had been stolen. His imperfect particles had been stolen. His main concern wasn’t that someone could perfect it and use it, but rather the chaos that someone using a faulty serum that could form. Hank had barely used the serum a dozen times and his mind had already begun to fray. Who knows what longer exposure could do to a man.

He walked past the screen door that led out to their modest yard. He could see his faint outline, a man in a dark suit and bowtie staring back at him. His tie was uneven. With a frustrated noise from his throat, Hank tugged at his neck in a desperate attempt to fix himself up. He hated public events, but the gala was for a good cause. Many of the scientists present were underfunded and it was a good way of making their work look fancy for the crowds with heavy wallets. Many needed to dance to a certain tune for their research to survive. It was the only thing keeping Hank from cancelling altogether.

After playing with his bowtie, he squinted and tried to see how his hair was.

“Janet, love, are you done yet? I need to see if I pass as a human to these people.”

Janet could barely hear her husband from her place in front of the toilet. For the third time in a fortnight, the petite woman was bent over the bowl, emptying her recently filled stomach. It wasn’t nerves, as she was confident in front of crowds. It was probably a stomach bug, though a very selective one. With one last heave, Janet shuddered and leaned back. Her eyes were red and wet. Her breathing was ragged and tense. It took almost a minute to regather herself and flush the toilet. A large amount of spray followed. As she was rinsing her mouth, she noticed the door to the bathroom opening.

Her eyes widened and cheeks darkened. It didn’t take Hank a second to realise why she was taking so long. He stepped to her side and his hand was soon upon on her shoulder.

“We can cancel. We’ve got enough on our minds as it is. It’s just some stupid science demonstration-”

“That we’ve been co-organising for a year.” Janet sighed deeply and turned to resume adjusting her eyeliner again, “It’s fine. I just undercooked the chicken or something.”

“Are you sure? You were sick on Monday, too.”

Janet quickly grew annoyed at just how observant Hank was. Often, she found it endearing, but not when she was hiding things. Christmas was a nightmare for that very reason.

“It’s just food poisoning. Nothing else. Okay? We’ll be fine. You’ll strut out, confident and loud, like the investors want. We’ll chat and do a few presentations. Eat. Come home. Find this little…gremlin that’s taken the serum.”

Hank looked at her reluctantly. He wanted to argue. She was sick and very clearly lying. They didn’t need to go to some gala. They could always arrange more in the future with a university. While still a relatively modest company, Pym Technologies could arrange that. Hank would even enjoy it. He could have a quiet night in with his wife whilst trying to figure out how to track his missing serum.

Janet sprayed herself several times with a sweet-smelling bottle and turned. Without needing direction, Hank zipped up her dress. He took the time to fix himself up as well, making sure his dirty-blonde hair was presentable. Hank checked his watch.

“God damn it.”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive.” Janet smiled, “I know you get antsy.”

“Ah, no.” Hank shook his hand as he picked up their keys and checked they had everything, “Not when you’re sick. And the moment you look queasy or cough too loud, we’re gone.”

Janet couldn’t help but smile as she locked the door.

“Yeah? You gonna drag me out?”

“Police style. I’ll even use the mace you keep in your purse on you. The irony will not be lost on me.” Hank smiled as they walked towards the car.

“I’ll get Tony to help me.”

“Oh, God, I forgot.” Hank rolled his eyes, “What version will we get tonight?”

“Angry, annoyed, still sober.” Janet guessed as they got into the car, “Please, he’s fine now.”

***

Tony had not slept in two days. For the first time in months, his schedule, his perfectly kept schedule that kept him in line, was broken. He had not risen at his usual set time, he had not eaten his typical foods, he had not attended work at his usual hours, nor had he managed to speak to his A.A. sponsor yet. He hadn’t the time. The man sat alone in his basement, surrounded by pillars of paper and trenches of typing. His eyes were dark and his skin damp. His hair looked a foul mess, and he had not bothered to shower. The rare times that he ate was minimal, with many trays left behind him for Jarvis to collect.

Projected onto the wall in front of him was the same footage that he had been sent two days prior. The same footage of the Stark Industries factory in Vietnam burning. The same footage of a fully operational Arc Reactor, one that he did not create himself. Every time it stopped, Tony started it again. The same endless footage for two days. He had inspected every single frame countless times, yet Tony had come to no new conclusion. He knew nothing of who could have made it and how. Even the many files and briefings around him offered no help. Many were business and project reports of American, French, and British businesses that had worked in Vietnam. Some were scientific articles and journals about technologies being developed in Asia. Others were small amounts of S.H.I.E.L.D. files that Tony was able to convince the agency to share. He chose his words carefully. He did not need Fury to know what was happening. If the world knew that he wasn’t the only one that could make Arc Reactors, an arms race would begin. Tony would not be part of such a thing, not again. Not like his father was.  

“Ugh. Mister Stark, this room smells like…not even death. Ugh.”

Tony barely acknowledged his servant as he entered. He merely grunted as he read yet another report on arms dealing in the general region of Southeast Asia. Perhaps there was a military movement that was gaining traction or the like. There had to be some clue to this cursed mystery. Tony licked his dry lips. He needed to figure out who made it. He had to. He couldn’t sleep without knowing. Food tasted bland whilst there was someone out there threatening people with his technology. He couldn’t be like his father. He had shut down his arms manufacturing to avoid this mess. Now, it seemed, it was determined to find him sooner or later.

“Not eating?” Jarvis sighed from behind him, “No matter. There’ll be good food at the gala, I believe.”

There was silence. Tony felt a presence in front of him. With bloodshot eyes, he looked up and saw Jarvis holding up two different suits. Tony tilted his head, not understanding.

“For the gala.”

“Gala?” Tony asked in a cracked voice, “Not going. Do we have any associates in Nepal?”

“No, Mister Stark. We do not. And you’re going to this gala. You promised the Pyms your support months ago.”

“Yeah, great.” Tony muttered as he looked back down to the report, “Bigger fish, Jar. They’ll understand. I need to call Fury again. Maybe a Russian made it, not someone from Vietnam. This is a ruse. Yes, a ruse.”

Tony was rambling like a lunatic. The last time that Jarvis had seen his ward this unhinged, it was during the many intoxicated moments in Tony’s life. They were often followed by severe overdoses. Jarvis knew that Tony was sober as he sat ranting and raving, something which made Jarvis unsettled. If Tony tasted a drop of alcohol in a state like this, hell would break loose. He didn’t need someone he cared about so richly to be torn down like he once had. And so, his perfectly polished shoe was pressed onto Tony’s report. Tony whipped his head up, his eyes deranged with insult.

“What the fuck do you think-”

“You clearly don’t remember who’s attending tonight, Mister Stark. If I may, allow me to remind you. There are over sixty participants speaking tonight in ten different rooms, as well as countless companies, universities, government branches, and private sponsors attending. It’s less a gala, more a conference, sir. In this regard, how many do you think work in engineering in Asia?”

Tony leaned back on his hands. His exhaled as he understood Jarvis’ point. He wasn’t in the mood to go through an alcohol filled gala with cameras and reporters and people. Yet, he wasn’t getting anywhere with his current hunting, either. He needed a source. An angle. Anything worth investigating. He was almost to the point of flying out and asking locals in towns and cities.

“How quickly can you work out who works in the region?”

“The speakers? As quickly as reading the pamphlet.” Jarvis answered dryly, “Which I’ll do as you shower, sir.”

Tony chuckled as he massaged his sore and aching eyes. He nodded.

“Fine. Fine, you win. If this is a dud…”

“I’ll be arranging a business tour of Vietnam whilst you attend tonight.” Jarvis inclined his head, “I’ll say it’s to make sure no one near the old Stark factory was hurt, and that you want to aid in repairing any damage caused. A…good Samaritan visit, sir.”

Tony groaned loudly as he rose to his feet. Several joints loudly cracked. Turning to the side, he felt his entire spine crack as it realigned. Jarvis winced.

“I’ll take the black one.” Tony nodded to the suit in Jarvis’ left hand, “I’ll have a shower in a moment.”

“Everything alright, sir?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice and body dropped as he walked towards the nearest phone, “Just need to call a few people beforehand. And no, it’s not about the Arc Reactor. Need to make sure no one I pissed off’s gonna be there.”

Jarvis nodded. Gently placing the suit on a stack of papers, he departed with several barely touched trays of good in hand. Tony rubbed his eyes again. His own face felt heavy and difficult to hold up. He watched silently as Jarvis left the room. As soon as the door was closed, he pulled the phone to his ear and tugged at the cord as he dialled. It rang several times, each echoing in his fragile ears and vibrating along his skull. Soon, he heard a feminine voice.

“Hi, ah, hi. I’m about to, uh, go to a work event and there’ll be…alcohol. Probably a lot. I wanted to, uh, talk to someone because…freaking out.” He sighed with exhausted, his eyes closed and his face resting against a wall, “I wanted someone to talk to. I haven’t slept in days and…and I really don’t wanna screw up right now.”  

***

“…y it’s important to study, kids.” Janet answered, looking right at the camera in front of them.

Hank was at her side, smiling tightly and appearing like a bird of prey. Not exactly the prime image for a video that was going to be shown to patients in a children’s hospital. The pale camerawoman didn’t know if it was appropriate to say anything. With the lens directly upon her eye, she got an uncomfortably close look at the strained expression of the typically confident and bright Hank Pym. Towards their side, the dark and beautiful interviewer hastily looked at her questions. She, also, was keen to ask a question that could be asked to Janet and not Hank.

“And one last question, if that’s okay?” The interviewer with long, silky hair asked, “Favourite cartoon and why?”

“Droopy.”

“Whacky Races.”

The Pyms stared at each other, clearly disapproving of the other’s answer.

“I thought I talk you out of that…sleepy dog.” Hank whispered.

“Oh, a show where the same three characters win every episode? Great choice, love.” Janet rolled her eyes and turned back to the camera, “Droopy always seems so soft and sleepy, but when the time comes, he’s very strong and always stands up for himself.”

Hank’s mouth was visibly gaped in the recording. He wisely chose not to question his wife’s answer.

“I like when the cars crash.” Hank answered simply.

The interviewer smiled widely and turned to the camera as it was focussed on her once more.

“There we go, kids. The Pyms, co-host of tonight’s science gala. Look forward to some exciting inventions and projects that people are working on!”

The camerawoman waited several seconds. She lifted her thump as the light on top of her heavy camera switched off. With a pained groan, she slowly lifted it off of her shoulder and placed it by the large case that it came in. The interviewer rolled her next and bounced on her heels a little.

“Thanks for that. And for letting us in. The kids in the hospital will love this.”  

“It’s always a pleasure.” Janet grinned, “You don’t mind if we check in?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course!” The tall lady waved away, “Have a great night! And thanks again!”

The pair walked towards the hotel reception, arm in arm. Dozens of gala attendees, both presenters, investors, and the media, were eagerly chatting and gossiping as they waited for events to begin. Thankfully, most of the media were from university magazines or local communities. If Stark had fully organised the event, half the nation’s television reporters would be there snooping. While such a smaller event would typically ease Hank’s social displeasure, it did little to that night. His particles were still missing and he was playing at a gala. It was ridiculous in his opinion. That, and it would have provided a fantastic reason not to attend at all.

“Hello there,” Janet greeted a short, plump man at the reception, “Janet and Hank Pym.” She said as she held out their driver’s licenses.

They were handed lanyards with their names and businesses on them, as well offered a lovely evening. As Hank adjusted his, Janet’s elbow met his side. He turned and frowned. Silently, she nodded towards a group of elderly man, proud and stiff in their appearance. Potential investors that Janet had no doubt invited. Hank closed his eyes, prayed, and then forced a wide smile. People liked loud and confident men. Hank didn’t, but people did. With that, Hank swayed his way towards them, his gut twisting as he did.

“Well, well, well,” He greeted, “You lovely gentlemen wouldn’t happen to be from Roiland’s, right? Hank Pym, co-host for tonight. I notice a lot of us haven’t gotten drinks yet. Please. We can change that. Anyone up for a quick whiskey before the opening speech?”

It was not a quick whiskey. It was three in less than forty minutes. As Hank strolled with buzzing legs towards the podium, he played with his jacket. His hands sought every pocket and crevice eagerly. With rosy cheeks, he smiled as he found paper by his left breast. His speech was still. A short, thankfully simple, speech thanking everyone for attending. Janet was missing, no doubt trying to flatter more investors into funding some postgraduate students. She was good like that. He just wished that she had been there to drive away those obnoxious businessmen who were clearly there for the free alcohol. With a lopsided and stupid grin, the mildly tipsy placed his palm cards on the podium as he watched the auditorium fill with three hundred or so attendees. He should have had water between drinks.

Janet watched with a sympathetic, yet slightly awkward, smile as her husband began his speech. He had learnt to play his role well. With a booming voice and several incredibly lame jokes, he had many in the audience in the palm of his hand. He hated it, though. She could see the distain and self-conscious feeling in his eyes. His false smile would dip at the end of every sentence, as if forgetting the need to put on the show. Still, he got through it, slightly giggled smile on face. As he stood down to let the next two organisers speak, Janet grew humoured to see him hastily collect a cup of water from one of the tables by the walls.

The night was long. As many of the demonstrations and presentations unfolded, the Pyms could only manage false smiles and the occasional nod at what they were viewing. As much as they were to be excited about the current research being undertaken in New York, their minds were simply taken elsewhere. Everything seemed to remind Hank that his particles were stolen. Every second demonstration seemed to involve some form of physics or other. It made his teeth grit. A concern frown was upon his face, breaking through his false eagerness as the night wore on. As the gala broke off into the dinner, Hank was left with little appetite. If anything, the constant stress was making him nauseous. He was not the only one that was uneasy about during the dinner.

As Tony entered the hotel, many hushed whispers and excited glances were tossed his way. He smiled and faked an eager wave at several of them. As he took off his sunglasses, he felt his eyes throb under the lights. With each loud voice, he felt his head throb. There were so many loud voices. He smiled as charismatically as he could. It was a long night for the man. Like Hank, his mind rarely strayed from his current dilemma. With a list of names written in perfect cursive, Tony eyed the many nametags as they awaited the opening speech by Hank. He was only able to introduce himself to one before he was ushered in. Tony only half-listened to a clearly tipsy Hank. His mouth was dipped down as he whispered softly to a woman next to him. Her face was scrunched in clear annoyance as she tried to focus on Hank’s address. Tony didn’t care. He even offered to fund her entire project if she just told him about what work she was conducting in Southeast Asia and, more importantly, what other exciting projects that she knew about.

She knew nothing. Not a single idea of what other developments were going on in the region. Tony bit his lip. A flash of panic struck him so severely that he felt his chest ache and seize up. He didn’t know why, but the absence of an answer curled deep within him. Several people murmured as they watched Tony grip the edge of his chair, his breathing hagged and deep. He needed to find something out. He couldn’t keep swimming around this blind. There’d be a link. There had to be. He chuckled cockily and murmured something about ‘bad sushi’ as he leaned back. His breathing never returned to normal.

As the speeches ended and the masses broke into their presentation rooms, Tony held his list of names tightly. His eyes zipped to everyone’s chest. Many assumed he was simply ogling breasts. His teeth clenched. This was becoming hell for the man. He could barely find any of the names, and those that he could find offered no answers. He was sweating. His routine was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time that he didn’t undergo his usual steps. A sense of loss and anxiety crept deeper within him, as if he was nervous about walking. It only got worse.

Twenty-three people were spoken to. Not a single one of them offered anything other than excited chats about their own research in nothing related to Arc Reactors. Not even the businessmen with investments in Asia had much clue about anything other than their competition. Simply put, no one knew a thing that could possibly help Tony. The night was a dead end.

With sweat on his skin and as his hands refused to stop clenching, Tony walked towards a secluded area of promenade as dinner broke out. He could not bring himself to sit at one of the many rounded tables filled with researchers gauging interest from investors. He felt sick. He had failed. While he was wasting time talking to researchers, someone was out there with a working Arc Reactor. Tony exhaled shakily.

“A drink, sir?”

Tony looked up. He was close enough to the refreshments table that a waiter was pointing to several of the bottles of spirits in front of him. Tony licked his lips. His head ached. Something in his mind roared as he saw the delicious amber liquids. It would fix his headaches. It would stop the shaking. He knew it. It’d just a single drink. He could have one, especially after the day he’d had. He deserved it.

He took a step closer. Guilt and shame overcame him. No. He deserve what came afterwards. Every part of his mind started to scream at him, urging him and whispering that it was okay. His head throbbed even more as he spoke with a croaky voice.

“Ch-cherry coke, please.”

He forced the liquid down, grimacing as he did so. It helped nothing. If anything, his mind hissed louder into his ears, blaming him for not being man enough to handle a single drink. Tony sniffed. He should have never come to the gala.

“You look like you’ve had a long night.” A southern voice laughed awkwardly.

Tony rolled his eyes and turned. A short, Asian lady with round cheeks and dark hair in a bun was smiling at him nervously. She held her hands in her lap as she pretended to look at the other tables. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five and was slightly young to be at the gala. Most were finishing their doctorates, whereas she could have only just been halfway through. Tony’s eyes flicked to her lanyard.

“Ah…Anna, look, this is ain’t a great…”

“Ah, all good, all good.” Anna nodded.

Tony forced more of the cola down his throat. Not wanting to socialise in the mood that he was in, he moved to put down the drink and make an escape.

“It’s just,” Tony sighed as Anna spoke again, “the Tony Stark. I watched you all the time in college.” Her cheeks were suddenly very red, “You were like…an unofficial mascot in my degree. Those computers you made are freaking dope!” She squealed as if she were meeting a rockstar.

Tony blinked several times due to the volume. Anna’s cheeks became rosy as she noticed several people looking over at her. Tony, knowing he couldn’t be seen looking too coldly, forced himself to look back at her.

“I’m not that fun.” He grumbled, “So…What do you study?”

Anna’s eyes seemed to widen in at the attention. She opened her mouth several times, a stream of incoherent words flooding out. Eventually, she was able to form a cohesive answer.

“I’m working in solar power.”

Tony resisted the urge to slowly blink at her. Every second student with an environmental heart was studying solar power. It was hardly a niche area of development in recent years, and at least two other presenters had spoken on it that very night.

“I’m working on new ways of storing the energy in the long term. I’m experimenting with new battery designs.”

“Huh.” Tony looked mildly interested, “Which college?”

“Houston.”

“Huh. Giving you decent funding?”

“So far.” Anna nodded excitedly, “I even get my own desk!”

“That’s…That’s great, kid. Have a good time at the gala?”

He mostly didn’t care, but having someone to talk to was a nice reprieve from consistent rejections. A soft padding from an otherwise harsh and hard floor. He just wished that she was so…chipmunk-like in her excitement levels. She continued talking for about five minutes, Tony usually grunting or nodding. Only a few times did he offer any verbal response through words. His eyes drifted over to the guests and their dinners when something made his head snap towards Anna.

“What?!”

The small woman blinked. Her mouth gaped as if scared she was about to be screamed at. It didn’t help that she saw how twitchy Tony was. He looked as if he was about to jump out of his skin screaming.

“I…get my…materials in Vietnam?”

Tony didn’t both considering how little link that even was. He had not slept in days and had only met failure after failure. He took a step towards her, his eyes wide and manic.

“Battery components from Vietnam? Why Vietnam? Why specifically Vietnam?”

Anna frowned. The question clearly confused her.

“Because…my supervisor told me to? It’s a small company but they really do great designs for these types of projects.” Anna beamed.

“Yeah, but…” Tony sighed in frustration, “There are plenty of cheaper countries to go to for that level of sophisticated electronics. What company makes them?”

Anna crossed her eyes in a strange display of contemplation. She reached into her purse and ruffled through some of her messed up palm cards. Eventually, she pulled out the correct one.

“TruSon-”

Tony pulled the card away from her. He inspected it. TruSon Industries. Tony had never heard of it. He was tempted to ask for it, but then stopped. What was he doing? Harassing some poor doctoral student over an electronics company. The exhausted man closed his eyes and sighed. Without opening his eyes, he handed Anna back her palm card.

“Sorry about that. I’m…keen on investing in Vietnamese companies. That’s all.” He said lamely.

“Oh…” Anna looked as if she didn’t know what to say, “If…If you want, I can give you their contact information? Do you have a card or something? I…I don’t really know how to contact someone like…”

Tony reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and a pen, and Anna watched as he wrote his personal number over it. He smiled a tad as he handed it to her.

“If…If you need anything with your thesis, let me know. Just don’t blow up my phone asking me how to edit stuff. Shit at that.” Tony rolled his eyes.

Anna didn’t reply. She was too busy staring at the card. Her hands were shaking. Tony briefly considered that she was having a seizure of sorts.

“Th-th-thank you! I…I promise I’ll get you that info ASAP. Do…Do you want it tonight? I can drive home now and-”

“Kid, relax. Drink. Have fun.” Tony requested.

Anna continued to make short breathing noises before dashing off. Tony vaguely heard something about ‘telling my supervisor’ as she trotted away. Tony didn’t mind. He’d had far worse interactions from students. He turned back to the refreshments, considering either another cherry coke or to run away and try to sleep. He doubted he could sleep, though. He felt so agitated. His eyes still stung like sandpaper was dragged along them.

“That was very nice of you.”

Tony chuckled before he could help himself. He turned, seeing a smiling Janet before him. She looked as beautiful as ever, even after all the night’s excitement. At her side, as always, was Hank. Though, he seemed nearly as uncomfortable as Tony did. The alcohol from his opening speech had clearly worn off, and he was giving off many glances at any who would pass them. Paranoid glances. It piqued Tony’s curiosity. The last time he had seen Hank so on edge was when he was playing with an awfully incomplete version of the Pym Particle.

“Janet.” He greeted, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Hank.”

“Tony.” They shook hands, “You look…off.”

“Awful tone, country boy. Best not let us city slickers hear such words.” Tony smirked as he gestured for another coke, “Beautiful speeches. Nice event. The investors even look entertained.”

“We do our best.” Hank replied tightly.

He looked as stiff and wound up as a law student. Tony squinted at him, his head titled.

“Okay, what’s up with him?” He asked Janet.

Janet’s diplomatic face tightened just a tad. It was enough for Tony to know something was wrong. He grunted as he sipped his new drink deeply.

“That fucked, eh?” He clicked his tongue, “Well, that’s going around.”

Before Janet could stop him, Hank laughed bitterly and stepped closer. There was something desperate and uneven in his eyes. He looked vulnerable.

“I doubt that.”

Something in Hank’s bitter tone set something off. Tony felt days worth of stress suddenly collapse on his shoulders. He felt a hot feeling lash within his chest, making him want to march towards Hank and match his stare. The damn idiot had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Who was he to talk down to him?

“Someone’s replicated a fucking Arc Reactor.” He whispered heatedly, “So, if you wanna get into a fucking pissing contest with me-”

“Pym Particles have been stolen.” Janet cut in.

Her tone was calm yet clearly conveyed her own stress. Tony stopped immediately. His stress and anger turned to confusion and bewilderment. He even stepped back.

“What?”

Hank let out a defeated, miserable laugh. He rubbed his jaw.

“Someone broke into an old, old storage centre. A completely random, uninteresting one that stores useless crap.”

“The perfect place to store…the original version of the Pym Particle.”

“The one that turned him psycho?” Tony asked.

The phrasing could have been better. Janet turned into a frightful woman whilst Hank exhaled and pushed his hand through his hand, looking as if he were about to breaking into sobs. Tony rubbed his burning eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” Hank agreed in a whisper, “If it’s replicated…”

“An Arc Reactor and Pym Particles…,” Janet shook her head, “When did you find ou-”

“Two days ago. Some prick sent me a video of the Stark factory burning down in Vietnam. Included a surprise ending. You?”

“Five days.” Janet replied as Hank breathed in deeply, “Odds of this occurring in the same week and it not being related?”

“How would they know about both technologies?” Hank questioned, “You’ve been advertising your tech, but we haven’t. No one should know about the particles, not even S.H.I.E.L.D., if Steve was to be believed.”

“Which we do.” Janet warned her husband, “But Hank’s right. We’ve been careful, Tony. And the fact you’re also having issues…”

“Might an Avengers thing.” Tony observed darkly, “That’s the only other link to the two technologies. But who the fuck knows about that other than Fury? The vampires? Unless, if there’s someone picking off hidden tech. Fuck.” Tony hissed, “Do…Do we ask Fury?”

“And acknowledge what we’ve had stolen?” Hank asked as if Tony was mad.

“I’ll keep you out of it.” Tony rolled his eyes, “Okay? I don’t like taddling to daddy, either, but we’re running out of options.”

“Is there any unique power signature that the reactor gives? We could use a satellite.” Janet suggested.

“Already tried. Can’t locate shit. They must’ve turned the reactor off after the video. I’m about to fly out to Vietnam to fucking deal with this.” Tony sighed and then it turned into a groan, “And you? Got any way to track the particles?”

“None that we can think of.” Hank shook his head, “This is…Jesus Christ. I don’t…Tony, I don’t know what to do righ…Is now really a good time for a photo?!” Hank snapped at the photographer behind the flashing camera.

“Pete!” Janet forced a large grin.

Behind the camera was a bean of a teen, long and drawn out. A mop of messy brown hair shifted from behind the camera as it was put away, revealing an overly excited Peter Parker. Hank immediately looked apologetic and sheepish whilst Tony muttered ‘fucking reunion’.

“Hiya, guys.” He greeted warmly, “This gala is sweet! Thanks so much for getting me on the media list.”

“The least we could do.” Hank inclined his eyes, though his face had not relaxed at all, “And…And how’s college?”

“Yeah, a bit difficult balancing things, ya know? But I’m still getting go-”

“Anyone steal any of your shit?” Tony asked bluntly.

Hank shook his head whilst Janet glared at him. Peter tilted his head and raised his eyebrow.

“Ah, like photos for the Bugle or?”

“Your web stuff.” Janet suggested, “Anything relating to your…nightly friend gone missing lately?”

Peter crossed his arms and stroked his chin, humming.

“Nope. Can’t say that it has. Why? What’s up? Something stealing from you? All three? A heist?”

Tony sighed and turned to the Pyms.

“Just us, then.”

“Still might be worth checking in on the others.” Janet said, “I don’t want to leave anything unchecked.”

Tony grunted but agreed with her. Peter continued to look perplexed.

“Seriously. What have I missed?”

“Someone has stolen the original Pym Particles and someone else, or maybe the same person, has made another Arc Reactor. All in the same week.” Janet explained coolly.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Shit. Like, shit. Really? I wonder what they could do with both…” He quietly mused, “Anyway, how can I help?”

“Pete.” Janet smiled.

“Seriously.” Peter nodded, “Missed hanging out with you guys. The Avengers haven’t assembled in nearly a year. C’mon. Let’s track these guys down. I’m sure Strange could-”

Hank clicked his fingers. He turned to Janet.

“Strange worked on refining the particles with you. Surely, he could be able to track them?”

“He’s in a weird mood.” Peter said carefully, “Just a heads up. Some chick from another universe just arrived a few days ago. She’s driving him up the walls.”

“You’ve seen him recently?” Hank asked.

“Yeah, needed him to patch him up. Electro and I had another fun time seeing the city. Oh!” Peter almost bounced off of his feet, “Janet…can I get another suit? I may have…burned the last one.”

Janet’s body sagged.

“You said you’d be more careful. Are you okay? What type of burns? Why are you working tonight?”

Peter waved her off.

“It was just…a few bolts of electricity. Nothing at all. Really. I swear. It just…kinda torched my suit.”

Janet didn’t look too convinced. Her lips were thin, but she didn’t say anything.

“We’ll help.” Hank agreed softly, “At least one of us can have their issues resolv...He’s here.”

Hank was pale. His eyes immediately darted to the refreshments table and he seemed to be overly focused on pretending to pick a drink.

“What?” Janet asked, bamboozled, “Who?”

“Him.” Hank said behind his teeth, “Just…look away.”

Tony suddenly guessed what he meant. He rolled his eyes and actually mirrored Hank’s actions.

“Did he see us?”

“I have no idea. Just avoid eye con-”

“Well, well, well!” A loud, confident voice boomed from behind them.

Even Janet shuddered. With utter reluctance, the group turned. A very tall, lanky man was before them wearing a dark suit that barely fit his elongated form. He even stood far above Peter of all people. His black hair was messy and wavey, and his temples were greyed much like Strange’s. His hooked nose turned as he took in the three scientists before him. He looked overjoyed to see them. At his side was a very beautiful blonde woman, one almost two feet shorter than the giant of a man. She was stunning. Peter’s face turned red just by being so close to her. She saw a dark dress that matched her husband’s suit, but Peter’s could help but notice how close it clung to her very pronounced body. He suddenly became very interested in the bulky camera that he was holding.

“If it isn’t the men and lady of the hour!” The man laughed whilst his wife seemed mildly embarrassed.

“Reed. Susan.” Hank and Tony greeted uncomfortably.

“Susan.” Janet leaned in to kiss the blonde’s cheek, “How are you?”

Susan chuckled slightly, eyeing her husband.

“Exhausted from trying to see all the presentations at once. It’s been great cardio.” She mocked.

Reed shrugged nonchalantly. Peter found his eyes very interesting to look at. He seemed to struggle to focus on any one thing for longer than three seconds. Even as his partner spoke, he was busying himself reading all of the labels on the bottles near them. It gave him a buzzing energy that was unsettling to take in. Even his smile was simply a set of polite twitches, if anything.

“There’s just so much to see!” He explained eagerly as he flicked back to the conversation around him, “You all did such a brilliant job tonight.” Reed clapped his hands together loudly, making Peter jump, “Thank you all.”

Hank smiled. Tony stared.

“We do our best to…make sure funding can happen where it can.”

Reed nodded intensely. Peter thought his slender neck might snap.

“Yes, yes. An amazing effort, especially for a company that’s still relatively small. The effort here was amazing.”

It wasn’t meant to be an insult, at least that was what Peter guessed. Reed’s face wasn’t mocking or sour, rather he looked genuinely impressed and happy by the achievement. There was just…no subtly to his words whatsoever. Hank and Janet looked completely neutral. Susan, however, grimaced.

“The Baxter Foundation is still going great?” Hank asked as pleasantly as he could possibly manage.

“Yes.” Reed replied automatically.

When his wife looked at him, he frowned in confusion. He then spoke.

“Oh. Well, we’re still operational. We’ve gotten a N.A.S.A. contract and-”

“Which one?” Janet asked a little too loudly.

The claim to fame for both Pyms had been their work developing small electronics and computers for America’s space missions and research. The fact that not even Janet knew of any contracts going about, even if it wasn’t relevant to them, seemed mildly hurtful to her. Reed beamed like a child given candy.

“We’re going to space. We’re designing a new rocket that will have the most advanced communications systems yet. We’re hoping to make a satellite after that, and then push it close to Mars for some real and close research on the planet.”

Janet’s eyes became slits. Hank’s mouth gaped. Even Tony was silent, not being able to think of a poorly hidden insult. Reed’s success was by no means small, it seemed.

“Didn’t know you were in that line of engineering.” Hank replied carefully.

It appeared to be a contentious topic. Susan scowled fiercely at Reed.

“Yes, someone refused to let it go and managed to talk his way into a government contract.” She explained, elbowing her husband, “We were actually hoping to bump into you. Reed, weren’t we? Reed.”

Reed was once more off in his own world. He was examining the ingredients in the vodka bottles now with utter focus, even murmuring to himself as he did so.

“Ah, yes. Yes!” He turned around and looked hopeful, “Partners? See, how’s this? Your processors and computers. Our shuttle. We could even put in an Arc Reactor in it!”

Reed slapped Tony’s shoulder. Tony had the slightest movement which revealed an urge to strike Reed in the face. Peter suddenly felt very uncomfortable being near the group. It was like a family reunion with overly competitive madmen. Though, even Janet looked like she wanted in on the action. She had still not recovered from the news of the N.A.S.A. contract.

“We’ll need to get back to you.” Hank answered politely, “We have some…contracts we need to complete at the moment.”

Reed looked visibly disappointed. Susan smiled.

“No worries at all. It’s that time of year for researchers.”

“Exactly.” Janet added coolly.

“Don’t take too long.” Reed stated, “This is an incredible project! I’m so excited!” He boomed.

As he did so, he finally noticed that there was another person near him. Peter froze at the intense star that he got from the senior researcher. Reed seemed to examine every part of him, from his camera, to his shoelaces, to even his eyebrows.

“Your own photographer, Tony? I thought it was a woman.”

Tony rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide his distain now.

“No, you idiot. This is-”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“-Peter Parker. He works for the Daily Bugle and he’s studying at New York University. Peter, this is Dr. Reed Richards of the Baxter Foundation. He’s…a researcher of physics. His wife, Susan, runs a lot of his projects, as well.”

Reed nodded proudly as Tony explained who he was. Peter shyly offered his hand.

“Really awesome to meet you guys.”

“Likewise.” Susan smiled as they shook hands, “Here to watch the demonstrations?”

“Kinda.” Peter laughed, only to hold up his camera, “Taking some photos for the Daily Bugle.”

“Oh, still a photographer? Perfect!”

Before anyone could say anything, Reed was pulling Hank and Tony to his sides. Both of the wives sighed as they stood next to Hank and Tony respectively. Reed nodded swiftly to Peter, who stuttered as he held up his heavy camera again. Everyone smiled, though only two were genuine. After several flashes, Tony and Hank immediately broke away.

“Thank you so much.” Susan smiled before whispering, “He gets a bit sentimental around his friends.”

“Frie-”

“That’s so cute.” Janet chuckled, her eyes finally relaxing.

“Please send a copy to my office. I’ll hang it up.” Reed explained to Peter, “And best of luck with your studies. If you need anything, please call us. We love helping students. In fact, we have an intern program that focuses on real, vocational training that-”

“Reed, love. Stop scaring the boy guy.” She laughed, showing Peter her perfect teeth, “We need to scoot off now. We really need to arrange dinner or something. It’s been way, way too long.”

“Once things slow down, definitely.” Janet nodded.

“I miss Chinese food.” Reed nodded to himself, “We’ll aim for that. Now, Sus, I think that’s Jacobs over there.”

“Yes, we’ll run along. He wants to meet everyone.” Susan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling warmly, “I’ll give you a call?” She pointed to Janet and then to Tony.

“We’d love that.” Janet agreed.

Reed smiled widely again as he took Susan’s hand. With a speed that his wife could barely keep up, Reed raced towards one of the tables. The group was left watching in silence.

“How the fuck did he land her?” Tony asked genuinely.

“Hmm.” Hank agreed.

“Seriously. Best ass I’ve ever seen. That thing is insane.”

“Tony!” Janet hissed before tattering, “Well, Pete, you just had your first Reed Richards introduction.”

“Never heard of him.” Peter replied honestly, “Or the Baxter Foundation.”

“They focus more on physics and engineering applications that revolved that.” Hank answered, “Darn N.A.S.A., though…”

“I know.” Janet looked murderous again.

“Um,” Peter suddenly looked very nervous, “He seemed a bit…Like, not to be a dick…But, um…The way he spoke and stuff…What does he…”

“We don’t know.” Janet replied delicately, “Reed is…a unique taste. I don’t think he means to come across so…Reed. I really don’t. He does a lot for charity and a lot for students.”

“I think he’s an arrogant prick.” Tony rebutted and even Hank nodded.

“And that’s coming from Tony.”

“Hank.” Janet frowned lightly.

“What? ‘Your little company’. Ugh. The Baxter Foundation is hardly Stark Industries.”

“Thank you.” Tony looked mildly at ease from the compliment, “So, Reed aside.” Tony’s tone soon turned grim again, “I’ll be off to Nam soon.”

“I call catching up with the others.” Peter grinned eagerly, “It’ll be good to see them again.”

“We’ll pop by Strange.” Janet agreed, “And we’ll get you a new suit, don’t worry.”

Peter turned red.

“I don’t worry that much.” Peter’s eyes suddenly widened, “We should get those magic shells again! So, we can keep touch.”

“Peter,” Janet started, “This hopefully isn’t an Avengers issue. It’s just a matter of…finding lost goods.”

Tony almost heaved at how simplistic the description was. The Reed encounter had not improved his mood. Even someone as arrogant as Tony had their limits with Reed. For nearly two decades, Tony had dealt with the constant smugness that was Reed Richards. The most annoying part of it was that Tony knew that Reed had absolutely no self-awareness about how he acted, as well.

“We better return to making sure everyone’s alive and well.” Hank sighed miserably, “More socialising. Great.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve done great.” Janet whispered to him as she kissed his cheek, “Call us before you fly out. We’ll let you know how Strange is.”

“Will do.” Tony replied quietly, “Stay out of trouble, kid.”

“When am I ever in serious trouble?” Peter smirked.

Tony snorted, but there was a small grin to be found. The former teammates all departed from one another’s company. Hank and Janet prepared for the night’s final demonstrations and pitches, Peter hastily ate as much as he could, and Tony lingered by himself. He didn’t have a single link, and if someone was trying to combine an Arc Reactor with the Pym Particles…Tony couldn’t even imagine what could be possible with such a combination. He felt sick just thinking of the chaos and madness that his own invention could cause.

Tony entered the lift. Thankfully, he was alone. His hand clutched the Arc Reactor in his chest as he breathed in deeply. It would be fine. Everything would be fine. He kept thinking it over and over, yet the terror in his chest never eased. His lips felt so dry, and his head was pounding. If this had happened a year ago, the man would already be drunk. He needed to focus, to be at the top of his game. He needed to be sober. Yet, he felt so smothered and the air was so hot without it. As he limped out of the lift, all he could think about was failing and becoming another developer of weapons. All he could think about was becoming his father.

He hastily made his way towards the rotating doors. Much to his incredible frustration, two women carrying a large case were also trying to make their way through. The bag seemed to be of some weight, given their obvious struggles. Out of more impatience than kindness, Tony offered to help them. The sound of his voice almost made them almost drop the case onto the floor. The beautiful women looked at him with wide eyes and crimson cheeks.

“Mr. Stark.” The tall, dark woman said in an awkward tone, “Nice…seeing you again.”

Tony blinked several times. He didn’t think for a moment that he actually knew these women. An uncomfortable silence followed. The pale woman behind her colleague sighed.

“We interviewed you last year. For the…kids hospital.”

Tony did his best to remember, but most times before becoming sober were a fun blur. He shrugged lamely. His eyes then widened as a humoured smile overcame his features for the first that night.

“Ah. Yes. I remember the post-interview much better.”

Both of the women looked slightly annoyed but also embarrassed by the comment. Then they both noticed how sweaty and shaken Tony looked. He didn’t look drunk, either. There was just something…off about him. His eyes were darkened and too focussed on his surroundings. It was clear to the taller woman that he hadn’t slept in days.      

 “Are…Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Tony didn’t even know how to answer that question. He grinned, only for it to immediately crumple into a pathetic look of misery. His burning eyes were soon rubbed. He then groaned.

“Yeah, just…just a long one.”

He placed his hands on his hips as he eyed both of the women closely. His hands were fidgeting again. He needed to do something other than panic every single second. His organs were about to give out and no new information was going to be gathered that night.

“Ever been on a yacht?”  

***

Despite the cold, the thumping in her veins kept Jen warm. The evening night did little to deter the giant, green woman from sprinting as fast as she could. The streets were empty, yet she still kept to the alleys and underpasses. She didn’t trust herself to be under the lamps and streetlights. He would find her. He would capture her. He would probably kill her. The giant orange man with the size of…another person that she once knew. He had seemed to calm, as well. Most maniacs were, Jennifer supposed. But, what if he wasn’t entirely insane or lying, and that he did know Bruce? It had been years since she had seen or heard about her cousin. In fact, she had honestly written him off of as dead, given the lack of contact after he had saved her. What if he was the orange man’s captive? What if Bruce really was trying to help the both of them, and that she had just sentenced two men to death?

So many thoughts, so many claws in her mind. Jennifer looked behind her. No one was in sight. It was silent. It wasn’t good enough for Jen. Her heartrate still soared and thundered like Thor’s hammer. With wanton desperation, she continued to sprint down the alleyways. Part of her didn’t care if anyone saw her, so long as he was gone. He could be right behind her, looming for another strike. Such an idea made Jennifer sick to the stomach. She was used to being confident and strong in her green self, passionate and ready for battle. Not that night. No, even her gamma-readied self could feel fear. A very cold, heavy fear that sunk every other feeling to her feet, making it hard for her to run.

Allman’s Road. Jennifer blinked. With a nervous exhale, she allowed herself to dig into the ground and look up at the signpost above her. Allman’s Road. Jennifer’s mouth gaped in confusion. That was nearly on the complete other side of the district. How far had she run? For how long? The terror and sickness in her stomach had not faded whatsoever. Once more, she scanned the darkness around her, looking like a deer trying to spot the lion. She missed Maxxie in times like this. The pug gave her a comfort that not even Captain America could.

With trembling legs, Jennifer walked towards a payphone. Her eyes never stopped scanning her surroundings. Her breathing never calmed. Powerful fingers reached behind the bulky compartment of the phone and easily pulled it apart. Jennifer hissed in panic as dozens of coins loudly clung onto the pavement. Jennifer whipped around, looking at the apartments around her. No movement. Jennifer swallowed. Picking a quarter up, she was hasty in sliding it into the phone and carefully jabbing a number in. She pressed it to her ear and waited. For every ring that it made, Jennifer’s stomach dropped and dropped. As soon as she heard two voices in her ear, she almost crushed the phone.

“You’ve reached Janet.”

“And Hank.”

“We’re sorry for missing you.”

“If you wante-”

Jennifer hung up. She grabbed several more quarters and dialled again. Her eyes scanned her surroundings again. She was still alone, for now.

“Stark. If you have any issues, call my office. If it’s a personal issue, call my assistant, Jar-”

“Goddamn it, Anthony.” Jennifer hissed as she hung up again.

As she pressed the digits again, her fingers were trembling. She spun herself around as she held listened closely. Once more, it rang out.

“This is…Peter. Uh, Peter Parker. If you, ah, are interested in my photography work, please leave a message. I mean, I’d love to-”

“Even you?!” Jennifer whimpered, “Where is everyone tonight?!”

She tried every number that she had, but no one would answer. A horrible realisation struck her. What if she wasn’t the only one attacked? What if the Avengers were being targeted one by one? Jennifer staggered back. She didn’t even know these people. Why would they coordinate something like this? Pete was…Pete. He didn’t deserve an assassination or kidnapping. Countless irrational concepts and notions crashed over the overwhelmed woman. The fear of being kidnapped or her friends sharing the same fate made it difficult for her to focus.

Strange and Thor. Those were the only numbers that she did not have. Strange, due to his…antisocial habits, and Thor, as he didn’t exactly phone how to work a phone when they last spoke. Thor. Jennifer breathed slowly as she peaked back at the signpost. She was in Allman’s Road. That wasn’t too far from Thor’s house. It wasn’t close but it was manageable for a superpowered woman. And Thor would not be as easy a fight for the giant orange man. But if he were already attacked…

Jennifer shook her head. That couldn’t be something that she needed to consider. One step at a time. She needed to regroup. Once she did, she could go home and make sure Maxxie was safe and happy. Jennifer exhaled calmly again, yet her heart would not still. There was just too much on her mind. The jade giant returned to an alleyway, doing her best to navigate it all the while looking behind her every few seconds.

It took her just under an hour of running to reach Thor’s home. It was a quiet street, with the residents all well into their sleep. There was no signs of a battle or a god of thunder striking someone into hell itself. Jennifer was grateful, but it was eerie as she slid and climbed past so many silent and still cars, houses, and even exercise equipment on lawns. It took her several minutes to guess which house was his, as Jennifer only had a vague memory of it. She had only visited once, many months prior. With a bitten lip and a prayer, the green woman looked around the quiet suburban street and knocked at the door in front of her. There was silence. Jennifer swallowed. Her muscles tensed. She was ready for a fight.

The door opened.

Her body flinched. With wide, manic eyes, she observed a giant of a man in boxers and nothing else. Jennifer blinked. It was certainly Thor. The older man yawned softly and seemed to be struggling to focus on the green woman in front of him. As inappropriate as it was, Jennifer couldn’t help but appreciate just how muscular the aging Aesir was. He was clearly into his version of middle-age, but behind his silverly chest hair was thick, padded muscle from centuries of war. There were also more scars than Jennifer could count.

“Jennifer Walters.” Thor greeted, a resounding smile on his face as he slowly woke up, “Welcome to my home. Tonight seems to be gifting many visitors.”

“Are you safe?!” Jennifer hissed.

Thor stopped smiling. She was bleeding. Thor took in her torn suit and the many dark green stains that it had. Even with her healing abilities, Jennifer’s face was puffy and bruised. Her eyes were peeking into the house, as if scared a monster was looming behind Thor and ready to pounce. The Aesir clicked his fingers. Thunder boomed above.

Without looking at Jennifer, Thor walked into his lawn and stared into his street with the eyes of a predatory bird. His lips were thin, refusing to make any noise or movements aside from his eyes. Mjolnir hung loosely in his hand, as if ready to fly in any direct at a moment’s notice.

“Where are they?”

When Jennifer spoke, it was swift and without order.

“I lost them an hour…and maybe a half ago? By the docks. I didn’t know where to go, Thor. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I…I tried calling the other Avengers, and no one was picking up. I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know if I’m being followed-”

“You are not, Jennifer Walters.” Thor replied in a low tone.

He was glaring into the wilderness around them, seeming to challenge whatever was following Jennifer to come out. He turned on his heel, walking on heavy feet towards his door.

“My senses offer me no vision of anyone near. You are safe.” Jennifer swallowed, her jaw shaking, “Jennifer, you are safe.” He repeated gently, “Come, you are most welcome…No, you are required to stay this evening. Come.”

As soon as Jennifer closed the door behind her, a light was turned on. Jennifer jumped, her fists raised. A hunting rifle was aimed directly at her head. A tall, blonde woman with the sides of her hair shaved was calmly staring at the newcomer in her home. It was clear that she was not happy to be awake. Her eyes were droopy and her sleeveless tee and panties were an indication that she had just walked out of bed, grabbed the gun, and immediately aimed it at Jen.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Work friend?”

“Barbara,” Thor beamed and gave a hearty chuckle, “This magic may confuse you. But this stout warrior is Jennifer Walters-”

“The She-Hulk.” Barbara acknowledged, and then clicked her tongue, “The woman that spent twenty minutes talking about my movie collection lacking science fiction is…giant and green…with massive tits.”

Jennifer offered a meek smile amongst her stress.

“Did…Did you get anything new? I just…saw something called ‘Electric Dreams’ and-”

“Ah, fuck, it is her.”

With mild reluctance, Barbara lowered the gun. Despite being bulletproof, the withdrawal eased Jennifer considerably. She didn’t need any more conflict, not tonight. Barbara murmured about returning her gun to their bed. Thor turned to Jennifer. Behind his greying beard, there was a warm, strong smile. Jennifer’s lip twitched. It was good to finally not being panicking. Like having a bear on standby, Thor was a comforting ally to run to, even for Jennifer.

“Be seated, please. Do you wish for something to drink? Or,” Thor eyed her swollen face again, “I could look at your wounds?”

Jennifer smiled softly as she sat down. Her body was starting to feel a lot better now that she was finally off of her feet. Many of her cuts had already sealed, but the deep ones were still weeping unnatural blood. Jennifer suddenly felt bad for ruining their couch.

“Trying to replace Strange now?”

“He’s studying how to be a paramedic.” Barbara drawled as she came back into the room, “You could be a test for him.” She snorted.

Jennifer looked back to Thor. For a moment, she completely forgot about the terror of being hunted.  A brilliant smile blossomed.

“Seriously? That’s…That’s rad. Oh my god, that’s great! Wait, how…What name are you using?”

Thor looked mildly shy as he knelt in front of her. His fingers gently touched her chin and pulled her to the left and then the right as he inspected her face.

“Mr. Fury of the S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me the name ‘Donald Blake’ to pass unnoticed when studying.” Thor explained lightly as he suddenly placed a light in front of Jennifer’s pupil, “Learning once more has been…a delightful experience. Open your jaw. Do you experience pain? No teeth are missing. You must have given a mighty defence.”

Jennifer laughed bitterly as Thor carefully looked at a series of cuts on her shoulder.

“I got my ass handed to me just a giant orange guy that claims to know where my cousin is.”

Thor looked up.

“Jennifer, would this be the kin that gave you such…abilities.”

“Yes.” Jennifer answered gravely, “I haven’t seen him in years. He’s probably lying but…I don’t know.”

Thor murmured something about a bandage before lifting one arm and carefully rotating each of the joints.

“And this giant?”

“Claimed to have the same issue as Bruce and I. He wanted me to come help Bruce. I almost did.” Jennifer admitted, “Something felt off, though. When I didn’t immediately do what he wanted, things go…heated.”

Jennifer suddenly winced as Thor’s fingers pressed into her sensitive ribs.

“He wishes for you for some foul deed.”

“Which means he’ll be back.” Barbara noted sternly as she looked at the back of Thor’s head.

“You doubt that I cannot handle this being?” He asked her, “Or the two of us cannot?”

Barbara stared at him in annoyance.

“I don’t know anything about this shit. I just don’t want this to turn into a shitshow.”

“Once I can run, I’ll-”

“Sit.” Both Barbara and Thor instructed Jennifer as she tried to stand.

“You can stay as long as you want.” Barbara said before turning to Thor, “I don’t want goblins or whatever going through my laundry. I’m going to bed.” She added, “Nice seeing you again. The couch folds out.”

“Thank you so much. And it was really awesome seeing you again!” Jennifer waved excitedly.

Barbara nodded stoically to her partner before slowly trudging off to their room. Thor suddenly chuckled to himself as he walked towards the cabinet where the first aid materials were kept.

“Do not take her mood to heart. She is a very…strong woman.”

“I can tell.” Jennifer replied politely, “I can see why you’re into her. Very much gives me the ‘one more step on my lawn and I’ll take your head off’ type of feeling.”

“I know that to be true.” Thor grinned as he finished placing a bandage around Jennifer’s shoulder, “Given your gifts of healing, your wounds shall not be a burden for too much. At worst, I fear for a cracked left rib.”

“Wonderful.” Jennifer grimaced, “You…You sure you’re okay with me staying tonight?”

Thor scoffed and then laughed loudly.

“You are most welcome. Tonight, rest and collect your thoughts.” He explained as he rose, “For tomorrow, we shall hunt for who harmed you.”

***

A/N: I hope you’re well! Thanks so much for reading the chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!

So, the last of the original team are in. Always a pleasure writing the arrogant prick that is Namor. I also hoped that the Reed and Susan Richards appearance was fun. Reed will appear at least once towards the very end of the story, if you’re fans of the FF.

Next chapter will focus on Jennifer and Tony trying to work out what the hell is going on in their lives. It will also feature Peter trying to adjust to an old presence once more in his life. Plus, more with Steve and his son.

Thank you so much for reading. If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. Always brilliant to see. Otherwise, have a great week!

Fact of the chapter: Oreos were invented in 1912, so well over a hundred years old!  

Chapter Text

Steve’s pace as he entered the dimly lit offices of S.H.I.E.L.D. was brisk. His face was unusually sharp, one could even assume it was hostile. Many of the usual office workers and researchers moved to greet the historic hero. Steve’s steeled eyes made quick work of making them turn away. A mixture of emotions swirled within him. He didn’t know if he was going to scream or beg for answers. There were so many different things that he needed to know. Without any doubt in his mind, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew the answers to all such things. The fact they didn’t tell him about his son or about the possibility of Namor invading his personal space made Steve’s chest puff out. He needed to be calm, but a strange part of him wanted to be angry and hostile. He deserved it, just this once.

Steve exited a lift many floors up. The faded browns of the tight office spaces turned into large, sterile meeting rooms and large collections of senior management quarters. Steve even needed to wince from the sharpness of the lights hitting the white tiles below his feet. It didn’t improve his mood. Many of the senior officials within S.H.I.E.L.D. peered up, only to look mildly curious by Steve’s expression. In fact, even the security outside of Fury’s personal office seemed mildly disconcerted by the uncharacteristically blunt expression and fast pace of one of their agents.

“Mr. Rogers, I’m afraid that-”

“Fury! I know you’re in there.” Steve barked.

The two large men in front of them exchanged uncertain looks. With some reluctance, they both moved forwards and gathered their bravery for their attempts to move Steve away from their boss’ office.

“Mr. Rogers, I’ll need to ask you to lower your tone and to respectfully-”

The stare Steve gave them could shatter ice. Without uttering a word, he dared them both to touch him. It only made the men all the more careful in deciding how to approach this. Steve’s super serum aided past and heroics during the war were well known, even to those within S.H.I.E.L.D. that didn’t know of his survival. Not many were dumb enough to want to fight a national hero that allegedly held back platoons of Nazis by himself.

The security moved to gently hold his arms and pull him away a foot or two when the door opened. Both security officers exhaled in relief. A tall, dark man with a highly annoyed expression met their gazes. Both Steve and Fury stared at one another for several moments. It was Fury that broke first. With a humourless smile that lacked any real sense of welcome, he stepped away from the door and gestured to his guest chairs. Steve silently accepted the invitation.

“No one interrupts, even if you hear screaming.” Fury warned his security, both of whom nodded obediently.

Steve did not sit. He stood in front of Fury’s desk, glaring at it. It was a very minimalist office, which wasn’t surprising. Despite having the size to fit several bookcases, a coffee table and several matches sofas, a desk and even more chairs, and a projectionist set, it felt all very barren. Everything was sterile white or utterly black. No colour or uniqueness could be found in the realm that was Fury’s office. Even the window view was dull. Some mid-level buildings could be seen scrunched up close to the building, but that was it. If it weren’t for the tinted windows, Steve would be certain office workers in other buildings could peer into the spy’s office.

“Shall we cut to it?” Fury asked conversationally as he stood in front of Steve.

The casual tone only made Steve’s mood dip into a deeper level of anger. He felt like a teen again, wanting nothing more than to shout back at the bullies that towered over him, that didn’t give him the respect that he deserved as a living being.

“I have…a son.”

Fury blinked. With slow feet, he sat at his desk and leaned back. A single eye did his best to examine Steve’s red and flaring face as accurately as it could. When Fury spoke, it was in a more reserved tone.

“I didn’t know.”

“I call bull. You know everything.” Steve spat.

The tone and expression from Steve were something for Fury to behold. Even when missions went south, Steve was calm and collected. Bearing witness to such poorly contained rage from the kind man was a rare opportunity indeed.

“I’m not the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. and I don’t reside over everything.” Fury explained, “Look. I have things I keep tabs on. You’re one of them. Margaret Carter isn’t. Keeping track of old S.H.I.E.L.D.? That’s someone else’s portfolio, thank the Lord.”

Steve scoffed and even shook his head. He did not overly trust much of what Fury was saying, and he was not in the mood for Fury being selective with his truths.

“You knew I was coming here and why.”

“Yes. Like I said, I keep tabs on you. The moment this…John Walker met with you at the village, I was briefed. That’s the first time I heard of him. That’s the truth. Take it or leave it.”

“You…” Steve started to laugh bitterly, “I had a son. If I was under your briefing, you didn’t think that’d come up?”

Fury rolled his eye as if Steve were a child. Steve almost threw something at him for such a careless expression. Fury leaned back and began gesturing with his hands as he spoke.

“So, you’ve been frozen for decades. Before that, you seem to get lucky with Agent Carter. You wake up two years ago. That was when I was given your file. This may shock you, Captain America, but I have a lot of files. I’ve had a lot of files since before yours. At no point did I ever look into Peggy Carter’s career or personal life because I didn’t need to.” Fury leaned forwards, “So, no. I didn’t know about your son. At no point was there ever a note against your file saying ‘Steve has a kid’. Again. That’s the truth. Take it or leave it.”

Nonsense. Steve didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust a word of it. He was a senior leader of a spy organisation, after all. If he was known to be Peggy’s son and had shown abilities, surely they’d put two and two together. Unless, if they had assumed he was a mutant? Surely his blood would reveal that lie, though.

Steve bit his tongue. There was enough logic within Fury’s words to make some sense, even if it was a careful distraction by the spy. With that in mind, Steve breathed deeply and cooled himself. He needed more information. He couldn’t risk ruining his chance to dig deeper into Walker by alienating Fury. Steve had played the game long enough to know its necessities.

“If you weren’t keeping tabs on Peggy, who was?”

“I’ve already asked that question this morning.” Fury grumbled, “I’ll find out soon. Another super soldier…” Fury trailed off, clearly lost in the glamour of the idea.

“One that’s come out of nowhere. One that said he was already in S.H.I.E.L.D.” Steve countered, “Bit of an oversight.”

Such a comment hardened Fury’s expression. He leaned forward. Steve didn’t falter. Fury could glare all he wanted.

“On that, we’re in agreement. I’ve already sent a group into the archives to work out what the hell is going on.”

“You don’t keep track of super assets?” Steve’s tone was slightly mocking.

Fury looked insulted and incredulous.

“How old do you think I am? This shit all happened years before I got this damn desk. I was an agent a hell of a lot longer than I’ve been here.” He gestured to his office, “I barely made it here before the X-Men showed up on our radar.” Fury paused to think, “Hmm. Maybe a few former directors or overseers would know. It all depends on when he was with us. Senior management tends not…last long in this game. I’ll see if any are still around and willing to talk.”

“You’ve handled yourself well.” Steve replied evenly.

“Thank you.” Fury grinned sarcastically, “I’m sorry about your kid. I am. I know how pissed you are.” Steve’s jaw clenched, “But give me time. When I know something, I’ll you know.” Steve stared blankly at him, causing Fury to sigh, “I promise.”

Steve eyed him. He took a step forward. Fury almost went for the gun on his hip when he saw an open hand in front of his face. Relaxing, Fury shook it. Seeing how uneasy Steve still was, Fury decided to rip the bandaid off with one other issue.

“So, you have a housemate now?”

Steve laughed, this time with some actual humour. He was content to change the topic for now. Pressing Fury too hard too soon was no doubt unwise. It was from either the lack of answers or refusal to give them that Steve was stuck playing the long game. How he missed open warfare compared to such intricate lies and tactics of the mind.

“He said he came here. Didn’t make the cut?”

“Does that narcissist look like he’d pass our psych tests to you? I don’t want an egotistical prince from a fairytale water world in my face. The guy literally told me to my face that I need an interior decorator five minutes into our first meeting.” Fury shook his head at the memory, “I can see why even Xavier, one of the more patient people in this cursed world, kicked him out.”

Steve gave Fury an unimpressed look.

“Recommended course of action?”

“Has he started ruining your house or hosted any orgies? No? Then wait it out. Intel on him says that he’s probably just looking for attention. You know how royal types are.”

“I actually don’t.”

Fury crackled a small smile.

“My advice? Wait it out. He’ll get bored soon. Probably leave and start annoying Ocean World or something.”

Fury laughed softly at his own little joke. It was a fake laugh. Steve knew that no matter where Namor was in America, and possibly even the world at large, S.H.I.E.L.D. would try to keep tabs on him. In a world with even mutants, a sublevel ocean prince was worth keeping an eye on.

The super soldier nodded stiffly, as if agreeing with a superior officer again. In many ways, he was. Fury rose and offered Steve his hand. Steve almost ignored it. His sense of honour refused to allow him to his rude, however.

“We’ll figure this out.” Fury stated, “I promise.”

“I know.” Steve lied, “I know, sir. With permission, I’d like to resume training.”

Fury nodded and sat back into his chair.

“Cap.”

“Sir.”

Steve left the S.H.I.E.L.D. overseer’s office silent and calm. Security had grown, with six men sweating outside of the door. Steve politely nodded to them, idly aware of their relief as soon as they realised that they wouldn’t have to try and restrain Captain America.

Steve felt uneasy as he passed into the elevator. He didn’t even register his legs moving. The world around him seemed to be shifting away from him. The doors shut in front of him, leaving him to consider the previous, short, miniscule conversation with Fury. Fury knew something, that was for sure. Steve just didn’t know what. It gave the soldier a weighted feeling in his head, like he felt dozens of eyes looking at him in plain sight. A wave of claustrophobia battled Steve as he tried to maintain his mental control over the situation. He just needed to be patient. He just needed to be slow. He would know what was going on soon enough.

***

For Namor, it was merely a tolerable experience being above the seas. Yes, there was majesty to behold in the European sculptures and monuments. Many fascinating creatures dwelt within the Pacific nations. Many endless cities sprawled themselves within the Americas. But it was the air. Having been used to gaining his nourishing oxygen from water all his life, the sensation of being in air burnt his nostrils and lungs. It wasn’t a deadly or debilitating experience. It was merely tolerable.

The tall, athletic prince stretched his back out with a loud moan as he stood on Steve Rogers’ porch. He had grown tired of watching the same sport for many hours on tape. The legendary soldier appeared to be quite benign in his tastes. Namor honestly expected more from someone of his repute. Even Atlantis knew of his exploits during the great surface wars four decades ago. Having finished his stretches, Namor adjusted the odd shoulder pads on his bright blue jacket and began to walk forwards. Such thick clothing was also something that had to be adjusted to. The need for such skinny shoes, such baggy and loose black pants, a matching tight shirt, and an oddly stuffed jacket was beyond the prince. Yet, he seemed to fit right in with the colourful messes of fashion around him. He understood why Steve was so out of place in his own nation.

As he walked along the quiet suburban street, Namor smirked. Many of the silent houses creaked ever so much with the movement of the spies within them. Cameras and binoculars carefully followed him, desperate to hide their existence yet make sure he was well documented. Namor stopped. His neck craned to the left. With a vicious grin, he stared at a seemingly still set of blind, directly at the operative hiding behind them. With his evolved vision, Namor saw the agent stiffen at the eye contact. Namor turned slightly more forwards to the next house. He peered at the second story, looking at a faraway window where a set of binoculars and a radio were positioned. An agent stiffened once more. They really were keen to keep Steve Rogers within their eyeline. Even their national heroes were not revered.

Namor’s grin only grew. He enjoyed this part of showing off immensely. With a soft murmur upon his lips, his fingers danced in long strokes within the air. The suburbs around him blurred and thickened like smudges of paint. The colours swirled and melded and splattered, only to soon sharpened into straight and clear lines again. New shapes and surroundings could be made out by Namor. A city. A large city with towers and fortresses and…cars. Namor loathed how loud they were. Namor stood within the street that he had landed on. It was a quiet alleyway that he had decided would be a perfect landing spot when he had first arrived in New York.

Namor’s pointed ear twitched. Something metallic rattled. Namor’s arm stretched behind him, a decorated dagger of silver within it. An old, bearded, rough looking man in torn clothes jumped in terror at the sight of the prince. Namor raised his eyebrow. The man had been playing with a metal can of food as he sat secluded by some boxes.

“How…How the hell did you…Are you one of them mutants?”

Namor didn’t reply. There was no need for him to. The dagger disappeared from Namor’s hand, and the prince placed his hands in his pockets. Without a word or look of respect, Namor turned and casually strolled onto the main street of the city. Hundreds of people bustled around him, talking loudly and arguing more often than not. Namor felt like backhanding many of them for shouting so loudly next to his delicate ears. More often than not, his eyes were tilted upright as he admired the sheer scale of many of the buildings. The Kingdom of Atlantis had many towers and worldly buildings, yet nothing had the scope of what he was surrounded by. He would never admit it, but Namor was quite jealous of it.

His stroll through the city soon led him to newspaper stand. He did not acknowledge the elderly man tending to it as he grabbed a random paper. Instead, he began to skim read it lazily.

“If you want to read it, son, that’ll be-”

Without answering, Namor reached into his pants, withdrew a random note, and threw it at the tender, all the while continuing to read. The silence from the tender most likely implied just how much he had overpaid for a single newspaper.

“Tell me,” Namor suddenly spoke in an authoritative voice, “Are there any criminal organisations or terrorists yet to be challenged in this country?”

“I…What? I’m sorry, son, but I have no idea what you’re talking about? Your accent is a little hard to-”

“Of course.” Namor muttered.

Without anything further, Namor departed. The newspaper was left by the stall, almost perfectly untouched. Namor was bristling. Humans were always killing each other and experiencing disasters. Yet, the moment he arrived to stop them, nothing. The world was loud, but silent as well. No mortal chaos could be observed. How was it that the X-Men constantly had places to save yet the Prince of Atlantis couldn’t find anyone needing his help? He knew that he should have intervened in Cairo several years ago. Dealing with the mad, purple mutant would have shown Xavier that he was a capable hero. Namor knew he was. He just needed to…show the world what he was made of, so to speak.

Namor’s relentless hunt for crime stretched on for hours. It did not help that he wasn’t entirely sure what was legal or illegal in the United States. Rather, he was relying on the traditional screams for help or rampant explosions to guide him. He found none. And so, his feet took him on a journey towards the less dense areas of the city. His mind eased as the cars and the honking and the shouting all sunk away. The height of the towers diminished. Instead of polished glass, rust and overgrowth took over. People still ventured through the streets, but rarely. He felt as if he were in an entirely different city altogether.

One of the quiet streets guided Namor past a small group of men seated around some steps before a door. Cards were played amongst them, with notes of money splayed between them. Bottles of beer rested at their thighs. The prince took no note of them, but their eyes immediately stuck onto him. Their hushed whispers ended and one had the nerve to rise as Namor walked away.

“Hey, pretty boy, nice jacket. How much did you pay for it?”

Several snickers left the four men around him. Namor did not reply. In fact, his mind was preoccupied trying to understand why so many dogs were strolling the streets without supervision.

“Hey! I said something to you! I wanna know how nice that ja-”

“If you’re trying to steal from or intimidate me, neither will work.” Namor replied absently.

There had to be at least seven dogs of different breeds in front of him. All were either sniffing the ground or basking in the sunlight. In Atlantis, animal companions were either kept inside a house or taken to one’s work for the day. The surface world truly was different.

Namor heard movement. All five men behind him were now on their feet. Namor finally stopped. He turned, annoyed at himself for giving them any attention at all. They all wore very similar colours. Yellow was a favourite amongst them. So, too, was showing off the many parts of their skin that showed tattoos. One of them, a more lanky being, was grinning maliciously. His hand was vibrating at an inhuman rate and small, yet thunderous, echoes could be heard from it.

“We think you should show more respect.” The man in front smirked.

“A mutant. How quant.” Namor drawled, “As am I.”

The water from their beers suddenly rose into the air and cut through the air. Many of the men hissed or whimpered as they saw small blades of water hovering at their throats. Namor took his own turn to smirk viciously.

“Learn respect yourself.” Namor suggested.

He walked several more metres before dropping the water. Shouts of anger could be heard, yet Namor cared little for it. If they were foolish enough to want to die fighting him, that was their choice. He would not make it for them.

Namor’s trip throughout the city lasted the entire day. To his amusement, he sensed no one following him or trying to take photos of him. He truly had rattled S.H.I.E.L.D.’s spying habits. At times, he would attempt to eat what passed as pleasant food in whatever suburb or district he ventured into it. He hated hotdogs immensely. The night eventually drifted across the sky. The atmosphere around him changed. It became more crowded, more energetic, more argumentative and excited. Namor loathed it. He truly hated human cities. He found himself avoiding the busier streets and pathways. He crept into poorly lit streets, finding the air easier to breathe and his eyes no longer ached with the blaringly lights.

There was a panicked scream. Namor’s twitching ear turned towards a darkened street that continued off the one he was currently on.

“Ah, finally.” He mused to himself.

As he walked towards the street, he grew annoyed that it was an emptier street. He would have preferred one with more witnesses and cameras. News of his exploits and usefulness would pass far easier with such a setting. Still, Namor was happy to be some help to someone, at least. His step grew faster.

A short, caramel skinned woman was pressed against a wall, sobbing. A knife was to her throat as a man in a strange, woollen mask leered at her. His hand was painfully upon her revealed breast. She quivered. A second man was in front of them, rummaging through a purse and muttering in anger as he clearly found little. The woman was nicely dressed, with a modest and fine dress on. Golden earrings dropped near her threatened throat. They had clearly assumed she was wealthy. Perhaps she was, and she was just smart enough to never carry money with her at night. The two spoke in a hushed whisper that Namor’s sensitive ears only just caught. Only one of them was finding their evening pleasurable.

“Drop the knife.” Namor commanded firmly.

Both men jumped, not having heard his approach. Both were wearing the woollen masks and both exchanged confused, and then humoured, looks. The woman gave Namor a pleading look, silently praying towards him. The man holding the purse threw it down. A gun was now in his hand. Namor audibly scoffed.

“Fuck off and mind your business. Don’t wanna have a shit night, do we?” The thug warned.

Namor raised his eyebrows.

“One of us is having a poor evening. Don’t you think?” He nodded towards the sobbing woman, “Let her go. This is the last time I-”

There was a gunshot. Then, there was silence. Namor peered down, seeing a hole and a stain on his jacket and shirt directly where his heart was. While he could appreciate how well the aim had been, he was beyond angered that his clothing was ruined. A severe, manic glare left him as his eyes resembled that of a cornered beast.

“You insolent-”

There was a second shot. Then a third. Namor didn’t even feel the strike of the metal on his skin. He did, however, notice the stain on his forehead and the second hole in his jacket.

“He’s a fucking mutie!” The man holding the woman screamed.

“Dirt walker.” Namor hissed as he stepped forward.

Despite being on land, Namor was still fast. It only took him four seconds to reach the man holding the gun. By then, he had fired three more shots as he began to run away. An unnaturally strong hand grabbed his shoulder. A desperate wail filled the street. Namor threw him into the wall. His hooked sceptre aired from mere air. Its speared tip tasted blood. The woman shrieked in horror as Namor yanked the sceptre from the man’s throat with a sickening crunching sound. Namor looked at her in confusion. He had just killed one of her attackers, a man that was no doubt going to force himself on her. Why was she crying again?

“Get the fuck away from me! I’ll slit this bitch’s throat! I fucking will, freak!”

The man had spun behind the woman. He held the back of her dress as he pulled her away from Namor. The knife never left her throat. Namor tilted his head. His eyes slowly travelled along the walls of the buildings around them. Eventually, he found several mostly finished cans of soda tossed behind them. There wasn’t a lot of water within them, but it was enough. The thug was still screaming at Namor, desperate to get him to back away. Namor could almost taste the fear of his enemy in the air. He loved it. It made him feel alive and powerful. An intoxicating feeling.

The man was still shouting. Namor’s eyes returned to the soda cans. Almost invisible in the night, nails of water zipped through the air. Something warm pooled on the woman’s shoulder as she felt the man jilt and spasm behind her. The knife dropped to the ground as he collapsed, almost dragging her with him as he gargled and coughed.

“Relax, my beautiful friend, I have dealt the vile-”

The woman touched the mass on her shoulder and stared at her hand with a trembling jaw. It was blood. Her mouth gaped. She turned to look behind her, seeing a spasming but lifeless man in a slowly growing pool of the red liquid. The woman shrieked. Namor’s mouth gaped and his eyes creased in innocent confusion as she looked at him with horror.

“I do not understand. I saved yo-”

She ran past him as if her life depended on it. Her hands protected her chest as her cries echoed in the street. Namor was dumbfounded. A guilty feeling constricted around his throat, but he didn’t know why. He had saved her. Those were clearly not good people. The world was better off without them. Yet, why did he feel saddened? He was expecting to be embraced and to have kisses pressed upon his cheek. He was only alone, again…

***

Strange sighed deeply. As he closed his eyes, he craned his head downwards. Once more, he was within the research space that the masters had selected for investigating Clea’s virus. It felt as if it were a second bedroom. Strange rarely left the room at all. His absence from the overall Sanctum was beginning to disorientate the other inhabitants, particularly the students. More often than once, he had caught Shaylee Moonpeddle and Calvin Morse peaking into the room. Rumours of Strange’s activities ranged from making a supersecret magical weapon to having a mental breakdown and needing to read in order to recover. He certainly felt like having a breakdown soon.

In front of him floated several expanded and brightened projections of virus infected cells. No matter what type of spell that Strange tried, nothing seemed to spare the living cell whilst killing the foreign invader. Most spells didn’t do anything at all. Out of an odd moment of desperation, Strange had even rummaged through his bookcase to find what was left of his medical reference books. Few useful notes could be found, with nothing resulting in a viable solution. The weight of being so lost was making it harder for Strange to think straight.

While he still didn’t trust Clea or like her personality, it was clear that the virus that she had brought was real. It was deadly and destructive. If Clea’s story was even factionally true, then a lot of people in her universe were vulnerable. He was a doctor before he was a sorcerer. It was, by all accounts, he very purpose to saves lives. While Strange was not naïve and had always accepted that he couldn’t save everyone, the prospect of not being able to save countless lives terrified him. It made his muscles heavy and the feeling of nausea constant. He had failed to save groups of lives before. The notion of doing so again and at an infinitely larger scale was vile to him. It was soul crushing.

“The Proximatus Liu incantation has no observable effect.” He murmured softly.

At his side, an enhanced pen hastily noted this down in his most recent journal. Strange’s hunched body turned to the poorly stacked collection of stained and dusty tombs that he had pulled from the library. Waving his trembling hand to the side, the book at the top flipped to the desired page and Strange began to examine the German text on viral lifecycles.

Behind him, four or so metres away, Clea stood by her own set of desks and books. She had brought nothing but herself from the Dark Dimension, claiming to have memorised her research entirely. Strange had been tempted to scoff at such a remark, but he knew better. The last thing he needed was another sparring match with the white-haired woman. Large, liquid-like orbs hovered above her. Similar to Strange’s projections, Clea’s orbs each contained their own sample space for testing incantations and runes. Similar to Strange once more, her work was met only with failure.

“If it is a spell that targets the cell itself, do not bother.” Clea explained, her tone tired and rough, “I have tested all known spells from the Dark Dimension that do such a thing. No such effect occurred.”

Strange didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to understand notes that he’d made during college. The silence was not appreciated. Clea turned, almost glaring at Strange once she realised what he was giving his attention to.

“I said-”

“I heard.” Strange replied gruffly before turning to a whisper, “Thank God you’re not in the Dark Dimension, then.”

“What was that?”

Strange finally looked up, finding it hard to translate his handwriting with such noise. He gave Clea a thoughtful look.

“I meant that we have different spells here. Perhaps, one here will-”

“We need to target the virus itself. We need a spell that’s even smaller in its area of impact.” Clea gritted her teeth, “If such a thing is possible…”

“It is.” Strange replied casually as he turned back to his notes.

The matter-of-fact tone that he had used irked the clearly tired and irritable woman.

“And how does one such as you know that?”

“I once helped a…friend develop an altered atomic particle that could cause people to change mass and size.” Strange’s back was still to Clea as he read, “I know what I’m talking about when I say it is possible to use magic in such small doses. We just…need the right spell that kills the virus…”

As Strange became lost in his medical research, Clea continued to look at him. She honestly didn’t know what to make of the gruff, antisocial man. He was most unlike many of the louder sorcerers in the building that spied on her every movement. Slowly, she turned back to her own research. The books before her she had taken from the Sanctum’s library, under immense supervision. Strange’s point was accurate, this dimension had an entirely different understanding of magic. It was just pitiful that none of the incantations appeared to work.

The two sunk back into their usual routine. One or the other would chant a spell into their respective test chambers, monitor the results, take notes, only to then either sigh or swear. Rarely would one engage with the other, though that led to a comfortable, working silence between the two. A calmness that only two experienced professionals working could produce. That day, it was Strange who was the first to step away from his work. His eyes were nearly bloodshot and his trembling hands seemed even more fidgety.

“I thought you were a doctor.” Clea stated in a mildly judgemental tone as she read into enchanted elixirs.

“Neurosurg…Not this type.” Strange grunted, “With disease, I know how to treat a cold and cure gastro. I know how to summon demons and harness cosmic powers from a bygone era.” He shook his head as he leaned on a desk and glared into nothingness, “I do not have the tools to understand complex disease, let alone magical ones. What a typical sorcerer, indeed.”

Clea tried to ignore him afterwards to focus on her work, but there was something annoying her about his last sentence. Her perfectionist traits rubbed against the lining of her brain too much to ignore.

“A sorcerer, yes. Typical, no.” Said Clea as she turned to look at him, “Most sorcerers are students since childhood. Even here, that is the case. They know little of other lives. You learned and practiced an entirely different craft before becoming a sorcerer. You are very much a man from two worlds.”

“Says the woman from another dimension.” Strange counter dryly.

Clea chuckled before she could stop herself. She hastily concealed it, preferring her neutral to dominant expression.

“You’re not…an incapable sorcerer.” She further allowed herself to say.

There was no point in denying it. She’d look foolish if she did, and Strange was blunt enough to call her out for doing so. His ability to even analyse viral samples using magic was not an amateur feat. If he had also altered particles, that only bolstered his credibility. Perhaps, he was the best choice to work with within the Sanctum, not that said much given her situation.

“You seem to have a strong handle on mystical structures. You’re not at my level, but you are not a novice.”

“You’re a Sorceress Supreme.” Strange observed, “I’ve been learning magic for less than five years. I’m not at your level.” He confirmed with some humour.

“Yet, you still have a unique approach to this matter.” Clea continued, “Partly academic, partly unorthodox testing.”

“I had unorthodox training. My masters didn’t…They only managed to teach me so much. The rest, I’ve had to teach myself. It has its shortcomings.”

“Perhaps, that is your advantage. I don’t know many younger sorcerers that can cast such spells or have such an understanding of crafting them.”

“Crafting spells?” Strange smiled awkwardly as he stroked his handlebar moustache, “That is…above my talents for now. Only the masters are allowed to attempt such things.”

A predatory smirk overcame Clea as she took several steps closer towards him. Strange felt himself feeling nervous by the lack of distance.

“Surely, you’ve…been a bit rebellious, Dr. Stephen Strange? You’ve never tried making your own curse? A charm? A rune symbol?”

Strange smiled awkwardly once more. It was all that Clea needed. Her smirk grew as she walked backwards towards her station.

“That wasn’t a yes.” Strange did his best to stop his misshaped smile.

“Yes, it was.” Clea replied confidently.

For some time more, the two continued their work. Strange busied himself primarily with his old medical journals, making notes to his enhanced pen of what types of research materials that he would need to procure. Clea remained focused on her mystical approach, throwing spell after spell at the samples. Each was hissed with more venom as she tasted such sour failures. After the day turned into evening, she was the next to step away from her desks.

“I have a question.”

“I probably don’t have an answer.” Strange replied, his beady eyes examined an illustration of muscle atrophy.

“You mentioned your fractured training. And the existing masters have mentioned a lack of my equivalent in this dimension.” Strange’s jaw locked together, “I am curious. What happened to the last Sorcerer Supreme and why is there no successor?”

Clea watched as Strange seemed to shrink several inches. He never turned back to look at her. He snuck his shaking hands underneath his armpits and leaned over his book. An uncomfortable, almost pained and saddened, expression overcame his square head. His eyes pretended to be entranced in what he was reading, but he could not focus on the words. He hoped that Clea would assume that he was too busy to have heard her, but she wasn’t a fool. She could feel the discomfort emanating from him. Whatever comfort that had existed in the room died abruptly. She watched as the gruff man looked like a sullen infant. She dropped the subject and silently resumed her work, her mind abuzz with interest. What possibly could have the doctor done to a Sorcerer Supreme?

***

Classes ticked over as slowly as possible whilst abiding by the laws of physics. For all the advantages that Jackie’s heightened senses gave her, they never allowed her a moment’s rest. Even after pouring thickly blood down her throat in the mornings before lectures, her mind never quite calmed down. It wasn’t that she was bored or hated her degree. In fact, she was still very excited by the prospect of teaching. By yet again, Jackie could feel everything.

Every whisper in far away seats rang in her ears. Heartbeats made her lick her lips. The cracked wood of her table felt agonisingly overstimulating to her fingertips. Her fingers broke several pencils as she tried to focus on writing notes, but the person speaking uttered words so slowly. To make matters worse, Jackie seemed to be the only person frustrated by the class. Whilst many people had the typical glassed over expression that only came from afternoon lectures, many were still relaxed and peering at the projector’s notes. Not even the laziest of students were laughing or throwing notes around. As soon as Jackie realised this, she sunk down into her seat.

Of course, she was the only one acting up like a toddler. No one else had senses like her. No one else was distracted by the brightness of the sun itself. No one else could feel the tiniest amount of dirt on their nails. No one else could smell the nauseating odour of drying paint from the hallway over a dozen metres away. No, only Jackie could. Only Jackie was like Jackie, outside of the hoard of vampires that had gone into hiding since their creator’s capture a year ago. Jackie was hardly keen to start befriending them. She was better than that. She was normal. At least, she hoped that she was.

As soon as class ended, Jackie found herself once more at a table, surrounded by her college friends as they ate warm and steaming food. Once more, Jason and Louise were verbally nipping at each other over some silly and trivial thing. Once more, Jackie didn’t know how to contribute as soon as a discussion over joining various sports societies game up. An awkward, silent feeling in her chest birthed in her chest. She used to love sports. Now, she didn’t trust herself not to break someone’s spine during soccer. Eventually, the students turned to their silent British friend, eagerly awaiting to see if she would agree. With a faint smile and a pleading expression, she asked if there was a tennis option. There was no contact in tennis and she could pretend to walk slowly. What was the worst that could happen? As it turned out, such a sport baffled Carol and Jason, who were determined to know where soccer or volleyball wasn’t the preferred option. The rest of the lunch was spent by Jackie defending a sport that she didn’t even like or particularly understand.

As Jackie squeezed into the bus, she was surrounded by loud and chatty people. Her ears rang. Still, she held onto her bag and did her best not to feel overwhelmed by the stimuli and watched as the city went by around her. Maybe it was worth moving after she graduated? A small town or the coast would have less noise. Less people, too. Something nice and quiet after a year of hell as a vampire. Though, she’d need to figure out how to get access to blood without offing someone every so often. And small towns talk.

With a soft thank you to the driver, Jackie slid through a mass of people and landed on the pavement. It was sunset. Jackie did her best to smile at the red and orange skies melting into purple and black, but she still felt down. Things just didn’t seem as fun anymore, and Jackie didn’t know why. Instead of exploring, as she would typically be motivated to do, she wanted something more than to collapse in her bed and wait out time. So, she turned and began to walk her usual track towards her flat.

It took her some time, but she became aware of something feeling off. No, it was not related to her emotions this time. Rather, there was something uncomfortable poking the back of her mind. Jackie didn’t slow her pace, but she did frown slightly. She sniffed into the air as subtly as she could. There was no odd or unique scent. She continued walking. The sense of discomfort grew. Without warning, Jackie suddenly veered right and into a street several too early for her own. She walked fast, but still as a human would. Her eyes glanced in as many directions as she could. Still nothing. She veered right again. Finding a set of fire escape stairs on the side of a wall, Jackie hastily climbed the rusted metal. As she reached the top, the winds grew slightly stronger. There was a new scent in the air.

Jackie found herself almost growling as she marched across the rooftop. Without breaking her stride, she leapt onto the next rooftop, her speed increasing. She could see the top of her flat from where she was. It was only two streets away. Her ears twitched. There was movement nearby. Without hesitating, Jackie moved faster than an eye could interpret around the rooftop. Sitting by the access door, binoculars and notebook upon his lap, was Dane Whitman.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you creepy twat.” Jackie groaned loudly, stepping back.

The vampire hunter was halfway between sitting and running. He had clearly noticed that he was about to be caught. There was a camping mug of coffee next to his boots, with even a half-eaten sandwich wrapped up nearby. He’d been there a while. Jackie almost felt sick and violated from the realisation. Dane, on his part, looked a mixture of awkward and offended that he’d been caught.

“I’m doing my job, vampire.” He protested as he stood in front of her.

Jackie noticed how subtly he was trying to dust off the crumps of his sandwich. Jackie scoffed and sneered at him. Without asking, Jackie snatched the notebook from the ground. As Dane shouted in protest, Jackie stepped back and kept out of his reach as she began to read. Her mouth curled into horror, then amusement, and then mockery once more.

“Every third line…Trying to work out where my victims are hidden? Huh? Trying to see where the bodies are kept?”

Before Dane could answer, he groaned and yelped. Jackie had thrown the book directly at his head. The pages ruffled in the wind until the book rested at his feet. Then Jackie saw it. Barely hidden in a long duffle bag was the sword. He had clearly forgone his armour, but he had remembered his sword. Dane followed her eyeline and protectively took a step closer to it. Jackie raised a stirring eyebrow.

“Silly not to have it drawn, mate.”

“I didn’t come here to fight.”

Jackie huff loudly, crossing her arms. She peered down at the sword again, purposefully looking back up to Dane as slowly as she could.

“I could probably get to it now, right?”

Dane actually laughed. It was a loud, yet very bitter one. Jackie blinked several times until he calmed himself.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

There was something in the sour expression of Dane that fascinated Jackie. He spoke about the sword with bile on his tongue, yet he was very content in using it to severe her head.

“Why’s that?” Jackie pressed.

Dane didn’t answer immediately. After a long, tired stare, he only held up his hands in surrender.

“Ain’t here to fight.” He repeated quietly.

Jackie’s insult by the comment clouded her ability to see the diversion in topic. She angrily pointed to her own rooftop whilst also pointing to Dane with her other hand.

“No, you’re just stalking me.” She soon groaned and cupped her face, “God, why didn’t I just kill you…,” She straightened herself, sniffed, and put her hands on her hips, “What is this? What do you want?”

“I don’t trust you.” Dane admitted simply, “I…I don’t know the hell you are.” He chuckled lifelessly as he gestured to the notebook on the ground, “You’re…You’re not meant to be like this?”

“Like what?!” Jackie snapped.

“Normal.”

Jackie frowned. A slight amount of heated wind left her sails. Her eyes peered back to the sword, though. Her trust never increased for a second. Dane, however, seemed to grow redder as veins began to swell in his neck and face.

“You go to damn college, for Christ’s sake!” He continued, “The fuck.”

“Well, Mr. Whitman, some of us needs degrees to get a bloody job in this economy.”

“Why do you want a job?!” Dane screamed as he stepped towards her, startling Jackie, “You’re a vampire. Why would you want a job? To…To pay bills? To afford furniture at a house that you can’t afford? To get a second-hand car when you could run like the wind everywhere? You’re a vampire.” Dane repeated in a weaker tone, “You’re not meant to be like this. You’re not meant to be like us. You’re a-a-a hunter. A…A killer. A monster.”

By the time Dane had finished, he was panting. His face was still red, but his face and veins were starting to return to normal. Jackie didn’t know what to feel. He was clearly an idiot who viewed her as nothing more than something to scare children with. Though, there was some guilt that he was clearly having some sort of breakdown. Who knew that living a normal life was enough to crack a paranormal hunter’s sanity just a little.

“I’m going to say this…one more time.” Jackie said delicately as she forced a comforting smile, “I don’t kill people. I don’t hurt people. I stopped Varnae. I want a normal life. Now, please…fuck off.”

Dane breathed in deeply. His nostrils flared several times and Jackie could hear how tightly he was rubbing his fingers together.

“Wasn’t meant to go down like…”

“What? Not a brutal fight to the deal with stakes and crucifixes?” Jackie grinned, but her head soon tilted, “How many vampires have you actually fought again?”

Dane looked at Jackie with loathing. Jackie grinned widely.

“You’re not my first, you bitch.”

Jackie smirked, holding up her hands in playful surrender.

“I never said I was. It’s just…For someone hunting vampires, you don’t seem to know what to do when someone…doesn’t want to kill you back.”

Dane laughed. A minor glare was still in his eyes.

“They typically do want to kill me.”

“Well, you do come at them with a magical sword and a suit of armour.”

“They kill people. Shouldn’t we…It’s my job to save people.” Dane said earnestly, “Vampires, demons, and other monsters…I’ve seen what they do to innocent people.”

“So have I.” Jackie replied briskly, “I don’t want to be that. What more do you need? My damn visa status?”

“I just assumed you were an illegal.”

Jackie’s mouth gaped in insult.

“I have a student visa.” She hissed, “Do you want to see my tax statements? Would that ease your theory that I’m Dracula’s mistress?”

“Don’t say that name so casually.” Dane warned her darkly, “Do you even know anything about your own history?”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Dane stated bluntly, “You think I’m an idiot, and-”

“Yes.”

“-I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve spent years training and studying for this. I know how to handle myself. You’re not the first vampire I’ve tangoed with.”

“Yeah, from memory, never a High Vampire.” Jackie stabbed a thumb to her chest, “How’d you kill me? Go for the head with the sword? I was going slow and pulled my punches. What weaknesses do I have?”

“Sensory overload, particularly in the day.”

Dane was smirking. Jackie was not. Hastily, she thought of something to get out of her cornering.

“What? You’d bang a bin together near my ears?”

“I wouldn’t say shit to a potential enemy.”

“Ah, we’ve worked our way to potential. Good. We’re making progress.”

“You are so irritating.”

“Says the guy stalking me.”

That shut Dane up quite quickly. The man looked a mix of unsure and upset for several moments. Jackie could still hear the rabid friction of his fingers rubbing against one another. Jackie wanted to smirk at seeing how lost for words he is. It served him right for harassing her so much. But she quickly found herself confused. Dane scooped up his sandwich and coffee, placing them both in his duffle back. His notebooks were hastily hidden as well. He rose to his feet, a look of mild embarrassment and irritation on his face.

“Look, I…I don’t know what to do now. This hasn’t happened before.”

“Talking?”

“Not trying to kill one another.” Dane replied gravely, “I, uh…I shouldn’t have come back. This isn’t what I was told it was gonna be.”

Dane barely managed to maintain eye contact with her. His face was a terrible mess of emotions, disappointment a key one of them. Without saying another word, the door was kicked opened and Dane made his way down the staircase as quickly as he could. He was gone.

For the first time in many days, Jackie had a warm smile on her face. She’d won. She’d beaten him and without the need for violence. All it took was calling him out on his bullshit. Yet, one part of his final words to her stuck. ‘This isn’t what I was told it was gonna be’. Someone had clearly told Dane about her, but who? Who else knew that she was a vampire? Did they know it was explicitly her, or did they just know that a vampire was in her general area?

Jackie’s sense of victory melted away as concern reemerged. If there was someone else looking into her, there was still the question of how long until another hunter was sent for her. Dane was clearly very new to hunting vampires. What if they sent someone experienced? Jackie exhaled with a grimace. She hadn’t won, not really. Whatever joy she had felt was gone. With her eyes closed, Jackie breathed in deep, taking in Dane’s acceptable scent. When she opened her eyes, a look of utter annoyance could be seen. She would need to track him now to see where he was getting his information from. Just when Jackie thought she could get some peace from the man. She was going to kill the idiot.

***

Peter hastily finished the last sentence of his essay. It was lazy, not checked for typos, but to the point. Surely, it had to pass the requirements for the assessment? Peter pulled the paper from the typewriter and slapped it on his desk. With one problem done, he could focus on his Avengers issue. A small smile was on his face as he eagerly changed into some jeans a long-sleeved yellow shirt. It had been months since he had seen some of the other Avengers. Yes, it was a horrible issue causing him to go find them, but the young man was giddy at the possibility of seeing Thor and Steve again. And Jen. Peter cleared his throat and tried to ignore his now red cheeks as he looked for his wrist launchers. Hopefully, Janet would finish the new suit soon. Until then, casual Peter it was. No more nightly activities, either. Peter wrinkled his nose. He should have asked for spares.

He slid the wrist launchers under his sleeves and clicked them into place. With an excited smile, he flared his wrist in practice. A thick string of web coated the inside of his small beaten bin underneath his desk. The smile faded. Peter’s back tensed sharply. Without pause, Peter spun his wrist towards the door of his small apartment. Two seconds later, there was a knock. Peter didn’t move. A second later, there was a second, much louder knock.

“Who is it?” Peter did his best to sound casual.

“Someone who’s not happy that the elevator is broken!” A voice hissed.

Peter’s stomach twisted as soon as he recognised the voice. Almost out of instinct, Peter turned and peered out of the window. He couldn’t see any members of the Sinister Six. She came alone. She knew where he lived. Peter swore under his breath, grimacing pathetically. Why? Why was she back? Life was so much cooler before last week. Peter considered jumping out the window and climbing to the rooftop stairs. But the elevator was broken, meaning there was a good chance they’d bump into one another. He was trapped, and he knew. She certainly knew it. To make matters worse, there was a third, fourth, and fifth knock, each getting more violent. Peter breathed in deeply. He was Spider-Man. He had this.

With that in mind, he cautiously walked towards the door and opened it. As soon as he saw Felicia, he knew that he didn’t have it. The shorter girl was in large, square sunglasses that seemed to cover most of her face. Her white hair was perfectly sprayed into holding still, a remarkable feat given how much of it there was. She was wearing a lowcut black blouse with white leather jacket, the shoulders of which could have poked eyes out. Her dark boots echoed in Peter’s room as she invited herself in. Without even speaking to Peter, Felicia took off her glasses and examined Peter’s apartment with visible scrutiny.

“Your elevator’s broken. I had to walk up…endless stairs to get here.” She complained with a tatter, “This is…nice.”

Peter rolled his eyes from behind her. It was a college student’s apartment. It wasn’t nice, but it was still his. Well, his landlord’s, but still. It was Peter’s home. Felicia turned, smiling widely at Peter and showing off her perfect teeth. Peter turned red again. At least he was maintaining eye contact and not failing into the temptation of eyeing her exposed cleavage again.

“Nice to see you again, Pete.” She smirked.

The use of his shortened name irked him considerably.

“How do you know where I live?” Peter asked immediately.

“Oh,” She raised her eyebrows nonchalantly, “Well, you’re not that hard to track if you know what to look for.” She suddenly giggled, making his heart pound, “It’s okay. I’m alone, you silly idiot. I just…I wanted to hang, you know? I liked catching up with you.”

Peter laughed awkwardly, crossing his arms.

“Wasn’t…Wasn’t much of catching up, was it? More me trying not to pass out.”  

Felicia’s eyes hastily looked over his body. Her confident smile eased away to show some uncertainly.

“How did you…You know…”

“Not die of electrical burns?” Peter shrugged, “I have friends. Like, medical friends. As well as normal friends, actually. I still have those.”

Felicia raised an eyebrow and smirked. She walked over towards his study desk and, as if it pained her to sit on second-hand chairs, curled herself into sitting onto it. She slowly slid her sunglasses to rest on the colour of her blouse, directly where her exposed flesh was. Peter tried not to swallow. He failed.

“Good. Seriously, good. You looked a mess.” Felicia frowned, “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you’ve…healed well. Even for someone like you.”

“Yeah, well.” Peter chose his words well, “He’s a good friend.”

He didn’t trust her to even mention Dr. Strange’s name, let alone his mastery of the mystic arts. Felicia quickly saw the game that he was choosing to play and didn’t probe further. Instead, she peered at the paper that was resting on his desk.

“You got in! Mechanical engineering, right? That’s what you always talked about.”

Peter felt something shift in his chest. As much as he hated it, he was secretly happy that she remembered what his passions were. She had been at least listening to him, as well as getting ready to pounce on him with the Sinister Six.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded, “Just…mechanical engineering.”

“That’s…That’s fantastic, Pete.” Felicia smiled widely, showing her teeth again, “You were always such a nerd.”

“Yeah.” Peter repeated.

An uncomfortable silence entered the room. Peter was still standing stiffly, ready to move at any moment. Felicia chewed her cheek a little.

“So,” Peter smiled in a clearly forced manner, “What are you doing in the neighbourhood?”

The rather blunt question made Felicia drop her shoulders. Her features lost their confidence, revealing a tired and worn down expression from the slightly older girl.

“Pete, I…I wasn’t lying. I do want to make amends.”

“You come to my house unannounced.”

Felicia was taken aback by the unusually stubborn counter. Peter was typically much more…quiet when she had last hung out with him. In just two years, Peter looked a lot older than the boy that played with webs at night with her. His eyes were still buzzing with excitement, but there was a coldness to them when he wanted them to. It was slightly attractive for Felicia.

“Where else was I going to go?” She laughed, “I’m not going to your school or your work. I saw your name on the Daily Bugle, by the way. You really are moving up.”

“Can’t be a lazy kid forever. Gotta do something, right?” Peter shrugged weakly.

“Exactly. Like I was saying, I meant what I said. I’m sorry everything. I just…I feel ashamed for fucking you ever and…I know you have every right to hate. I know that. But…part of me...really wants to try and fix this. I’ve been travelling and seeing new things and…I couldn’t stop regretting stuff. I met a yogi and he told me to seek you out. To…To say sorry and…”

Felicia was now crying. A soft, weak display of tears. Peter stared at her for several seconds, waiting to see if she was faking it. To his surprise, she didn’t peek over her hands to make sure he was looking at her. Peter scrambled to his bathroom and pulled several sheets of toilet paper.

“I don’t have any tissues. Sorry.” He murmured in embarrassment as he knelt to give her the paper.

“You’d think…a guy our age…living alone would have plenty of tissues.”

Peter turned red again and Felicia wiped her eyes. After taking a moment to calm herself, she smiled again.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.” Peter shrugged, “Just…toilet paper.”

Felicia began to laugh and Peter couldn’t help but smile. It was a beautiful laugh. He had missed it. Just as he remembered how much, a loathing feeling overcame him. This was the woman that sold him out. He shouldn’t be handling her toilet paper and smiling at her laugh. Peter was being an idiot. He always was. Peter’s smile dropped as cruel thoughts overcame him.

“You’re still so sweet.” Felicia observed warmly, “Do you still go to that grilled cheese place up near the theatre?”

Peter shook his head lamely.

“Closed down a few week months back. It’s a shoe store now.”

“Really? God. I really have been away for a while.” Felicia blinked in wonder.

She cleared her throat and did her best to smile as beautifully as she could. Peter thought that she didn’t need to try that much.

“If things have changed that much, maybe I need a new guide. If you’re not too busy, that is?”

Her confident smile had returned again. But, much to her curiosity, Peter grew uneasy and then seemed to steel himself. He even gave her an apologetic look that seemed to offer little wiggle room.

“I, um, actually gotta go in a bit.” Peter nervously scratched his arm, “Meeting up with some friends. I’m…I’m really sorry.”

Felicia didn’t look too upset. In fact, she seemed more interested than anything else.

“You really are the social squirrel now, aren’t you?” She laughed, “And who are these friends? Sally? Harry?”

Peter chuckled, yet again in discomfort.

“You wouldn’t know them. Work friends.”

“You and your fellow freelance photographers hang out?”

“Yeah.” Peter said quickly.

Too quickly. Felicia’s smile dropped a little. As she rose, Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty for saying no to her. It was a stupid, horrible feeling, yet one he still felt. He quickly mentally attacked himself again. He was Spider-Man, not some lovesick puppy. Still, he politely followed her as she made her way towards his door. At least she had gotten the message. He didn’t want her to be there for hours on end. Or did he?

“Well, I’ll be in the city for a few more weeks.” Felicia explained as they stood at the door, “Take care of yourself, Pete.”

“Yeah, uh, you too.” Peter smiled crookedly.

Without warning, he suddenly felt her body pressed into his in a strange hug. His body stiffened as it flushed with heat. Reminding himself that he was still alive, Peter reached around and awkwardly hugged her back. He counted backwards in his mind, doing his best to ignore the certain body parts now pressed into his chest.

“I meant what I said.” She repeated, whispering into his ear, “I want to make things right.”

She ended it with a mere kiss on his cheek. A kiss with her perfect, soft lips.

“I…Yeah. Okay.” Peter managed.

He was even proud of himself as he pushed out the words. The two parted, and Felicia’s round, soft face curved into a beaming smile. Peter couldn’t help himself. He smiled as well.

“Catch you later.” Felicia gently punched his shoulder.

“Good luck with your family stuff.”

Felicia’s smile haltered. Peter looked at her reaction very closely, trying to discover what he could. All that he saw was discomfort and possibly annoyance that the question was asked. Her eyes quickly eased into a sympathetic and appreciative expression, but Peter didn’t care that much. He was more interested in her immediate reaction.

“Thank you. That…means a lot, Pete. Have a good one.”

“You, too.”

Peter closed his door. He was immediately at his windows. His eyes scanned for any cameras, traps, or hidden villains. Nothing. That didn’t seem right. It was simple, and nothing with Felicia was simple. Why did she have to come here? He was happy. He was normal. Now it was all ruined with a stupid kiss and damn breasts and perfect hair and a lovely voice and someone that listened to him when no one else ever would. Peter grimaced dramatically. He hid his scrunched up face in his hands for a few minutes.

His back was still tightened. He needed to think. He may be paranoid, but he knew that Felicia wasn’t gone. She was probably still in the building. Peter eyed his dirty clock and mentally made a note of it. He’d wait twenty minutes. As he did so, he pretended to sit back on his bed and read one of his textbooks. His breathing was slow and careful. Using one hand to turn pages, he slowly used the other to sneak under his blanket. He had some old clothes still lying about. It took three minutes to motionlessly knock them to the ground, next to his backpack and out of view from the windows. He resumed reading like a normal person again. As it neared twenty minutes, Peter reached for his backpack. As he did so, he hastily scooped the clothes into his bag. Swinging it over his shoulder, he acted as calm and collected as he could.

He travelled down the staircase and out of the building, politely acknowledging any neighbours that he saw. He couldn’t have Felicia following him to Jennifer’s or any other Avenger’s homes. That would be stupid on his part. He needed to lose her, if he was being followed. He could be an overly paranoid idiot, but he would rather that than stupid. With that in mind, Peter walked towards the subway entrance. He found the busiest platform he could find. Sliding his bag off and into his hand, Peter strolled to the very edge of the platform where the tunnels met the tiles. Peter rolled on his feet, impatiently waiting for the next train. He didn’t need to wait long. To his pleasure, he heard the metallic roaring increase and felt the ground soon vibrating. Dozens of people clambered forwards, ignoring the attendant barking at them to stand behind the safety line. As soon as the train stopped, the doors opened. Peter took his chance. Amongst the now hundred or so people on the platform, Peter slid into the gap between the carriage and the platform.

In an instant, he climbed onto the wall and sunk into the darkness. He peered back, no one was looking at him. No one seemed to notice the skinny child missing from the masses. Peter grinned and then turned to resume crawling along the ceiling, further hiding himself within the tunnel. He continued for some time until he randomly dropped with a mild thud. Feeling proud of himself, Peter unzipped his bag and changed out of the clothes that Felicia saw him in. This was one of his better plans. In a thick hoodie that hung over his head, Peter swung through the tunnel, grinning.

It took him nearly an hour to arrive at Jennifer’s. Peter’s excitement at the prospect of seeing her gave him a bounce to his step. It had been months. Yes, the last time that he had seen her apartment he was saving her from vampires trying to eat her, but it would be nice seeing the place again. And yes, one of the last times they had seen each other, Peter had asked out the older woman, only to be politely rejected. But, Peter was an optimist. At least, that’s what he thought as he smiled to himself. He had missed her. A lot.

Peter looked around, not sensing any vampires nearby. Just a silent hallway with a dozen or so doors. Peter checked his watch. It was past five-thirty. Unless lawyers had ridiculous hours, she should be home. Peter knocked. He froze. Lawyers did have ridiculous hours. He should have called ahead. In his excitement to see her, Peter forgot the most basic of steps. As he swore under his breath, he could faintly hear barking and snorting. Peter grinned. Maxxie was in, though.

“Peter Parker.” A voice boomed.

Peter snapped around, kneeling with his wrist aimed in front of him. A beast of a man well over a head taller than even Peter was approaching. As soon as the young man saw the thick greying beard and muscles that were bursting from his simple grey t-shirt, Peter rose with a brilliant smile.

“Tho…Donald!” Peter laughed.

Thor chuckled warmly and the pair embraced. For Peter, it was like hugging a bear with a beard. The two stood back, Thor holding onto Peter’s shoulder as he looked over him. A proud smile remained on his face as he saw how the lanky teen had gotten slightly bigger. There was a new confidence to him that Thor found quite delightful. For Peter, Thor was Thor. It was just strange seeing him in clothes that someone’s dad would wear on a Saturday while watching the game. Within his hand was a duffle bag, one that was almost dragging on the flow. Peter quickly assumed what Thor was hiding in it.

“Why…Why are you here?” Peter whispered, looking over Thor’s shoulder.

“Yes, Peter Parker, I could ask such a question to you as well.” Thor stared at him carefully.

Without saying another word, Thor reached into his pocket and pressed some keys into the door. Jen’s keys. Peter murmured to himself as Thor let them in. Something was wrong. He didn’t need his senses to know that. The two silently entered, with Thor staring at the door for some time. Peter, on the other hand, was bombarded with licks and excited barks from a white pug.

“Maxxie! How are you, girl?”

Peter pulled her into his arms, where she took the opportunity to hastily lick his face and neck a hundred times over.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too! I have! Such a lil cutie!”

“I believe we are alone. I do not know, however.”

Thor’s tone was grave. The Aesir eyed Jennifer’s apartment closely with such intensity that Peter began to feel uncomfortable. Without warning, Thor began to lift up and inspect everything. Pillows, folders, books, even the bed was lifted and narrowly examined. Peter and Maxxie watched on, both looking morbid.

“That bad?” Peter asked quietly.

“Jennifer Walters stays at my home. She was attacked by a giant beast claiming to know of her cousin. A similar breed.”

“Brent? Um, no. Um. Doesn’t matter. But someone with gamma issues?”

“He claimed so.” Thor nodded.

He pulled open his bag, revealing Mjolnir and its white and blue runes. Thor returned to Jennifer’s bedroom, Peter following as if he were an assistant taking notes.

“Is she okay?”

“I tended to her wounds, but she heals with the skills of Valkyrie Eir. She is safe and well, Peter Parker.”

“Do we think they’ll be back?” Peter pressed, entirely forgetting why he had come to Jen’s apartment, “Like, do we hide her or?”

“I prefer finding the fiend.” Thor grinned.

Peter actually nodded, wholly up for the idea of finding whoever hurt Jen. It had been a year since they agreed to be friends, but it was hard for certain feelings to fizzle out when you’re still single. Peter partly blamed that on why Felicia still made him blush so heavily.

“And why have you come to Jennifer’s abode?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer as Thor began to place some of Jennifer’s clothing in the bag. To Peter’s shyness, he caught sight of what types of underwear and bras that his old crush wore. Peter swallowed. Today was hormonal hell for him, it seemed. He looked away, hoping to give Jennifer some privacy whilst Thor nonchalantly shoved the garments into the bag. He had fought with women in the battlefield. He had seen far more than bras from a teammate.

“Um, ah.”

Peter turned to look at Thor as he answered, only to immediately blush as he did so. At least one set of underwear had the Federation insignia along the rim. Peter looked away again, feeling incredibly rude for staring at Jennifer’s clothing. It was still one of the hottest things Peter had ever seen. Star Trek underwear. Perfection. Peter cleared his throat again. He told Thor about his reunion with Tony and the Pyms, of the stolen equipment and particles. Thor listened carefully, only interrupting to clarify specific details. As they moved into the main living room so that Thor could collect some of Jennifer’s work materials, Peter finished his story.

“And now Jen? Dude, this is an Avengers hit.” Peter hissed, “Someone’s after us.”

“I am in no peril and have no enemies on Midgard.” Thor pointed out before looking firmly at Peter, “And you are well?”

“Well, yeah.” Peter almost mentioned Felicity, but he couldn’t see how that was related, “That leaves Strange, Jackie, and Cap.”

“Hmm.” Thor stroked his beard in thought, “You were right to want to seek them out. Three of us under attack within mere weeks is no single strand.”

Peter blinked.

“What?”

“They are connected.”

“Ah, cool. Cool. Yeah, totally. So? Who do we go after next?”

Thor smiled warmly at Peter’s enthusiasm. There was something blessed about a young warrior’s eagerness to protect those that held the shield with him. It was times like these that the old god was glad he had returned to Midgard.

“We return to Jennifer and offer her back her friend.” Thor reached out to stroke an excited Maxxie, “Then, we plan our next step. I recommend patience,” Peter opened his mouth in outrage, “Patience as it is their move, Peter Parker. They failed to kidnap Jennifer. They will not let her go if they are wise or desperate. Either way, it seems they need her. They will strike again. We just have to wait. Is your home safe?”

“I think so, but I don’t know.” Peter replied honestly, “I feel weird. My spidey-sense has been off. I don’t know why.”

“Always trust your senses.” Thor advised in a low tone, “They exist for a reason. If you come with us, it may be some time before you return.”

“Already finished my assessments.” Peter winked, “I’m good.”

“Now, come. Let us return home. Barbara has yet to meet you. She will…be interested in more company.”

“Who’s Barbara?”

As the three left Jennifer’s room discussing Thor’s love life, there was a dark silence for some time. Then, after a minute of waiting, there was noise. A mass grow and grow until it formed a form in the darkness. One that stumbled around in the dark, desperately looking for a light. He found one. A man in silver and red leather with a silver helmet on top sighed in relief as light returned to his world.

He tapped his helmet. Nothing. He tapped it again. Nothing. With a curse, the Irishman practically punched the metal by his ear. Radio static could now be heard.

“Bout fookin time.” He rolled his eyes.

“Black Ant. Report.” The Leader demanded in neutral tone.

“I like it when you call me that, darlin’.” Eric giggled, “Well, ya asked me to follow that fookin kid. Guess what? I’m now at the green bitch’s house. Kid just left with the Danish guy. Big fooker, too. They’re staying at his place, where the green lass is.”

The Leader was silent, drinking in the news carefully. Eric didn’t care. He was too busy snooping through Jennifer’s tape collection to give a crap about what the Leader was doing on the other end of the line. Eric snorted. It was all nerdy shit, the lot of it. He leaned down, taking several of them and doing his best to see their titles through his helmet.

“What the fook is Dune?”

“Both Parker and Thor are meeting Jennifer at Thor’s house?”

“Aye. Oh, and her stupid mutt. A fookin’ pug? The wee things can barely breathe. They call me a crim for robbing a store. Breeding those poor buggers is satanic.”

“Focus, Black Ant. Did they mention any other name?”

“No.” Eric shook his head.

He had put away the tapes and was now looking at the stack of photos on the coffee table. He picked one up of Jennifer smiling at her college graduation.

“Ugh. Lil miss lawyer student, huh. Must be a rich lass, too. Shame her face don’t meet her wallet. I mean, I might take it from the back. How does someone get so much hotter when green? What happened to you?” Eric chuckled childishly into the mic.

“Black Ant, I am warning you. Focus.” The Leader hissed, “Find anything related to the Avengers. Anything. Then report back to base. You’ll get your next allowance then.”

“Aye, and it better be bit more than fooking scraps this time, lad.” Eric’s tone suddenly crept into hostility, “I ain’t running around like a mongrel for cheap. I don’t like being fooked around, even by floating green men.”

There was a pause in the radio. Eric’s breathing was heated and slow. He deserved more respect. The Leader, the man with such a stupid title, wasn’t the one running around trailing all of his enemies. It was Eric. Such a fact deserved to be remembered. Eric stole the particles. Eric was the eyes and ears of the operation. The Leader just sat with his little plans and equations.

“Black Ant, what has caused this?”

The calmness of the question irked Eric.

“Hazard a wee guess. I want more money.”

“You’ll get it.” The Leader replied coolly, “Just a reminder, my Irish friend. I am the one who built your suit. I am the one who contact you. I am the one who organised this. Some respect would be appreciated, given how much I respect you. I went to you, only you, after all. No one else could pull this off.”

“Fooking right there.” Eric scoffed bitterly, though his mood was returning to normal.

“You’ve been a perfect partner in this. You know that. It’s why I’ve been increasing your pay. And remember what you’ll be getting out of this when this is ov-”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, fine.” Eric sighed, “Sorry fa swearin’. Just…tired.”

There was another long pause. Eric considered that the Leader was taking notes or something.

“No harm, Black Ant. Return when you can. And good work.”

“Aye, boss.”

Eric severed the connection, his ego satisfied. He breathed in deeply, but found the thick air intolerable. With that, he yanked the helmet off with a groan. As fresh air hit his face, he beamed. That felt so much better. No more air infused the damn particles. His lungs practically buzzed in joy. Eric’s nasty mood seemed like a distant memory as he breathed the air in deeply. Careful not to leave any evidence, he began to go through notebooks and calendars. He scooped some important looking folders into his arm. Eric soon grew bored. The drawers revealed nothing but cheap plates, cutlery, and hidden dog treats. Eric shook his head. A lecherous grin overcame him. With a soft whistle, the thief strolled into Jennifer’s bedroom and took note that half of it seemed to be missing. Eric didn’t bother wondering why. Instead, he immediately went to Jennifer’s underwear drawer.

“Let’s see if ya kinky behind closed doors, love.”

***

Tony sighed sleepily as he shifted in his sleep. He was warm, surrounded by softness, and comfortable. He rolled onto his shoulder, pulling the warmth closer to him when something cold touched his arm. His sleepy mind pushed it aside until he realised how hard it was. With an inaudible grumble, Tony shifted again. The cold, harsh material pressed against his skin again. Tony cracked open an eye and peered down. As his groggy eyes sharpened, he saw the outline of his Arc Reactor. He almost lulled himself back to sleep when the sharp memory of his current issue snapped him away. Like a possessed man, he jolted upright and felt adrenaline flood his system. The missing reactor was still out there.

Tony heard unhappy grunts at all of the sudden movements. He peered to his left, seeing a mope of dark hair and pale skin. He peered to his right, seeing dark skin amongst the ruined sheets. For the first time in a very long time, Tony actually remembered the night before. Instead of silently gloating or feeling proud of himself, he crawled out of the bed. As he did so, he politely covered the ass and back of the darker woman as she dosed back off.

Jarvis found him just under an hour later. He was showered but still looked messy and lacked a shirt. The billionaire was muttering to himself as he roughly shoved notes and papers into a briefcase. Jarvis tilted his head with mild displeasure as he gently placed a tray of eggs, toast, and asparagus in front of him. Tony looked at the food, then to Jarvis, and then immediately resumed preparing for his trip. He had to find his passport, of all things.

“How was…last night?” Jarvis asked carefully.

“Hmm?”

“Last night, sir. Did you find it productive?”

Tony reached under his workbench and began to play through a series of bags, paperwork, and chocolate wrappers to find his passport.

“Ah,” Tony shrugged, “Janet and…Hank send their love.” Tony answered as he rose and peered into the mass of rags that he used to clean his armour, “Oh, and the kid was there.”

“The kid?”

“Ah, Pete. They have, ah, their own issues.”

Jarvis noted how quickly stress was sinking into Tony’s features as he continued looking. With an oddly unprofessional sigh, Jarvis walked past his employer. A collection of pigeonholes were hanging up by the door leading to the garage, most of which were filled with bills or company memos. One, however, held a very obvious looking passport. Tony felt his cheeks redden as Jarvis walked over. Before Tony could say anything, Jarvis placed the passport under the tray of food.

“You can tell me as you eat, sir. And I have enough left over to share.”

Jarvis’ eyes looked over Tony’s shoulder, towards his opened bedroom. Tony shook his head as he reluctantly tore into some toast.

“Let ‘em sleep it off.” Jarvis’ eyes widened in sickness, “The sex. I’m still sober, relax.”

Jarvis didn’t say anything. Tony felt something heavy in his throat as Jarvis just stared. The old man’s eyes felt like bowling balls on Tony’s neck. They always did.

“Do you want a blood test?” Tony asked defensively, “I’m sober. I promise.”

Jarvis continued staring at him a moment longer. Seeing now evidence of a lie, Jarvis relaxed a little. As Tony began to sip at his juice, Jarvis sat next to him.

“At least you finally got some sleep. Now, then. You say the Pyms are having their own problems?”

“Particles have been stolen.” Jarvis’ eyes widened again, “The dodgy kind. One that sent Hank off the rails. Means that someone or a group are dumb enough to play with mind fucking shrinking gas. Have fun, fellas.”

“I believe it’s safe to assume that the thieves either didn’t know what they took or they didn’t know what version they took. Given the Arc Reactor concern, I dare say it’s the latter.”

“Yeah, me too.” Tony nodded, “They’re gonna check in on the other Avengers.”

Tony looked up, seeing a small smile on Jarvis’ face. Tony’s shoulders dropped in annoyance.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir. They’re…I just remember how much you enjoyed being with them.”

“I was going through withdrawals and half of them annoy me shitless. A horny teen, a giant green chick with massive tits, a living fossil, a fucking vampire, Stephen, and the Pyms. What a band.”

Jarvis’ smile had not faded away. In fact, it only grew.

“Hopefully, they’re safe. Even more, maybe they could help you.”

“I’d have to be pretty fucking desperate for that.” Tony shook his head, “Oh, speaking of pricks. Reed was there.”

Jarvis’ smile grew into a polite chuckle. It was not amusing to Tony in any form.

“How was he? Was Susan there, too? Such a lovely girl. A smart, strong woman. One that…”

“She didn’t turn me down, okay? She was already engaged! It’s not my damn fault have the science community married in freaking college.”

“I believe they married much latter than tha-”

“Stop mentioning Susan.” Tony ordered, and Jarvis mimed zipping his mouth, “And the presenters?”

“Useless. Barely any contacts in Vietnam. Japan, yes. Vietnam, not really. People don’t usually conduct physics research there. Something about the war a decade ago tends to put Americas investors off.”

“You’d think the rise of capitalism would inspire them.” Jarvis countered, and even Tony smiled a tad, “So, no sources?”

Tony paused to think.

“Not really. Well,” He grimaced, “Kind of. There was this one kid. A student-”

“Anna Haong?”

Tony frowned. Without saying anything further, Jarvis rose and walked towards the door. He was gone for enough time that Tony was able to finish his meal. When Jarvis returned, he was carrying an answering machine and a stack of papers. Tony watched silently as Jarvis placed the bulky machine on the table, grab the cord, and then groan as he knelt to plug it in. Tony quickly examined the papers, seeing photocopies of grant acceptances and resource management plans. Jarvis returned, pressed the code in, and put his hand on his hip.

“Hiya! Oh, God. That was lame. Id…”

The recording cut off immediately. Jarvis pressed a button and the next recording began.

“Good evening, Mr. Stark. It’s Anna. Anna Haong? We…We met at the gala a few hours ago? Short…Short girl? We chatted about Vietnam? Yeah, so um, I was looking at the card you gave me and…Mr. Stark, you also wrote down your address, is that okay?”

Tony’s face went white. He looked up, realising why Jarvis looked so ticked off at him. The recording continued.

“Yeah, so I’m about to mail you…Actually, I might drop them off. I was going through my notes, and one of the names listed in the manufacturing slip is an ‘Adam Bowden’, who has Stark Industries in his experience bio. I thought that was really important. Unless…Unless you already knew about Adam? I might…I might still drop it off, just to make sure. Is that okay?”

The recording ended. Tony opened his mouth, but Jarvis pressed for the next recording.

“Hi, Mr. Stark. It’s Anna again. Anna Haong. From…the gala. I’m gonna drop off my notes on TruSon to you. I’m not really doing anything tonight. The gala was great! Thanks for the invite.”

The recording ended. To Tony’s horror, Jarvis pressed next.

“Hi, It’s…me…again. Um, I actually live kinda close to your house. Would it be creepy if I dropped off my notes? It’s okay if it is. Actually, I think it’s easier if I leave it in your mailbox. Thanks for the invite again! It’s also…me, Anna.”

“For the love God, tell me that’s the last.”

“Are you certain you were sober last night, sir?”

“I was having a panic attack!” Tony insisted, “I…I didn’t realise that I’d…Christ, I must’ve been fucked. Sober fucked.” Tony hastily added, “Shit. AVO?”

“Sir, she’s just a very…loud admirer. Maybe not for now.” Jarvis suggested, and Tony nodded, “Anything useful?”

Tony took a minute to skim read the poorly folded and crammed notes that the young woman had thrown at his house. Most of it was permission forms for external resources to be used in a college research project. Every so often, the various sources and companies proposed to be used was mentioned. Some of her electronics did come from a small company in Vietnam, but that was hardly the lead Tony was hoping for. Without much more thought, Tony stuffed them into his already loaded briefcase.

“Not really.” Tony answered in an impatient tone.

Jarvis watched as he disappeared into his bedroom for several minutes. When he returned, he was wearing a simple black and white suit without a tie. Jarvis rose, only for Tony to immediately to swat him down.

“I can drive myself. Someone needs to make sure I’m not robbed.” Tony thrusted his thumb towards his bedroom.

“Please leave the car where I can find it, sir.” Jarvis sighed disapprovingly, “I’ve already called the pilot to let him know you’ll be arriving soon.”

Tony nodded. He patted himself down, making sure that he had everything that he needed. After double and then triple checking himself, he walked back into his room. Leaning over the still sleeping women, Tony kissed both on the cheek.

“Breakfast is on the table.”

There was a groan as feedback. As he walked back into the living room, Jarvis was giving him an apprehensive look.

“Be careful, sir.”

“I will.” Tony nodded.

“Maybe…it’s worth having a meeting before leaving?” Tony raised an eyebrow, “It’s only as it’s been a few days since you’ve kept routine.”

Tony’s eyes dropped. Jarvis was right, as always. A guilty feeling overcame Tony, one he desperately try to quell with his own sense of being rational and logical.

“I just want this over with.” Tony explained, “I’ll be back in a few days. No drinking, I promise.”

Jarvis did not like such a strategy, but he chose not to press any further. Tony wasn’t someone who reacted well to nagging.

“You know where to call me if needed, sir.”

The two shook hands. As Tony picked up his suitcase and walked towards his garage, his face grew. It had been days since his last AA meeting and days since his religiously maintained habits had been followed. He was already beginning to feel anxiety for no logical reason as he walked towards his overly priced car. He could handle a few more days. He had to. He was a strong man. He could survive a little trip to Vietnam.

***

A/N: Hi all! I hope you’re marvellous.

Thank you as always for reading. Sorry for the slight delay, but I’ve mapped out the entire story in a lot of detail before this chapter, to just make sure there’s not major timeline issues or plot holes (I hope…). Also, by very popular demand, Reed and Susan will be making more appearances in this story. It's really awesome to see how much you guys enjoyed their appearance.

Hope we’re enjoying the story. It’s always fun to Strange and I’m having fun having a crack at Clea. Plus, who doesn’t like an incredibly creepy as hell Eric O’Grady?

Next chapter will focus on the smaller groups of Avengers trying to work out what the hell is going on, as well as a strong focus on John Walker and his developing relationship with Steve.

If you enjoyed reading or have any feedback, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. They are always brilliant to see and a great way to engage with you guys. If not, thank you for still reading, and have a brilliant week.

Also, how do we feel about Doom as a villain for the sequel? Or, do you have any preferences for the next villain? As I’ve written out the storyline for this story, I’m considering the next. Let me know what you think.

Fact of the chapter: The difference between an acid and a base is the type of ion released within the substance. Specifically, when a hydrogen ion is released, the solution becomes acidic. When a hydroxide ion is released, the solution becomes basic. A lil science fact for a change…  

Chapter Text

Peter always felt a little awkward whenever he walked or stood closely to Thor. The bean-like teen was a speck of dust compared the mountain that was Thor. The age difference was also mildly amusing, for it made Peter as if he were Thor’s grandson. As they took the subway and then the bus towards Thor’s house, the god didn’t say a word. His weathered eyes peered in many different directions. Whenever they entered a new space or new people came near them, Thor draw his eyes over everything he could see. Much to Peter’s slight discomfort, Thor also sniffed the air every few minutes. At no point did Thor looked worried, yet nor did he look at ease. He was just…on. Never once did he let go of his bag, his concealed mythical weapon of the skies.

Peter’s own senses didn’t seem to bother him. At no point did his neck tighten, even as the excitable pug in his hands tried to explore the bus they had entered. That was much to his relief. He didn’t have his mask on him. If attacked, he’d have needed to either run away or risk people working out who he was. Something felt off for the college student. Thoughts of the entire situation made it very different not to walk stiffly. The Pyms being robbed, Tony having new competition, and now Jen being attacked and needing to go into hiding. Jen wasn’t someone to easily rattle. Whoever it was, they were dangerous. Peter’s mind lingered on Jen’s safety for nearly the entire journey. What point was there in being a team if you couldn’t help one another? Were they even a team? They bonded once, a year ago. Yet, they seemed to all be being picked off. Invisible enemies gnashing and thrashing at their throats. What if he was next? Who would come after him?

The teen’s face was pale. As the two sat next to one another on the bus, it was almost comical. Thor’s towering built pressed into Peter’s bony body, pushing him into the side of the bus. He almost whimpered as he struggled to breathe, even with his physiology. It only worsened Peter’s feeling of being surrounded by something that he couldn’t control.

Thor’s suburban street was quiet and calm. There was only the odd person walking their dog or preparing for a drive. Most the homeowners were no doubt at work, but that Peter doubted that they’d be loud neighbours anyway. He found it fitting for the reserved and quiet Aesir. He couldn’t possibly imagine Thor running around the heart of the city. He’d no doubt summon a hailstorm of some kind. Peter almost wanted his spine to tighten, however. The silence was toxic for his lungs. He wanted to see what was around him. If he was next, he wanted to face it.

“Breathe, Peter Parker.”

“What?” Peter panted.

He was sweating. He didn’t even notice, but he was sweating and out of breath. His chest was so tight and the air so dry in his throat.

“You are safe. I am here.” Thor said gently.

Peter’s wide eyes stared at the pavement as Thor lowered himself. A large hand placed Peter’s own onto a large, warm chest. A thud. A heavy, thick thud could be felt. It was slow, strong, and utterly in control. Without noticing it, Peter’s breathing slowed. The two stood there for a moment as Peter collected himself.

“Does this often happen, Peter?”

“Wh-What? I’m just unfit.” Peter shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Thor gave him a long look which Peter didn’t know how to interpret. The larger man slowly let go of Peter’s hand and rose again.

“You are safe. We will overcome these enemies. We are the Avengers, after all.”

Peter laughed sheepishly. As Thor resumed walking to his house, Peter piped up.

“I haven’t heard that in a while. Not…Not from someone that wasn’t me, anyway.” Peter laughed again.

 Thor’s house was humble, single storied, and boasted several nice looking motorbikes within the garage that they entered through. Maxxie suddenly went mad. She squealed and barked into the air with the fierceness of a roaring lion. Even Peter’s skinny arms, with their heightened strength, could not stop the small pug from slipping from his grip. The dog disappeared into the hallway, into a room which Peter assumed was the living room. Thor looked around silently, still as severe as ever. With what appeared to be uncertainty, he dropped his Mjolnir next to the kitchen counter. The moment he left his sacred weapon, Thor felt uncomfortable and overly light. It was a time of war. Warriors needed their weapons.  

Peter followed the sounds of snorting and barking, taking note of the stack of medical textbooks on the small wooden kitchen table and the random tools that seemed to litter the house. Peter suddenly stopped. His eyes widened. Bending over and giggling as Maxxie licked her face eagerly was Jen. The source of Peter’s old crush was as beautiful as always. Shorter than Peter, her dark her more flouncy than he had last seen, and her pale features worn down by what was clearly stress. Peter swallowed. It had been months. He was an adult, not a lovesick child. They were old teammates. He could…chat. After all, they had bigger issues to deal with. Peter could recognise that.

“You look good.” He managed.

Jen had been too focussed on her pug to notice Peter’s presence. With a curse and a jump, Jen clutched Maxxie close to her as she looked up. A relieved smile overtook her face as she straightened, Maxxie still in her arms.

“Pete! God, Pete. Don’t…Don’t sneak up on me like that.” She chuckled, her face still red, “Not after last night.”

“I heard.” Peter nodded, his face suddenly very still, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a littl-”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked firmly.

Jen smiled sweetly at him. With a slow nod, she continued.

“Yes, Pete. I’m alive and safe. Relax. I already have Thor on guard dog duty. Which, I do really appreciate.” Jen added sincerely as he stepped behind Thor.

The older god inclined his head, before his slow eyes dragged up to the woman stepping through the hallway to the right. Peter didn’t know what he was expecting Barbara to look like, but he didn’t feel surprised at all by her almost Nordic features. She was tall and looked a lot more muscly than most women, which Peter also wasn’t surprised by, given it was Thor’s partner. She was almost at least in her forties, which grey streaks in her hair forming, not that it looked like she’d overly cared for her appearance.

Thor held her in a single-armed embrace. The two murmured a very quick, softly spoken exchange. Barbara’s eyes kept flashing to Peter and then Maxxie. While Maxxie barked in greeting, Barbara shuddered.

“Another asylum seeker.” She nodded to herself, “Wonderful. And who are you?”

Peter blinked. He stepped forwards, his hand outreached as he stumbled over the excited pug.

“A friend. Pete. Just…Pete.”

Barbara gave him a stare intense enough to make Peter’s senses tingle. She then turned to Thor.

“Is he the magic man, the shrinking nerd, or the metal man? Or the vampire?”

Peter looked mildly offended that ‘Spider-Man’ wasn’t an option, given he was clearly the most famous of the group. Well, young Peter certainly thought so.

“A young warrior of heart who cares for his secrecy deeply.” Thor explained with a soft smile, “A welcomed friend.”

“Great. And he comes with…What, a bulldog?”

“She’s a pug!” Jen called out defensively and Barbara smirked in amusement, “So, how have you been, Pete?”

Peter whistled, his cheeks ballooning, as he thought where to begin. It needed to be something impressive. He certainly couldn’t bore Jen.

“College. Work. Ah. Spider-Manning. Oh, I’m seeing if work will cover me going to Canada to cover this new convention called ‘Toronto Trek’ in a few months.”

“As in…’Star Trek’?”

“Of course.”

“Who’s the line up?”

“It’s the first year, so I don’t really know. But I’ve never been to Canada, which I think would be sweet. Plus, if they do get Takei, like the rumours have been saying, how rad would that be?”

“Ta…Takei’s going? Seriously? Where in Canada is it? Have they listed the pric-”

“Tony Stark’s glowing battery has been forged by another, and Hank and Janet Pym’s shrinking gas has been stolen by an unknown fiend.”

Silence cut through Jen and Peter. Peter suddenly became very sheepish for not cutting to the chase. It was just hard not to so easily sink into things with Jen. Not many others in his life that such similar passions. Jen’s mouth gaped a little as the severity of the situation struck her. She wasn’t the only one in danger. Peter cleared his throat, making her resume looking at her younger friend. The student repeated the tale that he told Thor, adding the occasional extra detail for dramatic effect. Jen stared blankly at him, even as Maxxie wiggled and snorted for more attention from her neglectful mother. When Peter finished, he shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

“So, yeah. The Avengers seemed to be screwed. Also! I kinda remember Jackie mentioning she was attacked by a medieval knight…”

“Hank and Janet Pym are travelling to Stephen Strange to see if he is safe or in harm.”

“I also wanted to check in on Cap.” Peter hastily added, “You know, make sure the whole team is okay.”

Jen slowly stroked Maxxie in an attempt to calm herself. It failed. Almost all of them were having their own issues, even Tony. The lawyer in Jen immediately snapped. Without warning, she pushed Maxxie into Peter’s hands and mumbled something as she walked into the kitchen. As she did so, Peter noticed the blankets on the pullout mattress. His shoulders dropped as it suddenly became real just how unsafe Jen felt. It wasn’t meant to be like this. What was the point of having powers and being a hero if you couldn’t protect your own powered friends? Barbara appeared to be having another silent talk with Thor. She did not like what had been brought to their home and was having none of it. Her eyes could give Aunt May a run for her money.

When Jen returned, it was with a pen and a large notebook that Thor used for college. She hastily wrote each of the Avengers’ names down, followed by ‘Stolen Particles’, ‘Tech Blackmail’, ‘possible Knight attack’, and ‘Orange Man Attack’ next to several names. She hastily looked upon Peter once more.

“Has there been any changes to your life within the last month? Any at all?”

Peter opened his mouth. Peter closed his mouth. His life had been relatively normal, and his criminal tangoes in the evenings had rarely been different than usual. In fact, Peter had put most of them in jail already. Nothing at all struck him as usual. Then he felt something weigh on his chest. Felicia. But…that wasn’t related. She hadn’t stolen anything from him. From what Peter could tell, she hadn’t even followed him. Nor had she tried to kill him. There was also a strange sensation in Peter’s gut that made him very reluctant to mention her in front of Jen, like he was ashamed of his history with Felicia. He probably was, but it felt heavier with Jen near him.

“Nope. Not that I can think of.”

“Hmm.” Jen rolled her eyes towards Thor, “You mentioned a Viking lady?”

“A Valkyrie.” Thor corrected politely, “But if she is of the same string as the rest of this cloak, the weaver has a reach that could touch Helheim.”

Peter’s mouth gaped as he attempted to translate. Even Jen looked baffled by the sentence.

“If an Asgardian is involved in an overall plot, whoever is behind it has steep connections?”

Thor looked confused himself now.

“Yes, that is what I said.”

“Right.” Jen shuddered as she looked back to her notes, “Heck it. If she is connected, who could contact Asgard?”

“She came on the word of my fath-”

“And if she’s lying?”

Thor looked mildly irritated by the mere suggestion. Valkyries were the sacred warriors of Asgard, the pinnacle of combat and honour. Centuries of tales were spoken of them. More daughters than not desired to be them on Asgard. To call one a liar made Thor’s skin feel prickly.

“I do not believe that is the case.”

Barbara rolled her eyes.

“Thor, humour me.” Jen said patiently, “Who could contact Asgard? In any context. Anyone from Earth? Did anyone used to contact you from Norway?”

Thor stroked his beard, doing his best to remember his first stays on Midgard. Peter looked hopeful as he impatiently waited.

“No, I know of no such communication. The Aesir and Vanir visited of our own desires and schedules. We were never summoned by a human. Even now, we watch and listen to the Nine Realms. Never are we called.”

“Seems…like a flawed security system.” Peter couldn’t stop himself, “Weren’t you meant to be intergalactic police or something?”

The look that Thor gave Peter made the young man stiffen and then look away. Jen sighed again, tapping her pen against the paper.

“Okay, we’ll scratch you. For now. Maybe they think you’re in Asgard or something.”

“If this is connected.” Peter added.

“If this is connected. It has to be…” Jen whispered.

Everything in her sleep-deprived system told her that it was. One attack, a single event. Two attacks, a merely coincidence. Three attacks, that was a pattern. It was just a matter of getting more evidence and forming a trail. A matter of finding the right suspect and proving their motivations and means.

“I shall hunt this orange beast as if I were Freya.” Thor promised, “I will find him and demand his truths.”

Jen suddenly grinned. She leaned away from the notebook and began to rub her hands eagerly.

“Good. When do you wanna go? I’ve been more and more angry the more I think about-”

“Jennifer Walters, I cannot encourage you to accompany me. You are in danger. We all are.” Thor resumed stroking his beard, “I would desire you to be safe. We still do not know why he wanted to take you.”

“True.” Peter piped up, “It could be ‘game over, man’ if you’re captured. He could need you for some massive evil plan. You should stay here. Wait it out.”

Jen looked outraged. Her mouth flared open many times over and her finger was shoved at Peter, then Thor, and then back to Peter.

“I’m the ‘She-Hulk’. I’m bigger than you!” She pointed to Thor again.

“Yet you merely escaped.” Thor’s tone was careful and warm, for he desired to defuse any insult or tension, “There is no certainty that I could overcame this foe. You are no weak pup to tame.” Thor smiled, “But Peter Parker is right. We do not know their schemes. If you are taken, you may allow for a far darker outcome.”

Jen’s mouth gaped. For a moment, Peter assumed she was about to turn green.

“I wanna check in on Cap.” Peter stated again, “And Jackie. Maybe they know more about what’s going on and stuff.”

“So, I just sit here?”

“And wait for us to regroup.” Thor answered, “We need to discover what we can.”

The intensity of Jen’s eyes did not fade. She did, however, exhale. As much as she hated it, she could understand the wisdom to Thor’s strategy. It was just adding salt to her wounds, however. Since actively using her powers, Jen had gotten comfortable with being the one in control during fights and horrible situations. To experience such a blatant defeat and then being told to hide in waiting within a mere few days was painful, even for someone as grounded as Jen.   

“You’ll need a way of finding Steve and Jackie.” She spoke quietly. “Do either of you know where they live?”

Blank stares met her. Even Barbara shrugged, having no idea who Jackie even was and only knowing who Steve was during to the previous mention of ‘cap’.

“We need to track them. Great.” Jen sighed, looking at her notes, “We’re…We’re not gonna be able to catch the Pyms at home and call them before they reach Strange, are we? Having a magical way to trace Cap would sure as heck help.”

***

From behind the glass of the windows within Barbara and Thor’s home, the quiet street outside curved along the east, facing a gentle breeze. Many were still at work, leaving a quiet street. The odd cat purred as it played upon a rooftop here or there, but they were the only ones to decorate the several dozen suburban homes. Many were old, made of brick and tile. Some had seen far between days, or even decades. Beyond Thor’s home, there was a beautiful house with perfectly attended gardens and lawn. Behind that house, was a torn, rusted, broken home. One that had suffered a fire and was still in the process of looking for affordable renovators. The ceiling broken and the attic exposed to the elements, it allowed one to wander within it and hide.

Resting by one such hole was Philip Sterns. He sat by the decaying and rotted wooden beams with a sack full of various equipment and tools. His leather coat was damp from having sat in the attic. He didn’t care, however. The tanned man with a square head was peering through his camera. His teeth dug into his lip. There was just the smallest gap in the roof that was away enough from the house in front of him that he could see Thor’s front windows. He could see who was in the house. Eric O’Grady was right. The damn Irishman was right. Three of the Avengers in one sitting. This was meant to have been prevented. They were meant to be distracted. Philip leaned back, rubbing his jaw as he released his camera. With a soft groan, he rested his back to the ceiling and shook his head.

He was in over his head. Even his genius brother probably was. It was a god, an experienced yet young hero, a radiated giantess, a vampire, a sorcerer, and several geniuses. Who was he to contend with such power? Even with the collar that he had hidden within his sack, he could maybe handle one or two of them. Not the whole Avengers. No. His family’s one advantage was their intelligence, but even that was being questioned by Philip as he sat within the attic. Their plan was meant to have progressed much further than it currently had. His daughter’s condition was continuing to decline.

Charlotte. The reason that they were all in this to begin with. The last trace of Philip’s wife still left in the world. Philip’s eyes were closed. He rested his head on his knees as he took time to gather himself once more. Charlotte was a child. She didn’t deserve to die. She needed to be healthy. Philip needed her. No source of warmth or lightness compared to what she offered the cold, wet misery that was Philip’s life. She could be anything, just like her mother. Charlotte didn’t deserve to die before being a teenager.

Philip opened his eyes. A bitter, yet resolute, expression was sculpted onto his face. Without looking, he reached into his sack and rummaged through it. He pulled a heavy, thick wireless phone from within. Pulling the large antenna out, Philip pressed in several digits into the thick buttons. The rangy man then held the phone to his ear. He waited.

“Brother.”

“My glorious Leader.” Philip snickered sadly.

“You sound off. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…an update you’re not going to like. Black Ant was right. Parker, Walters. All in Thor’s home.”

There was a pause. Philip almost smirked in his melancholic mood. His brother was only just getting used to being wrong with his plans, it seemed.

“Any signs that other Avengers are involved?”

“I only have visual at the moment. I’ll work on the rest. So far, only Thor, his wife or girlfriend, Parker, Walters, and the damn pug. They’re regrouping.” Philip noted with a sharpness to his voice, “They’re gonna start working things out. They weren’t meant to have enough time to regroup.”

“As you were meant to capture Walters several nights ago. We are behind schedule due to both of our mistakes. So, please tend to your tone, my little brother.”

Philip laughed softly. His eyes dug into the scorched beams in front of him.

“If they regroup with any others…Screw that, actually. Thor was never a variable we fully address. Even if ‘Plan B’ becomes a necessity, Thor is still an issue for us. He’s a god.”

There was a frustrated sigh from the other side of the line.

“Philip. I know you’re stress-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“-ed, but we need to be calm.”

“My daughter is-”

“Is also my niece, and I love her, too.”

Philip exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He did his best to control the pain in his chest. The breathing helped cool the heat in his chest.

“I know. I know you do. I just…Leader, we need to speed things up. We’re behind schedule already.”

“I know. Stark will be out of the picture soon. He’s in Vietnam now. Rogers is already distracted in his own little world with S.H.I.E.L.D., and no one knows how to contact him.”

“For now.” Philip cautioned, “We can’t rely on that gap of communication for too long.’’

“I’ll send Black Ant to full address the Pyms. We both have a tentative secondary plan for Jennifer. I will confirm with you soon once I finalise some details. Parker is less of a threat. He only needs minimal attention, and that’s on schedule. He’s a teenager, after all.”

“Good.” Philip nodded, his mood slightly improving.

“Strange is…still under development.”

“Still being addressed?”

“Of course, brother. As is the vampire. That leaves Thor.” The Leader admitted, “We need to draw him out.”

Philip bit his lip again. Their entire issue could no doubt be resolved if Thor was just out of the picture. Hell, Philip would settle for him being distracted long enough to not get involved for a day or two. Philip cleared his throat.

“I’ll stay here, monitor his house. See what he gets up to.”

“Wise.” The Leader agreed, “Avoid being caught. He is magical. I’ll call you tonight to touch base. Brother?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing good for Charlotte.” Philip’s throat quickly turned raw, “This hell and all this stress will be over soon. I promise. I love you.”

Philip closed his eyes and nodded. All it took was seconds, yet he felt like crying hearing such words from his older brother.

“I…I love you, too. Thanks. We’re…We’re gonna do this.”

“We are.”

“I know.” Philip said with determination, “I don’t care what it takes us, we’re gonna win. She deserves it. We’re not gonna lose her.”

For Philip could not.

***

As Steve pulled into his driveway, he became aware of once more how tightly he was gripping the wheel. He felt the leather peeling away from his skin as he leaned back and eyed his darkly lit home. Mr. Beverly was watering his plants two houses away. He no doubt started the second that other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents whispered that he was coming home. Steve sighed as he excited his car to be surrounded by hidden agents that called themselves ‘neighbours’.

As he opened his boot and pulled out his concealed shield, he noticed Mr. Beverly waving. Steve formed a joyful grin as he waved back to the plump, old man.

“Some evening garden time?” Steve asked.

“Best time to make sure the water isn’t dried out from the sun.” Beverly laughed, “I don’t like the sun too much, either.”

Steve almost chuckled. Beverly had no doubt seen years, if not decades, of action if he was worthy enough to spy on Captain America. Still, Steve played the naïve neighbour and nodded as if it was something to consider.

“I’ll see if that helps with my plants out back. Have yourself a good one.”

“And you, too, son!”

The two waved again. As soon as Steve turned his back, he almost rolled his eyes in disgust. He never truly left work, no. He was always surrounded by liars and agents, all with their eyes on his every movement. Steve wiped his shoes on his welcome mat, unlocked the door, put said shoes into their cabinet by the door, and walked into the living room. Thankfully, Namor wasn’t raiding his tapes of missed baseball matches. Instead, the prince was at his dining room table. Naked.

A strange, orchestral music was lifting from his record player. It was a mix of what could be described as human moans and whale shrieking. Yet, there was some rhythm to it. Namor was seated, murmuring to the tune as he read from a faded, yellowed book with what Steve guessed was Atlantean writing. His left arm was on the table, covered in markings of thick black paint as he held a small paintbrush in his other hand. Steve cleared his throat, not knowing what else to say to the scene before him.

“Captain Rogers.”

Namor was in a mood. Steve could tell immediately. His face was always strong and confident, but it looked sharp and severe that night. His eyes were curved in a constant scowl as he read. His tone was also barely hiding his displeasure at something.

“Prince Namor. Is there a reason you…lack pants?”

“In my culture, there is a traditional belief that painting…wisdom onto our skin helps us understand its meaning better. Our paint is thick to survive the water’s currents. It’s a slow process to describe a phrase or passage onto our bodies. The slowness is meant to aid our understanding as we reflect on the words slowly poured on us.” Namor explained.

Steve nodded. Despite the rather intense display of the ritual, he did find the concept rather fascinating. He just wished he didn’t need to see it splayed before him.

“What are you trying to understand now?”

Namor’s scowl turned into a glare. A curled, predatory expression that resembled an eel.

“Just something my King once said to me.”

Namor dropped the paintbrush into a small glass bottle of paint. He turned to fully face Steve, who immediately had to look away.

“Fury. I am right to assume my presence was worth discussing today?”

Steve sighed. He looked at Namor’s eyes, determined not to look anywhere else. Soon, the pair were sitting in front of one another.

“You are.” Steve answered uneasily, “I asked about your desire to join S.H.I.E.L.D., and he…well…”

Namor turned his body away. Without saying anything further, he grabbed the paintbrush again and started to read into his texts as if he had never stopped. He suddenly flinched as a hand touched his shoulder. Steve almost gasped as the paintbrush was pressed into his throat. The look of a cornered soldier grew on Namor’s face.

“He…said that your skills don’t match what he looks for in traditional agents. That doesn’t reflect on you. This is just…”

Steve’s mind flickered to the terrorists that he had been sent to unknowingly recruit, had it not been for the arrow-wielding assassins. His mouth curled as he felt himself begin to slip. Steve almost started berating the organisation’s questionable habit of recent recruiting, but there was probably recording devices in his own house. Of course there was. It was S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was an asset.

Namor lowered his painting weapon slowly. As he sat back down, Steve found himself mildly cross at both Namor but also S.H.I.E.L.D. He sighed.

“Why do you even want to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

It was a sincere question. Namor looked darkly amused, almost sneering. He peered back to his painted arm. There was more dark ink than moon-pale skin to be seen.

“You need not worry yourself with such complex concerns of a pr-”

“It’s my house.” Steve said with surprising firmness, “Humour me.”

Namor looked back to him. There was interest and enjoyment from seeing the passive him so stern all of sudden. Enough amusement to overcome the prince’s pride at being addressed so fiercely. Namor chuckled and he leaned back against the chair as he thought.

“I am a prince. My realm, my kingdom, is the ocean itself. I have governed it for years. I have looked after people for years. I am a mutant. I have powers, unique even for an Atlantean of mixed blood. I know magic. Ancient magic that I doubt the Sorcerer Supreme knows. And yet…” Namor shook his head.

“And yet no one’s said yes, yet.” Steve surmised.

Namor scoffed and looked venomous. Steve picked his words carefully and relaxed his posture to become docile. Namor was still an unknown. For all Steve knew, one wrong remark and he could be fighting for his life against the being that held mythical monsters at bay within the depths of the cruel seas.

“Fools. All of them. I am a prince.” He repeated, “How…How dare they say no to me. I don’t understand it.”

“Not used to it?” Steve asked gently.

“I am not used to it from the likes of Xavier or Fury.” He admitted swiftly, “I oversaw security agencies in Atlantis. I would be an asset.” Namor’s voice drifted off, “I know I would.”

“Maybe.”

Namor looked to see Steve contemplating, off in his own little world. His tone didn’t have any malice to it and wasn’t rude by any interpretation. It still wounded Namor. The insecure prince opened his mouth to defend his competency when Steve looked back at him.

“You haven’t proved it here, though. We don’t know you, Namor.” Steve said honestly, “It’s that simple.”

Namor almost snarled an insult at him. He wanted to lash out, to insult Steve as he had been. He didn’t. There was something in strong, yet calming, tone of Steve that made Namor quiet. He was curious. It was a similar tone to the respect elders and generals that Namor was forced to listen to as a child. Men and women who had lived long, scarred lives that offered wisdom from their hoarse mouths. Namor was arrogant but not foolish. He grew curious of if there was similar merit to Steve’s words.

“Prince Namor, with respect. You appeared two or three times with the Varnae situation. Yes, you locked him up, but Fury wasn’t there for that. Humanity doesn’t even know your culture exists outside of books. Now you want to work for our top security agency. Do you think us working together for seventeen minutes last year is enough to build that type of trust and respect?” He leaned closer to Namor, “I served in the biggest war in human history after being experimented on. I still had to prove myself to Fury. For a lot longer than I think you realise.”

He almost discussed the original apartment he was forced into, the one with all of the cameras that he couldn’t leave without explicit permission. To his pleasure, Namor was still quiet and listening to him.

“People are slow to trust here. Maybe even in your kingdom, too. I can’t tell you how many…towns I needed to serve in during the war before people took me seriously. ‘Captain America’ used to be a…joke name they gave me when they saw me in the barracks. Men used to despise when I was assigned to them. I had to drag dying and wounded men that spat my name from hell. Many didn’t make it. They didn’t like me for months. Nearly years. I still did my duty. I still worked to prove myself. And it worked. Soon, I was an actual captain in the military. Then, I came out of the ice, and it was almost square one again. I had to work my way up and be patient. Varnae and all that helped a lot, but I still had to deal with no one taking me seriously.”

Steve almost laughed sorely at the memories of his first weeks and missions with S.T.R.I.K.E. and those assigned to practically babysit him during those earlier times. He looked up with earnest empathy.  

“Desire is one thing. Having the patience and experience to back it up…That’s something you can use.”

Namor was motionless and silent. Steve didn’t know if the man looked saddened or angered by the story, for he gave Strange a run for his money when it came to lack of expression. The prince lowered his paintbrush once more. Dark eyes swayed side to side as the mind behind them considered what to say.

“It is difficult,” Namor finally spoke in a hushed voice, “to gain experience when no one gives you such an opportunity. And when you seize, people in this world are scared of you.”

Namor looked up. His eyes were the most vulnerable that Steve had seen them yet. He was angry. Namor was upset and hurt about something.

“I left today. To see what a man of my powers could do. I found few crimes.” Namor chuckled drily, “I found a woman. Her dress was fine, finer than what other bizarre women chose to wear these days.” Steve almost smiled at the similar feeling, but something in his gut held him back from doing so, “Two men were stealing from her. One was no doubt going to take her virtue. I killed them to save her.” Namor’s face suddenly hardened, “And she screamed. She could not look at me. She ran as if I was the one to rape her. All it took was blood on her skin and she ran.” Namor exhaled, “How can I gain experience in this world if I cannot be allowed to save people?”

Steve reflected on the story for some time, imagining himself in the situation.

“Did you try to stop them or did you kill them immediately?”

“Why are they different things here?” Namor spat in bewilderment, “I saved her by killing them.”

“Because,” Steve answered cautiously, “this place you’re in, these days, we don’t like death or violence. Even if it’s a kill or be killed situation, people look for better ways to-”

“Better? I saved her.”

“Yeah. You did.” Steve nodded, and Namor’s shoulders lowered, “But we don’t like death here. It’s murder, even if it’s a disgusting man. We have laws and a system. Some can be bent. Others can’t. It’d be another thing if it were self-defence, but even then…Someone can’t stomach death. Most can’t. This is coming from a soldier.” Steve sighed, “We have a process to deal with criminals when we can follow it.”

Namor cupped his hands and rested his chin on them. He was staring out into the void in front of him.

“And how does one save those about to die if you cannot inflict the same actions upon the wicked? To strike it out.”

“You’re Prince Namor. All powerful.” A saddened smile was on Steve’s face, “Killing someone should always be option ‘B’. Or even ‘C’. You can come up with better ways to help people. Then,” He sighed, “Then they’ll stop screami…”

The phone was ringing. Steve frowned, his eyes flicking to the old clock on the wall. No one called him after work, not even the alleged neighbours around him that spied. Namor raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing. Steve walked to the phone and pulled it to ear, cautious not to pull too hard on the cord.

“Evening.”

“A very contained welcome.” A voice laughed, “Been getting too many crank calls?”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together.

“John?”

John Walker laughed again. Despite the fact that no one was even meant to have his home contact number, Steve found himself smiling as his son chuckled.

“Master spy in the works. Yeah, it’s me.”

“How’d…I’m not trying to be rude, but how’d you get this number?”

The response made Steve’s entire body become taut.

“Ah, Fury? He gave it to me with a bunch of contact sheets.”

Namor’s pointed ear twitched. He was silent, staring directly forwards and motionless, as if hiding from a predator. Yet his entire focus was on the conversation that was mere metres away. Even if he couldn’t hear what was being said by both parties, the almost panicked expression on Steve’s face indicated just what was going on in Steve’s mind.

“Fury spoke to you? From…”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Yeah. It’s okay, I know you have a secure line at home. It…actually says it here.” There was a pregnant pause and an awkward chuckle, “Anyway, look, I, uh…I actually don’t really know why I’m calling. No. That’s bullshit. I do. I, uh, wanted to say thanks.”

Something felt wrong in Steve’s stomach. He looked over at Namor, who was still stiff and peering out to the nothingness around him. Steve found no comfort in him.

“For what, John?”

“Talking to Fury. He called me this afternoon, said you two had a chat, and that he wants to reopen my file. He, uh, actually offered me the induction tests again.”

Steve almost crushed the phone in his hand. Namor was silent still, taking in the news greedily. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Steve didn’t what it was, but his stomach felt it. The sense of being surrounded by hidden eyes resurfaced, making Steve feel like he was walking around with a blindfold as people laughed. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

“What’d you say?” Steve asked with foolish hope.

“What do you think? Yes! I mean…How couldn’t I?”

Steve realised that he had been silent for several seconds. Jolting himself, he cleared his throat.

“That’s…fantastic, John. Just be careful, okay? Do you know what division they want you in?”

“Um, I think field? I have to do all the physical tests again. And combat assessments, ability under stress, critical thinking. All that jazz.”         

Steve remembered all such tests. They were cruel, harsh, and only those worthy of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever passed. Steve wanted to exhale but held it in. There was such excitement in John’s voice that it was almost contagious. His maliciousness towards the agency had certainly flipped the moment they offered him another chance to join. There was hunger to him. Something about it added to Steve’s unease.

“Just focus on one exam at a time. It’s how I got through it.”

“Thanks, that means a lot. Look, uh,” There was another awkward chuckle, “would it be weird if we caught up again? Soon? I’d really appreciate the chance to talk about this. You went through the tests more recently. I don’t know, you could have pointers and stuff. I could bring over some family photos if you want? See what mum was like growing up.”

Without any further motivation, there was something pressed in the back of Steve’s mind. Almost as if he were a mechanised track with set responds to specific commands, Steve automatically responded.

“I’d love that. It’d…It’d be good to see what I missed.”

Steve closed his eyes. An all too familiar guilt about his hibernation swept over him. Without much thinking, he forced it away. He was frankly so tired of feeling it. Namor’s eyes quirked ever so slightly at the response.

“Great! Would…sometime in the next few days work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that works. Do you know where I live or did Fury write that down, too?” There was a guilty silence, “Right. Wednesday? I can make you something for lunch?”

An excited noise filled Steve’s ear and, despite the anxiety of not knowing what caused the situation, Steve found a small smile on his face. John had such a similar laugh to Peggy.

“Beautiful. I’ll see you then. Take care. And thank you again! I won’t screw this up.”

“I know. If you need anything, I’m here. Goodnight, John.”

“Steve.”

As he put the phone back on the handle, Steve’s anxiety returned in force. He didn’t like a single part of what had just happened and what was occurring. His mind was so warped with negative possibilities that Steve’s filter slipped away. He simply didn’t care if he was overheard.

“Five days…Fury has known about John for five days and he’s already been contacted for a job.”

Namor murmured something that Steve could not understand. The older soldier tilted his head.

“It’s an Atlantean proverb. Roughly, it means ‘do not follow the little fish down the cave, not when there is a bigger one hiding in it’”.

“That could mean a lot of things.” Steve sighed as he said across from Namor, no longer phased by the nudity on display.

“I know. We’re a very fluid people.”

“Well, you are surrounded by water.”

Steve gave Namor a tired smile. After two silent seconds, Namor’s eyebrows rose. He refused to laugh, but there was an indigent smile, somewhat insulted by the remark.

“You are wise enough to be suspicious. Do so greatly.” Namor advised, Steve nodding in agreement, “Now. What are you cooking me for dinner? And I request wine. Red, if possible.”

***

“And, uh…I think this one was after graduation.”

Steve was passed a withered black and white photograph. Within, a tall, muscular young man stood next to an older, yet still beautiful, Peggy Carter. Steve felt air being pushed out of his lungs as he looked at this entirely new image of her. She was in her late forties, possibly fifties, and the grainy image showed what appeared to be thick curls. She had never worn her hair as such in the war. She looked good with them. Her son, John Walker, was standing at her side. An embarrassed smile was fashioned on his face, no doubt from the tight hug Peggy was giving his gigantic arm. Even as a teen he had the body of an unnatural human. Tall, defined, and with enough muscle to move a truck.

“She looks happy. You both do.” Steve smiled as he passed the photo back.

John chuckled a little. They were seated out on Steve’s small lawn. Between their patio seats was a small table with a box of photographs that John had brought. Nearly all of them had already been closed examined as Steve eagerly listened to John’s description of them. He had almost forgot to eat the burgers that he had grilled for them as he greedily absorbed all he could about the decades that he missed. John was all too eager to tell.

“Yeah, though I remember not liking the travel. I got into college. Houston. Football scholarship. I know, what a shock.” He laughed, tapping his physic in the photo fondly, “Had to move cross state. Mum called every weekend, though. Even when I was at…”

“Parties.” Steve raised his eyebrows knowingly, “I’m sure she loved that.”

“She always knew. Something about having a mum in S.H.I.E.L.D. made it hard to keep things from her. When she found out I was drinking, woah.” John shook his head, “She threatened to drive down to my dorm room and make all of roommates watch as she set the alcohol on fire.”

John almost recoiled at Steve’s sudden laughter. The soldier, suddenly reddened, cleared his throat.

“She threatened to do the same to some young soldiers when she found beer in their barracks. Except, she actually did it.”

Steve found himself smiling at the memory and John himself started chuckling. He slowly stopped as a curious glint grew in his eyes.

“How was it?”

“Your mum or the war?”

“Both.” He shrugged, “I mean, she didn’t really talk about the war. Even when I applied to S.H.I.E.L.D., she kinda just mentioned it here or there. It was…hard for her to talk about that type of stuff, you know.”

Steve nodded knowingly. It wasn’t exactly easy for him to speak of specifics, either. While it was decades ago, it was barely two years for Steve. He took a moment to think of where to start.

“I was scared.” He admitted, “I didn’t want to fight, but I knew I had to. You’d go to the pic…movies, and you’d see the footage from the front. You’d read a newspaper and nearly all of it was updates about the war. You’d know if things weren’t going great if they suddenly stopped mentioning it. You’d listen to music on the radio, but there were so many updates each day. You’d go for a walk and see your neighbours who had sons gone.” Steve grew distant as he recounted such memories for the first time in years, as a cold, hollowness took his chest, “There was no point in me starting when others had to go. And I was scared.” He repeated.

John leaned in. He was clutching his beer tighter than he was understanding as he grew enraptured by Steve’s words.

“And the serum? Mum recruited you?”

“No.” Steve shook his head, “We met about a year into the war when I was in Europe. She was working for the Brits by then. A great actress.” A soft smile formed, “The Nazis used to blurt things in front of her. She was a waitress in a town where some high-ranking Germans were occupying. When I met her, Peggy was this…dim, silly…short woman who I thought was French. Then, I blew my cover during the mission, and this waitress, out of nowhere, stabs this guard in the throat. A second letter, a second, Peggy had disarmed a second guard and kicked the gun to me.” Steve’s smile widened, “She never forgave me for that mix up. It was the first time one of her missions was compromised.”

John was silent. His eyes were wide, alive, eagerly examining Steve’s face for any further information that could be gleamed about his mother’s hidden activities.

“And you guys were put together?”

“Sometimes. I had several missions in Europe, some which needed British assistance. Since Peggy had spent the entire war there collecting intelligence and she already knew me, it made some sense to send me her way. It was…,” Steve suddenly chuckled, “rough to begin with. We got used to used to working with each other.”

“Oh, really? A shock, old man.” John laughed as he gestured to himself, “Man, she never mentioned this at all. Not at all. The most she mentioned was…what was written in the books.”

John suddenly grew pensive. Just as Steve was about to ask if something was wrong, John spoke.

“She wanted to wait. For you.”

Steve looked down. Dragging his beer to his lips, he did his best to ignore the returning guilt.

“She had me.” John’s voice quivered and Steve looked to see guilt upon the other man’s face, “Those days…Not easy to be a single woman with a new kid. Even if you’re a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. and…all that.”

“She was happy.” Steve cut in, his voice neutral, “That’s more than I could have asked. You were looked after.”

“Yeah, but…” John shrugged, grimacing slightly, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ungrateful. Having a stepdad that cared wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He did love us. Just…He had no idea what to do when it was clear who my father was. I don’t think he was in S.H.I.E.L.D., or…at least he left when I was kid to be an accountant. I never heard of him working with mum. But yeah,” John sighed, “I just…When you were in the army, there were no mutants in your barracks, right?”

“I’m pretty sure there were no mutants in general.” Steve chuckled, “I mean, there were rumours of strange children in the Nazi camps but…No, I was the only powered one.”

“Did you ever feel alone? Or a freak? Or…worse, that you’d hurt people by touching them too hard?”

Steve took another sip on his drink as he remembered. Unkind and gladly forgotten words clung and slithered around his legs, clutching at his mind.

“I remember not knowing how to move in my own body as the experiment. I went from being the size of a pole to being the largest man in the building. But yeah, in the trenches, in the wet and exposed buildings…I was surrounded by people that either mocked me or were in awe of me. Not many were like me.”

“It sucks.” John agreed bitterly, “Fucking sucks.”

“I had to remember why I was there. I wasn’t alone, I was fighting for my country. I had strength for those that didn’t.”

“Sounds like a poster they made for you.”

There was a level of snide now in John’s voice. His face was creased into a mild scowl as he finished his beer.

“I had to read my share of scripts.” Steve said lightly, “America’s first super soldier. And you? How’d you deal with it?”

Steve watched closely as John crossed his leg. He reached for another beer, using it to hide the bitter expression that was still on his face. When he spoke, the tension was still thick in his throat.

“I don’t know. Mum did her best to help explain things. Even doctors from S.H.I.E.L.D. looked at me when I started being able to bend metal in my hands. They all looked at me weirdly. Like…staring.”

Steve found himself nodding. He knew all too well the sensation of eyes weighing upon you. As John continued speaking, he grew more agitated. He seemed to struggle to sit still and his eyes were unfocussed on any particular direction.

“Got worse in Nam. Oh boy.” He chuckled darkly, “People were barely eating and we were trying to hide and here comes this giant dude with muscles for days.” His breathing grew uneven, “They came out of everywhere.” He spat, “They could fucking hide like those lizards with weird eyes. It wasn’t like your war where you just went forwards. You had to…You had to…You had to be everywhere. It was hell. Even with powers, you didn’t know where they were. You never did.” John’s voice suddenly became loud, “Not that anyone in command cared. They weren’t dealing with it. I had to.”

John stood up to put his hastily finished beer on the grass, alongside the row of others they had finished.

“Having powers didn’t help then.”

“No. I can’t imagine it did. But you survived.” Steve tried to give out a supportive tone.

He reached out to touch John’s shoulder in comfort but something happened. John flinched and grimaced, blinking deeply as he rose to his feet again. His eyes were struggling to stay still as a heated expression made his face flush.

“Barely. Then you get back and everyone just…thinks you’re a traitor or genocidal murderer for going there. In World War Two, you guys were welcomed back. Not after Nam. Not after that hell.”

“I know.” Steve said coolly, “I saw footage of the protests and-”

“The spitting? The mailboxes full of being called a…” John was slowly pacing, his arms tugged under his armpits, “I…I…I wasn’t like you. It wasn’t like…I wasn’t welcomed back like I thought…I mean, you’d think after almost dying in a jungle for two years people would be grateful. Nah. No, sir. Not once. None of them. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. really only cared about me being your kid. Even that wasn’t good enough in the end. Even-”

“John.”

He looked to see Steve on his feet. His face was calm, sincere. John swallowed. The flush of his face did not yield.

“You’re okay. You served your country. You know it. Your brothers in arms know it. I know it.”

When Steve touched held his shoulder for a second time, John didn’t flinch. He let out a deep, pained breath and held onto his father’s hand tightly.

“I’m glad you’re back. Could’ve been a few decades earlier,” He laughed, “but I’m glad you’re in my corner.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded earnestly, “Anytime.”

“I know. Mum always said how good you were.” John smiled weakly, “Imagine it, old man. You and I. The two super soldiers in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Steve’s eyes creased ever so slightly.

“It’s not all it’s made up to be.” He whispered carefully.

“I know, but both my parents were in it.” John started to beam, “I’m a soldier, like you guys were. Are. I can help people. I’m a super soldier. I’ll make you both proud. I’ll make our country proud.”

Steve smiled weakly, not knowing why he was feeling a mixture of emotions at the comments. He was happy to see John smiling, though. And to know that Peggy had such a place in John’s mind, even with her sickness, made him feel unstable in a good way.

“Well, enough of this kissy-kissy crap.” John chuckled and he cleared his throat.

He reached into the bag that he had brought with him. Something was thrown into Steve’s chest, knocking some air out of him. A football. A worn, old football. Steve found himself smiling again.

“Wanna see who has the better throwing arm?”

“I don’t think we have a street straight enough for me.” Steve teased.

The yard boomed with John’s laughter. Steve followed him through the house and out to the street. Many hours passed when Steve returned alone. A bright smile was on his sweaty face. For the first time in years, he was sweating from a sport. His son truly had his genes. Fast. Strong. Resilient. A throwing arm that almost knocked doors down whenever Steve missed the catch. Steve considered that this was what it must’ve felt like to have a normal, healthy childhood. He hoped that John had some semblance of one.

As he finished clearing the backyard, he suddenly muttered to himself. John had left the box of photos behind, no doubt intentionally. With a gentle grin, Steve looked at the youthful images of his old flame as he walked back into his house.

“What an unusual guest.”

Steve almost dropped the box. Namor was frowning at the front door. Thankfully, he was clothed and wearing another bright jacket with thick shoulder pads. The pale prince turned to gestured lamely to the box.

“A gift worth this…uncertainty?”

“Namor…”

Steve’s voice turned gravely as something in his chest pricked. Namor crossed his arms with an even deeper frown.

“You doubt my previous claims? He has come from nowhere.”

“Not nowhere.”

“Yes, nowhere, you fool.” Namor sighed, “Then, there are his emotional tendencies.”

“He’s a soldier. Vietnam was not a good war for the boys. Wasn’t for anyone. I can relate. Europe was hell decades ago and-”

“And? Why would he want to return to hell so badly?” Namor cut in.

“Some of us want to serve our country, even if it hurts us.”

Namor grunted in dissatisfaction. Steve was tempted to yell at the arrogant, self-centred princeling, but he held it in. He was better than that. But he was also a soldier, something that Namor clearly knew nothing of.

“I just suggest caution. Take my wisdom or ignore it. It matters little.” Namor rolled his eyes in a condescending way, “I just don’t want to die.”

Steve gritted his teeth. The prickling was back. He silently walked to his room. He closed it. Finding some relief from the uninvited guest, Steve placed the box under his bed. Yet, even as he saw Peggy again, he couldn’t smile. There was something wrong. He couldn’t get something out of his mind. What if Namor was right?

***

It took a few days yet Jackie was about to track his scent. Thick yellow hoodie and green scarf adorning her, the vampire was perched on a tall bookstore that overlooked a small plaza of stories. She sniffed the air again. It was Friday evening. The thick scent of drunken adults relaxing after work or college filled her narrow nose. Jackie’s tongue played with her fangs as she felt them throb. She needed to visit Strange again. College and being attacked by a deranged knight had worked up her appetite considerably.

The air adopted note of musk amongst the chorus of other odours. Jack’s eyes snapped to the store in the middle of the plaza.  Despite being almost a hundred metres away, she could see a tall man with a mullet talking with the store owner. A key was given. The two laughed before Dane walked towards a rental car with far too many stains for Jackie’s tastes. Dane’s large duffle bag at carefully placed in his passenger seat. He had his sword on him. Judging by how heavy the bag was, his armour too. Jackie rose to her feet as the car slowly migrated out of the carpark and onto the road. After giving him a solid head’s start, Jackie disappeared into the wind.

She immediately regretted her petty attempt at payback. It was not a short drive. No, Dane appeared to be travelling across state, given the several hours of running that Jackie had to undertake. Skyscrapers turned into a small houses, which soon gave way to grass and trees, and then open plains. The latter was a considerable issue, as Jackie did not want to be seen by anyone. She would run as close as she could to Dane’s car, some many hundreds of metres away, stop for the car to get some distance, and then run again. This painstaking method of tracking the stained red car let her to mountains. The night had truly overtaken the skies by the time Dane stopped for petrol. To Jackie’s horror, he kept driving for many more hours. As the skies turned orange and red, the vampire wondered just how close to the Canadian border that she now was. Thankfully, as the morning turned the sky a thick white colour and the ground was kissed by damn mountain sleet, Dane pulled down a small lane.

Jackie followed in the trees. Never had she pulled her abilities to such a test before. To her fascination, she was panting with the exhaustion of running so far. Her fingers clung to the trucks and branches of trees, her knife-like digits cutting into the bark for stability. A childish grin was upon her face as she spun and leapt into the air. The air was fresh, cold, and full of scents that she had never come across. She was fast and powerful. The very environment around her flexed to her actions in a way that it never did before. It was the most fun that she had ever had since being bitten.

Dane’s car eventually arrived at a small cluster of cabins and worn-down houses. The cars resting in front of them were rusted. Jackie crept along a thick branch, sitting casually upon it as she watched from nearly a hundred metres away. Dane exited his rental, yawned with a stretched, and patted himself down. As he did so, a group of elderly men came from what appeared to be a small hall or community centre. All were clearly Native American, some wearing various community logos on their shirts or wearing attire from various community projects or initiatives. A greying, plumper man with long hair in a knot strode towards Dane. His arms were expanded and Jackie could hear the gratitude in his laugh. Dane embraced him.

Jackie looked back at the ground. None looked like vampire hunters. They were mostly old, physically unimpressive, and did not have any magical items visible to Jackie. Jackie ignored the temptation to sneak closer to hear just what was being said. Instead, she sighed and crossed her arms as Dane was led into the hall. His duffle bag never left his hands after that. Squinting, Jackie tried to see them through the windows but even her abilities could not see so far. Instead, she had to settle for murky outlines of people. The winds started to pick up, making it difficult for Jackie to hear what was being said. The vampire crossed her arms tighter, muttering to herself. She was wasting a whole weekend by the speed things were progressing.

Jackie was grateful that she had accidently left a sudoku booklet in her pocket before she travelled. It was nearly dark by the time that Dane graced the world with his presence. Jackie rose, expecting to follow his car again. He walked past it. Duffle bag in hand, Dane walked into the trees and rocky outcrops as if he was going camping. Perhaps he was. Jackie turned to see the elderly community looking at him depart, all with pale, ghastly faces of uncertainty and regret. One woman was nervously whispering to who Jackie assumed was her husband. He held her and did his best to comfort her, but his face betrayed his own fears. Jackie frowned. With curiosity, she leapt higher into the trees and followed Dane up the mountain.

The night settled upon them before Dane stopped his pilgrimage up steep rock and thick tree. Every so often, he would stare at the ground, careful not to disturb the soil or grass. If he found nothing, he would then look at the trees. On many occasions, Jackie’s speed was the only thing that saved her from being caught standing above him. His inspections soon came to a halt. Moments before they did, Jackie’s nose wrinkled. There was human blood nearby. Old, but damp enough to carry on the wind. It grew stronger, in line with her Dane was walking. Dane stopped. He leaned over by a thick bush growing over a rock. It was stained with human blood. Dane’s fingers gently pressed against the leaves for a few seconds until he reached the same conclusion Jackie did.

Jackie’s eyebrows rose as she watched him kneel below her. Digging into his duffle bag, Jackie discovered that she was right. He had brought his armour. The knight that attacked her slowly reappeared as Dane strapped the thick, black metal around his clothes. He turned to the last ornament of his bag. The sword. Jackie witnessed hesitation. Then, as if he was forcing himself, his arm snatched the weapon and Dane strapped it to his belt.

More blood was found. Some human, others belonging to animals that Jackie had yet to smell. As they ascended the mountain, the blood became fresher. Eventually, thrown over a boulder, was a half-eaten bear. Jackie’s body went rigid. She blinked several times, seeing if she was really observing Dane prod a bear’s exposed ribs with his boot. What in God’s green Earth was Dane looking for. It was a clean killer. The bear’s neck was exposed, with large amounts of blood drying in front of it. Large blankets of furry skin were gently rippling backwards in the wind. There was little more of the poor beast. Even from her view at the top of tree, Jackie could see how little meat and fat was left around the bones. Dane rose and he continued trekking. His hand rested on his sword now. The blood was fresh.

Jackie sniffed the air again. Something rotten entered her nostrils as they continued climbing. The smell of decay. It was thick and overbearing on Jackie’s system. She almost gagged and gave herself up. She was grateful that she didn’t as she soon appeared at the front of a cave. No. An abandoned radio tower. One that had collapsed and crashed into the side of the rocky mountain, the cabin torn open as a result. Jackie swallowed. She could smell death.

A horrid, metal groan made her ears prick up. A panel within the tower’s cabin shifted. Jackie then shuddered and almost lost her footing. The sound of wind being ripped through a tight throat filled the air. A high-pitched shriek that made the vampire clutch at the tree in fear. It was like a young child screaming, but more animalistic. More cruel. A shadow moved along the cabin. A gigantic, yet anorexic, arm pulled along the panels, dragging a body upwards. It looked like a human. A skeletal woman with decayed, cracked skin that showed exposed bone underneath. There was no fat or flesh on the skull, and lifeless, night blue eyes snapped at Dane. Silver, patched hair dropped at her sharp and cracked shoulders. As the monstrosity pulled itself up, Jackie saw just how tall it was. It was larger than even Jennifer. Almost three times the size of Dane, the skeletal, starved monster shrieked again.

Dane was calm as he tightened his hand upon his weapon. The monster leapt. Dane drew his blade and slashed forwards in a single stroke. The blade cut deeply into the monster’s forearm, cracking the rocked skin. The creature shrieked with fury. Its bloodied claws dug into his own forearm. The armour bend under the pressure. Jackie heard a pained gasp. Something was fractured. Dane ignored it. He knocked the monster back with his shield several times. The creature titled its head as it observed the curved tool. It blinked twice.

“You don’t want to hurt me.” A child said.

Dane stopped moving. His body trembled as the creature continued tilting its head. When it spoke again, it was with another voice. A deep, masculine voice.

“Nice piece, man. Wanna show me what shop you got it from?”

Dane shouted into the air as he slashed wildly. The creature seemed to anticipate this. With great ease, it leapt onto a tree at Dane’s side upon his downwards stroke. Dane movements were faster than Jackie had seen. He whipped his shield up, crashing it into the monster’s sharp hand and forcing it away. The monster shrieked. Always on the move, the beast leapt into the trees again. It stopped. Jackie could hear it sniffing. Its eyes started to whip around the trees. Jackie rolled her shoulders back and braced herself. If it jumped at her, it would best be ready for a tackle around its throat.

The branch underneath it fell. The monster shrieked again as it tried to roll to side, yet Dane was too quick. His blade cut into the beast’s side. Immediately, with a savage fury, the monster slashed at his helmet. Dane flew into the dirt. His helmet, while still intact, was horribly scarred. He did not let it dissuade him from the fight. The two foes danced in the wilderness for some time. For each strike Dane made to the monster’s hide, he would receive his own. No cut or hack seemed enough to deter the creature. The more Dane cut into its wooden skin, the more it wanted Dane’s throat. At times, the beast’s voice would change. A child. An elderly woman. Even a goat and a bear could be heard. It roared at him as it circled, yet Dane showed no fear. He charged into the bellowing animal. The creature leapt.

Dane had timed his swing a second too late. He had thrown too much force into the blow, allowing the monster to dip below and slash its fingers towards his neck. It shrieked as a hand pulled its narrow wrist back. Jackie bared her fangs at the monster, almost growling at it. The monster sniffed twice. What could only be described as a sneer formed on an otherwise lifeless face. Jackie turned on her side to yank the arm away further when Dane’s blade pierced its side again. The creature howled in agony. Jackie was thrown to the side. As she pulled herself up, she gasped. The monster’s fingers were at her eyes. The vampire turned her head, sacrificing her cheek for her eyes. The pain of her skin being cut open made her scream.

Jackie bit down on her lip to silence herself. With unnatural reflexes, she spun her head around again and sunk her fangs into the bark-like flesh of the beast. Its shouts now filled the air. A gag vibrated against its skin as Jackie felt her fangs almost crack. It was as if she had bitten metal. She unlocked her jaw and crouched. As she pushed herself towards the monster with a fist aimed at its skull, Jackie saw just how fast it was. The attack missed. Jackie almost flew into a tree whilst the monster crept along the boulders that had rested behind Jackie. Dane was standing between them, his sword and shield primed. The monster had lost interest in him, however. Its liquid eyes were solely upon the fellow monster that threatened its territory and hunting grounds. It leapt.

Jackie only had time to roll, just as Steve had once taught her. Avoiding sharp nails, she dived at the monster. A pained welp escaped her lips as the monster whacked her back and slammed her into the ground. A wail escaped the monster, only for a bear’s roar to soon come out of it. Then…Then there was a child’s laughter. Jackie felt sick. She pushed herself several metres away, skidding on the ground by Dane’s feet. She rolled behind him, allowing Dane to slice at the impeding beast whilst she got to her feet. Just as the monster dived to avoid his blade, Jackie jumped.

Desperate hands curled around charcoaled muscle. Jackie swung around the monster’s unusually long torso. Her arms slid under those of her enemy, and pulled them back. Locked into place, the monster wailed as it tried to dislodge the vampire holding it so. Jackie bit into its neck. The wailing turned into a bloodied scream. A bear’s roar. A child’s sob. A man’s scream. Countless voices and noises left the monster as Jackie’s fangs ached in a way never felt before. She had to have hit a vein, but there was no usual biological reaction. There was no blood, no flesh. It was…harsh concrete on her lips.

“Move. Jump. Get away!” Dane screamed desperately.

Without question, Jackie whipped her arms away and kicked off the monster’s back. As she floated away, she saw a glimmer of dark metal cutting the air. The monster’s wailing stopped. It fell to the ground in an undignified lump. As Jackie climbed to her feet and carefully walked closer, she saw the monster’s head resting by its body.

“Oh, fuck me!” Jackie shrieked.

The eyes rolled towards her. A hiss left its cracked lips. Dane didn’t reply. Instead, he was looking at her through his dented helmet. To Jackie’s confusion, his sword was aimed at her chest.

“What…What is this?”

His voice was tinny, but clearly confused and uncomfortable. Jackie let out an indignant scoff. Dane didn’t back down. Jackie’s sense of being offended shifted into mild fear as she tried to understand what was going on. Maybe it was a prank? Or, maybe he had hastily decided to finally kill her. If that were the case, why start with the act?

“Dane, why are you being a twat? My fucking jaw is killing me because of you.”

Dane’s grip on his sword visibly weakened as soon as he heard his name. He peered around his surroundings for a time, his breathing uneven and rough. His sword lowered. Jackie’s shoulders relax as Dane cleared his throat.

“S…Sorry. Just…Just a long day.”

“Right. A long day. You mind explaining how a long day translates into you killing the girl that saved your stupid arse?”

Dane just stared at her for a moment, trying to understand what she meant. Rather than ask anything further, he grunted and threw his sword down to severe a foot. Then a calve. Then a thigh.

“If we wanna…kill it…we tear it…apart. Then fire.” Dane panted.

Jackie nodded. Closing her eyes and grimacing, she held onto an arm. An intense need to vomit overcame her as she ripped. She was gagging as soon as she heard the sound of a shoulder popping and being pulled from the joint.

“I don’t think vampires can vomit.” Dane chuckled weakly as he continued his chopping.

“We still feel…yucky stuff.” Jackie shook her head.

To Dane’s interest, she still managed to hold up the torn arm and then tear it again at the elbow. The gagging continued afterwards.

“What the fuck is this thing?”

“Wendigo. Native American curse. If you commit cannibalism under moonlight when on the lands of those that originally roamed the Great Plains, and a few other places, the curse takes hold. You never stop feeling hunger, no matter what you eat. It drives the holder of the curse insane. Mutates them, too.” Dane explained with a sigh.

He began to kick or toss the severed pieces of body into a dense pile. Jackie grimaced at the explanation.

“I got a tip off that one may have been born recently. I came here to make sure.” He pulled away his helmet, revealing a bruised and cut face that possessed an unimpressed expression, “And why’d you come here?”

Jackie blinked. It took her a moment to even remember why she had been fighting a wendigo in the first place. A defensive frown overcame her.

“I wanted you to see what it’s liked being stalked.”

Dane looked bewildered and dumbstruck. An awkward silence filled the air as he just stared at her as if she was an idiot. Without saying anything further, he reached into his chest plates and retrieved a small vile of something. Lighter fluid. He doused the pile in a trickle or two before reaching into his chest again. Without any care, he lit a match and tossed it into the pile. Jackie’s face lit up as red and yellow bristled between them.

“I wasn’t…Yeah, I stalked you.” He admitted, a sheepish expression on his face as he looked at the burning wendigo, “I’m sorry. I…I thought you were…Look, you’re not exactly the most common vampire out there.”

“I am pretty unique.” Jackie smirked, “Name another vampire that saves lives.”

“I can name two.” He replied dryly, “I won’t bother you again. You made your point. I’m sorry.”

There was a genuineness to his voice and face that made Jackie clear her throat. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, the young woman nodded.

“Good. Good. Very good. So, it’s safe to assume you’re a monster hunter?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Dane shrugged, still looking at the fire, “It’s not exactly great pay, but it’s a living.”

“I’m honoured to have made the list of Dane Whitman’s ‘Monster List’.” Jackie touched her chest, “You owe me two, by the way.”

“Two?”

“I’ve saved your life twice.”

Dane finally looked up, frowning.

“I’ll give you one. Tonight. The second?”

“I chose not to kill you when you first harassed me.” Dane opened his mouth, “That counts.”

Dane snorted. He then allowed himself a small smile.

“So, how’d you find out about…this thing? And me? You…have a newspaper ad or?”

Dane regarded her carefully. As he spoke, Jackie knew she was getting the filtered version.

“Like I said. I get tip offs from contacts I’ve established or inherited. I’ve been doing this for…enough time to have some friends in the paranormal community. The real paranormal activity.”

“Oh, so like a sorcerer?” Dane’s expression resumed its blank tone, “I know a sorcerer. It’s okay. We all have our own contacts. No need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Dane shrugged, “I found out about the wendigo and you didn’t even know what one was.” He smirked.

He sheathed his blade and as he did so, there was a spring in his step as he walked towards her. While still bruised and banged up, Dane was as if he was years younger and full of more life. Jackie couldn’t help herself. She eyed the covered sword with mild concern. She hid it as Dane stood next to her.

“So, we in agreement to stop stalking each other now?”

“Hmm.” Jackie tilted her head and swayed slightly, “You mentioned other monsters? Like…griffins or…a banshee?”

“I’ve met a banshee before.” Dane nodded, his eyes glossing over from the memory, “Gave me headaches for a week. Why? You seriously never met another supernatural creature when you’re a vampire?” Jackie shrugged, “Huh. Well, each to their own.”

He looked her again. Rolling on his heels mildly, another uncomfortable silence overtook them. Twisting his face, Dane spoke again.

“You want me to tell you about them, don’t you?”

“Just a tad.” Jackie nodded, holding up her thumb and index finger as she did.

“Hmmm. And what do you have share to the class?”

Dane was smiling in a joking manner, but Jackie took it seriously and froze. After a moment, she clicked her fingers. A smug look was on her face.

“Like I said. I know a sorcerer. I know about magic. And how much of that do you know?”

***

Within the maze of concrete and metal, the Leader hummed to himself. It often eased the stresses of life, even before his transformation. The noises aided to push out all other sensations in his mind, offering him clarity through a simple tune. As he stood in an old, dusty, rodent infested loading bay within the abandoned facility that he now called his laboratory, he could not shift the headache he was experiencing. A suffocating stress was wrapped around his throat, yet he did not let it deter him from remembering his goals. His niece. Her life.

In front of him rested several dozen stacks of iron bars that O’Grady had burrowed from a nearby construction company. Towards the left were stacked boxes of mechanical equipment and electronics. His brother did not know of them. He would not approve of them, not yet. He still had some hope for the original plan. The Leader still had some himself, but as the days rolled past them, days that they did not have, he could not help himself. He needed options. He needed alternatives. His niece’s life was worth more than one idea, even if the others were horrid. The Leader swallowed. The air around him suddenly felt very still and heavy as he considered the severity of his actions. He closed his eyes, humming loud. The original plan would work. But…But if it didn’t, could the Sterns brothers deal with the consequences of what the Leader considered ‘Plan B’? The humming ceased with a dry cough from a rough throat.

He closed his eyes. His mind’s eye revealed perfectly formed schematics, down to the smallest detail. As he opened his eyes, he looked towards the stacked materials. He would need to begin preparations for his alternative soon. They didn’t have enough time for their original plan to fail and to wait until the second is constructed fully. He would need to be quick. He would need to be quiet. He couldn’t draw the eye of any of the Avengers, not now. With that in mind, his feet left the ground. He floated with his arms crossed, eyes locked forwards. The green, bulbous man wadded through the darkness of the facilities until he arrived within a small room.

Small, yet heavy, computers were lined up next to one another. The bulky machines all held large cameras upon their brow, attached by a series of multicoloured cords that disappeared into the wall. As the Leader’s feet touched the ground, his mind flexed ever so slightly. Keys upon the board of the computer in the middle began to be pressed. Green letters slowly formed on the monitor. Several combinations gave way to the camera above it flicking on. The computer buzzed. The Leader watched the screen as dots slowly crept across it. Moments went by as the computer formed a connection to a computer countries away. The dots stopped.

Green lines shot down the screen, the combination of which formed a bulky, poorly detailed welding mask. At the bottom of the image, ‘CONNECTION SECURED’ typed its way across. The Leader rolled his eyes.

“Still with the charades?”

A wheezing, heavily altered electronic voice buzzed out of the computer.

“I don’t trust your connection, regardless of how often you lecture me on it.”

“I don’t lecture.” The Leader smirked, “I advise. I soothe your anxieties. But that aside. Stark is in-”

“I know.”

The Leader’s jaw clenched. He was growing tired to the condescending tone of his accomplice, even if they arguably had a right to be so confident. A little faith and respect went a long way, after wall.

“Good.” The Leader’s tone was even, “Then you will deal with him immediately. Our plans are already behind. We can’t have him involved in this. Remove him.”

There was a pause. For a moment, the Leader sensed uncertainty from the being behind the monitor.

“I won’t kill him. I will break him. He will not be in the position to stop you from collecting the assets. I promise you that.”

“Good.” The Leader’s mouth twitched, almost threatening a smile, “Once you’ve…addressed Stark, I need you to return to the United States. Our…other option is being reviewed.”

There was an even longer pause. The Leader could only imagine what could be filling the mind of his foreign associate. Anxiety. Fear. Distrust. A regret for being involved. The Leader wouldn’t blame them at all.

“I need you to refine my design further. To make it as…efficient as possible, the collateral is…minimum. A fair request, given I aided in handing Stark over to you.”

“You helped my already set plans. This is something else.” The voice buzzed.

The Leader almost swallowed.

“I would not ask this if I didn’t need to.”

“Are we that behind schedule?”

“A tad at the moment, but not enough to be in the red. I like to have long-term plans, however. To be prepared. This, unfortunately, is part of that.”

What sounded like an uncertain hum hissed through the computer. The Leader stared at the blank, static image of the welding mask as the other speaker processed the development.

“Stark just landed. Give me a week. Send me a list of the blueprints and gathered components. I may be able to revise some of it here in the meantime.”

“With someone of your talents, I do not doubt that.” The Leader inclined his head at the camera, “Good hunting.”

“Good research.”

The computer’s buzzing slowly eased as the green lines sunk below the monitor. ‘CONNECTION CEASED’ read out upon the screen. The camera above flashed twice before switching off. The Leader stroked his moustache in thought. At least there was some progress being made, and he also trusted his associate to construct his device swiftly.

“Been a while since we heard that tone.” Someone snickered.

The Leader rolled his eyes as he turned to see Eric O’Grady grinning like a naughty schoolboy at him. How Eric survived so long without being brutally punched was beyond even the Leader’s brilliant mind. The green man nodded.

“Stark will be out of the picture soon.”

“Good. Means his house will be empty. Wonder what that wee prick has in his safes? Well, aside from giant metal armours and shit.” Eric shrugged.

“Hmm. Well, thank you for the investigating Walter’s home. The files will be useful to draw her out. Now, the Pyms.”

Eric’s eyes twitched at the name. His heartbeat increased at the memory of those that made the precious gas that he had been playing with for several days now. The people that helped make him feel like a god. It was no accident that the man was still wearing his Black Ant attire. It felt too good to take off.

“Aye. Stealing more shit from them again?” Eric shrugged in a casual manner.

The Leader’s lips curled into a confident grin.

“We need them removed. Distracted. Indisposed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Adjectives, adjectives, adjectives.” Eric shrugged again, “What do ya fookin want?”

The Leader’s smile never faded, even if he now had the urge to hurl Eric against the wall.

“How do you feel about another…requisitions assignment?”

***

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for reading, I hope you’re all having a great day.

I hope we all enjoyed the chapter and where things are starting to go for each of the characters and those that are starting to mess with them. Bonus points if you can guess who Tony’s villain is (a small hint, it’s not typically an Iron Man villain).

Next chapter will heavily explore Strange’s relationship with Clea and lean a little more into the virus that’s effecting the Dark Dimension. It’ll also delve a little more into John Walker’s determination to get into S.H.I.E.L.D. and what that means for Steve and his changing worldview. And if there’s time, Hank and Janet will start to track their missing particles.

If you have any feedback or suggestions, please feel free to leave a comment or kudos. It’s always brilliant to see them and means a lot. If not, thanks for reading and have a great one.

Fact of the chapter: The Leaning Tower of Pisa has one of the most bizarre building stories I’ve ever come across. It took 344 years to complete, yet it immediately started to lean after only two stories were built, as they had built the foundations on soft soil that immediately start to shift under the added weight. Imagine deciding to continue a project for centuries after immediately seeing it lean…

Chapter Text

Ting.

Strange winced his dark, reddened eyes. He had pressed the scalpel too hard against the glass of the observation disk, or, in more modern terms, the Petri dish. Rivets of pain waved through his brain. Strange sighed. It was long into the night. The students were sound asleep, even the half-crystalline Toth had grown bored of trying to sneak peeks into the room. Clea was not in the room, either. At some point, she had made a soft request for food, to which Strange grunted at and silently summoned Wong to take her to the kitchen. All that was left was Strange. Hunched over with aching eyes, he read texts as old as the United States.

Click.

Strange almost shuddered at the noise. Turning around, the sorcerer’s face contorted as he prepared to snarl at the noisy interloper. It was Mistress Topaz. The master of the mystic arts raised a slightly amused eyebrow as she watched Strange’s features soften into embarrassment. In her hands was a wooden tray of a thick soup with some bread. Strange could not remember the last time that he had eaten, a fact that his suddenly aching stomach quickly reminded him of. Topaz chuckled warmly as she placed the tray of food on the only table not cluttered by scrolls and messily written notes.

“We have not seen you in days. The younger students are whispering that we’ve killed you and are hiding it.”

Strange rolled his eyes as he walked towards the steamy food.

“I saw Toth, Dessy, and Calvin only this morning.”

“Yes.” Topaz nodded, “Their theory is necromancy.”

Strange frowned. He dipped some bread into the soup. As soon as he tasted it, he forgot about the mystical virus and of the rumours about his absence. With a deep hunger, Strange threw as much food into his mouth as he possibly good. Topaz’s smile grew a shade brighter.

“You need to eat and sleep more. You cannot help others if you cannot help yourself.”

“You…sound like…my first year lecturer.”

“A wise teacher, then.”

Topaz looked around. The benches were filled with texts and volumes messily thrown about. The walls were covered in notes and comments thumbnailed into the magical wood. Above the benches hovered magical projections and orbs filled with the tiniest samples of the virus. It looked as if a dog had been let loose within. She watched as Strange huddled over the food, as if it was the first time he’d eaten in days. Perhaps it was.

“When was the last time you slept, young Dr. Strange?”

“I don’t need sleep. The Iluno incantation is very effective with-”

“Without prolonged use. It’s a stimulant. You should know of the finer details of using magic to stay awake.” Topaz tattered, “You certainly throw yourself into your work.”

Strange nodded sombrely. He placed the empty bowl on the tray. He looked contemplative after that.

“It’s…a medical issue. I’ve never come across a medical issue in my days as a sorcerer.”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to be the one to cure it, young man.”

Topaz’s hand was on his arm. Strange didn’t know whether or not to feel uncomfortable. Part of him didn’t enjoy the uninvited contact. Another was soothed by the comfort she offered his exhausted state.

“You are talented for your experience. Both as a surgeon and as a sorcerer. But just because an issue interacts with both your lives, that does not mean you have an obligati-”

“I…I know I can try. I can’t stop until I know I can’t help or that I have helped.”

Topaz squeezed the younger man’s arm softly. Her hand then gently cupped his cheek.

“The most disastrous mistakes are made with the most noble intentions, young Dr. Strange. You know that more than most.” Strange closed his eyes at her words, “Trust yourself. Know your limits and know when you need to recover.”

Strange swallowed. An odd feeling blossomed in his chest, like he wanted to cry for some reason. The physical touch made him feel too vulnerable and her words were too sharp. Soon, the warmth of her hands left Strange’s cheek. He looked as Topaz collected the tray and walked towards the door.

“Rest soon, please. Dr. Strange.”

“Mistress Topaz.” Strange bowed politely.

As Topaz left the room, she bowed her own head and said something to someone that Strange couldn’t see. Believing it to be Toth hiding, Strange prepared a stern reprimand when Clea strolled in. The late dinner had brought a spring to her step. Her eyes were less hawkish and there was even some relaxation to them. How long had it been since she had last eaten?

“A pleasant discussion?” She inquired in her typically direct tone.

“Yeah, something like that.” Strange murmured.

“Hmm.” Clea nodded.

She scanned the space around them to reposition herself amongst her surroundings. Her notes, the books that she had already read, those that she needed to finish reading. It was all there. The white-haired sorceress cleared her throat and sank back into the routine of things.

Strange returned to his own work, yet the sensation that Topaz stayed. He blinked, yet it brought him no relief. He knew his limits. It was why he was pushing himself to continue so much. He knew what he could offer the Dark Dimension. He just needed to try a few more options, a few more spells. The Sanctum’s library was deep and vast. The answer had to be located. It would just take time. But, they lacked time. Strange knew this. The virus could cling onto cells like gibbons in trees. It could travel from world to world. Billions could be harmed or killed. Trillions. Strange knew that he could help. It just…would take…time.

“Will you stop breathing so ha…Strange.”

Strange blinked with heavy eyes. He was on the floor. Clea was behind him, having cushioned his head from colliding with the floor. He closed his eyes. Rough, raspy breaths left his lungs. He felt sick. Trapped. In a tunnel with an exit that always seemed to move away from his nearing steps. A cave with dropping air to breathe. He needed to finish his work. His never-ending work…

“I can…Let me…”

“What?” Clea grunted sharply, “I don’t understand your mumbling.”

Using his scarred and shaking hands, Strange pushed himself off of the ground and onto his own two feet. He was okay. It was a mild faint. Mild. The doctor tried to speak but his mouth could only produce weak mumbles that were incoherent. That didn’t matter. His eyes were already on the volume in front of him. He didn’t have time to faint.

“How often do humans in this reality need to sleep?” Clea questioned evenly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep.”

“I’ll sleep later.” Strange managed to croak, “I’ll finish this volume and its sister, and then-”

A pointed nail pressed against a Celtic spell written in thick ink.

“Pronounce that spell.”

“Clea, we don’t have time to-”

“I don’t have time to waste for a half-dead man to try and read. Pronounce the spell and I’ll let you continue.”

Strange’s eyes shifted in a foul glare, one that Clea was not intimidated by. Without breaking eye-contact, Strange lifted his index and pinkie fingers. He whispered into the wind with a smirk. Nothing. Strange blinked. He looked back to the text. He repeated the words with his fingers raised, this time with a slightly different cadence. Nothing. Clea huffed loudly and stomped towards her station.

“…oolish behaviour. I do not need an aid that can barely read one of his own languages. This may be how you conduct yourselves in this magical circus, but I don’t-”

Clea stopped as soon as the text collided with the wall next to her head. Within an instance, she had spun with a glowing circular shield formed on her closed fist. Strange was panting again. His eyes were wide and almost tearful.

“I…I have…It’s been days.” He swallowed, “I am doing my best with…whatever this is!” He screamed whilst pointing to enhanced projections of the virus above them, “I’m not this type of doctor! I’m a neurosurgeon. I’m not even…a master yet.”

Strange walked towards her, his eyes still shaking. Clea didn’t attack. She lowered her shield as he stepped close to her. She could see every swollen vein in his eyes and greyed temples. There was a sway to Strange’s otherwise still posture. Dust fizzled into the air as Clea’s shield dissolved. The two stared at one another as Strange focussed on his breathing. His blood pressure was no doubt in a state of concern. Strange didn’t know if he was about to slapped or stabbed. Clea’s face was as difficult to read as ever. Her proud chin was pointed up, as always, but there wasn’t any clear sign of hostility to be uncovered.

“How do you relax, Dr. Stephen Strange?”

The sorcerer exhaled deeply.

“I’m fine. Look, ah…” He couldn’t manage to finish.

A sense of severe embarrassment overcame him, so much so that he cupped his aching eyes.

“I am not.” Clea snorted, “I have been in this dimension for days. I require unwinding. How do you unwind?”

Strange paused to think.

“I…research or train.”

Clea nodded, showing the slightest sign of knowing.

“I do that already. The city.”

“What?”

“The city. I wish to see it. It’s loud. I can hear it through the wards.”

Strange’s mouth gaped a little in discomfort.

“Do…Do we really have time to spare so we can-”

Clea sighed condescendingly once more. With an unknown spell on her lips, she dragged her hands from her tummy to her chest. As small ball of white powder fluctuated in her hands as she did so. With a strained breath, she threw the orb next to her feet. It burst. From the powdery air emerged a growing form. A tall, thickening being with hair to match the powder that it came from. A form that blinked. Clea. The two women looked at one another for a moment, before the recreation turned to the original Clea’s notes and began to resume reading them. Strange was left dumbstruck.

“I have…not come across that spell yet.”

“Entertain me enough tonight and I shall teach it. Now, enough. I grow impatient.”

She murmured another spell. Many of Strange’s notes and books were weighed down by darkened rocks that came from thin air. All were effected except for one which appeared to have protected runes on it. Out of curiosity, Clea reached for the modern looking book that rested closely to Strange’s personal notes. Strange snatched it away. Clea raised an eyebrow as Strange suddenly grew flustered.

“Private…research.” He explained as he hid the notebook within his robe.

“Ah.” Clea chuckled, “I see. Keep your secrets, then.”

The pair made their way through the Sanctum Santorum with admirable pace, given how exhausted they wear. Strange watched Clea closely. The sides of her eyes seemed to flicker swiftly to the art and features of the ancient house. She didn’t want to be obvious, but she was clearly absorbing as much information as she could. Strange didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like being led out of the building alone by someone like Clea. He was exhausted. If she wanted to kill him, Strange knew he’d last a second alone and in the cold.

As they neared the entrance, Strange noticed Mistress Jennifer. She was usually asleep by now. The shorter woman was reading by the staircase, mouthing something to herself as she did so. When she heard footsteps, she peered up with a subtle look of unease.

“Going somewhere?”

“I wish to see the city.”

“Given all that’s going on in your universe, is it wis-”

“I’ve duplicated myself.” Clea dismissed with a wave of her elegant hand, “I am quite certain an hour or two won’t make anything worse. Well,” She turned to Strange and smirked, “it depends on how good of a guide Dr. Strange is.”

Jennifer looked to her younger colleague. He was almost struggling to stand, and the colour to his face made him look like Dracula. He managed a smile so false that Jennifer almost laughed. She didn’t though. There was mild concern on her face.

“Be safe. If you need anything, we’ll be there.”

The subtle nature of the comment wasn’t lost on either Clea or Strange. The latter nodded softly and continued to walk. Clea, however, stared at Jennifer as if she had been given a challenge. The proud woman was met with a falsely polite smile.

“Yes?”

Clea said nothing. Instead, the purple robe around her started to shift and crawl. Lines suddenly appeared. The material thickened and changed colour. Instead of her previous attire, Clea now wore a dark coat and jeans with a purple scarf. With exception to the purple scarf, it was the exact clothing that Jennifer was wearing. Getting an idea, Strange himself shifted his clothes into a simple set of dark pants, a white shirt, and a thick leather jacket. Clea turned and followed Strange without saying a word. Jennifer clicked her tongue as she watched the pair leave. An uncomfortable feeling formed in her belly as she bookmarked her cooking book.

As soon as Strange stepped into the cool night, he groaned. The fresh air stung at his nostrils and burnt his sensitive eyes. The sound of evening traffic was enough to make his head ache again. He shouldn’t have agreed to Clea’s request. He almost turned to return to the Sanctum when a hand grabbed his arm. Clea was pointing at something.

“What are those?”

“It’s a car.” Strange explained dully, “A vehicle. Usually fits two to five people. Runs on a fuel that…ain’t great for the atmosphere.”

“Do you own one?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Disappointing.”

Strange rolled his eyes and prayed for patience.

“Well,” He grunted, “I can call a cab?”

Taking a taxi through New York City at night with Clea would go down as one of the worst experiences Strange would ever have. Clea demanded to sit at the front seat, only to immediately make demands of the elderly driver. Strange, mortified, could only hide in his hands as Clea inquired again and again about the slow speed of traffic. The driver was patient, clearly thinking that she was foreign due to her unusual accent. Perhaps he assumed she was from a place without cars? Matters only grew worse as soon as they passed billboards and lit up advertisements. Clea’s snark melted into what could be viewed as actual awe. Her face leaned closely to the window as she watched ‘Coca-Cola’ blaze in front of her.

“A brand or company?” She guessed.

“For a horrible drink.” Strange groaned whilst the driver chuckled.

“A lemonade fan?”

“Cream soda.”

“Where is its brand?” Clea asked impatiently, “Why does it not have a brand?”

Strange sighed and leaned by the window. He scanned the flashing billboards until a familiar flash of orange appeared on a monitor. He tapped the window.

“The orange one by the blue tou…bird.”

“Interesting. And it tastes well?”

“I think so.”

“I’ve had better.” The cabdriver chuckled, and even Strange allowed himself a small smile.

It had been years since he had last taken a cab through the city, well before his accident that cost him his hands. A sense of nostalgia for better times swept over him. He relaxed into the seat, curling ever so slightly as his eyes gently watched the many signs and tall buildings they passed. Even at the godforsaken hour that it was, crowds of people were still lingering about the city. Safety in numbers. Strange snorted at the thought. Sooner than he would have liked, the taxi pulled over.

Clea watched keenly as Strange and the driver exchanged notes and coins between one another. As he placed them in his jacket, he awkwardly looked around.

“What, ah, do you want to see first?”

Clea slowly turned on her heel, taking in the bright lights and noises around her. Her eyes were wide, amazed, and for the first time since Strange had met her, Clea looked happy and interested. She looked back to Strange and gestured to the tall scrappers next to them.

“People live in these? These dense…towers?”

“Or work.”

“Doing what?”

“Ah. Office work. Money. Ah. Stealing money. Phone calls. Computers.”

The poor attempt at explaining the economic nature of New York was met with soft nods from Clea. There was an analytical glint to her sharp eyes.

“And this isn’t the entire city? That we’ve seen.”

“God, no.” Strange almost laughed, “It’s…big.”

“How big? I’ve never seen such…dense populations before. We’re far more spread out on the worlds in the Dark Dimension.”

“Really?” Strange looked mildly curious, “Um, seven million, I think?”

Clea looked dumbfounded. Such a human expression looked odd on a woman so intense to be around. It made her look younger than the seemingly ancient, grizzled nature she often carried. Strange allowed himself a soft chuckle at that.

“I take it your reality doesn’t have that many cities like that?”

“We have populated worlds with billions, but resources aren’t so…Most species spread out along their worlds as soon as they can. Why live in such dense cities?”

“Safety. Ease of life.”

“Safety? You are…so determined to survive at any cost, even if it means living on top of each other?”

“Says the woman here trying to save her universe.”

A noise came out of Clea that made Strange’s eyebrows knit together. It was laughter. A dry, yet surprisingly high-pitched noise that didn’t seem to suit her stern demeanour.

“A strong counter. I will award you that.” She smirked, “So much noise and light.” Clea whispered to herself as she looked at the lightbulbs above billboards.

Strange grumbled something. Personally, he hated the city for that very reason. Yet, sadly, it was where both his previous job had taken him and where the Sanctum had been built. He preferred quieter towns. Less people to have to deal with within them.

“What are those humans eating?” Clea asked, pointing to a group of teenagers holding bagels.

Over an hour was spent touring the city, seeing what was still open so late at night and testing what Clea enjoyed. To Strange’s horror, Clea had an endless appetite. To his greater horror, she appeared to hate most of what she was given. Bagels, noodles, even ice cream, kababs, burgers, and sushi were all demeaned ‘revolting’. Chocolate, of all things, didn’t even make the cut. Yet, a mint licorice candy did. As did toasted cheese, fried chicken, and a creamy desert that was wrapped in pastry crust. Had Strange not been able to duplicate his money, he’d have gone broke in the first five minutes.

The food and the lights seemed to dull Clea’s sharpness, but it didn’t remove it. Whenever the tired Strange gave an explanation that was too poor for her tastes, he would snap awake as a minor bolt of electricity struck his elbow. His glares weren’t enough to discourage Clea from continuing it whenever his words slumped. Clea also had a minor habit of commenting on passersby next to them. One such moment involved commenting on the advantage of being fat as she passed an obese man. Strange was almost punch in the jaw for that particular comment.

The pair found themselves in a cab once more. Not once had magic been mentioned the entire night. A strange, but very welcomed change of pace for Strange. The cab ride almost lulled him to sleep as he rocked on the backseat. Clea maintained her many observations on the city around her, but was forgiving enough to allow Strange to mumble his replies. As the cab came to a park, Strange almost needed to be shaken awake. He paid and lamely pulled himself out of the car, yawning loudly as he passed next to Clea in front of the doors.

As the wards encased them both, Clea turned to Strange. Her stern face had returned.     

“Thank you for a pleasant evening. The lights are…beautiful here.”

“I guess it’s called the ‘Dark Dimension’ for a reason.” Strange smiled softly.

“Yes, it is.” There was regret in her voice, “I will teach you the duplication spell in the morning.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Strange nodded as they passed into the Sanctum.

Jennifer was still there. She had moved to a small table by the decorative cabinets near the door, but she was still awake. It gave Strange a small feeling of seeing his mother awake after he came home from sneaking out with a girl. The older sorceress smiled in a neutral night.

“A good night?”

“An interesting one.” Clea answered before turning to Strange, “Good evening.”

“Goodnight.” Strange nodded.

Clea nodded to Jennifer, who smiled in response. Without hesitation, Clea disappeared in thin air. Strange exhaled and groaned. When he looked up, he saw several runes hovering over Jennifer’s hand.

“Just checking that it’s the real you.”

“Fair. You want blood samples?”

Jennifer chuckled as Strange smiled. She lowered her hand and dispelled the magic.

“How was she? Try to kill you?”

“No, but she did almost crush a car for speeding past her during a red light. That’s just New York, though.”

Jennifer chuckled again. The relaxed humour didn’t last long. Her look of discomfort grew once more.

“I appreciate you keeping an eye on her. And it’s good that you tolerate each other. Just…keep your guard up. Don’t let her get into your head.”

Strange looked highly amused at the comment. Had he had more energy, he would have made a snarky reply. Instead, he still inclined his head respectfully.

“Goodnight, Mistress.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Strange departed for his room for the first time in days. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he clicked his fingers. His clothes suddenly dissolved as his body collapsed onto the bed. The sorcerer was asleep within moments.    

***

Steve adopted a neutral, calm face as he entered the seemingly ordinary juicing factory. He passed through the visitor’s entrance, forcing a casual hello to the security and receptionist team. While elderly or jubilant, Steve knew that each and every one of them had a small gun hidden on their persons. After signing in and being patted down, scanned, and even forced to open his mouth for inspection, Steve was allowed to walk into the large factory floor. Dozens of workers sat around their stations, pulling levers or ensuring each bottle was tightly seal before stacking them in store crates. Several eyed the tall man in a baseball cap and glasses walking past them. Steve shyly smiled but didn’t say a word. He wasn’t allowed to.

By the rear of the factor floor was the manager’s office. Well, a room said to be the manager’s office. As Steve entered, he was met with six more men. Young, strong, and silent. Once more, he was scanned with a metal detector, patted down, and inspected. Meeting their requirements, the super soldier was allowed to pass into the elevator behind them. It was cold. As Steve felt his descent begin, Steve was left to ponder the experience he had just down through. In fifty metres, he had just experienced more security than some world leaders possessed for themselves. Not even Steve Rogers was above the board, it seemed. Steve didn’t entirely mind. Procedure was procedure. The overall thing just felt constrictive, however. Thick on his throat. Even more eyes on his every movement. And the elevator was just so cold.

When it opened, Steve was met by even more guards. These held their guns on display on and nodded to Steve in respect. He nodded in return as he passed the men in dark blue and black garbs. The corridor was lined with windows into large testing rooms. Some held dozens of desks and chairs, all empty. Others were barren except for target dummies and pictures of monsters that lined bullet-bitten pillars. Dim blue lights offered the only source of vision along the corridor, whilst unnaturally bright whiteness was shot into each of the observation rooms. Steve hated it in the ‘Facility’. It was empty, cold, and seemed like those within were animals in a zoo. Typical of S.H.I.E.L.D., the increasingly cynical Steve thought to himself.

Eventually, he made it to one of the observation rooms deepest within the Facility. A group of elderly men and women were silently lined up, clipboards in hand. At their side, Steve recognised Fury dressed in a simple business suit. Without announcing himself, Steve stood next to the group. His eyes hardened.

John Walker was standing in front of several dummies, each already suffering mortal wounds and punctures. Thick earmuffs protected his vision as he waited in front of a table. A simple handgun and a single clip of ammunition. Before him, to the left, was a small red light. It turned green. Without hesitation, John turned, lifted the gun whilst arming it, moved to the left, and unloaded three rounds. One for the head of each target. Steve crossed himself as he watched. The form was clean. The aim was almost perfect. A time flashed on a monitor in front of the observers, all of whom made notes. John unloaded the gun, placed it on the back, and stood straight, still looking forward.

Fury gave Steve a sidewards glance.

“Makes you wonder how many he lined up in Nam.”

Steve’s jaw clenched.

“Makes you wonder how he felt about lining so many up in Nam.” Steve grunted.

Fury read his tone easily. With a loud sigh, he turned to the observers and murmured something to them. They disappeared into the darkness within moments, leaving Fury to cross his arms and look at Steve as if he were throwing a tantrum.

“What is it now?”

“I think you’re rushing things.” Steve answered in a diplomatic way, “He was already in S.H.I.E.L.D. and you’re not curious why he wasn’t allowed to stay?”

“I’m still looking into that. Turns out S.H.I.E.L.D. likes to seal things up when it comes to former members. I made a promise. As soon as I find anything useful, I’ll pass it along. Scout’s honour.”

Steve scoffed.

“Were you even a scout?”

“Actually, yes.” Fury smirked, his tone lighter, “Have some faith in me. I didn’t make it this far without knowing what I’m doing. And look at his damn results. His intelligence and problem solving is amazing. And look!” He thrusted his arm towards the targets, “Now that is signs of genetics?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s like his old man.” Fury continued, still grinning, “You should be proud of him. He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps. Make his papa proud. Continue the legacy. Now ain’t that the American story.”

Fury chuckled. Steve wasn’t smiling.

“Look, he’s clearly got some of that serum. It shows in his bloodwork, too. Two super soldiers? Now that’s something we could use to protect us at all costs. It’ll make the X-Men stop embarr-”

“All costs.”

“Huh?”

“All costs.” Steve repeated through gritted teeth, “Is that what all this is for? Introducing someone that’s already been kicked out back into S.H.I.E.L.D.? You don’t even know the context or the consequences for this.”

Steve’s voice was heated. Without realising it, he had taken several steps closer to Fury to close the distance. Fury didn’t budge. He eyed Steve in his usual, cold, calculated expression. The one that Steve loathed.

“Do you have any idea what you did to win World War II? The weapons that were used. The tactics that aren’t in the films these days.” Fury stared at Steve a while longer, “Do you have any idea how many wars I’ve stopped? How many conflicts I’ve been able to prevent? In a single lifetime. All it takes is a miscommunication, an idiot having too much power, or a simple technical glitch to a missile, and thousands are dead in a day. You’re not the only one that knows about war, Captain Rogers.” There was a heaviness to Fury’s eye that Steve felt familiar in, “So, yes. All costs. Having two super soldiers is hardly an ethical dilemma. It shouldn’t be for you, captain.”

Steve processed Fury’s words. A horrible feeling overcame him, for he agreed with much of the logic. He could not argue about using small acts to prevent colossal deaths, about the need for assets to balance the complicated mess that was world politics. He knew the use that he offered Fury. He knew just what he was capable of. Yet it was still John that they were talking about. Peggy’s son. His son. A man clearly with his own scars and a looming question that S.H.I.E.L.D. did not seem to care for answering. Steve found himself sombre.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for peace,” Steve replied with a soft, yet strong tone, “that wouldn’t compromise who I’m meant to be. You don’t know why he was kicked out of S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe, given your job, you should do that first before giving him more tests.”

Fury’s calm demeanour cracked. His shifted on his feet and tilted his head a little at Steve.

“Careful.” He warned, “You forget who thawed you from the ice, Captain. We’re not enemies here.”

Such a sentence poured heat down Steve’s spine. Friends hardly acted so clandestine against others.

“You’re certainly making a habit of keeping things from me, like recruiting John without asking me!”

The shout echoed through the observation corridors. The reverberating sounds felt like waves against Steve’s skin, sobering him up immediately. Fury didn’t reply. Instead, he merely shifted his eye to Steve’s side. John was behind him, watching the scene unfold. His eyes were wide, yet his lips were thin. His entire attention was fixed on Steve as he seemed to grow redder and redder. Steve’s stomach dropped. He reached forwards but John stiffed into a military ready position.

“Sirs.”

Without another word, John walked past them and towards the lift. Steve eyes were full of rancid venom as he considered striking Fury. He couldn’t do it. He never could. Fury watched as Steve swiftly followed in the wake of John, his eye refusing to express any emotion as silence sunk into the corridor.

John had made it to the factory floor before Steve could reach him. Both were delayed by the lengthy security processes. John refused to look at Steve as they did their paperwork. It was almost like a race. John was determined to get as much of a head start walking as possible. Steve was a swift scribe. John only made it to the side street before heavy steps could be heard behind him.

“Not in the mood.” He snarled, still not looking at Steve, “So go screw yourself.”

“You can hate me right now, that’s fine.” Steve snapped back, “But I’m the only one in that room being honest to you.”

He grabbed John’s shoulder and pulled him so that he was forced to face his father. Steve was almost struck. Out of reflex, John had stiffened and prepared to deliver a blow to the temple. He only stopped when he registered who was holding him.

“You know what S.H.I.E.L.D. are like.” Steve hissed, “Our first meeting. What did you say to me? About them?” John looked down, “They kick you out. They never tell you why. I return, there’s new management, and all of a sudden they want you in, no questions asked?” Steve’s tone turned almost pleadingly, “I know how smart you are. You’re a strategist. You’re like your mum.” John visibly cringed and grew weaker at the mention of his mother, “You got her mind. John, there’s something wrong here. I’m…I’m trying out for you. I’m sorry.”

John’s jaw tightened in a way near identical to Steve. The cringe had never left his face, and he looked as if he were in great turmoil. Steve’s hand was held to John’s shoulder by the latter’s hand.

“A lot of me doesn’t care.” He admitted sadly, “It hasn’t been good since…I was shut out. Not good at all, man.” He exhaled, “I’m a good soldier.”

“I know.” Steve replied calmly, “But you don’t want to be dragged into a war that you’re not ready for. I’ve seen what that does to people, John.”

“You…You really don’t think I can do this?”

Steve didn’t know how to reply. Part of him thought John was a terrific soldier. From the few records that he could find on his military career, John could have made command within a decade or so if he had remained active during Vietnam. His dedication to his mission was commendable, to say the least. Yet, Steve could not shake the fact that he was removed from S.H.I.E.L.D. It stung his mind, forcing him to remember that he didn’t truly know John, not really. There could be any number of reasons why he was removed from their program, from minimal administration issues such as funding decreases for agents, to much more severe concerns relating to stability or intent.

“I think I want to know what’s going on, John.” Steve answered genuinely, “Because I don’t. That worries me.”

John chewed for a few moments as Steve desperately prayed that John could understand his rationale. A saddened nod and a pained exhale came from his son.

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Shouldn’t rush into things, especially a spy organisation.”

He offered a lame laugh. There was disappointment in his eyes.

“Hey,” He clasped his shoulder again, “I got your back. I promise. We’ll figure this out. Together. If it’s just me being…stupid and paranoid, then at the end of the day, I’ll help you through S.H.I.E.L.D. every step of the way. I promise.”

John tried to see any lies or ill intent in the super soldier’s eyes. He found none. Just an honest man. It was enough for the man to feel uncomfortably sensitive swirls in his chest. He didn’t like them, but he didn’t hate them, either.

“It’s good having you watch my back. Real damn good.”

“Always.” Steve promised.

Such a little word brought a heavy smile to John’s weakened face. Steve released John’s shoulder and his tone rose to a more casual one.

“Now, let’s get some food. An actual cheeseburger would be good, after the afternoon so far.”

John chuckled. He began to lead Steve towards the direction of his far away and concealed car.

“I know the perfect joint for one.”

Namor laughed mockingly at the police officer in front of him, though there was some irony to him being the one laughing. He was standing in a precinct, surrounded by officers and those they were in the middle of processing. Many were dirty, snarling criminals that barked at the officers like drugged dogs. The officers themselves were silent but glared at everything around them. Namor, in his bright blue jacket with pronounced shoulder pads and a lined black shirt, stood out like a sore thumb. He was easily the best dressed and possibly the most clean in the room. He even possessed a faint smell to him that could be mistaken for freshly mown grass and lemon. His cocky attitude also stood out.

The officer at the desk, to whom Namor was talking to, seemed exhausted and done with the prince.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Look, if you want to join the force, you need to enrol in the academy, pass the tests, do all that jazz.” The officer pointed his chewed pen over Namor’s shoulder, “Jenny has some forms. Now, we are very busy-”

“And I could aid with that effort.” Namor puffed out his wide chest, “I am Prince of Atlantis. I control the seas. Do you have any concept of how valuable that would be to stop criminals?”

The officer seemed very unphased by Namor’s proclamation. In fact, if anything, he seemed deflated.

“Control the seas? You got powers? Great. Larry’s a mutant.” The officer sighed and thrusted his pen behind him, “Three more on the team are mutants. We got enough mutants. As for the ‘prince’ thing? C’mon man. I know it’s starting to get hot, but it ain’t even summer yet. Too early to act like the crazies.”

“Act like…How dare you?” Namor hissed, his pupils sinking into his darkening eyes, “I am offering my ai-”

“Look, man. There’s a line behind you. You wanna help the force? Enlist. Move along.”

The exhausted officer’s eyes travelled behind Namor behind jerking his head up. Namor went to protest further when another officer’s hands gently pushed him out of the line. An older woman in hysterics started to wail in front of the officer, much to his clear lack of enthusiasm. Namor practically growled. The officer touching him immediately let go and watched as the strange man marched out of the precinct. It really was too soon for people to start acting like kings and gods.

Namor crossed his arms and stuck up his chin in an attempt to maintain his regal nature. It was a mere attempt to soothe his wounded ego. He could run the policing system in mere weeks. Not even mutants could content with him. Insulted by the suggestion of needing to apply to something like a commoner, Namor departed into the city once more.

His mood did not ease as he walked. On several occasions, his shoulders collided with another person’s smaller frame. Despite the resulting outcry, Namor did not apologise. He bristled as he continued his stiff walk, brooding as he did so. It was practically easier to cause crime than actually stop it. Namor snorted at the thought. No wonder humans were chaotic by nature. Perhaps, coming to the surface was a mistake. Maybe he didn’t have a purpose to gain or take for himself. Namor finally stopped walking. He swallowed. Such thoughts encased him, crushed any other emotions in his chest, forced him to feel it fresh whenever he breathed. He was a prince, a mutant at that. What would it say if he couldn’t accomplish his desires on the surface world?

Namor’s smugness died an abrupt death. Namor did not take any notice of his surroundings. He merely smelled the air and followed his nose. It took him some time, but he found himself at a bay. Several rusted boats were being pulled into the docks whilst strong smelling fish were poured from their bowels into large vats. Namor stared at the water, seeing an uncomfortably unsure prince looking back at him. Such a sight made him feel sick. Without thought or care, Namor stripped. Several of the fishermen stopped unloading the morning’s catch. Their mouth’s gaped as a very large, naked man stood several dozen metres away. They watched him dive into the water, his rich clothing a bundle on the rocks.

The cold water made Namor feel alive. His heart thudded in his pointed ears, but not in an unpleasant or concerning way. His eyes picked up many beautiful colours within the soft current, totally hidden to the eyes of a mere human. Yet, despite his body rejoicing at being in the seas once more, his mood did not pick up. Even as the prince of the seas, Namor felt lost in the waves. He swam dully, lamely, without aim or purpose. Much like his trip to the surface world so far.

He wrinkled his nose at the pollution and garbage on the rocks and soil below the seas. Namor would have those that littered nature whipped, but it was sadly not his own realm. Oh, if it could be. He could make it a paradise. He could instil proper order and return the basic principle of respect to the surface. Women would not fear the night, they would rejoice in it. Nature would be valued. Namor could do so much more as a leader. He just needed the chance.

Many hours passed for the lonely prince as he drew deeper into the Atlantic. He had no concern over Steve Rogers arriving and finding him missing. They were both adults, and Namor wasn’t a pet. Rogers should be grateful by his arrival. He was royalty, after all. As the pollution faded and sea life swam around him, Namor’s mood picked up. Large schools of fatty fish passed him, each having no qualm for the day. Many colours shone in his eyes, even as he dipped into the depths of the darkened seas. It was quiet. It was calm. Yet, it brought Namor no peace. Not the amount that he wanted. The prince silently hissed. It would soon be late. He was hungry, and he desired food. Perhaps Rogers could serve him something acceptable for his standards.

Namor kicked into the water, spending him towards the surface with speeds that would have made Quicksilver envious. As he impatiently breached, he took little notice of the small fishing boat immediately at his back. The force of his emergence caused a deep swell within the water. A series of large, turbulent waves crashed into the side of the single cabin vessel. It was tipping. It tipped. It submerged. The sound of shouting finally alerted Namor to the boat’s presence. He turned, eyeing the sinking boat with mild curiosity. When he realised that he was the once to cause the capsizing, the prince coughed somewhat awkwardly. He dived.

Within seconds, he was under the descending ship. He carefully looked around, seeing sinking fishing rods and metal boxes. A single man was writhing. Bubbles of panicked air surrounded him as he thrashed. His hairy leg was caught in a rope. Namor kicked forwards. The man’s eyes widened as he saw a mass of pale skin in front of him. Something tugged at his leg. The weight of the rope was gone. A hand grabbed his burning throat and pulled him to the side. He silently screamed as he felt his lungs burn horrifically. Then, there was brightness. A light. Cold air kissed his face as he was thrown above the waves. The man coughed and gagged violently. The saltwater stung his lips and eyes, but he could breathe in rough, short intakes. He sobbed softly as he regained air into his weak lungs. Water crashed over his head. Out of panic, he turned. His boat was once more on the waves. Soaked and damp, but it was floating. With manic desperate, he swam towards it. He clung to the rail and pulled himself up. He almost fell down into the sea again as he saw a naked man standing proudly in front of him.

“You have been saved.” Namor grinned.

He did not receive a platitude of gratitude. Rather, he gained a filthy glare from the older man.

“You…You did this! I saw you shoot out of the fucking water! You almost killed me!”

“But I certainly saved you.” Namor smiled, “I am Prince Namor, of Atlantis.”

Namor didn’t gain any thanks from that, either. The man scratched his greying beard and seemed to squint at him.

“You one of them X-Men? Like in Egypt?”

“N…No.” Namor replied through gritted teeth, “I am my own…saviour.”

“Why the hell are you naked, son?”

Namor frowned. He’d forgotten that he had forewent his clothing when he had first dived. He wasn’t embarrassed. There was only pride for his body. It was muscle and peak masculine energy. At least, in Namor’s mind.

“I swim faster like this.” He lied, “Do you need further aid?”

“Not if you stop swimming near me. I’ll be fine.”

“Why…” Namor screwed his eyes together, angrily dumbfounded, “Why are you dirt-walkers so…difficult to rescue? I wish to only aid you. I don’t understand why you are all so…full of complaints.”

The fisherman’s mouth was slightly gaped. He had no idea how to answer such a question from a supernatural man that was naked in front of him. How all he knew, he was already died and this was a strange form of hell. Though, even since blue mutants starting threatening presidents a decade, he had developed a wider tolerance for what could be possible in the world. With a shy cough, he shrugged.

“I’m grateful. I really am.”

Namor smirked proudly.

“As you should be. And I accept your gr-”

“You’re kinda a dick.”

The smirk vanished.

“What?”

Namor’s eyes were wide and vicious. The waves started to rock now, making the fisherman swallow and wince at the burn.

“Look, kid, you…Ah. When you save someone, it shouldn’t be outta a need for thanks, ya know?”

“But it is rude to not give it.”

“Yeah, but it defeats the purpose of being selfless when you only want something back, which is selfish.”

Namor opened his mouth, but he couldn’t form an accurate counter. In fact, he grew annoyed by the commoner’s logic.

“I am a prince. My presence is worth gratitude. My saving your life is worth thanks. It is not faulty to expect what should naturally be given.”

The fisherman nodded. With careful feet, he slowly sat down on the soaked seat that he used when fishing in the afternoons. He wasn’t as scared of Namor as he perhaps should’ve been. Rather, the naked prince just reminded him of an entitled hothead, nothing more. There were worse people in the world. Much better people, but also much worse.

“I am thankful. That doesn’t mean you’re not a dick.” He chuckled, much to Namor’s visible distain, “Look, say you are a prince. What’s that mean to me? I’m American. A fisherman. Do you have any idea how many issues I have to deal with daily without thinking of…Atlantis?”

Namor shifted on his feet.

“I can help with those issues.” He sounded almost impatient and childish.

“How? You gonna help my kids with their mortgage or college repayments? Gonna help me with my landlord? I’ve been retired for years, but I still need to bring in the odd fish to cover some bills. You think just walking in front of me is gonna change my life enough to make me gratitude?”

Namor wanted to strike the man. Perhaps, if he was in a stronger mood, he would have. But the tired and moody prince could offer no rebuke. He, himself, had his own issues with life. If the King of Wakanda or the Queen of the Savage Lands randomly visited him, Namor honestly would not be phased. In fact, he would probably grow jealous or annoyed at the interruption to his day.

“Such woes you offer.” Namor admitted bitterly, “But that does not mean that respect is not due.”

“You saved my life.” The fisherman nodded, “But I ain’t gonna kiss your feet for passing me. Respect’s earnt, kid.”

Namor bristled at the remark. He was already tired of hearing it.

“You are the second here to tell me that. Perhaps, my kingdom has been secluded for too long.” He huffed before looking at the fisherman with mild envy, “You are very brave talking to someone like me with such…tone.” He admitted.

He was finding the conversation not as insulting as he should. Perhaps, he was more tired than he had expected.

“Hey, I’m honest.” The older man shrugged, “It ain’t the easiest living on the coasts.”

“The seas are a cruel creature.” Namor agreed, his eyes glazing over with wonder, “You cannot tame them. Rarely can you even predict them well. You must obey their will.”

“Finally, we agree on something.” The man laughed.

Namor found himself smiling without realising it. It was only natural that a man that lived upon the water would have some sense.

“Are all human fishermen like you?”

“Um, I guess?” He shrugged, not knowing how to answer such an open scoped question, “You wanna dive in the waters more and be an X-M…hero? Try avoiding their boats and ask how they’re doin’.”

“Why would I ask that?”

“Because, kid, how else will you know what to help them with?”

Namor nodded. He blinked. It was an…acceptable piece of advice. Talking to the common people by the seas would not be a woeful idea. It made sense, for he shared his realm with them. And despite the complete lack of royal respect, he enjoyed the candour of the man before him. It reminded the prince of Steve Rogers and his open, naïve heart. As Namor pondered to himself, the fisherman moved to one of the few steel boxes still attached to the old boat. A joyous cry left the old man. Something was thrown into Namor’s hand. A cold can.

“Now, given you almost killed me, you can repay me by giving me company for a bit. It, uh, can be too quiet alone on the water.”

Namor wanted to rebuke and say that he had already repaid the man by saving him. He didn’t. Instead, he felt a strange feeling in his chest. The lack of respect with gentle honesty was…refreshing in a way that Namor didn’t like. Yet, he pulled the can open and pressed the bitter beer to his lips.

“I accept this gesture of your gratitude warmly.” Namor grinned, and the older man rolled his eyes.

He was just happy to have something to wash away the sting from his throat.

“So, Prince of Atlantis, why are you naked again? And why are you capsizing boats this afternoon?”

***

Janet was almost bristling as she walked through the mildly busy New York street. Hank was eyeing her again. He was trying to be subtle but, like most men, lacked that ability entirely. His eyes would return to her every few seconds, scanning her features, her walk, the noises she would make. All that Janet had done to deserve this scrutiny was complain about some fever-like symptoms following her food poisoning. Such a common side-effect was apparently worth being treated like fragile glass by her own husband. Janet had beaten up several criminals less than three weeks prior. She could handle poorly cooked chicken.

The Pyms felt a rush of warm air as they neared the Sanctum Santorum’s large green roof and history walls. Ever the gentleman, Hank smiled as he held the door open for his wife. Janet found herself even more annoyed now. The cute gesture meant that she could no longer be cranky at him. As Hank closed the door, he noticed a perfect imprint of his hand closely in green magic upon the handle. He was one of the few allowed to open the door. Had he been a stranger dumb enough to try and break in, the Sanctum would no doubt incinerate them or hurl them into an unknown void for eternity. That, or Strange was grumpily exaggerating the day that he marked Hank and Janet’s handprints into the spell.

As they entered, a familiar sound of a boiling whistle filled the Sanctum’s walls. Janet and Hank took off their jackets as the sound of rushing steps started to grow until they boomed. At the top of the staircase immediately in front of them was a collection of children. One was very young, clearly under ten years of age, whilst the rest were teens of various size. The mixture of skin colours, from white and black, to bright pink and icy blue, made Janet raise her eyebrow but politely filter saying a word. One of them was a walking icicle. Toth. One of the older students and one of the few that Janet actually recognised amongst the students. Another appeared to have horns on her devilish red head.

“Sorcerers? Travelers? Students?” The smallest girl demanded in eager squeals.

She even thumped the rail of the stairs in dramatic theatre. Toth silently shook his head and signed something to the rest of them. Only the nonhumans seemed to understand. The girl with ram horns upon her cranium frowned. She leaned forward and looked up and down, sussing out the Pyms.

“They don’t look tiny. Well, he doesn’t.”

“Excuse me?” Janet hissed, her eyes wide with sudden fury.

Hank cleared his throat and held his wife’s arm, preventing her from harming a mere child.

“Where is Dr. Strange? Or Jennifer? Or…” He looked to Janet, “Tamir?”

“Topaz.” A familiar voice grunted.

Janet smiled warmly as Strange strode across the second floor walkway by the stairs. He was wearing a green robe with silver seams, as well as a tired and mildly dispassionate look on his square head. He eyed the students sceptically, who suddenly became very straight with their arms by their sides.

“Odd.” He checked his watch, “I could have sworn Mr. Drumm was due to starting overseeing half on you on the theory of illusions and projections, while the other half are meant to be in the library reading.” He took particular emphasis on looking at the older students.

“We sensed danger.” A chubbier male with dark hair explained, “We were scoping it out and making sure the place was in check, ya know?”

“No, I don’t know, Mr. Morse. Given your inability to succeed in last week’s freezing momentum spell, I don’t know how you’d stop these…guests from attacking.”

“I don’t know.” Janet titled her head, “We are pretty damn tired.”

“Join the club.” Strange almost smiled, “My office?”

The Pyms were soon led to a private room, much to the students’ utter annoyance. Several tried to sneakily follow their older student, but Strange murmured something and clapped his fists together twice. The walls groaned as wooden snakes peeled away from them. They curled together on the floor and rose, forming a wooden wall that was quite artistic, in Janet’s opinion. Strange’s office was a mess. It was full of magical tests, notes, and what Hank quickly realised were medical journals. As he and Janet sat down, he took note of just how many books Strange was attempting to read at once. There were dozens. The hunched over sorcerer whispered in the corner. A few moments later, he returned with a boiled kettle of tea. Three mugs floated behind him.

“You look dead.” Hank commented as his mug was filled, “Teaching?”

Strange let out a bitter noise that took the Pyms by surprise.

“I wish. I don’t know how long I can talk. Things are…odd here.”

The Pyms exchanged looks of concern.

“Can we-”

“It’s a mystical issue. All of us are…doing our best.” Strange explained cryptically.

Without hesitation, the sorcerer took a sip of his boiling tea. Only a mild wince came as his tongue was scolded. Leaning back, his creased face relaxed a little. Not much, though. Janet considered just how old he looked, given the fact he was still in his thirties. He was worn, tired, and rugged. His face showed all such attributes.

“So, what do I owe the sincere pleasure?”

He listened as the Pyms explained the state of the Avengers. His face never changed as the particle theft was mentioned, the Arc Reactor duplication, and Peter’s current hunt for the other Avengers. Only when they finished with red cheeks and clear stress on their faces did Strange react.

“Jackie was also attacked.”

“What?” Hank whispered.

“Someone with magically enhanced knight armour and a sword. She beat him back, though.” Strange crossed his arms and leaned further back, staring at the ceiling, “At least four of us are being attacked at once. Any news from Peter about Thor or the others?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm. Well, this is odd timing. At least four, maybe even more…”

“Are you okay?” Janet cut in, “No one’s targeting you?”

“Demon target me weekly.” Strange smiled dryly to himself, “But no, I don’t think so. My issue is academic, relating to all sorcerers here as a whole,” he gestured to the Sanctum around them, “not specifically me. Varnae?”

“Surely Nam…What was his name?” Janet turned to Hank.

“Namor.” Hank replied through gritted teeth, for he had forgotten the arrogant womaniser for some months until now.

“Surely Namor would tell us if Varnae escaped, right?”

“Varnae was the only link to the Avengers. Well, Varnae and the vampires. Though, they’re quiet now, dealing with the small army of High Vampires created, ruining their perfect societal structure. To be honest, I’d be more concerned about a vampire civil war than one of the original High Vampires picking us off.”

“Then, who else knows about the Avengers? You could say something else links everyone, but what else links Jackie with Tony or us? I haven’t seen her in nearly a year.” Hank mentioned.

“That’s a good point.” Strange admitted and he sighed deeply, “Tony’s in Vietnam. Hmm. He’s alone.”

“He was too stubborn to be talked out of it.” Janet sighed, “You know how he is.”

“Tony’s alone in Vietnam. Jackie’s alone. No one knows who took the particles or rebuild the reactor, or how.” Strange stroked his handlebar moustache, “Would it be worth…collecting? Safety in numbers.”

The Pyms considered it. Outside of the Varnae incident, the Avengers had not been in the same room in their entirety. If they were getting picked off, it would be better for survival to regroup and replan.

“Yeah, and we could share what we all know. See if there’s a connection we’re all missing.” Hank agreed as he thought to himself, “The only Avenger known of us know how to contact is Steve. I think he went back to working wi-”

The door burst open with a sharp crack of wood. Both Pyms jumped in their seats whilst Strange softly groaned, not moving an inch and still staring at the ceiling. A tall, elegant looking woman with silvery-white hair strode in. As soon as she noticed two other people in Strange’s office, she raised her chin and steeled her eyes. She was beautiful, but Janet didn’t particularly like the downwards glances that she was receiving from the newcomer.

“Guests during our research?” The woman sniffed, “Ones that lack mystical abilities, too. Do I need to remind you how se-”

“Clea, this is Hank and Janet Pym. My friends. People who held protect the planet and brilliant scientists and researchers. Hank, Janet,” Strange seemed to silently groan, “this is Clea. Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension. We’re working together on a rather grave matter from her reality.”

Janet’s eyebrows rose at the description of Clea. She certainly looked like a human from Earth. That itself was quite fascinating for the researcher. So did Thor, but he was at least from the same dimension as humans.

“Yes. Grave is a mild understatement.” Clea smiled icily, “Which leads me to question why you are wasting time socialising with friends?”

Hank clicked his tongue. He had seen many people with such a personality from the corporate and university world. While he had thick skin to them, that didn’t mean he liked them.

“Excuse me,” He said with a polite smile, “Not to minimise your issue, but we have a pretty serious emerg-”

“My universe is literally dying, with total life collapse a distinct possibility.” Clea stated in a severe hiss.

Hank’s mouth dropped a little. Suddenly, the theft of his particles didn’t quite seem so problematic. Janet tried to find an angle to back her husband up, but she, too, was finding it difficult to emphasise her issues over universal death on a scale no one could possibly grasp. Strange finally looked down. He looked done with the entire situation already.

“We’re just discussing how to locate a man. As soon as we come up with something, you have my undivided attention, as you have for the las-”

“A mere tracing spell?” Clea asked softly.

She hummed to herself. It was a sound Strange found unsettlingly pleasant to hear. He tried to ignore it, reminding himself of how she just barged in. The white-haired woman adopted an almost smug expression that made Strange consider throwing her through a portal. Hank was almost considering throwing his tea at the unpleasant woman.

“A genetic tracer?”

“Would work amazingly if we had a sample.” Strange took his turn to smirk.

Clea rolled her eyes.

“Then a memory tracer. A little more complicated, but it works brilliantly. And luckily, you have a Sorceress Supreme to cast it.”

Strange’s lip quirked as his small victory over Clea faded. Janet was tempted to question just how long the two sorcerers had been working together, but decided to wait. Perhaps, it was a question best suited for Strange when he was alone.

“Uh, sure.” Hank shrugged, more out of a desire to actually get the ball rolling than anything else, “What are we gonna be doi-”

“It’s a complex series of collaborating spells.” Clea cut in, talking to Strange more than the others, “First, we gather a strong memory of the target. Then, we use a secondary spell to maintain the memory outside of the brain. Then, we weave a difficult spell that uses the memory to locate anyone with the face of the person within. Does the target have close resembling siblings?”

“N-”

“Good.” Clea turned to Hank, who was close to bristling, “Please think of a strong, clear memory of who you wish to locate.”

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He closed them, trying to think of a clear image of Steve. As he did so, Clea stepped behind his chair. Soft fingertips pressed into his temple. Beautiful eyes met Strange’s. Her voice became almost melodious as she slowly and intentionally drew out syllables for Strange to hear. After nearly a whole minute of uttering incoherent words, Clea pulled her fingertips away. Flickering frames, shards that snaped and reformed constantly in the air, were painlessly pulled out of Hank’s temples. If one squinted, they could make out hundreds of images of a single man with short blonde hair.

“-ing better, Hank. You’ll be a terro-”

“-on’t be let down. You’re doi-”

“-u’ll be terrorising the enemies of fr-”

“-ing better, Hank. You’ll be terrori-”

Clea spoke once more. Her eyes were still on Strange. Hank eyed the shards of thousands of milliseconds of his mind with mild discomfort. It was odd to see what a memory physically looked like, let alone for it to belong to you. The chanting of the sorceress continued for some time. There was no fault to her words, no mix up or repeats. Just an endless string of perfect magic. Strange’s grumpiness shifted into a deep well of academic curiosity. He knew nothing of the words being spoken, their syntax, their purpose within the incantation. It truly was magic from another dimension, and it ensnared him completely.

Waves of red mist wafted off of Clea’s fingers, encasing the memory in an orb. She became silent. The Pyms tilted their heads, noticing how the voice was muffled and the images barely seeable within the misty container. Clea placed her hands behind her back and raised her chin.

“Do you have any materials that enhance the qualities of lunar energy? This world has so little of it. It is needed for the rest of the spell to take hold.”

“I’ll search in our stock for jaguar teeth or hare ears.” Strange explained as he finally rose to his feet, “If that’s all, Clea and I will finish the spell and…Janet?”

Hank’s mouth gaped in a mixture of concern and frustration. His wife was pale, her fingers bony as they clung to the wooden armrests. An uncomfortable noise was leaving her throat as she tried with all her might to avoid heaving in front of everyone. Clea looked horrified whilst a ceremonial bowl flew into Strange’s hands and was thrusted into Janet’s lap.

“Can you test for Salmonella? She hasn’t been able to eat chick-”

“Your horrible chicken!” Janet groaned before gagging.

Clea glared at Strange in horror, as if he had made Janet ill in the first place. An exasperated frown met her expression. Without another word, she took the memory and trotted out of the office. Strange accepted that he was no doubt about to be abused for wasting so much time. Perhaps he was. Much more was on the line than food poisoning. Yet, it was difficult for him to be stressed like he usually was when it came to the Pyms.

“Please wait outside.”

“What?” Hank frowned.

“I’m a doctor telling you to give a patient privacy.” Strange murmured as he rolled the sleeves of his robe up.

“I’m her husband!” Hank complained, “It’s just…her ga-”

“Hank, please, fuck off.” Janet groaned, her head entirely in the bowl.

Hank sighed but nodded. He mouthed ‘sorry in advance’ and nodded to Janet, making Strange smile a little. As soon as they were left alone, Strange stacked a series of vials and antique looking medical tools on the table in front of Janet. An enchanted pen floated next to the collection of vials. The gagging had thankfully passed by the time that he started checking her blood pressure.

“It’s…just food.” She complained as Strange strapped her to Sphygmomanometer.

“I’m thorough.” Strange countered, “How long have you been throwing up?”

“A week.”

The pen wrote half of a note before Strange stopped it and looked at her.

“A week? Are you…eating entire meals?”

“Yes.”

“Are you keeping most of them down?”

“Yes, I’m not starving myself.”

Nearly two dozen questions were sprung at Janet. The short woman did her best to remain cool as Strange seemed to ponder whether or not she was dying. It was food poisoning. Hardly more than that. Even as he checked her blood pressure, he seemed to be severely intense and enthralled by his inspections. It made Janet hate her lack of control over her nausea.

“Hmm.” Strange checked the readings, satisfied.

His shaking fingers danced along several of the vials until he found a clear, thick liquid.

“Well, this will clear out anything in your gut. If it is food poisoning or an intestinal issue, it’ll pass in a day. A two-day period, at most.” He smiled.

He watched as the pen continued its notes. He felt almost spiteful towards it, for it could do something that he never could: write probably.

“Speaking of which, your cycle hasn’t been impacted? I doubt that it would, but again, thorough. And are you on any medication? I should know before giving this to you.” He waved the vial in front of her.

He found that Janet was tense. He braced himself for more ghoulish heaving, yet none came. Instead, shy eyes looked up.

“I’m…always irregular.” She admitted, “Since puberty. But that’s due to a family condition, it’s not a worry. But, we’re using protection so that shouldn’t be an issue. As for medication, painkillers, some allergy meds, and the pill.”

Strange was motionless. Janet saw an odd look on his face. He was scanning her with a cold, analytical expression was deeply uncomfortable to be the subject of. As soon as he finished mentally comparing the variables, he came to a hypothesis. He glided towards a storage chest in the corner of his room. After scavenging through it for a moment, he returned to thrust an old, crumpled leaf in her face.

“It’s old but should still work.”

“What?”

“Lick it.”

Janet looked as if Stephen had lost his mind. It was a single spaded leaf, already a shade too brown for her liking, that was in a chest. Stephen exhaled with impatience.

“Trust me. Please.”

Janet wanted to slap the madness from his mind. Yet, he was both a doctor and a sorcerer. And ti was just a leaf…

Janet closed her eyes and grimaced as the tip of her tongue poked the rough material. The leaf was suddenly pressed into her tongue, making her gag and whip her head away. She glared at Strange as he turned away, examining the leaf closely.

“Want me to spit on a rose next?”

“Not…Not needed.” He whispered.

When he turned around, there was a peculiar expression on his face. There was concern in his eyes, but the edges of his lips were quivering and threatening to reveal a smile. He lifted the leaf up. There was a shape, a series of smudges. Imprints of her tongue that were stained a thick orange. Janet shrugged.

“Your…body is already producing enzymes that…would…imply that…”

Janet’s face dropped. Her chest suddenly felt tight. Her sternum wrapped around her chest. There was no curiosity in her eyes anymore. Only fear.

“Stephen, this isn’t funny.”

“This isn’t a joke.” He replied gently.

“It’s a leaf. A damn leaf. Do you have an actual normal test? I can go to the pharmacist right now and-”

Strange clapped his hands together several times and whispered a spell. The veins in his hands swelled and turned bright red. Impatient and lacking any form of bedside manner, Strange leaned forward and cupped Janet’s heart. A fist touched his jaw, almost causing serious injury when Janet heard it. A serious of thumps that echoed what she was filling in her chest. She lowered her fist, much to Strange’s gratitude, as a shape formed from the glowing lines on Strange’s hands. An orb that shrank and grew. Her heart. She blinked, watching it slow down as she calmed down. Seeing that she was distracted, Strange cupped her stomach. Nothing. Strange squinted. He shifted his hand side to side, mumbling to himself. Janet almost jolted from the ticklish sensation. The glowing lines in his hand flickered. His hand immediately stopped. The two watched as the lines lifted from his veins once more. A fair smaller orb formed, once with the smallest of thuds. Strange smiled wildly. Janet looked stunned.

“Congratulations.”

Janet didn’t reply. Strange cleared his throat and waved his hands, dismissing the spell into thin air. A scared, child-like expression was on his friend’s face. If it was even possible, she looked smaller and younger. More fragile. She couldn’t bring herself to think. Janet just sat there, blank and motionless. Strange cleared his throat again as he dragged a chair next to her.

“I,” He began in a careful tone, “take it that this…isn’t a welcomed…development?”

“Particles.”

“Excuse me?”

Janet looked up. Her eyes slowly shifted into panic and rage. Her lips curled into a savage expression that would make lions envious.

“How old is the…”

“Old enough to have a heartbeat.” Strange surmised, “Six weeks. At least.”

“Stephen,” Janet panted, “I’ve been the Wasp in the last six week. I have for…months!”

Strange leaned back and stroked his moustache. He knew the source of her fears now.

“There’s no evidence of side-effects on the user with your current formula. You’ve proved th-”

“On adults, not developing…” Janet whimpered into her hands.

Strange swallowed. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually his hand rested on Janet’s shoulder.

“Come back in a few days. I’ll look at every medical volume the Sanctum has.”

“Stephen, you’re trying to save a whole universe.”

“Then I’ll have a master look into it.” Strange rebuked stubbornly, “Come back in a few days.” He repeated, “Janet. Look at me. I promise. We’ll examine the foetus and see if there’s any issues that the particles may have caused.”

Janet sniffed. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“I’m sorry if this is insensitive but…you don’t want kids?”

Janet was silent for a long moment. Her features became defeated, hollow in shape.

“I do.” She admitted, “I did. When Hank and I first got together, I wanted a family. Then research started, we founded the company, the vampire issue happened. I guess somewhere, things just took priority over it. I didn’t think we would be…considering whilst being the Wasp or Ant-Man.” Her face grew pale, “I’d gotten used to some things, I guess.”

She didn’t know what she’d do. She had already exposed her unborn child to the Pym Particles, no doubt causing unknown harm to their cellular make up. They were being robbed, with their life’s work being threatened by an unknown force. Many of the other Avengers were under threat, as well. Now, she was bringing a child into that situation. One that she was already struggling to get a grip on.

Strange listened patiently, doing his best to smile in a comforting and not awkward way. He somewhat succeeded, as Janet wasn’t terrified by the face she was seeing. She still looked small and cold, though.

“Don’t tell Hank.” She whispered, “I need to.”

“Of course.” Strange agreed, “We’ll find Steve soon. Figure out this theft issue. We’ll make sure the baby is healthy.”

Janet nodded sombrely. Without a word, she pushed herself up on limp legs and stared emotionlessly into the void. Her hand was resting on her stomach. Fear also resided within it. She had only used the serum a few times. Maybe it was in such a small quantity that the infant was alright. There was no way of knowing until actual tests were completed. And Hank. What would she tell Hank? He had always been so…reserved when it came to conversations about children. While she believed that he wanted them, he was never exactly direct about it. And there was so much else on in his life, as well.

“Good luck.” She murmured as she forced herself towards the door, towards her husband, “With Clea.”

“Yeah.” Strange grumbled, seeming to be miffed by the idea of being stuck with her again, “Good luck, as well. We’ll figure this out.” He repeated.

Janet offered him a sweet, but weakened, smile. The small woman found herself hugging him. Strange bit back the urge to throw her off. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and squeezed back. When Janet left Strange’s office, she was met with a surprisingly anxious and pacing Hank. The strawberry-blonde man stiffened as he saw her and forced a smile.

“Everything…good?”

Janet swallowed. She didn’t want to lie. She hated it. But she couldn’t tell him now, not in the Sanctum. When she spoke, she tasted poison on her tongue.

“Yeah, just possible allergic reactions to some spices we used. Stephen gave me some meds fo-”

The man in question strode past them, several colossal books in hand. He smiled curtly at the pair of them but didn’t stop.

“Forgive me, but I’ve been summoned again.” He muttered bitterly, “Be safe. I will contact you soon. Hank. Janet.”

He nodded to them both.

“Good luck surviving.” Hank called out with a mild chuckle.

“Check your pockets!” Strange called back before disappearing down a corridor.

The pair did as told. A soft shell was resting in their palms. A smooth, creamy colour that shone under the light. A shell that both Pyms were familiar with. If one spoke a name into the shell, and the person themselves had one, they would be able to talk to one another, no matter the distance.

“Brings back feelings of the old days.” Hank chuckled.

Nothing. He looked back to Janet. She was staring blankly at the wall. Hank frowned.

“You okay?”

“Hmm? Yes, sorry. Just…tired. He said he’ll get the tracking spell up soon.” Janet hastily added.

She began to walk towards the way they came. Hank stood behind her. His frown never felt as he grew to worry for his wife deeply. She was hiding something from him. That much was clear.

***

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. It’s fantastic that you’ve read this far, and it means a lot.

A very heavy Cap focussed chapter. I hope we’re all having fun into his depressing journey into 1980s espionage. It’s only gonna get more glum from there. Hope we also enjoyed Clea and Strange’s odd little relationship. Also, very fun and terrifying news for the Pyms. Who doesn’t love kids?

Next chapter will heavily focus on Thor’s inner turmoil with his family, as well as Tony’s lil and very depressing holiday to Vietnam, the country his father aided in leveling. Fun. There’ll also be a lil more Pym stuff, as well.

If you have any thoughts or feedback, feel free to make a comment or kudos. Always fantastic to engage with you all. If not, still thanks for reading and I hope you have a great rest to the week.

Fact of the day: 99% of female fireflies can’t fly due to their tiny wings, meaning almost all of the fireflies that you see at night are males. Fun, fun.  

Chapter Text

“Avoid strange corners, strange people staring at or following me, and make sure I’m not kidnapped.” Peter summarised as he zipped up his small backpack full of his change of clothes.

Thor’s lip curled into a worn smile at the bastardised version of his many words of advice. He knew of Peter’s intelligence and that he was a smart lad for his years. But he also knew of the clouds of that youth gave one’s mind when making decisions. Young men, nearly all, were eager and cocky young creatures with many ways to have their eyes covered to their surroundings. Even Peter Parker wasn’t immune to a lack of experience. The Aesir also recognised the potential of the maelstrom that his fellow warriors were in. As smart and confident as Peter Parker was at avoiding trouble, sometimes it was inevitable. Such a thought soured Thor’s mood. He crossed his cannon-shaped arms and grew mildly disconcerted that Peter was leaving.

“Be careful, young Peter Parker.” Thor’s voice rumbled Peter’s very bones, “We do not yet know the evils that threaten our friends.”

The youth looked up from his bag. For the briefest of moments, Thor saw fear and the clear sign of a young man drowning in a situation that he didn’t understand. Then, without any hesitation, Peter nodded with resolve.

“That’s why we’re gonna find out who it is.” He replied with the smallest of grins, “I gotta go to some classes tomorrow. And a meeting with work.” He spat, “The type I can’t avoid. I’ll do some digging and try to find to Cap afterwards.” Peter didn’t look too confident in his successes, “If I can’t, I’ll be at Strange’s, okay?”

Thor inclined his head.

“A wise strategy. I will also conduct my hunt. Jennifer Walters is welcome at-”

“I am literally a metre away.”

Thor turned. As he moved his colossal bulk, Peter saw Jennifer sitting behind him on a sofa whilst stress-eating corn chips. Maxxie was curled at her feet, eyeing the food he was refused lovingly. The shorter woman stared at both Peter and Thor with mild annoyance. It would typically be off-putting, yet the fact she was stuffing her face every two seconds made it a somewhat comical expression.

“I am not furniture. I can decide what my gameplan is.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, not seeing any fault in her words, “What’s your gameplan?”

Jen stared at him with strained, wide eyes. Her response was to eat several more corn chips with severe chomps. Peter swallowed, looking uncomfortable. Never had he thought someone could easy chips with such…ferocity. Thor smiled softly, in an elderly way.

“I meant no offense. You walk your own path. I am not foolish enough to try to stop you. But, my wisdom is to stay in numbers, no matter where you go. You are the only one to be kidnapped.”

“Tried to be.”

“That makes your trial unique.” Thor turned back to Peter, “I am curious why you are safe. No foe has tried to sullen your life.”

Peter turned pale. Even Thor, the mighty god of thunder, was starting to blatantly show concern for Peter’s future wellbeing. That was the last thing that the young man needed. He swallowed. Jen stopped eating to frown at Thor when Peter’s attention turned to his feet.

“Don’t scare him.” She whispered before clearing her throat, “Thor’s right, though. Be careful. If it is an Avengers issue, you and Thor might be next.”

“What if…”

Peter was still pale. His eyes were stuck on the floor as a sudden coldness swarmed and bubbled in sick waves in his belly. He looked up, almost feverish.

“What if we can’t find Cap? What if he’s already been…” He turned to Thor, “Like, they’re targeting the strong Avengers. But,” He stopped Jen from interrupting, “Thor’s too strong. They want a middle ground. They’re kidnapping the one’s they can realistically kidnap.”

“An interesting view to possess.” Thor murmured as he stroked his beard.

“No evidence, yet.” Jen sighed before standing, “The best piece of knowledge we can have is to know what everyone’s status is. Cap and Jackie. We figure out how they are, we should know a lot more.”

“I’ll look for Cap tomorrow, head to Strange. He’ll know where Jackie is.” Peter explained, “We’ll come here. The three of us.”

“And regroup with the Pyms. And Tony once he’s back.” Jennifer added.

“Agreed.” Thor turned to Peter, “If you have not returned by tomorrow’s eve, I shall look for you.”

Without warning, Thor’s giant hand smacked into Peter’s chest. The teen gasped in shock and mild pain, even staggering back. As he did so, several whisps of hair dropped into the air. Thor’s hand turned, his palm covered in Aesir runes. The hairs dropped onto them gently, hissing as they burst into orange smoke. Thor smiled, gently waving his hand.

“I know of ways to track people.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Peter coughed, rubbing his chest.

As air returned to his body, Peter swung his backpack around his shoulder and exhaled deeply. He felt a headache forming with all of the uncertainties. It was so much easier to just stop a bank robbery than this. Yet, he had hunted down criminals before. Mostly to take their photos, but that was a minor detail. The young man was no stranger to this side of being a hero. Not an expert, but not a stranger. He exhaled again and offered Thor his hand. The Aesir looked at it and smiled. Peter almost gasped as his hand was crushed in Thor’s mighty grip.

“I shall guide you to the bus.” Thor instructed, “I may do that, at least.”

“Appreciated.” Peter beamed before turning to Jen.

She was busy dusting herself off from the crumbs, much to Maxxie’s joy. Peter found his cheeks reddening. Feeling embarrassed, he hastily dug his nails into his skin as a poor distraction method. It really was poor as he soon found himself hearing his heart thudding in his ears as Jen hugged him. The lanky teen wrapped her up immediately, pure reflex doing so. He had forgotten how short she was when she wasn’t green and muscly. Still beautiful, at least to him.

“Stay safe, Pete.” She whispered.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her to his chest.

“You, too. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

He reluctantly let her go. Jen was still smiling, her cheeks a tad redder at the contact.

“It’s, ah…been sweet catching up.” Peter admitted.

Jennifer chuckled.

“Yeah, it has. I’ve missed you, ya geek.”

Peter laughed. A pleasant silence overcame the two of them, only one broken by the sound of Maxxie sniffing Peter’s shoes. The college student laughed and leaned down, cuddling the excited pug closely. With yet another shy wave to Jen, Peter allowed himself out of the house. Jen turned to see that Thor was smiling as well. It was an almost nostalgic expression on the aging god.

“It had nearly passed my mind, the fondness between the two of you.” Jennifer’s neutral expression turned a shy, small look that betrayed her youth, “It is…a sweeter change in the recent harsh winds to see such merriment.”

“Yeah.” Jen agreed, shoving her hands in her pockets, “It’s good to…have good days amongst crappy ones.”

Thor chuckled. As he turned and closed the door behind him, Jennifer’s smile became somewhat tumultuous. If a friendly reunion was enough to make her week good, then it was clearly a horrible week. But, it was sincerely good to see Pete again. As soon as it grew, Jen forced herself to stop smiling. They were coworkers, possibly friends. That was all. The last thing she needed was Peter to get the wrong idea again. She felt horrible enough rejecting him last year. He was too kind and gentle to be hurt by someone close to him. Well, that was if she was close to him. She hoped so. Despite not seeing him for so long, she honestly enjoyed his company immensely. He was one of the few people that Jen could just be herself around. No social anxiety, no awkward sentences leading to silence or stares, no feeling of looking like an idiot for just standing near a person. Jen could be Jen, Pete could be Pete. As she thought this, an uncomfortable and undesired redness to her cheeks returned.

She sighed before looking down at Maxxie.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It was just a hug.”

“By the eve.” Thor repeated as he and Peter waited for the next bus.

“I know.” Peter almost sighed dramatically, “I don’t want a god hunting me like the student loan office.” He shuddered, “The types of letters they send…”

“And if you are in danger-”

“Run to Strange. If I can’t, I know where to hide.” Peter grinned, “I’ve done this longer than you.”

Thor burst out with a roar of laughter. Peter darkened.

“I have done such acts for centuries.” Thor laughed warmly, “I have missed you, Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, you too.” Peter swallowed, “You know, it sucks we all split after the vampires. We made a team. Even made a name. And we just…stopped after one bad dude.” Peter shrugged lamely, “Imagine if we stuck together.”

Thor hummed in thought. He had pondered this at times, as well.

“Such things are not worth thought.” Peter looked up to the god, “We are in the moment that we are in. What matters is how to swim through it, not to try and sail backwards. One is a possibility, another is madness.”

Peter translated the words in his mind and sighed. Soon, the flashes of a bus’ headlights flashed in the corner of his sensitive eye.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t help rethinking things, though.” He awkwardly elbowed Thor’s side, “Look after Jen?”

“With my life.” Thor replied, elbowing the teen back.

Peter almost flew into the ground. As he hobbled onto the bus with a new bruise, he waved to Thor with a heartwarming smile. Thor grinned. He wasn’t lying. He had missed the pure-hearted warrior deeply. As soon as the bus left, Thor’s smile faded. An apathetic, almost cold look overcame him. His nose flared as he breathed the air in a loud growl. He closed his eyes. For several seconds, he registered the many scents around his street. The god dropped to his knee. As he opened his eyes, his thick fingers massaged the grass of his distant neighbour’s lawn. The god took in his surroundings. Every scent, every noise, every texture that he could sense.

He would catch the beings that threatened his new friends. On that, the god was certain. It had been many years since he had hunted a hidden foe. Even Varnae was pointed out for him to locate. The prospect of the challenge brought back many memories. Sick, violent, and cruel memories. Memories that a small, disgusted part of him missed.

“Freya, may I act as a vessel for your skill.” He whispered in his mother-tongue.

He rose, his eyes a sharper tone of blue than normal. There was something in the air. A sickness. Only human mortals could be smelled, aside from the odd cat or parrot. Thor could make out the unique blend that Peter and Jennifer’s altered genetics gave them. But there was something sharp in the air, much like Jennifer’s, but different. Something that a foreigner could mistake for one of her kin. Thor contemplated summoning Mjolnir. He didn’t. Instead, he passed into the opposite side of the street and followed his nose.

His mouth ran with softly spoken spells from a distant realm. His eyes were closed as he focussed on his other senses. The incantations bolstered them, making his very heart throb whenever he took a step closer to the scent he wanted. His thick, long hair straightened and buzzed with unnatural life whenever he took the wrong passage, the wrong path to his prey. Thor licked his lips. It had only been a mere few minutes, yet he had grown to miss the hunt as though he were Skaldi or Freya themselves. Anything to find his opponent made his heart thump with hunger. He had missed this part of his life. He had missed this part of being a warrior.

The god licked his hungry lips almost desperately as he walked towards a house in front of his own. Despite the passionate urge to charge in, Thor had enough sense to question that decision. The house belonged to the Madlocks, a young couple struggling with twins and low-paying jobs. Both were skinny, pale things that Thor doubted would ever harm an animal, let alone threaten Jennifer in combat. Thor stepped back from the front door and walked a far way back. His neck turned side to side. His nose was not lying. His magic was well taught.

His keen eyes saw the tops of burnt wood. Thor peered around. No one was on the street. He leapt. Beyond the house and small yard of the Madlocks, there was the old, flame-kissed abode that had been ruined since some months prior. Thor’s eyes flashed keenly. He dropped back to the ground. He ran. Within less than minute, Thor had sprinted around the street, crossed into the next, and passed before the blacked brick and wood. His heart was shaking and shouting in his chest. His fingers felt too light, too exposed. Mjolnir was almost summoned immediately. Almost.

Thor’s inspection of the house was thorough. His fingers tapped at the crumbled walls and floors, desperate to find any secrets. Many panels of wood groaned wickedly under his immense bulk. The air wasn’t as fresh as Thor would have expected from an abandoned dwelling. The scent was strong within the rooms. His lips cast one last spell. Pupils swelled. His eyes witnessed shades of the ground that no mortal could interpret. He saw the footprints. The fresh indents into the dusty, exposed house. A house where no other footprints could be seen. Thor slowly followed the trial of steps into what he assumed was the old kitchen, up the stairs, and then into a bedroom, perhaps. The footprints had stopped, ending at a clump of newer colour where a returning set of footprints left from. The walls were cracked and exposed. Thor knelt. His eyes aligned perfectly with the nearest hole to the mass of steps. His home. He could see Barbara’s windows and the tiny lawn that he kept. Thunder erupted.

The floors shook as Thor bared his teeth like a hound. The skies flashed as he stepped back, fury overwhelming his senses. Barbara was being watched. He was being watched. The Prince of Asgard, lord of the skies, had allowed a wretched spy to come within a street of Barbara. Thor had truly fallen from the man that shattered Jotunheim’s heart. The god whose hammer inspired tears and wails of mercy. The god that many claimed was better suited for the champion of war and death. He had grown old, indeed. Blind. Weak.

Wood groaned. Lightning flashed as Thor roared and threw his hand out to his side. His bolstered senses heard a panicked shout and a window breaking. He didn’t care. His breathing sounded like a motor as Mjolnir joined with him once more. It wasn’t a spy or a thief. Well, not that Thor knew of yet. It was Hlokk.

The young Valkyrie’s eyes widened in terror behind her helmet as the bane of Jotunheim was pointed at her skull. Kneeling, she prayed to Odin silently. She prayed that it would be quick. At not point did she try to resist. Even her painted wings touched the ground in submission. Thor watched her, panting, seething, snapping within. He could kill her. Such a thought sobered the aging god swiftly. As if icy water was thrown upon his face, Thor stepped back and looked at his flickering hammer in disgust. He dropped it, allowing it to crash into the floor below.

“Why are you here?” He whispered in his old tongue as his mind struggled to interpret the emotions that he was feeling.

Hlokk silently thanked her king for her life. Without rising or looking up, she spoke in a firm and overly formal voice, one reserved for royalty.

“My prince, our king once more has sent me to you, to hasten your…presence in the Golden Halls of-”

Thor was barely listening. Nearly all his mental energy was spent trying to claim himself down. In his younger years, such savage moods could last days. As shameful as it was for him to now admit, they often only ended because he had run out of foes to massacre.

“Were my words not enough for him?” Thor barked, his voice cracking in a way that Hlokk had never imagined that it was capable of.

“My prince, King Odin do-”

“Oh, you can stand, child.” Thor sighed impatiently.

This was not the time for his father’s games. He needed to find who was spying on his partner, who was hurting his friends. Not deal with trivial family matters. As instructed, Hlokk rose to her feet. A tall, very muscular woman now met his eyes. Even her wings expanded in what could be viewed as a sign of strength.

“King Odin does not understand your words. He thinks…you may have misunderstood the…nature of his request.”

Thor snorted. She truly was a diplomat as well as a warrior. Thor severely doubted that his father picked such wording.

“He wants you at his side. He wants all of his children at his side, but he has made specific emphasis on his mightiest son.”

“Ah. So, he still wants my hammer.” Thor shrugged almost like Peter did, “Tell him to take it, then.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t under-”

“Take my hammer. He gifted it to me, so he is welcome to take it.”

Hlokk’s wings fluttered. It was some time before she carefully spoke again.

“He desires his son, not weapons.”

“His son is a weapon.” Thor replied coldly, “Does he not remember how I left? The bodies…The fires…”

Hlokk saw the regret and shame on Thor’s face. She had seen such a face carried by many older guards and even the odd Valkyrie when training. Never once had she seen it on a royal member of the Aesir. In fact, whilst all were more reserved than Thor had been in his youth, they were all still confident, powerful, and seemed to always be in control of their actions. The god in front of her seemed as exposed as a commoner. It made her stomach swirl unpleasantly.

“Odin does not judge you for that. He loves you, as all fathers do. He knows that you should want to return to Asgard to protect it, as a loyal defender to the people and to your family.”

Thor crossed his arms. He wishes Jennifer was nearby to be so very logical about things as she always was.

“What enemy?” Hlokk was silent, “What enemy would challenge the Nine Realms? The Jotnar are not a threat. Not in the state we left them. It will be generations before they resemble a shadow of their ancestors. Alfheim? The dwarves?” The resulting silence sparked Thor’s anger again, “Who?! What enemies has my father encouraged to play his games?”

“He is a wis-”

“He is very wise, but not all good. None of us are.” Thor whispered to himself, “What enemies?”

Hlokk was too still for Thor’s liking. Even with her golden and copper helmet on, she looked as a child would in Thor’s blurred eyes.

“The king has not informed someone as lowly as me of wha-”

Thor’s hand was on her shoulder. No more was he angry, but pitying.

“You are young and loyal. I cannot fault why you speak such words. But if Odin hasn’t started screaming the names of his new enemies down the halls, then they don’t exist.”

“Prince Tyr and Prince Vidar have been summoned to prepare the defences.”

“But from what?”

There was something that Thor wanted to say to the Valkyrie, but it wasn’t his place. It was a suspicion of his father, a dangerous one at that. He didn’t need to threaten a poor girl’s life by putting it into her mind. Hlokk didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know what to say. She was just the messenger, not even trusted in any of the war councils that the King was hosting. Those that were did not speak to the others. They were silent, strained, and looked concerned. That was enough for many to fear the upcoming war.

“Forgive me. I do not know.”

“I know.” Thor replied glumly.

“I still must request that you come back. Odin…The King demands it.” Her tone was almost pleading, “I cannot return alone.”

Thor let go of her shoulder and stepped back, looking like a worn-down bear. His eyes were downcast, and his voice lost much of the previous strength. He gestured to the ruined abode around them.

“I must stay. Those I care about are in danger.”

“Do you not care for Asgard?” Hlokk spat.

She regretted it as soon as it left her lips. The woman backed away, especially a strike. She received none. Thor eyed her softly, looking tired.

“I care for enemies that I know exist.” He replied carefully, “I care for Asgard enough to know that I am not good for it. Not that I ever was. Return to Odin. Tell me that I will not take part in…wars until I know what they are of. If he craves his mighty son so much, then he can tell me what is within his mind.”

Hlokk looked horrified. Another rejection to a king like Odin was…not a desired outcome. In fact, she looked as if she was considering to just run away rather than to return to Asgard. Thor took a step forward.

“If he threatens you, return here. I will protect you.” He offered.

Hlokk was flawed. She did not know how to feel at his words or at his rejection. She had been so desperately fixated on Thor agreeing that she didn’t know how to anticipate his current response. She would be the one to reject Odin twice. She swallowed. The Valkyrie dropped to her knees.

“My Prince.”

“Hlokk the Severe.”

Before anything more could be said, a flow of colour burst onto Hlokk’s form as if she were under a shower. Hundreds of particles saturated her form. Within seconds, she disappeared from sight, leaving Thor alone with his thoughts. He clicked his fingers. Mjolnir flew into his palms. Without a single thought on what just happened, Thor walked towards the stairs, towards the door. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be with Barbara when she returned from work. He did not want to deal on his father.

Many blocks from the house, sitting in an old, rarely used set of storage lockers, Philip Sterns was nearly hyperventilating. Thor knew of a way to track him. The one variable that both Sterns had barely registered was now biting them severely. Jennifer was with him and now he was hunting them. Philip cursed himself as he hit the listening equipment around him softly. He had gotten too close to their house, that much was certain.

Always a cautionary thinker, Philip had planted listening devices in many places, even the burnt down house that he used for spying. It hadn’t taken that long to set up the equipment that the brothers had made. At least nothing had been found. Yet, as he listened to the voices and watched the blurry, static filled footage of a strange, winged woman in clothing similar to that of Thor’s, Philip only felt panic. The situation was blowing out of control. They still didn’t have Jennifer. At this point, it was worth just charging in and risking it. His daughter was dying. They didn’t have the luxury for all this wasted time. Yet, as Philip sat on the loading crate and stared at the fizzing footage, he couldn’t help but look at Thor’s expression. It could be barely made out at all, but Philip had a feeling. Thor wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy at all. Whoever this winged woman was, she didn’t bring him much joy.

Philip’s lip curled. It was a desperate option, but still an option. Thor needed to be dealt with at some point. Perhaps, just perhaps, the strange newcomer could aid in that way.  

***

Peter had barely slept. In fact, it was questionable if he had ever slept at all during the previous night. Without a suit available to wear, he had forgone his usual evening activities. Instead, he sat up on his bed, eyes facing the door. His webslingers had not been taken off, even as he changed into his pyjamas. He had not known what he was expecting to happen, but part of him had felt like someone was about to jump him. His steps home had been slow that night, laboured and uncertain. He had felt watched and exposed, like hundreds of eyes or cameras were on him. It was his photos that often appeared in newspapers to comment on Spider-Man. This was not that. It was entirely new, unpleasant beast at Peter’s throat.

He contemplated going to Strange’s a day early, but Strange would possibly demand that he not leave the Sanctum and Peter could afford that. So, the teen stayed awake, ready for the same foe that was targeting the rest of the Avengers.

It never came.

With tired and stinging eyes, Peter forced himself onto his bike and pedalled his way through the city. He smiled apologetically to the dozens of people that he almost hit, receiving screaming abuse from most of them. Peter merely blinked sluggishly and pressed on. To make matters worse, Peter was awoken in class by the loud sound of a chair moving. He didn’t even remember making it to class. Yet, he shuddered awake and looked around. Thankfully, no one had noticed his sleeping. Unfortunately, he had missed most of the content, meaning another long weekend of catching up through reading. Peter collapsed on his table.

It was the cycle for his entire day. Enter a new class, mumble something, fall asleep, and struggle to survive the practicals. Many of his fellow students chuckled, whispering that he was hungover or worse. The professor’s eyed him with mixed emotion. He was able, to their bewilderment, to answer nearly all testing questions. It was enough to disarm their criticism of the snoring student, but it did little to improve their opinion of him. Almost twice Peter fell onto highly expensive computing equipment, much to the horror of those partnered with him. As soon as his final class ended, Peter threw his lethargic body towards his bike.

The Daily Bugle was a tall building, noted as being one of the oldest surviving newspaper providers that had somehow survived into the eighties. Peter often used ‘somehow’ in such a sentence given it was run by a maniac. As Peter entered the brick and tar infested tower on the corner street, he knew it wasn’t going to be a good afternoon. Two men, roughly his age, were swearing to themselves as a pair of very reluctant security guards politely pushed them outside. ‘Sorry, kiddo’ one of them mouthed as they were flung out the door.

“He asked us for redheads. He asked us for the photos!” One of them bellowed desperately.

“We still haven’t been paid yet!” The other whined, though the glass door was already shut.

Peter swallowed and held onto his camera bag with insecurity. The entire lift up to the seventeenth level, he was sweating. The lack of slip only worsened his paranoia. As the doors opened, he was welcomed with the sounds of dozens of reporters screaming into their phones. Tiny assistants were being shoved out of the way by burly men, all sweating and praying. Those that pressed at typewriters looked like they were on stimulants. Their eyes red and breathing heightened. Peter swallowed again. He squeezed past the mass and into the head office, the editor’s office.

Jonah Jameson was a portly man that resembled a British bulldog. His eyebrows were thick and menacing, with a moustache that seemed to cover most of his face. His greying brown hair was roughly cut in a crude crew cut, reminiscent of his days in the Korean War. A bolding belly allowed him to rest the latest draft of the print on a makeshift table of his own flub. He was scowling.

“Couldn’t find anything better? The broad looks like crap in this. And her ass ain’t flat. Probably used the thing to get into…”

The dark man he was complaining to sighed silently. He, like Jameson, was a large person but carried it far better. He was tall, muscular, and far more active than his boss, both mentally and physically. As soon as Robbie Robertson spotted Peter, he gave the young man a gentle smile. One that was followed by a look of warning and the smallest of nods to the editor in chief.

“Is…Is now a bad…time?” Peter said quickly.

Jameson’s head snapped up. For a moment, he seemed to not recognise Peter, even looking at Robbie for help against this intruder.

“Photographer.” Robbie groaned.

“Huh.” Jameson shrugged.

He reached into his desk, retrieved a cheap cigar, and somehow managed to light it with one hand. Peter was impressed. Terrified, but impressed.

“You got pics of the premier or what?” Jameson barked as he forced the cigar into the edge of his lip.

Peter looked at Robbie inquisitively.

“Ah, no, sir. I didn’t kno-”

“Fire him.”

“Wait?!” Peter yelped in panic.

Robbie groaned again. Stepping in front of Peter, he tilted his head down almost mockingly to his employer.

“He’s not under contract, J.J.” Robbie explained, “He’s almost not the entertainment guys. You just fired them for not snapping Kim Cattrall.”

Jameson snorted at his own silent joke. He eyed the photograph in his belly again.

“Barely entertainment guys, anyway. Who the hell doesn’t get the main actress in any photos?”

“You told them to only get…Never mind.” Robbie shook his head, “Pete, what you got?”

Robbie moved to the side and gestured towards Peter’s camera satchel. Peter snapped alive and hastily rummaged for the photos that he had been developing. Without warning and possessing surprising flexibility, Jameson reached over his gut and snatched the dozen or so photos from Peter’s hand.

“Ah, so, that’s the opening of the new-”

“Boring. Boring. Fucking boring. Christ. What is this?”

He held up an image and Peter squinted. He then smiled.

“Oh, that’s the school group that’s-”

“Boring.”

The smile died. Jameson sighed. At the last two images, he paused. One was of the police arresting some carjackers, and the other was of Electro’s battle with Peter some days prior. The image of the criminal made Peter’s hand travel across his recently healed arm. He grimaced. Jameson eyed the images with some interest. His eyes flicked up to Robbie.

“We got anything on the Disco-Diva?”

“I think he’s called El-”

“Not yet.” Robbie shook his head.

“Hmm. A hundred for the lot.”

“Excuse me?” Peter almost laughed.

“Did I stutter?” Jameson asked with a sharp tone.

“Sir, rent in this city is increasing and-”

“Move to Idaho, then.”

“Sir, please. C’mon. I have college and this is-”

“It’s the only images we have of this guy.” Robbie cut in, pointing to Electro, “No one’s gotten a good snap yet. Pete’s been good to us. Hasn’t shopped around.”

“Unlike my last wife.” Jameson snorted.

Had Peter been bolder, he would have mentioned that the only reason that Jameson’s last wife cheated was because Jameson has a routine habit of sleeping with the secretaries.

“J.J…”

“Fine. Two-fifty.” Peter grinned, “Next time, hotter pics would be appreciated.” Jameson requested in a sarcastic tone, “Now, get out. Being around precious college students too long makes me nauseous. Fuckin’ commies.”

Peter whispered a ‘thank you’ to Robbie, who nodded with a warm smile. As he left, Peter overheard Jameson starting to complain loudly again about the ‘fucking ruined movie premier’. Peter wasn’t complaining. At least he could eat for the next few weeks.

Stumbling through his door whilst shoving a cheap lemonade down his throat, Peter mentally worked out his next steps. He’d put his college materials away, hide his camera equipment, and then begin his investigation of Steve Rogers, Captain America. A tired but excited grin overcame him as he finished chewing on stale fries. He would start…Well, he didn’t actually know where to start, but he could always…Peter blinked. He didn’t actually know where to start. Well, he’d start on street and see what ideas came to him. That worked an oddly high amount of times for the young hero, anyway.

The door rattled.

Peter’s wrist thrusted to the side. An unusually severe glare was carved onto Peter’s face as he stared at the door. He hastily looked out the windows of his small apartment. He couldn’t see anyone lurking on nearby rooftops. With stiff legs, he walked forwards. He peeked into the eyehole, only to lean back and frown. Shopping bags. He looked again, only for the knocking to resume. Peter slowly opened the door. His neck wasn’t tightening, so there was that, at least.

Felicia immediately pushed past time with an impatient huff. Peter almost fell from the mere force. Nearly a dozen bags were hanging around her arms. Once more, the beautiful girl was dressed in elaborate clothing. A dark fur jacket with an underside of chocolate brown. Even her jeans, Christmas green, looked as if it were worth Peter’s rent and then some. Her small nose wrinkled at the messiness of his apartment, but at least Felicia resisted bullying it. Instead, she spun around with a wide smile and flung her arms out.

“Please to see me?” She winked.

“Ye…Yeah?” Peter was dumbfounded.

“Good, good. Because I was shopping, because why not when you’re in New York? And I came across some things that I know you’d look adorable and strong in.”

“Adorable and strong? I feel that’s an oxymor-”

“Pete, please.” Felicia rolled her eyes, “No fancy words, hun.”

Hun. Peter’s chest fluttered at the comment. He swallowed.

“So,” She continued, “Shirts, pants, or coats first? Because we are not starting with the scarves. That is madness.”

Peter blinked. He honestly didn’t understand what was happening. He turned to the door, half expecting someone to barge in with a gun. Looking back to the many bags of clothing in front of him, he peered into the brands. His mouth went limp. Some of those clothes were worth a small fortune. Never once had Peter spent so much on clothing in his entire life. To see such wealth of materials in front of him made his stomach drop. He left nervous, undeserving. It was an awful lot of money to wear when he was still negotiating over pay so that he could afford rent.

“Why…Why?” He simply asked, “N-N-Not that I’m not appreciative. Like, I really, really am. I mean it. It’s just…Why?”

Felicia blinked. It was her turn to not understand what was happening. The gears in her brain seemed to stop as she paused, frozen. The atmosphere in the room dropped to a thick, terse air that Peter felt uncomfortable being in. A tiny finger pointed to one of the bags.

“It…suits your eyes. Your clothes are always second-hand. I wanted to…do something nice for you, that’s all. If it’s a bad gift, I can…I can take it back?”

Her voice was low and soft, resembling a small chipmunk. Somehow, she had made her eyes impossibly wide and weak. To look upon them was to see vulnerability and hurt. To deny them was to be cruel and feel misery. Peter suddenly felt as if he were the most ungrateful person that ever existed. Someone had gone to the effort of shopping for him and he’d turn them down. His uncle would’ve been disgusted. The young man swallowed yet again.

“I…No, I’m…I’m just tired and being stupid.”

“You…You sure?” Felicia asked in a soft voice.

A woeful soft voice that slowly crawled around Peter’s ears.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded with a smile, “Um, should…Let’s see…what you got?”

She pounced like the animal that she chose her name after. There was insistent glee in her eyes as she threw clothes at him like weapons in a battle. Without any room for discussion, Peter was thrown into his small bedroom to change, and change, and change. Each time, Felicia was jump from the single chair in Peter’s apartment and squeal while clapping her hands. Peter was silent, not sure of what to feel, but his chest fluttered each time she smiled. She had a beautiful smile. And he liked it when she smiled. So much so, that any thought of Steve Rogers slipped away like sand in his fingers.  

As Peter stood in a blue turtleneck with shiny black pants, he somehow felt more odd than when he wore his Spider-Man attire. At least that was practical. He felt like a Michael Jackson backup singer. He frowned as he looked down. Maybe it actually was the outfit of one of his backup singers. Felicia was beaming.

“You look…so much better. Older. More refined.” She winked playful.

“I don’t think I can walk.” Peter smiled softly as he felt the material groan around his moving knees.

“You’re not really meant to move in them. Just…stand there and look good, you know?” She shrugged, her grin never failing.

Peter wanted to offer a counter, but he made the mistake of looking at her smile again. She was so sweet and beautiful. And she had made the effort of getting such clothing. He couldn’t be rude or cruel and dismiss it.

Small hands gently clasped his Peter’s. His entire body heated yet as Felicia almost bounced on her feet.

“You’re right, though. Let’s have some fun like we used to.”

“Ah, what?”

Peter frowned deeply as he watched Felicia zip up her fur jacket and pick up her overly priced purse. Her walk was confident, even a strut, as she acted like the home was her own. Peter’s clear discomfort did not seem to be registered by the mildly older girl. Instead, she turned and interlaced her arm with his. Peter prayed that she couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating next to her. It would have been mortifying.

“You look like you’ve finished work.” She thrusted her thumb back towards the collection of research papers that he still needed to actually type, “I’m in the mood for some Italian. You look perfect for Italian right now.”

Peter blinked. He had no idea what that even meant. Something was tugging at the back of his mind, though. He needed to do something, yet it wasn’t fully coming to him. His face scrunched up as he tried to remember. Felicia hastily opened her mouth.

“And you owe me that tour.”

“Tour?” Peter whispered, only half listening.

“Remember? Along the water? I gave you my last five bucks for dinner.”

Peter’s mind stilled. It had been years since that deal was made. Peter, being a broke high school student, made the foolish mistake of missing dinner during one of his earliest dances amongst the moonlight. Felicia offered him enough to get a grilled sandwich, in exchange for a ferry tour. When the deal was made, Peter had been ecstatic about the idea of sending more time with Felicia. A shadow of that feeling still remained. It made Peter unsure of his own feelings, even as he remembered Steve.

No, he needed to find Steve.

“I…I need to look for so-”

“You’re gonna break the deal? Pete.” She looked scandalised, shaking her head judgementally, “I just got you your wardrobe for the next year. That’s not even worth one…little…tiny…boat ride with me? Really?” She shook her head again.

Peter hated himself. He felt resentment at how easily he caved. He was ashamed as Felicia slid her arm around his again and led him towards the exit. He was quiet as Felicia chatted loudly about her memories in the city as a child, about how she’d visit a shop they’d just passed or how she hated the food at one of the nearby restaurants. Peter allowed himself to be led willingly. Her perfume was sweet. More than once, her ashen hair waved near his nose. It was enough to make his legs move in whatever direction she commanded with earnest. She never strayed from her side, always pressed into him. He was very aware of the softness of a certain part of her body as she did so. It coloured his face with permanent red.

“Oh, my god! Hurry! Hurry!” She commanded as they neared the harbour.

The sun was dipping down, meaning it would be one of the last services before closing. Peter lifted his newly filled wallet as he mumbled for two tickets, but it was clearly taking too long. Without leaving room for complaints, Felicia threw a note at the ticket officer and declined the need for change, much to the confusion of both Peter and teller. Peter mumbled an offer to repay her, seeing as he was meant to pay for the ferry ride, yet Felicia seemed to forget that part. Instead, she tugged him along and made him sit on the exposed seats on the top level.

Peter was rigid, eyeing the exit longingly. Felicia, once more, did not comment on his fleeting nature.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” She chuckled as they waited for the service to depart.

“Then why haven’t you?” Peter asked innocently, “You always do what you want.” He laughed, “Impulse control, not one of your gifts.”

She gave him one of the most calculated looks that Peter had ever received. She seemed as if she wanted to admit something, or to lecture him on a stupid comment. She didn’t do either. Instead, she stayed where she was, staring like a predator that was deciding if an animal was worth being prey. Peter hated to admit it, but it was a very attractive look. He clearly had a thing for stronger woman, as well. He flushed at the thought.

As the ferry left the dock, Felicia almost jumped in her seat. Peter had taken the ferry several times with his uncle as a youth, so he lacked the enjoyment. In fact, it made him rather melancholic, given his uncle’s passing. He lowered and hunched, looking like a younger Stephen Strange, and stared at his feet. He did not care that Felicia was rambling about how this was better than a yacht. He was meant to find Steve. Somehow. He had no idea how he was going to investigate, but he still felt disgusting. Shameful. Here he was, on the water with a stunning woman, while his friends were in danger. He was selfish. Caught within the tide of his mind, he did not notice that Felicia had stopped talking and was once more staring at him in an analytical way.

“You okay?”

Peter sighed.

“Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.” He admitted, not quite knowing why.

“You can talk. I mean, if you’re comfortable. No pressure.” She smiled sweetly.

Peter smiled back, but looked down. He shrugged.

“Just…college.”

It was a poor lie. A flash of anger and insult overcame Felicia’s face, but she was quick to conceal it with a sympathetic nod.

“You’re a smart guy. The smartest I know.”

Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“Who makes your webs?”

“What?”

“Your web stuff.”

“Me?”

“Exactly. You designed your first suit.”

“Ah, not-”

“You barely study and look at your marks. At least, in high school. You always outsmart people.” She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, “You’re very…stubbornly driven.” She rolled her head to look up at him, “Whatever the issue is, you got this.”

Peter was very still. His heart was pressing into Felicia’s arm with the force it was generating. Her eyes were so close to his. Her words eased an insecurity that Peter didn’t know he had. He had missed this. He had honestly missed Felicia. Despite all the pain and betrayal, moments like this made him so very happy that she was back. It made him forget about issues ensnaring him. About world ending disasters and being a nerd in high school. About the loss of his parents and uncle. About his awkwardness. As the moment slid around his body, he was not aware of the small hand stroking his hair. It made him oddly sleepy, relaxed. So very relaxed compared to his earlier moment of sheer panic in front of Thor’s home. Felicia leaned up.

The kiss was soft. Warm. Some roughness came from Peter’s unpolished lips. He was not expecting the kiss. He barely knew how to return it. His love life was less than lacklustre. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. He was kissing Felicia again, the first person that he ever kissed. She held him tightly, almost refusing to let his head go as her tongue teased his lips. Peter’s mind was blank, but his gut was tight. He didn’t know if he wanted to lean in further or to run and hide. Peter’s second kiss with Felicia wasn’t like he dreamt.

***

Peter walked through the evening city with haphazard legs. His eyes were scrunched up in uncertainty and pained confusion. He had kissed on the most beautiful people in the world. He had spent many an evening fantasising about Felicia. He would have once walked on coals for her. Now…Now as Peter walked towards the Sanctum Sanctorum, alone and without Steve Rogers, he felt twisted. Maybe he had changed. He was older, albeit only slightly. Maybe his tastes had just changed. But she was so happy with him. Peter’s cheeks flushed at the memory. Then came the annoyance. Waves of contradicting emotions swept over the young, inexperienced man. He hated it. He was Spider-Man. He was meant to be better than this. Yet, no matter how many times he told himself this, it helped little. Maybe…Maybe Strange could offer some advice? He did so last time, and Peter could accept any help at this point.

As he appeared before the familiar door of the Sanctum, Peter’s neck tensed tightly. He leapt back, almost forgetting that he was not wearing his suit. The door seemed to melt around a new shape that was hurling towards Peter. It swirled into life as the door moulded back into itself. It was a woman. A tall, confident looking woman, with silver hair and a vibrant purple scarf around her coat. Peter blinked. It was like Felicia’s future self. Even the way that she held up her nose at him was so eerily similar.

“Have we met?” Peter asked in shock.

The woman scoffed and put her hands on her hips. It was clear that she was unhappy at Peter’s presence. In fact, she appeared to be panting as if she had raced someone to the door.

“We have not.” She replied in a strange accent, “Who are you to disturb the-”

“Clea.” A grumpy voice groaned.

To Peter’s delight, Dr. Stephen Strange pushed next to her. He was wearing a simple tee-shirt with a guitar pattern on the front. It was the most casual that Peter had ever seen the man. In fact, it was the most normal that the hunched man had ever looked. Strange glared at Clea, who merely glared right back challengingly.

“Peter, this is…the guest I mentioned last time you visited.”

“Oh, cool.” He nodded, “I’m Pete-”

“You’re intruding. We have vital research that we are-”

“Clea.” Strange’s voice was a rough gravelly noise.

Peter could only guess how little sleep that he was running on. Even this Clea seemed exhausted. She was stunning, but looked strained and pulled tight.

“What’s wrong?” Strange asked in a lighter tone.

Peter spoke swiftly, but as clearly as he could. Strange’s face was passive as he was updated on the comings of Jennifer to Thor’s home, for the plan that the three of them to work on, and the fact that Peter, of all people, seemed to be the link between almost all of the Avengers at this point. That alone terrified Strange. As he spoke, Peter didn’t like how intensely Clea was staring at him. It was a mixture of obvious eavesdropping and searing displeasure at his mere existence. Strange shifted, looking mildly embarrassed by her expression towards his younger co-worker.

“You hang out with…Jackie…don’t you…”

Strange’s face dropped at the request. Peter’s stomach tightened. Silently, both men grimaced.

“She never liked the idea of me, in particular, knowing where she was. She takes blood, and then leaves.” Strange explained.

As Peter’s face drained, Strange turned to Clea with an almost optimistic expression.

 “I could…maybe try to track her using some...magic that Clea has been kind enough to teach me.”

“Could you?!” Peter asked Clea eagerly.

The volume of his voice disarmed Clea, who almost staggered back. The energy of the child was not appreciated. An unimpressed expression overcame her.

“I will add the spell to Steve Rogers’ own, but like I said to those…”

“The Pyms. Maybe it’s worth collecting them, as well. I know their home address. Together, we can all do to Thor’s or have you all come here and”

“Out of the question!” Clea hissed.

The air felt electric, uneasy, and very unwelcoming. As she turned to Strange with an almost dangerous glint in her eye, she reminded Peter of a lioness rearing up for a challenge. Strange composed himself well, but he suddenly remembered that he didn’t know this woman. She wasn’t from their universe. What she was capable of and what needed to prompt it was still entirely unknown.

“These people are in danger.” His tone was low.

“My universe is dying and you’re playing morality with me?”

“We can keep them in the Sanctum and-”

“You’ll be distracted. Lost. You already have been. You already slowed our work for the Pyms. Now this boy.”

“I’m legally an adult.”

“You were the one that took the last detour, Clea. We’ve been good hosts.” Strange warned.

“But not good sorcerers.” Clea snapped back, “Fine. Focus on the five people around you. No wonder there is not a Sorcerer Supreme in this universe. No one has the ability to want to protect billions.”

As soon as the Sorcerer Supreme remark was made, Strange stepped towards her with a snarl on his face. Peter’s neck tightened and he stepped forwards, reaching to pull Strange away from this foul woman. Yet, Strange, at the last second, controlled the rage that Clea summoned. A trembling, shaking finger was thrusted towards her.

“My office. You have research to do.” He spat in a way that reminded Peter of Varnae.

Clea’s face became stoic. Her ferocity had been well matched by Strange. He was tall when he wasn’t so hunched. His broad chest bared over her, almost as a sign of strength before a battle. With one last displeased look at Peter, Clea sank back through the door. Strange was left to glare venomously at the ground.

“You okay?” Peter asked softly.

“Yes, Peter. I am fine.” He sounded like a robot, “I don’t think it’s wise to bring anyone else here. The situation I’m dealing with is…bad. Beyond Varnae level bad. I will look into finding Steve and Jackie, if I have time. If she arrives, I’ll send her your way.”

He stretched out his hand and a piece of paper flew into it out of nowhere. Ink bled onto it until an address and two sets of phone numbers were scribbled across it.

“Janet’s home phone, their business line, and address.”

Strange looked behind him, as if trying to guess if Clea was watching him through the door. He leaned into Peter’s ear.

“I don’t know how much help I can be. A lot of lives are in danger in Clea’s universe. But if everyone is being targeted, regroup. Go to Thor and Jennifer, and then regroup with the Pyms. Contact me and…,” his face dropped, “I’ll see what use I can be.”

“Are you held hostage?” Peter whispered in a serious tone.

“No.” Strange sighed, “Like I said, a lot of lies depend on Clea and I at the moment. If I find Steve or Jackie, I’ll send them your way. Pete, be safe.”

Strange straightened and cleared his throat. Peter didn’t understand what was going on. Part of him wanted to yell and demand he help the old team, the team that helped him, but the darkened expression on his face gave Peter no courage to do so. Peter nodded, accepting the complete failure that the night had been.

Strange’s lip quirked.

“What address does Thor live at? I can at least aid you in avoiding public transport at night.” He offered, his hands preparing a new spell.

The night wasn’t a complete disaster.

***

Barbara chewed her lip as she watched the bear of a man washing dishes in front of her. It would’ve been amusing, such a large man carefully holding cheap plates in the soapy water. Yet, the downed face the Aesir offered gave Barbara no reason to smile. He had been in such a mood since she had returned from work. Thor was not always a joyous man, but he was hardly sulky. To add more ire to her mood, he seemed very reluctant to let her out of his sight, even making an excuse to make sure his toothpaste was empty for the entirety of her shower. Not once had he attempted to join her, either.

 She turned around, noticing that Jennifer was still in their small yard playing with the odd creature that was somehow labelled a ‘dog’.

“You’re pissy. What’s up?”

Thor finished washing the plate that he was holding. He reached for another when Barbara cleared her throat in warning. His arm dropped.

“Hlokk, the Valkyrie messenger of my father, once more visited.”

Barbara merely raised her brow. When Thor did not elaborate further, she sighed and spoke through gritted teeth.

“And what did she want?”

Thor leaned on the counter, his back still to her. The silence made Barbara deeply irritated. Thor could sense it. But he could not control the coldness within his mind, the only that latched onto his tongue. He rarely was one lost for words, yet none could come to him as he thought about Asgard and his father, his former life.

“Thor.” A softer tone left Barbara’s mouth as she stood at his side, “This is twice that this chick has rocked up to our house. You’ve been weird all night. I want to know if something’s wrong.”

“You’re safe.” Thor replied emotionlessly.

“That wasn’t what I asked.” Barbara cut in, “Don’t give me shit. Do…Do you have to return? Is that what this is?” Barbara hesitated with a rare display of vulnerability, “I’d…understand.”

“It is not so. I do not know.” Thor groaned.

He suddenly slammed his palms on the counter. The room shook.

“It is not something that you must worry over.”

“Oh? Is that right?” The gruff woman chuckled sardonically, “So I’m not even worth putting into whatever issue that’s goin’ on now?”

“That is a poor telling my words.” Thor sighed irritably, “I do not wish for you to worry. Is that a such a selfish thing to do?”

“It is when it still impacts me. This woman has been to my house twice. I have every damned right to know why. We’ve been together for a year.”

“A good year.” Thor tried to ease the mood, but he failed.

“Not enough for a god to think I should be told things?”

“It’s an Aesir matter.”

“It’s a ‘me’ matter when it involves someone I love, you idiot.”

The following five minutes were deeply unpleasant for both Thor and Barbara. Barbara would talk, Thor would give unusually soft, vague answers. Even as Barbara tried to take her angle, to be softer and more pleading in her words, she found no answers from her partner. Thor could only stare blankly at her, his eyes showing a silent dismay that he seemed determined to deny. It was hurtful and infuriating for the tall blonde. With a low, yet clearly angered, mutter under her breath, Barbara left the kitchen for the garage.

Thor stood there, staring out to nothingness. His chest was motionless as he barely breathed. The pressure of his family, of his duty, of his old world, sat on his chest like a mountain. Enemies were at his gate, his family desired to drag him back towards a home that he almost ruined, and now he was unable to talk to someone that he loved. He loved Barbara. Rarely did he ever consciously acknowledge it, but it always sat at the back of his mind. Yet, Odin demanded he leave such a bond. She was human. It was always to be expected, but Thor did not want to admit it. A childish desire to ignore such a reality persisted. Even as he grew older, it was very likely that he would outlive Barbara. Such a thought made the god slowly walk and then collapse onto the couch. Those he loved were being hunted, those he loved he could not talk to, and those he loved were about to be pulled away from him if he went to Asgard.

Thor closed his eyes as he relaxed into the furniture. He did not have a single notion of how to quell the feelings in his chest. As fearsome a warrior as he was, he could not brave the terror that was returning home to the place he had shamed his family and his people in.

***

The sudden sound of electronic crackling and the smell of melting plastic made even an exhausted Hank flinch. He rose from his desk, frowning at the small streams of smoke rising from the circuitry within a half-completed Ant-Man helmet. It was less of a bulbous, dome shape that his previous headgear formed, but the outer layers of metal were to be thicker, stronger. Whilst the leathery material that would make the rest of the suit was still yet to be developed, Hank envisioned it to be faster, sleeker. Ready for a better fighter. Ready to make sure that Janet was kept safe from this thief.

The mere thought of the situation made Hank close his eyes in anguish. After visiting Strange, he and Janet had made a determined effort to find and secure anything related to the Pym Particle within their very home. Maybe it wasn’t safe there. All the designs, blueprints, and testing equipment. But at least they now knew where everything was. That didn’t address the already missing formula, however. It didn’t address what was happening to Tony, or if any of the others were being attacked. Hank shook his head. Janet should be with Strange. He could protect her better. As he thought of this, Hank grew hot. He couldn’t even protect his own wife. What a poor husband he made, indeed. Janet should have picked better. She wouldn’t be in this situation otherwise.

Janet had not been seen since they had returned from their hasty collection trip the night before. She rushed herself into bed with a barely audible whisper. When Hank had woken up, she was already gone to the office, leaving a poorly scribbled note on her pillow. Even when she returned, all Hank received was quick hug and then her dashing away to the small home set-up laboratory that was next to their house. That was all that Hank had seen of his wife for a whole day.

Hank tried to ignore it. Janet no doubt had her reasons. He understood. It was a hellish time for everyone. They all coped with things their own way. Yet, never once in their relationship had Janet ever secluded herself from him. It hurt more than Hank could pretend otherwise. His throat was raw as he tinkered with his gear. The tools his hands barely responded to his commands. His shoulders were dropped, as was his face. Less than an hour passed before Hank dropped his tools with a sullen sigh. He couldn’t even think straight. There was no point in trying to develop complex computer systems inside a shrinking suit when one’s mind was not in their head. Hank dropped his tools and rubbed his face with a loud groan.

He found Janet writing up notes for Peter’s replacement suit. Loose sketches were pinned to material requirements, along with possible variations for the compounds that made up Peter’s fabric. For such a simple suit, Janet put considerable effort into it. It would’ve made Hank smile had his chest not being pulled to the lowly ground. Hank stood there, silently watching her back as she scribbled down notes and dashed out numbers that she no longer liked. Hank let out a silent breath as an unknown yet uncontrollable guilt swept over his scientific mind.

“I’m…so sorry for this.”

Janet dropped the pencil in fright. She spun around. The sight that met her was sickening to her. Hank was almost shaking. His mouth was agape and his eyes wide. The usual warm and strength that Janet found within him was gone. There was just a quivering mess wearing her husband’s face.

“All of this. The particles, Tony, the…the…The fact we don’t know anything.” Hank exhaled weakly, “I’ll fix this. I swear to God. I’ll…We’ll find who stole the particles, and we’ll get it back, and we don’t need to do this type of stuff anymore. We can-”

“Hank.” Janet whispered in dismay, her eyes now equally wide but in confusion.

Hank swallowed. A silence overcame the pair of them. Hank hated it. It made him feel all the more raw.

“Just talk to me, please.” He croaked, “I don’t…I don’t like this. I know I screwed up hiding the pa-”

Janet was on her feet. Slowly, she crept towards Hank with a timid, uncomfortable expression. Hank hated that, too. She shouldn’t be the one being stressed because of his failures. He hated the whole damn week. Never once since his mind was addled by the first version of the Pym Particle had he felt so…tired and alone.

“I’m not upset at you, you idiot.” She chuckled weakly.

She looked down but continued closing the distance between them. The expression she had made Hank anxious. Something was still wrong, though. Janet wasn’t even trying to hide it. Her eyes were downcast, her lips thin and uneven. As his wife stepped within a foot of him, Hank was so very still, despite his chest beating immeasurably fast. Even if the issue wasn’t with him, an issue existed for Janet. That offered him absolutely no relief.

Janet looked up, a shadow of a smile on her face. Hank felt no warmth.

“I…don’t have gastro.” She started.

Absently, her hand cupped her stomach. That little, tiny, absent movement was enough for Hank’s eyes to swell. The small gape in his lips shifted into a tightly even expression. He was a statue.

“We’re having a kid.” Janet’s voice was vulnerable, almost weak.

It was one of the thickest sentences that she somehow needed to push from her mouth. Hank could not be read, fuelling fear and shame within Janet. He wasn’t happy. What if he ran off? Despite knowing that Hank was incapable of such coldness, Janet’s mind pushed man cruel thoughts forwards. Hank was still silent. Why? Why did he have to be so…nothing?

Janet’s lips quivered as the guilt rose.

 “Are you…Hank, I’m sorry if-”

Janet was pulled into Hank’s arms. She was squeezed tightly. Heavy, barely contained breathing warmed her left ear. Janet sunk into Hank’s embrace, her face hiding in his neck. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry in relief or in happiness. The smallest show of warmth from her husband savagely killed the terrible thoughts in her mind. As he held her, warmth returned to her body. Relief that he also knew about what was happening to her transpired in her. She did not know how partners could hide their pregnancies for months ongoing. Janet could barely handle a single day.

“How far?” Hank asked quickly.

“Enough for a heartbeat. Stephen showed me yesterday.”

Hank nodded against her head. He then let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Another Pym.” He snorted, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah.” Janet chuckled weakly, “Another Pym.”

As Janet continued to relax into her husband’s arms, she did not see the emotionless expression that Hank possessed. The depth to his eyes as he stared at the wall in front of him. She could not feel the utter terror racing through Hank’s veins. Another Pym. There would be another Pym. Hank would be a father. His sweat felt cold. He was going to be a father…

***

Noi Bai Airport was hot, crowded, and full of screaming people. It made Tony feel oddly at home, as if he was at the stock market with his father again. His father often dragged the young man to such events to teach him the importance of business practices and wise trading, which was odd coming from a man that didn’t trade so much as he merely chose the right industry to produce for. As Tony’s papers were stamped and cleared by damp and tired looking security, his checked his watch at least seven times. He was wasting time. He had places to be, warehouses to inspect. While he didn’t have a lot of trails to pursue, those that he did would take time to get to. The gruff billionaire tapped his feet impatiently as he waited.

“Look,” He whispered in a heated tone, “I can slip you som-”

Before he could finish the bribe, Tony found himself being led towards a small office space in the airport. Almost every single security officer glared at him with murderous intent. Of course they would. He was a Stark. His father’s company and inventions levelled half the country not even a decade ago. Tony’s heart pressed against the reactor painfully as he became very aware of the country that he was now in. He wasn’t a playboy or recovering alcoholic with a charitable habit. He was the enemy. The heir to the empire of death.

Within the office space, Tony saw about eight individuals. They looked American, yet all wore typical Vietnamese summer clothing. They were brutes. All muscle and all frown. Tony almost made a dash for the door. A man hastily held his shoulder with a polite laugh.

“Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark! A Mr. Edwin Jarvis has contracted us for security for your trip.” A blonde man with a faded sunglasses explained.

A darker man handed Tony a fax with Jarvis’ signature, as well as his own bank details attached. Tony sighed in relief. The old man worried too much about him. Though, even the Iron Man was grateful for the effort. As Tony was led towards a series of side exits, he noticed one of the men sliding a group of security officers some notes and a whisper of ‘Thanks for the office, buddy’.

Tony was led into an unremarkable car and shoved into it. The group of men squeezed in as well. Those that couldn’t fit merely slid into one of the two other cars resting by the delivery bay of the airport. The blonde bodyguard beamed, excited for a new job to begin. It wasn’t every day that you were hired to protect Tony Stark.

“While we’re here, you’re Mr. Wenhem.”

“Who the fuck’s gonna buy that? I’m pretty sure I’m listed in their schools as ‘Lucifer’.”

“No, that’d be your pa.” The blonde laughed.

Tony didn’t.

“Well, if we’re gonna be a bit more casual, Mr. Stark, where to first?”

That question marked the start of several hellish days. The heat never let up. Tony forwent his usual suits and adopted a sweat-stained brown tee-shirt with shorts. He never started with optimism as he ventured into the manufacturing centres of Hanoi. That didn’t mean that his mood never dropped even further. His name had enough way on international businesses that he was able to swiftly arrange lunches, dinners, and even factory tours of nearly a dozen companies. All were indoors, darkly lit, and full of security. Yet, despite these pleasant meetings that Tony always paid the bill for, not a single one knew of anything that could resemble useful information. Some knew about new engineering or military contracts being produced in Vietnam. Others knew of slowly increasing funding in the university sector. Not a single one could provide him with a path to look for an Arc Reactor.

By the fifth day of travelling throughout the country, it was clear that it was dead end after dead end. The bodyguards were silent, but Tony knew that even they were wondering why the hell Tony was wasting so much time. No matter how he framed his questions, no matter who he asked, no matter where he went, no one knew of anything that could even resemble what was in his chest. No one. It all made it hard for the man to breathe. He was constantly sweating. He had lost count of the amounts of alcoholic shops he had passed. It seemed that with every intake of air he took, he could smell beer and cheap whiskey.

On the sixth day, Tony was kneeling by the car, inhaling his fifth cigarette of the day as if his life depended on it. He was never a smoke, but he needed a fix of something. His brain shot alive with the chemicals, but it was a poor substitute for alcohol. Tony rose. His head craned to look behind him. A fenced off building in ruins was before him. Flames had kissed and smothered every part of the part factory. It was almost raised to the ground. Tony threw the cigarette on the ground and rubbed it out with his shoe. ‘Stark Industries Manufacturing’ could just be made out on the charcoal-laden wall. He had seen it once, when he was a child and it was pumping out weapons during the Vietnam War. To see one of his father’s precious toys utterly annihilated gave him a strange satisfaction. There was horror, but also a sick pleasure.

“Still no idea what happened?” Tony asked the blonde guard briskly.

He shook his head. Without prompting, he nodded towards some children that were sitting idly by the road. The factory was relatively close to three villages, all connected by two roads that met in front of the factory. Amongst the trees and plant-life, small houses could be seen lining the roads. Many had children staring, sitting, whispering as they watched the foreigners inspect the torched building.

One of the guards walked to one such child, handed him a note, and began speaking to him in Vietnamese. Tony impatiently shook his head. Coming to the factory was a mistake. Coming to the country was a whole fucking mistake. Someone had replicated his technology, and been smart enough to shove Tony into another continent. Tony shook his head again. He was meant to be better than this. Smarter. He suddenly grimaced as a shadow of a headache began to trickle over his overstimulated brain.

“He doesn’t know anything.” The guard whispered, having returned, “I’m gonna ask around. See what’s up.” He said, gesturing for some of the other bodyguards to begin asking around.

“You do that, soldier boy.” Tony sighed.

Even with his sunglasses, the shine from the sun was intense. The lack of a cigarette on his lips was already starting to make him anxious. He licked his lips. It was a dead end. Another fucking dead end. Another arms race was no doubt about to begin, and Tony was playing tourist. His security watched as he grimaced and held onto the car. He was meant to be smarter than this. Millions were gonna die. He just knew it. Millions. He turned to glare at the ruined factory beside him. It was almost fitting. Down with the old, in with the new. He may as well make a new factory in its place, given what he had allowed to occur.

“Oi, rich boy, where’s the fancy cars?”

Laughing underneath some trees, a group of young men, barely out of their teens, were relaxing in the shade. Many of them rested by motorbikes. Old models and frames, but they were clearly taken care of with great love. Tony even eyed one with mild envy before another flash of a headache made him roll his eyes and look away. A lanky, runt-shaped man chuckled at Tony’s indifference.

“We know who you are, money man.”

“We’re not here to talk or for trouble.” One of Tony’s bodyguards warned.

The group whistled, almost giggling to themselves. The bodyguard turned to the others and rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘fucking kids’ with a mildly humoured grin. Several others chuckled. Tony didn’t. He was too busy trying to ignore the harsh reality that he was now in. He frankly didn’t care about idiots in the sun.

“Seen you in magazines.” Another young man called, “Nice cars. None here?”

“Does it fucking look like I have any here?” Tony snapped.

The blonde bodyguard suddenly looked uncomfortable and stood closer to Tony, as if expecting violent reaction. The group across from them whistled and laughed again. One of them rose from the grass and grinned lopsidedly.

“Shame, American. Your cars are very nice.”

“Yeah, that’s why I buy them.” Tony hissed, rubbing his throbbing temples.

He needed to plan his next move. He needed to figure out where next to look for information. It was so very hard to concentrate with yapping next to your ear.

“Bet you can’t drive them.” One of them goaded, earning cheeky laughs from her friends.

“Bet you don’t even have a fucking car.” Tony sighed heatedly, his eyes scrunched shut.

“We got bikes, though.” She countered smugly, jabbing her thumb back at one next to her, “Bet you can’t ride them.”

Tony suddenly opened his eyes. He licked his lips. An idea blossomed in his head. The prospect of adrenaline in his body. Something to take away the damned, bloodied, horrid stress in his mind. Something to remove the crushing pressure from his chest so that he could breathe once more. Tony took off his glasses. He licked his lips. He pointed to the bike behind the girl, and he then reached into his shorts for his wallet.

“How much we betting?”

The girl’s eyes widened with mad glee. Tony’s security almost fainted. Nearly all of them rushed towards Tony with swift words of warning or dissatisfaction. Tony didn’t register a single word. He pushed them aside as the girl pulled her friends aside and whispered. She was then pushed towards Tony.

“Lamborghini.”

“What the fuck would you do with a Lamborghini? It’s gonna be stolen in a week.” Tony advised, turning and pointing to the ruined factory behind him.

The girl was pulled back into the group. Hasty whispers were shared as once again, Tony’s guards tried to talk him into leaving the group alone. They had even given up on asking the locals for information as soon as they noticed a commotion. Tony waved them off. This was the most sincere entertainment that he’d had in days.

“I want the bike.” Tony called out.

The girl looked at her bike. Her eagerness to race Tony Stark seemed to die. Those around her seemed very reluctant to, as well. Tony overplayed his hand. Desperate to have something to focus on that wasn’t the hell of his week, he cleared his throat.

“You win, I’ll buy you a house. A bike for a house. Good odds.” Tony forced a smile.

The girl’s face was limp for a moment. Then, a hungry, nonsensical smile coloured her features. Tony’s security just muttered under their breath, already giving up on trying to control the moody billionaire. The girl wheeled her bike towards the road whilst her friend led his own, slightly smaller bike in front of Tony. He dropped to his knees, inspecting the vehicle closely. If some punk tried to screw him over by faulting the vehicle, he’d hurl a missile at them.

Finding no faults within the vehicle aside from age, Tony mounted the bike without even worrying for a helmet. The blonde bodyguard stood in front of him.

“Sir, this is ridiculo-”

“I’m paying for your next vacation.” Tony reminded him, “Hey! Where’s the finish line?”

The girl’s bike roared to life and she laughed as it did so. She thought for a moment.

“Four miles up. Start of village. A large radio tower is at the front. We end there.”

Tony knew it. He was driven past it less than thirty minutes prior. With the taste of a cigarette on his tongue and a complete lack of anxiety about Arc Reactors, Tony grinned as he started the bike. The vibrations of power beneath him only lightened his mood further. This wasn’t his first illegal race, and he had missed them.

The boy whose bike Tony sat up walked some distance up. Tony’s hand played on the bike’s gear. His eyes were on the dirt road before him. To his relief, no one was walking down it, at least none that he could see. The boy looked at his friends, to the girl on the bike, and then shrugged. Not knowing what else to do, he shouted and waved his hands as if they were flags. The girl reacted first. Tony accelerated faster.

A mad laugh broke out from Tony as he roared through the air. It took five or so seconds for him to get used to the weight and sway of the bike, but once he did, the rich man’s hair flew behind his face as if he were a lion. His heart pounded in his chest, but it was not with crushing fear. He was not scared of situations that he could not control. He was not terrified of his own heritage. He was in a race and he was winning. He was fast. The girl was no amateur. She was at his side in moments, a determined grimace on her face. Her lip was tightly bitten as she tried to outmanoeuvre Tony. She almost did. Had Tony not played with jets and tanks in his Iron Man suit, he no doubt would have slipped as soon as she curved in front of him, daring to almost touch his front wheel. Tony veered the slightest line of left. He accelerated a tad more.

As the road began to curve, the girl had the wisdom to adjust her speed for the new angle. Tony didn’t. Barely in control of the bike, Tony roughly forced the vehicle to the side whilst still accelerating. Tony swallowed as he felt gravity almost push him to the ground. He leaned up, managing to swing momentum his way. He was ahead. He was going to win some crappy bike, but he was gonna win. The beautiful adrenaline that pumped in his veins felt heavenly. Without realising it, he was pushing the bike to go faster. The wind cruelling lashed at his eyes, but he didn’t care. He was having fun for the first time in weeks. Weeks.

And it all ended in a second. Tony’s eyes just caught site of a small family carrying boxes by the road. With a curse under his breath, Tony veered his bike to the side whilst decelerating. It was enough to avoid the now screaming children but at the cost of Tony’s control. His bike wobbled and he knew he was fucked. One wobble led to another, which led to the bike beginning to flip. Tony had crashed bikes before. He knew to swing his leg out of the way of the dropping bike and to try and roll carefully away on the grass. As his body left the bike, there was just too much force. Tony shouted as he skidded on the ground, rolling. His shirt was torn, his skin rubbed raw and bloody.

He was on his side. His heart thudded against the Arc Reactor. For a moment, Tony could only hear the heartbeat. He peered up, seeing the bike torn into the ground and resting up by the roots of a tree. It was fucked. Tony rolled onto his back and hissed in agony. The friction burns on his back were already weeping blood. One limb at a time, he moved his body and took note. No breakages, but his back was a mess. His whole life was a mess. He stared at the blue sky above with loathing. He was alone in a country that his father burnt. His inability to control his own technology was going to kill millions. What did he have to show for it? Nothing. Utterly nothing. Every single lead was a waste of time. He couldn’t even get himself out of his own messes. His father would be mocking him in hell right now. A variety of business and academic links, and nothing.

Tony hummed. At the back of his mind, he remembered Anna, the short girl that had bombarded his answering machine with pointless information about the companies that help manufacture her research equipment. Tony grimaced and growled as he pulled himself into a sitting people. Anna. A sullen feeling overtook him as he became aware of a motoring bike coming closer. He was truly desperate and pathetic if a college student was the only bet that he had left.

Without ceremony, he pushed his bleeding form into a stand as the girl dismounted her bike. She looked shocked at his injuries, only to then look furious at the sight of her friend’s ruined bike. With a limp, he came close.

“Give me a ride back to the town. You won.” He panted.

“You need a doctor.”

“And…” Tony forced a half-smile, “…you need to tell me where I’m buying your house. C’mon. Back to the town, ‘fore I fucking pass out. Fuck.”

***

It was raining on the day that Tony made his way to TruSon. His body was wound in thick bandages and his face was bound in a constant wince. He had refused any strong medication for the pain. He didn’t need another substance to latch onto. His security had immediately reported the accident to Jarvis, who proceeded to verbally abuse him for a near hour after Tony returned to his motel room. Tony didn’t mind, though. He partly agreed with the old man. He had been a fool for the race. Still, it was a useful release of steam from a truly horrible week.

TruSon was surprisingly small. The entire company was housed in a single warehouse, even the corporate side of things. The owners were delighted to meet the Tony Stark, though Tony knew that it was a pointless meeting. While kind, it was clear that the businessmen were old and meek. The younger generation of designers were out of the loop on the business side of things, as well. Useful for university students, not for large business inquiries. It made Tony rather glum as he sat by a window, holding some tea as he watched the rain.

“Terrible about the factory.”

“Hmm?”

Tony looked up to see Tuan, the elderly founder of the company, sitting next to him in the humble lunchroom. Tuan smiled shyly.

“The Stark Industries building. Arson is a foul crime.”

Tony nodded, but wasn’t in the mood for any more conversation. He was already planning his return to the United States and to come crawling to Fury for help. Lord, how he loathed the idea.

“I heard it was empty.” Tuan continued, smiling behind his grey beard, “Bowden said it was closed when he applied to us.”

Tony’s ear twitched. He looked to Tuan.

“He worked for us, right? I kinda remember the name.”

“Oh, yes.” Tuan nodded grimly, “One of the most hated men in Vietnam last decade. He supervised factory for your father. Very famous here.” He explained, only to shake his head, “Many wanted him dead, even when he worked for us.”

“Where’s he now? Still work for you?”

Tuan blinked and titled his head, as if trying to understand if the American was making a joke that was lost on him. When Tony shrugged, Tuan answered.

“He has been missing for nearly a year. His house was…ruined by something. No one went looking for him, either.” Tuan looked grim once more, “I thought…you wanted to learn about him, when you first called. I was surprised when you didn’t mention him.”

Tony had never heard of the disappearance. In fact, he had barely ever heard of Bowden at all. His father had so many arms factories in so many countries. Keeping track of all of the supervisors was impossible for the younger man. Still, something like a Stark Industries supervisor disappearing in Vietnam after decades of service was certainly something worth reporting on. Tony sat up a little more.

“Do you know exactly how long he worked for my dad?”

“Exactly? No. But it was for all of the war. In fact, I think he was supervisor of the first factory, the one near Saigon. When that was abandoned, he came to the new factory, and then to us. He never wanted to go back to America. He answered why.”

Tony shifted and even pulled his chair closer to Tuan. His face was almost full of fury.

“There’s an older factory? That my father made?”

Tuan nodded.

“Yes. It’s what he used to impress other Americans and get investors.” Tuan laughed politely, “It is common knowledge here. Did you father not talk about what he did here?”

He never shut up about it, but never once did Tony’s father ever mention a second, older factory. Tony’s lips curled into a feline look of displeasure.

“Do you know the address of this old factory?”

***

Tony’s breathing was swift, agitated. As he leaned over his car and relaxed on the hood, there was a stern glare that was aimed in front of him. The many hours of travel did not bolster his mood. The agony of the pain in his back did not bolster his mood. The fact that a goose hunt that a college student sent him in on did not bolster his mood. He pulled the cigarette into his mouth to take a long drag of it as he peered into the night.

“Sir,” A voice called from behind him, “We had a quick run up and down the street. This is the only factory we can find.” There was a pause, “If it could even be called that…”

The precinct around him was mostly bare, abandoned. It rested by the waterfront, where wooden docks rotted away without investment to sustain them. American and French investment. In front of him, the lights of Ho Chi Min city danced vibrantly. As he had waited for his security to try and find the factory, Tony had pondered why he wasn’t having a good time in the city. Instead, he was by the river in a set of old industrial complexes. Many thick, bulky buildings were smeared with painted and graffiti, mostly anti-American. Ceilings had collapsed. Storerooms raided for materials and goods. Not a working car in sight. Only one building could pass as a factory, though.

It was small yet long, leading onto the waterfront where the boats no doubt collected their produce. The outer walls were all ruined with mud and paint, all thrown in hate. The signage had all fallen down or, perhaps, been stolen. Either way, it was impossible to understand who owned the building by appearances along. The tall, brick and steel wall around the factory had also collapsed, muddled with the mud and waste of the street.

Tony took one last inhale of his stick and then tossed it to the ground, crushing it.

“Want us to scope out-”

“Don’t bother. I wanna look alone.” He replied as he walked towards the factory.

“Sir, I cannot recom-”

“I’ll double your pay, now shush it.” Tony muttered.

The security team looked at one another in exasperation. He truly was one of their worst clients. The factory seemed to be growing taller as Tony approached. His feet grew swift, nervous, frantic as his narrowed eyes saw the large, steel walls of the manufacturing centre greet him. He snuck a peak behind him. True to his commands, the bodyguards were staying behind, glaring at him. Tony carefully trod past the seas of broken glass and into the dark, unlit reception area. Tables were thrown and smashed. Burnt papers coloured the ground. Even pens had been snapped. Whoever had raided the factory wanted everything broken. Tony’s frown grew, but he did not stop carefully stepping deeper into the factory. His feet touched fabric. An American flag torn, stabbed, and even shot at was slumped on the floor. Tony began to sweat as he guessed what happened when the war ended.

The question that idly played on Tony’s mind was why leave this factory for the second. It was smaller, but in a more favourable position. Until America lost control of the city during the war, Saigon was a perfect place to distribute weapons for the West. Tony’s fingers rapped against his pants as he tried to see through the dark. His only light was the faint aura of the Arc Reactor poking through his chest. Tony crept into the main manufacturing floor, down rusted stairs. Tony’s face dropped into what could be viewed as discomfort.

It was as if a rhinoceros had been let to wreck chaos. The large machinery for cut, pounding, or compressing sheets of metal was ruined. Gears were thrown on the floor in the thousands. The hanging machines were snapped, bent, or warped behind recognition. They did not look burnt or shot at, but a terrifying amount of blunt impact pressure had annihilated them. The assembly lines were torn from the ground and thrown onto their sides. Dozens of gun components were resting by cracked walls, having clearly been through at them. It looked like a riot had taken place. Perhaps one did.

Tony stepped downwards onto the floor, his heart slow and heavy. His family truly was hated.

“The heir returns to his kingdom.”

Tony snapped around. He could not find the inhuman, modulated voice until he saw several vibrating, dust filled speakers on the walls. Tony’s next attempt was to look for cameras, but it was too dark to see such details. Something in his gut told him to run and not look back. But Tony’s cursed curiosity took over any other senses.

“Yeah,” Tony replied carefully, eyeing the darkness around him wearily, “me. Don’t recognise the voice.”

“Enjoying Vietnam?” Tony frowned at being ignored, “Such a beautiful country when it’s not being bombed into a hell.”

“If you want to square what my dad did, too late. The prick’s already dead.” Tony called.

Static met his words.

“He’s not the only one. Two million at least can join his grave. Maybe a million more.”

Tony swallowed. His failing attempts to see the mystery voice only fuelled the growing feeling in his stomach. His sweat felt chilly, yet his body was warm and ready to run. He wanted to. He should have.

“Two million. Have you ever even seen the face of your victims?”

“They’re not mi-”

“No? Let’s have a reunion.” The synthetic voice suggested.

There was light. Tony spun around so fast that he almost tripped and fell onto a turned conveyor belt. A projector lit up one of the walls with black and white footage. Tony guessed what he was about to see. Mass graves, burning buildings, flesh torn and ripped, lifeless eyes of children. Tony had to close his eyes, but the sight of a gun with Stark Industries impressed into it as it was held to a teenager’s head cut too quickly. The pain in his back rose. The light burned his eyes. Tony vomited. He held himself by his knees as the footage of planes scorching the forests of Vietnam played, only to then cut to villagers trying to carry screaming, limbless victims away. Tony felt the sickness return. It was so violent that it overtook nearly all of his senses.

“Don’t be ashamed. Be proud of your craft. Be proud of the tools of death your family brought to this country.”

The footage shifted to crates full of guns, grenades, and ammunition behind lifted or pulled from trucks. Giant flamethrowers and vials of horrific chemicals were being passed around to smiling troops. Missiles were carefully locked into jets and fighters. Every single one of them bore the Stark Industries crest. Millions of weapons flickered in front of Tony’s watery eyes. Bullets that never seemed to end in streams like a river. Everything his father had dreamed off. Everything that he had inherited.

“And where was the prince during the king’s reign?”

The footage changed to American news reports. A younger Tony was being pulled into a police car as he giggled. His nose was red and weeping whilst his eyes were not looking at the world around him. Images of a shirtless Tony hungrily kissing a model on an old yacht came up next. This was followed by a clearly drunk Tony attending a movie premier and trying to flirt with the lead actress on the red carpet. Image after image, news reel after news reel. All showed Tony in the sixties and seventies drugged or drunk beyond reason or reality. Tony looked down in silent shame.

“The prince was enjoying his father’s spoils. He didn’t mind about his family’s murders. Their theft. Their…” The voice stopped and static resumed, “But why should the spoils end with the war? The prince is now the king. He deserves a kingly gift. From the millions dead at your hands, we thank you.”

Something dinged. Nervously, Tony rose to stand straight and saw something glowing on one of the assembly lines. Tony almost didn’t walk towards it. With numb limbs and a quivering belly, Tony walked towards a small box that would typically be filled with bullets. There was a blue glow underneath. Tony’s jaw tightened as he glared with utter hatred. Without hesitation, he threw down the empty box to look beneath it. A small, active Arc Reactor.

It was slightly different in shape, more rectangular, to the one in Tony’s chest. Yet looking at the circuitry and exposed wire placements, Tony could only become motionless. A statue standing in front of mimicry. It wasn’t a fake. Tony couldn’t explain it, he could rationalise it, but he just knew that it was a working Arc Reactor. The source of all of his terror and shame was resting in front of him.   

“Something so small…but could kill so many.”

“What is this?!” Tony screamed in maddened fear, “I don’t know you! I didn’t do this! I wasn’t in the war!”

There was static. Tony ran his hands through his damp hair. Looking down at the reactor, he felt sick again. He needed to destroy. He didn’t care that he didn’t know how it was created. Without thought, he grabbed the reactor and watched it crash into a wall with satisfaction. His back swelled with the raw movement of fresh wounds. Soon, only his manic panting could be heard. Then, the voice spoke again.

“Something so small.”

More footage began to be shown, cutting through the dark factory with searing brightness. Grainy footage displayed a line of lights on a small set of racks. Tiny, metallic dots that shone against the grimy background. Arc Reactors. At least a dozen of them, maybe even more. Tony found their image to be foul and towering. His body seemed to slacken under the immense pressure that they conjured. His body almost collapsed, his legs no longer responding to him. Someone was mass producing a line of Arc Reactors. Not even Tony had built more than three, yet countless lights stared at him like demonic eyes, their mere existence gloating at the frail man.

“I wonder what all these could do.”

The speakers crackled, and then there was silence. The footage flickered, and then there was darkness. In the quiet shadows of the ruined factory, Tony could only hear his breathing, he could only feel his rampant heart. Tony ran.

With feral breathing, he sprinted out of the factory. The pain of his bloodied back meant nothing to him. He didn’t care about the crushed glass, the fractured bricks by the walls. His mind could not hear any calm thoughts. It refused to do anything but push them aside for hysteria. As he stumbled onto the road, Tony’s bodyguards straightened. Seeing the panic on his face, they ran towards him. Tony collided with one. He started to shake his body, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Did you see anyone?”

“Sir, are you alr-”

“WAS THERE ANYONE HERE?!” Tony shrieked.

The bodyguard could only shake his head. Tony’s breathing started to burn. Hot, thick air swelled in his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Someone had made working Arc Reactors, and not even Tony Stark could stop it. He fell to his knees. Rough noises left his throat as tears poured over his cheeks. People were going to die with his own inventions. The cycle had continued. He was just another Stark, as was his father and grandfather before him. And he was powerless to stop it.

Tony collapsed into the pavement, his breathing poor.

***

Tony’s blurred, pixelated form collapsed in six separate monitors. Each showed the scene from a different angle. Some from the faraway distance of the factory, others from the side of the wall near his car. All captured the utterly agony of a slowly breaking man. In front of the monitors, a person smiled. They reached into a jar of pistachio nuts. As they chewed upon several, the smile only grew. The great Tony Stark, heir of death, brought down to a sobbing child in front of his security. What wasn’t there to smile about?

The person leaned over to the bulky, loosely connected mainframes and computer components and turned a dial. The six sets of footage rolled back, allowing the scene to begin all over again. A gleeful smile was formed as Tony fell once more into unconsciousness. It was the greatest film ever created and there wasn’t even any sound. The viewer threw more pistachios into their mouth again. As they prepared to replay the footage a third time, one of the smaller, block-like computers sprang to like. Green lines travelled down the dark screen, revealing that someone was requesting a meeting. One last pistachio was thrown into a mouth before the person wheeled their chair to the desk. With bored fingers, they commanded the computer’s security to activate and for the camera system to be disabled.

With all systems primed, the screen turned black. Then, grainy, poor, thick pixels coloured green sunk into the screen. It took a few moments for the video feed to boot up, but eventually a recognisable bulbed head was moving in a jarring fashion.

“You wanted to update me. I trust you’re well?”

The computer did not convey the Leader’s confident smirk. The viewer doubled checked to make sure their voice modulator was active before pulling a second-hand recording microphone in front of their lips.

“Stark’s in Vietnam. He’s not fully broken yet.” The figure grinned cockily, “In a few more days, that’ll change.”

Static chuckles bled through the speakers.

“Good. He won’t be focussed on his friends?”

“He won’t have the chance.”

As they replied, the speaker lazily reached under the magazines by the six monitors. Feeling something cold, they pulled a rectangular object that glowed bright blue. Tony Stark’s precious royal sceptre. It felt so beautiful to hold one after creating it yourself.

“He’ll be too busy picking up the pieces of his failures.” The viewer hissed.  

The Leader’s blocky form seemed to hesitate.

“Are you alright? You seem…distracted.”

“I did my job,” The viewer warned in a tight, defensive voice, “You do yours.”

The Leader leaned back, his eyebrow raising but nothing more was said on the matter. It was hard to criticise someone when they had just broken a mass murderer.

“Stark is due to fly back in the next two days. Do you still want me to return for…the other thing?” The viewer shifted, feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of what they were being asked to build.

The Leader made a buzzing noise.

“Yes. The sooner, the better. It would be useful having a more…direct associate nearby.”

“I’ll fly out tomorrow morning.”

Without another word, the viewer severed the connection. The dear Leader was agitated. Plans on his side of things must not be going well. A mild flavour of stress swam over the viewer. They could always try to disappear. They doubted that even the Leader could find them. Yet, that was a terrible gamble to make, and a deal was a deal.

They rolled themselves back to the first desk. With a grin, they leaned back, grabbed more nuts, and pressed play on the footage of Tony Stark collapsing. It was…beautiful.

***

A/N: Hey, everyone! Thanks very, very much for reading. I hope you’re enjoying it so far.

It’s been fun to write so many of the Avengers mentally pressed to their edge, especially Tony (though, it will get worse for him, and everyone else, really).

Next chapter will reveal a little about Clea’s backstory, as well as the reunion of several of the Avengers who haven’t met yet (exciting times). It’ll also touch on Hank’s growing fears from Janet’s news, and some good ol’ Dane explaining to Jackie how many monsters he’s kill. Fun, fun. And if there’s enough time, maybe a lil furry cameo might happen.

I’m about to start drafting the basic plot of the next story. I have the villain picked out, but if anyone wants a specific new Avengers or character to appear, let me know and I’ll see what works for the storyline. The more random the character, the better.  

If you have any feedback or suggestions, I always love a comment or kudos. It’s honestly really great to get them. If not, no worries. I hope you all have a great rest of the week!

Fact of the chapter: Wisdom teeth are so named because they spring up when you are older and ‘wiser’. Historically, the term ‘Age of Wisdom’ has been used to describe a person in their twenties, when wisdom teeth often form.  

Chapter Text

A/N: A quick heads up. The very end of this chapter has a scene where a certain animal character is exposed to a gas as part of an experiment. It’s not graphic or violent or anything, and the animal comes out pretty well. ‘Super’, you could say. But if references/quick depictions of experimenting and animals isn’t something you’re comfortable with, please skip the very last part with the Leader.

***

Strange’s small research abode within the Sanctum was eerily silent. It wasn’t typically loud, but at least either Strange or Clea would murmur something as they continued their research or attempted to conjure a cure for Clea’s medical concern. It felt different today. Strange rubbed his darkened eyes before sipping his coffee. A curse in a foreign language made his ear twitch. Looking away from his tome on matter transfiguration, the doctor witnessed an irate Clea aggressively slam a book shut. He watched as the flushed woman dragged another three books in front of her and, to his astonishment, begin reading all three at the same time. Her brow only deepened as she read. As the morning had began, Clea was barely responsive. Her face was a taut, imposing thing to look at. Strange had been tempted to ask if she were okay, but he thought better of it. He didn’t need a knife thrown at him.

Strange had no desire to inflame her mood or to deal with an overly loud Clea lecturing him, as she often did when annoyed by their lack of success. He was still mildly upset at her for how she spoke to the Pyms and how promptly she threw Peter Parker out of the Sanctum. So, he resumed reading in the hopes that there could be a solution in transforming the infected cells into healthy cells. A complex strategy, even for sorcery, that would require enough talented sorcerers to alter living beings on a cellular level. Strange’s shoulders slumped. Even if it was possible, the learning curve would be astronomical. It was hardly viable on the scale needed for the entire Dark Dimension.

“Tal’li Amu!”

Glass shattered this time. Strange rolled his eyes, grunted, and forced himself to turn around. It was his research space, after all. Clea had thrown one of the books against his rack of polished test tubes. Strange could only grit his teeth. Unfortunately, Strange’s eyes lingered too long. Clea looked up, caught his displeased expression, and bared her white teeth as if she were a wolf.

“An issue?” She hissed.

Strange silently pointed a shaking finger to his ruined set of test tubes. Clea didn’t even bother looking at her victims. She scoffed at Strange.

“We’ve got no successes, and you whine over shattered glass? Pathetic.” She scoffed again and looked back to her books.

“Ah, so we’ve got this Clea today.” Strange whispered under his breath.

He couldn’t help himself. Strange immediately felt a small hand on his shoulder whip him around with terrifying strength. Wide, feral eyes overtook his field of vision and Strange became idly aware that an unknown spell was dancing on her free fingertips. Strange remained calm, composed, and even managed to look utterly unimpressed.

“I didn’t hear that.” Clea stated coolly.

The two stared at each other closely, eyeing the other up and assessing their worth. As carefully as he could with his ruined hand, Strange collected Clea’s hand and gently pulled it away from his shoulder. Clea’s teeth were still displayed, but the expression had lost some of its savagery.

“You’re in a mood today. Worse than usual.”

Clea almost sneered.

“My universe is dying.”

To her surprise, Strange didn’t immediately offer sympathy. He gambled. He spoke coolly and hid the anxiety well from her as he did so.

“Yeah, it was yesterday, as well. You sure that’s all it is?”

Clea’s eyes narrowed at the insinuation. Within a blink of Strange’s eyes, Clea was at her station and reading with hostility. Strange rolled his eyes again, but his grizzled features softened into what could be sympathy.

The pair resumed their research for nearly an hour before the next interruption occurred. Yet again, it was Clea. There was no explosion of emotions this time, however. Her words streamed outwards like a gentle, weak mist in the air.

“Forgive my rudeness.” There was a pregnant pause, “For today and for yesterday. I mean no personal qualm with your…friends. It marks a year to this day since I first became aware of the disease. A year in my time, at least. Wasted, fruitless time.”

Strange looked over to see a shrunken, deflated woman leaning over the desk. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything further, Strange found himself becoming vexed. It would be the right thing to do to build her confidence, to offer her some kindness. He just didn’t know what to say. He barely knew her, and what he did know made him want to run. Strange almost turned to resume his work. His gut refused to allow it. With a pained grimace, the medical sorcerer walked to stand at Clea’s side. She was attempting to read again, albeit without the usual fire in her eyes.

“Did you start the disease?”

Clea looked vilified by the remark. Her hands flexed without thought, the urge to strike Strange overtaking all sense. What a horrid, ignorant, cruel comment from such a lowly sorcerer.

“How da-”

“The answer’s ‘no’. Don’t blame yourself for things you didn’t have a hand in. It’s just…cruel to yourself to do that.”

Tense would be an appropriate way of describing the air around the two of them. Clea seemed to flash between moments of rage and glimpses of thankfulness at Strange’s words. Her lips twitched many times over. Eventually, the proud woman’s elegant shoulders dropped even further. Her majesty was all but spent by the stresses of their failures.

“You do not know such…things.” She whispered in a rough tone as she turned back to her notes, “Return to your research.”

“I know about being cruel to myself for things that aren’t entirely my fault.” Strange’s eyes became void as his stoicism was replaced by sour loathing, “I know what it’s like to make a mistake or two, and to think every part of the resulting situation is your fault. All your fault.” Strange turned towards his own station and shrugged, “You didn’t make the disease. Trying to cure it is hardly ‘wasted, fruitless time’.”

A deep exhale became from behind Strange, but he did not acknowledge it. His mood was too crippled by allusions to his first years as a sorcerer. Few extent thoughts or happenings penetrated his attention for many minutes. Eventually, he continued pondering the merits of transforming cells themselves, considering if it were possible to find magical substances to do so. A vaccine of sorts. The more Strange scrambled through texts, the more he realised that it was an area of both magic and medicine that he was not specialised in.

“An interesting…view.”

Strange’s eyes slid to the side. Clea had silently come to his side. While she was only able to understand the inscriptions in the book within Strange’s hand to an extent, Clea was able to grasp the basic concept of what Strange was playing with.    

“You’d need ingredients for an entire universe.”

“You could replicate the materials.”

“On such a scale…” Clea’s brows knitted together.

“It’s possible, though.”

“It’s…possible. But we would still need to find substances that mirror the magical properties of spells that…” Clea did her best to understand Strange’s notes but the magical pen was too scribbled for her tastes.

“We…transfigure the diseased cells into healthy cells. We replicate said healthy cells from the host and…transform the diseased cells into them. Instantaneously. We eradicate the illness by instant replacement, fostered by the host body.”

The smallest trace of excitement could be heard in Strange’s voice. Clea’s mouth gaped a little as she tried to find the successes or flaws of the proposed solution. Eventually, Strange’s notes were snapped from his view.

“I will translate and review these.” Clea explained in an almost political tone, “It is…an intelligent solution.” She added, slightly awkwardly.

Strange grinned in a rough, brutish way.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

As Clea spent her hours translating English into an utterly incomprehensible set of characters for her review, Strange disappeared. He was eventually located in one of the few surviving storerooms of the Sanctum, hastily examining jarred ingredients or plants that were being carefully grown for various mystical purposes. Several books levitated around him as he tried to understand the properties of every leaf, of every sample of flesh, of every horn and strand of hair. Surely some could aid in replicating healthy cells, at least in some form of a combination with other substances.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Someone whispered as Strange squinted at a row of fangs of various species of mystical canine.

“I heard he got demoted, so he’s now record keeping. But, for like the creepy stuff and shit.”

“I heard that, too! Dessy told me that she walked in on Mr. Strange with Mistress Kale having se-”

Every single book around Strange slammed shut. He turned, waved his arm, and watched as the wall before him turned transparent, revealing a small horde of students attempting to eavesdrop. Calvin Morse’s mouth gaped, his chubby cheeks flushing with embarrassment as soon as he realised what had happened. Shaylee attempted to flee, but the young half-fairy immediately collided with Zoe Laveau’s hip, sending the poor child sprawling to the floor. Luckily, Toth silently leaned down, picked her up, and used an icy finger to pat her messed hair straight.

Calvin pointed to Toth.

“He told us to do it.”

Strange exhaled deeply. He frankly didn’t have time to babysit. Yet, he still found himself walking towards them, arms behind his broad back.

“I’m aiding in research, I’m not demoted. And if anyone thinks that…Mistress Kale and I have…I’ll kick you out.” He warned in a brisk tone.

“Bad break up?” Calvin asked, only to immediately regret it.

Strange’s eyes flashed red.

“Can we help?” Zoe hastily asked, looking over Strange’s shoulder to see what he was looking at, “Classes aren’t as fun without you.”

“We miss you being cranky.” Shaylee nodded matter-of-factly.

“I’m not cranky, I’m realistic with you.” Strange snorted, “You can’t. It’s…not a fun task.”

“So, we should help more.” Shaylee nodded again.

Strange’s lip almost twitched into a small smile, but he battered it away.

“Maybe next time.” Before Shaylee could complain, Strange continued, “I trust your…classes are well?”

Toth made a hand gesture that was either a death threat or an indication of how miserable he was. Strange couldn’t stop the smile at that.

“Mistress Topaz is far more talented than-”

“Ugh, it’s Rintrah that’s annoying.” Zoe cut in with exasperation, “All he does is…boring lectures. Then he throws books at us if we don’t know the spell he’s talking about.”

Strange chuckled softly. He had been the victim of such abuse at least twice in the past year. He was almost tempted to tell them of his bruises, but he didn’t. A guilt overcame him instead. He wanted to very much continue the conversation, yet the looming presence of Clea and her calamity weighed upon him heavily. Without warning, the books around him opened once more.

“Do the readings, and he won’t have an excuse for violence with said readings.” Strange advised, “Now, I have to go back to it. I’m sorry.”

Shaylee stomped her foot on the ground in outrage. Before she could begin her legal defence for Strange continuing to talk, an older voice ran through the air.

“I believe I asked for you to join Mr. Drumm in the library for continued study.” Jennifer Kale chastised, “Go, before I use my loud voice.”

Shaylee looked at Strange with utter betrayal before storming off. Calvin looked at Strange, shrugged meekly, and followed the younger girl.

“Sir.” Zoe nodded respectfully before departing.

Toth waved with a bright smile before running after his friends. Strange visibly relaxed as it became quiet again.

“They miss you groaning and looking annoyed at teaching while teaching.” Jennifer’s smile was almost teasing.

“Hmm.”

Strange turned around and resumed his inspection of the storeroom.

“Do we have anything that replicates cells? Or…encourages growth hormones, perhaps?”

“Stephen, I barely finished high school before training to be a sorcerer. I have no idea.” Strange chuckled, “I can ask Topaz. How’s our guest coming along?”

“Moody. Irrational.” He tattered and then paused, “Feels guilt about things she didn’t do.”

“Sounds familiar.” Jennifer replied carefully as she looked at vials of venom with passive interest.

“I know. I know.” Strange sighed, “I don’t know how to place her. I still don’t.” He admitted, “She acts like an entitled queen. Arrogant. Rude. But, as much of a pain in the ass that she is, I do want to help. A whole universe doesn’t deserve to die.”

“I know.” Jennifer agreed, “It’s why she’s still here. It’s why one of our senior students is still pottering away with her. But I agree with you.” Strange looked up to see Jennifer looking pensive, “I just find her…odd. She hasn’t been poking around the Sanctum like I thought she would. She’s just been researching and that’s it. Maybe she’s telling the truth.”

“Or playing a long game.” Strange looked a shade paler, “We don’t have typical enemies. We don’t really know her end game. Only something on face value.”

Jennifer nodded reluctantly. She had been keeping a very close eye on the woman. As much as she wanted to truly believe her plight, Jennifer just couldn’t bring herself to. So many rough years after Varnae had made nearly all surviving sorcerers cynical.

“It’s not entirely on you to watch her.” She added with a graceful smile, “You’re not alone. Don’t let this weigh entirely on you.”

Jennifer squeezed his hand gently. A small smile grew on his lips.

“I’ll go fetch Topaz. I’ll see if she can make your hunt swift.”

“Thank you.”

As Strange was felt within the cramped storeroom, he could not maintain the smile. His deeply carved face lowered as he failed in focussing on the vials before him. As much as Jennifer’s words were well intended, they had little effect on Strange. The blunt truth of the matter was that if Clea and Strange failed in their task, Strange would feel strong guilt. It would be hard not to. Things were always his fault or failings, in one way or another.

***

The small suburban street was not unlike that which Thor and Barbara lived in. It was quieter, with many small houses resting behind polished cars and finely mowed grass. The air smelled fresh, and the occasional sound of a hushed conversation could be heard. Whispers behind doors. Eyes that peeked through curtains. Thor knew that he was being watched.

He knew as he entered the street that all was not what it seemed. He was used to drawing attention, both as a royal of Asgard and as a gigantic man on Midgard. This was different. He had almost not heard them as he whispered into the air. His words vibrated the air, calling for its aid in locating Steve Rogers. It had taken him nearly the entire day’s sun, but he found a trail. The magical air that Thor conjured finally smelled sweeter. And so, Thor hasten his stride through New York. For every step, he carried a backpack with a hidden weapon. He was not near the city, rather it appeared that Steve Rogers had secluded himself away from the noise and population. As he had entered, Thor became keenly aware that a car had entered and left the street three separate times. He stopped chanting his spell.

His sharpened ears could hear few things, but it was enough. Whispers. Thor was careful not to break his routine or to appear knowledgeable of his surroundings. He merely continued walking beside the road, looking for any trace of a house that Steve Rogers could call home. Suddenly, a man hobbled out of the house in front of Thor. He was an elderly man, nearing the end of his time on Midgard. Despite being thin and rangy, Thor knew the man to be a warrior. Faint traces of pale scars could be seen on his left cheek. His posture was impressive for an aged human. Strong and controlled, and each movement was carefully planned. The man was clearly ready to defend himself if needed. His hand was also concealed with a puffy jacket. Thor could hear the sound of metal clicking within.

“Afternoon, friend.” The old man smiled as he gingerly reached for the hose, “Haven’t seen you by these parts before. Looking for a friend or family member?”

The polite smile twitched as the behemoth of a man stood less than fifty centimetres away from him. It was a bear standing in front of a mongoose. Thor beamed. He offered his paw to the elderly man, who took it with faked gratitude. His other hand still held onto the gun in his jacket.

“I am, indeed. Would you be of aid to me?”

“Well, certainly, friend. Who might you be after?”

Thor leaned down. For the smallest moment, the elderly man’s façade faded as his age allowed anxiety to blossom within his frail chest. When Thor spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“I know of who your master is. We are not foes. Please, send Nicholas Fury my fond wish for a victorious life.” The elderly man’s hand tightened on his gun, “I am looking for an old friend. One which I know that you know of. Where is he?”

Thor leaned up. His smile was wide, but it did little to conceal the violent warning in his eyes. The old man didn’t know who he was. Not once had he come across anyone that met Thor’s description in his decades’ worth of service to S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was tempted to draw his gun. It’d be fruitless. The man was too close and simply too massive. The old man would be disarmed before he could raise his weapon.

“Son,” The old man murmured in a controlled manner, “I don’t know who you are. But I think it’s for the best if you go back the way you came.”

Thor’s smile turned a shade sinister. For the first time in many centuries, he wanted to strike a human. His patience was shaved away by the presence of a spy near his home. The mighty Thor was in an ill mood for fools and thieves.

“Asgardian.”

To the relief of the elderly man, Thor leaned away and turned his attention elsewhere. To his displeasure, it was to the front porch of Steve Rogers’ house. A tall, very pale man in a black shirt with a dark blue leather jacket was standing firm and proud. His arms were crossed, as if displeased by Thor’s presence. Thor hesitated for a moment. He then smiled.

“We have met.”

Namor’s lip twitched in insult.

“Of course, we have met. I am Pr-”

“You aided in concealing the demon.” Thor’s smile turned genuine, and he inclined his head, “I thank you for that, young prince.”

While displeased at being forgotten and then being abruptly cut off, the gratitude at the end was enough to placate Namor’s fragile ego. The prince of the seas arrogantly waved the back of his hand to the elderly neighbour.

“You may leave us, spy. You are no longer needed.”

The old man bristled. Never once had his cover been blown by someone so…blatantly. And to think that such a man wanted to join S.H.I.E.L.D., or so recent rumours whispered. He was given a polite, yet forced, smile by Thor before the god strolled towards Namor. The agent immediately disappeared within his house to report the situation. Namor lazily pointed at several nearby houses.

“You are on camera. I see at least three.”

“Do I look suitable for an image?”

Namor stared at him. Then, without being able to stop it, he actually laughed. Thor smiled again. His eyes flicked to the house behind Namor.

“Odd that you are here.”

“The same could be said for the foreign god. Captain Rogers stated that he hasn’t seen you for months.”

Thor gained a pensive look.

“The trials of attempting to live like a mortal. I have not seen many of my old friends until quite recently. It is what brings me here. I seek…Steve Rogers.” Thor chuckled in merriment.

Namor almost rolled his eyes as someone squeezed past him. Steve was laughing in delight as he embraced Thor, the two giants squeezing each other tightly. For Steve, it was a wonderful surprise and distraction from his current stresses with S.H.I.E.L.D. He had not seen Thor in nearly a year, and he had missed the wise Aesir. For Thor, it was a wonderful release of worry that he had found the man alive and with a known entity.

The pair pulled back.

“You look well and healthy and vigorous.” Thor observed warmly.

“You’re still as…you, as ever.” Steve’s smile suddenly dropped, “We should probably go inside. We might get visitors soon.”

“I have already encountered some of Fury’s servants.” Thor explained, “For those that wish to be in the shadows, their voices carry heaviness.”

“Agreed.” Namor nodded smugly as he eyed the many houses around them, “Come. I’ll make sure we have a private conversation.”

Steve eagerly led Thor into his house. It quaint, small, and spoke of everything that Thor knew Steve Rogers to be. There was nothing flashy about it at all. The only displayed signs of glory were old war medals and photos to honour comrades that he had lost. It all reminded Thor of his own home. With relief at finally finding the missing Avenger, Thor dropped his bag-covered hammer to the floor with a careful thud.

“Want a beer?” Steve asked.

“I would dare not say no.” The god chuckled, “Thank you.”

As Steve left to grab several cans, Namor busied himself in the living room. He violently shut all the curtains. His fingers danced on the floor as he whispered something. Soon, he had drawn an invisible circle. Thor watched with mild interest as the Atlantean conjured his magic. It was different to that of Asgard’s. It was even different to that of Stephen Strange’s. The movements were rougher, with less finesse. Even the words seemed to be coarse and harsh on the throat.

Soon, a faint bubble of thick air surrounded Namor and Thor. Steve arrived soon after, his mouth silently flapping as he grew more and more confused at what he was seeing. Thor nodded.

“Impressive. I may need to request learning such a spell.”

Namor puffed his chest out.

“My skills are sharp, even for my kind. It will ensure that Fury’s pets give us some peace. Oh, for…Walk in. Step in!”

Namor began to impatiently mime stepping into the bubble to Steve. The super soldier was comically mouthing words that the bubble repealed, leaving him very confused at what was happening. Eventually, Steve understood the instruction and stepped in. He grew relieved that he could once more hear what was going on. As he passed a can to both Namor and Thor, he frowned at the cloudy bubble.

“This better not stain the floor.” He warned Namor, who shrugged nonchalantly, “So, what brings you all the way here? Social call?”

Thor’s face turned grim. He retold all that he knew. It took nearly ten minutes to capture the entirety of everyone’s situation, but he managed to do so without interruption. Namor looked as if he wanted to desperately ask many questions, but both Steve and Thor sent him too many looks for silence for him to do so. Not once did anyone take a sip of their drinks. Only as Thor finished his dire tale did Steve take a long, purposeful intake of beer. He exhaled miserably.

“I need to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. We need to get everyone together. To need to tackle one issue at a time and see what reactions come from that. Maybe whoever is behind this will buckle from pressure of us going on the attack for once. See if we can flush them out. But we need to figure out what’s going on first. We can-”

“That is why you should stay with Fury.” Namor groaned in some condescension.

“Excuse me?” Steve’s tone was irritable.

His friends were in danger. He didn’t need Namor’s voice dripping with mockery. The prince looked at both Avengers, clearly finding it amusing that no one had reached the same conclusions that he had. He wasn’t too surprised. He was a genius in his mind. Namor tilted his head to the side with a confident smile.

“You don’t know anything.” He pointed to Thor and then to Steve, “Nor do you. No one does. Yet, you work for an intelligence organisation and you wish to leave it? That is jumping from the light to swim in the darkness.”

“There is wisdom to his words.” Thor frowned as he thought to himself, “Steve Rogers, such a bond could…give us eyes where we lack them. For a time.”

“If they are hunting us down, then they’re probably already watching me anyway.” Steve reluctantly added, “Walking away from S.H.I.E.L.D. might be what someone wants. Or…staying in S.H.I.E.L.D.” Steve sighed, “Either choice might screw us in the long run.”

“Exactly the point.” Namor tattered, “You know nothing. I am sure someone of…your stature in S.H.I.E.L.D. could no doubt find information for the others.” A sudden malicious grin overcame the prince, “Another of the Iron Man’s glowing batteries? Surely Fury would be interested in knowing such things.”

Steve gritted his teeth. He was upset, but not at their words. He knew that they were right. The best chance to find information on what was going on was through the world’s premier spy agency. Steve was the only one that could get his foot in the door for that. It didn’t change that he felt guilty for running back to his friends. The first people that actually treated him like a human being after being unfrozen. As much as he wanted to give into the guilt and rush to their side, Steve pushed the thoughts from his head. Now was the time to think rationally, not emotionally.

“I think he would, too.” Steve’s tone was bitter, “Even if he wouldn’t tell me. Though,” He turned to Thor, “If this is an Avengers issue-”

“Avengers?” Namor shrugged.

Thor chuckled warmly as nostalgia washed over him.

“It was the name of our band of warriors. The Avengers.” He grinned at Steve, “Peter Parker is still as energetic as always.”

“Good. Very good.” Steve felt oddly reassured at hearing that, “He’s a good kid. But getting back to my point, if it’s Avengers issue, no one’s hit me yet.”

There was a scoff. Namor sat on the floor, looking up at Steve with mocking sincerity before clapping slowly. Steve bit back an insult. The prince was fantastic at pressing every button Steve was born with.

“Your son.”

The sentence was said so calmly that it unsettled Steve. Rage followed soon after. The mere implication that John was involved in the situation was insulting. Steve felt disgusted. Yes, John had his own issues, some severe. But he had shown no indication that was malicious. If anything, it was Fury that was toying with John.

Steve was clearly flushed as Namor’s tone changed into sympathy, something Steve didn’t know Namor was capable of.

“You’re blinded and biased. Don’t pretend like you’re not.”

“You have a son?” Thor whispered in astonishment.

“Pegg…An old love from before I was frozen. Turns out she was pregnant with John.”

“Who miraculously reappears only a few weeks ago. He is eager to embed himself into S.H.I.E.L.D.” Namor explained, “Despite already being thrown from the organisation for reasons unknown.”

“He wants to prove himself. To do better. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Namor shifted his attention to Thor. He looked almost amused.

“He’s in denial about the oddity of the situation.”

Thor was quiet. For the briefest of moments, Namor considered that he had slighted the god in one way or another. His murky eyes were dropped slightly. It was clear that Steve’s revelation had brought him no joy.

“Family matters are clothed from dangerous fabrics. You never know for certain when they have wrapped themselves around your eyes. Be weary of this. You are…not the only one facing woes from one’s family.” Thor admitted, “My father.”

Steve shifted a little.

“Odin? Are you…returning to Asgard?”

Thor’s face turned harsh.

“No.” He murmured in a rough manner, “I have no intent for such. But,” his tone gave way to uncertainty, “sometimes intent and what the Norns proclaim in fate are very different. I say that to you, Steve Rogers. If there is concern for your son, as Prince Namor suggests, be wise. Don’t always listen to your heart on such things.”

Thor looked miserable as he offered his advice. Even Namor looked mildly uncomfortable at the sight of a god looking sullen and defeated. His cockiness had turned into a soft grimace. Steve nodded, not knowing what else to say. Thor wasn’t a fool, and Steve wasn’t foolish enough to not take his advice seriously, even if it was about John. Namor saw Steve’s face melt into discomfort as well, making him rise to his feet again.

“I will return with Thor.” Namor suggested, bringing both Steve and Thor out of their hollow thoughts, “I will aid in…tracking these hidden foes with you. It could be framed to S.H.I.E.L.D. that Thor has come for me, offering an excuse to draw some attention away from you.” He nodded to Steve, “That would give you some space to spy on the spies.”

Something in Steve’s stomach didn’t feel right. The suggestion of such a duplicitous act made the noble soldier’s skin itch in unwanted places.

“If it’s what we should do…” He agreed uneasily.

“If it’s…,” Namor chuckled mockingly, “It’s S.H.I.E.L.D. How honourable do you think they truly are, even to you? Effective, certainly. But honourable? Let’s not be naïve, Captain Rogers.”

***

Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.

Hank eyed the budget summary of one of Pym Industries’ most recently proposed projects with only half interest. As important as it was, given that it was his livelihood, the scientist simply couldn’t focus. His eyes would drag away from the numbers and his shoulders would slag.

Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.

He exhaled. His eyes returned to the document. He had already read the summary three times. He moved to the next page. There was sudden confusion why there needed to be an extra ten thousand allocated. He started reading the front page again.

Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.

“For the love of God!” He hissed.

He looked at the clock in his home office with utter loathing. He rose. He left. Hank scratched at his chin with agitation as he walked into the living room. There was no clock, at least none that he could hear. He pulled the thick landline phone to his ear as he pressed the bulky digits in. He waited as the dial rang in his ear several times. Each time caused his mood to grow more and more prickly. It had not been a good night. He had not had a moment of relaxation or focus. He was sweating, almost feverish. He had left the home lab to just sit on the driveway twice. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t sad. He just…needed space. The distance from both his lab and his home, even if it was just a few metres, stilled his racing mind. By the second time, he was even reluctant to get back up again.

“Stark residence.” An all too familiar voice answered in a polite fashion.

“Jarvis. It’s Hank. How…How are you?” Hank asked in a shaking voice.

“Ah, Mr. Pym. A delight to hear from you. I’m very well. How are you and Janet?”

The question made Hank freeze. His fingers subconsciously gripped the phone’s cord like a lifeline. He didn’t know how to answer that question. It was too soon to tell anyone about the pregnancy. None of their parents even knew. Hank swallowed as he realised that he still hadn’t answered.

“Ah, good. Yeah, she’s good. Just…dealing with the situation.”

“Yes.” Even on the phone, Hank could tell that Jarvis’ tone was grave, “Mr. Stark is still looking into his own situation.”

“Is he back?” Hank tried not to sound too hopeful.

How he had fallen. He was actually eager for Tony Stark to be back in his life, stubborn arrogance and all.

“No,” Jarvis sighed, “He’s due back tomorrow, I believe. Shall I have him call you when he returns?”

“Please. That’d be a major help, Jarvis.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?”

“That’s it. And, ah, hey? If you need anything, let me know, okay? Be careful.”

A fond chuckle was heard on the other side of the line.

“Thank you, Mr. Pym. It’s always a pleasure hearing from you. Have a lovely evening.”

“You, too. Evening.”

Hank shoved the phone down with a grunt. Tony was still out of action. None of the other Avengers had reached out. And he was going to be a father. The sweating returned.

Hank unbuttoned his shirt with a grimace. He licked his drying lips as he looked around for something to do. Finances could burn in hell, for all he cared at the moment. He strolled into the lounge room, yet the television offered him no relief or interest. Instead, he quickly found his fingers digging into his palms until faint traces of blood could be seen. Not even that distracted him from the maddening anxiety plaguing every atom in his body.

It was a strange feeling that never seemed to settle on what emotion it wanted to be. Fear soon turned to anger at himself, only for actual joy to form for a few minutes. Then, it’d all go to nothingness. Hank would find himself staring out at blankly, for nearly five minutes at a time. He didn’t know what he was feeling, let alone how to address it. Being a scientist, dealing with the unknown usually required logical steps that allowed certain laws. There was nothing logical about breaking into sweats and not even knowing why or how to explain it. It was maddening.

“Nothing good on?”

Hank peered up. Janet was locking the front door behind her. She gave him an uncertain, almost fragile looking, smile as she dumped her office satchel by one of the couches near Hank. His eyes lazily glanced at it, only for them to sharpen. Several papers were sticking out of them, one of which showing a familiar formula on it. Hank was on his feet instantly.

“You…You haven’t been doing anything with Pym Particles, right? Right?”

His voice was shaking, as was his entire body for that matter. Janet took some steps forward, looking at the near panicked expression on her husband’s face. His skin was damp, his clothes unkempt. The usual life in his eyes was now just frantic energy. She had not seen him in such a state since he had lost his mind to the incomplete version of the Pym Particle.

“No.” She replied carefully, “I haven’t been near the stuff since…I found out.”

“Good.” He nodded stiffly, almost stern in his tone, “You’re not to go near it again.”

There was something in his voice that Janet didn’t like at all. It was almost patronising and controlling. It didn’t help that there was unpleasant look on his face. He had not been himself in over a day and Janet found herself remorseful for reasons she didn’t even understand.

“I agree.” Was Janet’s simple answer, “It’s not safe.”

“Good.” He whispered.

There came a horrible moment when Hank realised that he didn’t know what more to say to his wife. He didn’t know if he wanted to say anything to her. Such a thought made Hank sad and ashamed of himself. His face lowered as he was unable to meet Janet’s eyes. He swallowed dryly as he awkwardly tried to excuse himself to literally anywhere else. He almost made it to the bathroom when a cracking voice entered his ears.

“What’s wrong, Hank? What…You’re upset. You have been since I told you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Hank could not face her. He didn’t want her to see the shattered face upon his being. He was a father. He was meant to be happy. Him feeling this way was shameful and beneath Janet. He opened his mouth, but no words came. What words could come? He didn’t know what words could be used to explain the sweating, the fear in his chest, the sickness in his gut. Try as he might, Hank couldn’t even tell his wife about it. Hank blinked as he discovered this. He then closed his eyes in harrowing shame. Janet deserved better.

He breathed in and forced a smile as he turned.

“All of this…particle stuff.” He lied, “I’m just…worried about all this. I wanted to…find it by now.”

Janet’s eyes did not betray her thoughts. She feigned a look of understanding, even playing the part with a tight smile. Hank knew it was fake as much as Janet knew his explanation was.

“We’ll get through this.” She managed to get out.

“Yeah. I’ll see you for dinner soon. I’ll just tie some things up before then.”

Hank had never run away from his own wife before. He did so then. He squirrelled himself away in the garage of all places. He sat on the cold floor. His head rested on the rough wall as his eyes drifted off into aimless eternity. It was easier to zone out than to address the returning anxiety pumping into his veins like a putrid drug. He was sweating so match, but he didn’t know why. He just…could stop sweating whenever he thought of Janet or the child in her belly. The resulting slow, rough feeling seemed to make him forget all his fears about missing particles and threats to himself or his friends. There was just the sweating.

Janet had used the particles when pregnant. There was no doubt about that. His own serum, his dream realised, could be the death of his unborn child. There was no testing on pregnant women. There was no testing on women in general outside of Janet. If the baby survived delivery, it may be born with any unknown condition, physical or mental. The child could be cursed to a horrible life for Hank’s own sins and ego with his research. Such a thought made Hank close his eyes and cup his mouth. What a poor father, indeed, and the child wasn’t even born.

Janet was left to stand where she was. The television idly blared behind her. Her hand was held tightly against her weak chest and her lips were gaped a little. Her marriage had devolved into lying. Hank barely wanted to see her. Never once had the naïve young college student thought her future marriage to the farm boy would turn into this. Janet knew that he would be shocked at the news. She had been, too. But at least she could look at him without a hollow stare.

She found herself sitting tersely on the couch, prone outwards like a bird of prey. Telling the truth was the right thing, at least. She couldn’t think otherwise. But maybe it wasn’t the right thing to be pregnant. She had never really spoken about the topic in their years of marriage, but clearly there was animosity for the idea. Perhaps, she should have taken more precautions. Accidents did happen, but she could have tried better. Then, perhaps, her husband would at least look at her. At least then she wouldn’t feel so miserable.

Janet peered down and cupped the still flat stomach with uncertainty. She couldn’t the particles anymore, meaning no more Wasp. Her usefulness to the Avengers situation was now practically none. Her aid in finding those that stole the particles was minimal at best. She couldn’t be a hero. A key part of her recent drive, her motivation, her excitement in the week, was now gone. She couldn’t stand by her husband’s side and help people. No longer would she be able to lock people away for harming others. She’d just be Janet again. Same old, same old. Except this time, she didn’t even have Hank near her. A major, unexpected yet brilliant, part of her life was already over. No more Wasp…

Janet’s head feel into her hands. She couldn’t even drink her pain away. She hated being pregnant and it was only one week in.

***

The sound of thick keys being pressed down into the typewriter filled the small apartment. Jackie’s face was a rough squint. Her vision was impeccable, far superior to that of any human’s. That didn’t stop her from scrutinising the words on her current essay as if they were vomit. She leaned back and crossed her arms. Writing on develops of teaching disabled children was interesting, but that didn’t help Jackie’s ability to synthesise it into a legible argument favouring the British model of special needs education. Too many case studies, too many pros and cons for both. Despite not needing to sleep, the exercise was making her tired. How her fellow students were able to drink, party, and write all night for a paper due that very morning was beyond her.

Something scrapped on nearby concrete. Her head snapped to her door as she heard footsteps from several metres away. Silently and faster than a shot of lightning, Jackie ran and leapt to her close window. A tall figure with a flowing mullet was making his way to her door. Jackie groaned. This was the most pathetic assassination attempt yet. The fact he was coming through her front door was just insulting. Jackie took off her comfy sweater and rolled her shoulder, preparing for the inevitable need to punch a throat or knee him in the groin. He probably deserved the latter at this point.

The door was ripped open, startling Dane Whitman considerably. Jackie glared at him as she tightened her fist at her side. He didn’t have his sword. Jackie blinked. His back and arms were bare of any weapons. In fact, the man was just wearing an ordinary black turtleneck with a library bag clutched to his chest. Jackie’s mouth opened.

“Is it a bomb or?”

“What?”

Jackie nodded to the bag.

“Is it a bomb? You don’t have your sword.”

Dane looked bewildered for a moment. He chuckled soon after.

“If I wanted to kill you-”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation. Yeah, yeah. Very original.” Jackie rolled her eyes and wrist, “What’s in it, then?”

His eyes suddenly glanced to the series of apartments around them.

“May I come in? I’d…rather not show this outside.”

Jackie scowled. Given the lack of his enchanted sword, she did not think highly of his ability to harm her. With that in mind, she stepped to the side but never let her eyes leave him. The museum worker idly looked at the messy apartment. He had never actually been in a vampire’s abode before, let alone one that tried to live like a human. It was fascinating. His attempts to not be too obviously noisy failed as Jackie cleared her throat as soon as he appeared to stare too long at the scrunched up papers near the typewriter. He gave it an unpleasant look.

“I never liked essays, either.”

“Oh, did monster hunting class include an assessment component?”

Dane smiled despite himself. He gestured to the small seat by Jackie’s table. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t deny him, either. Sitting down with an uncomfortable exhale, Dane carefully poured the books that he had brought onto the table. The top book vanished, leaving him to jump up in grave concern. His head flipped to Jackie, but she, too, was gone. The sounds of paper being moulded allowed Dane to find her on her tiny couch, skimming through the book with great interest.

“It’s the ‘Le Fey Testimonies’.” Dane rubbed his hands together excitedly, “It’s a book that has some references to the creatures found in the Unit-”

“It’s in Old English.” Jackie noted, her sceptical eyes barely visible amongst the pages.

Dane sighed and carefully passed her a much younger, albeit stilled yellowed and stained, book that was half the size.

“The English translation. The…modern English translations.”

Translating a book to read it. Jackie almost huffed.

“If I read this out loud, what demon will I summon?” She asked dryly.

Dane laughed awkwardly, only to stop when he saw that Jackie was serious.

“It’s…one of the old descriptions of magical beasts from England. It’s not…a ritual…thing? I thought you’d like it.” Dane added defensively, “You’re British.”

“Oddly racist, but acceptable.”

The centuries old book truly was incredible. Whilst strained and wheezing with each page being moved, one could still see the careful and meticulous drawers of animals and odd creatures that Jackie had never seen before. Notes were made under various parts of each animal’s body, with large paragraphs detailing aspects that Jackie was yet to understand. She opened the translations and quickly paired it with the page that she was on. The book was examining the differences in the colour of fur of the Gytrash, a hound that hunted the souls of lonely travellers near the roads of Northern England. Great care was taken to describe how the demonic dog used its glowing eyes to draw travellers in during times of mist and fog. Their throats were crushed by mighty jaws soon after.

Jackie eyed Dane with uncertainty. It was a good gift. From the looks of things, as were the other seven books that he had brought with him. He was being nice. He even asked before sitting. Jackie did not like this. She didn’t like not knowing his angle. Her nose pressed against the book as she tried to smell any poison. She didn’t know what poison smelled like, but she still wanted to try. There was nothing. Jackie glared at Dane.

“Why’d you bring these?”

“As…an apology. The-”

“Stalking thing, yes, I remember.”

An uncomfortable sensation grew in Jackie’s gut. She sighed and put the book down, facing Dane without a shield.

“Thank you.” She managed to swallow the lump in her throat.

“You’re welcome.” Dane summoned a tight, awkward smile, “Uh, I also brought ‘The Name Journals’, ‘Observations on the Works of Animals’. That one’s in Chinese, but I thought you’d like the pictures,” Dane shrugged, “Um, ‘The Complete Hidden Animals of Zimb-‘”.

“You don’t need to list them. I’ll read them.” Jackie deadpanned, desperately trying to hide her excitement, “I take it you had to read them all as a monster hunter?”

Dane grimaced. Remembering his younger years with anything but fondness, he couldn’t help the soured expression that festered on his face.

“More than that. A lot more. Languages, too. Not many are in English. College was easy compared to this stuff.”

“You did college and this?” Jackie wrinkled her nose, “Why? Do you enjoy it that much?”

She watched as Dane hesitated. His mouth gaped a little as he looked considerably uncomfortable. Had it been anyone other than Dane, Jackie would have pitied him. Instead, she was silent and let him work through the way that he wanted to express past decisions. He leaned back into her small chair, his eyes vacant as he spoke.

“I…It’s what I’m meant to be doing.” Dane replied with bitterness.

Jackie waited for him to elaborate further. Nothing came. Dane picked at his hands, secretly hoping that she’d talk or lecture him. He squirmed under the pressure of her silence. When he looked up, he felt the pressure increase to a suffocating level as they made eye contact. His face dropped. For the first time since Jackie had met Dane, he wasn’t a monster hunter that tried to assassinate her. He looked human. Jackie grew uncomfortable at that fact and quickly came to despise it.

“Well, you’re not bad at it.” She whispered, barely audible above the sound of her moving some pages, “Do any of these have anything on the types of wendigos we faced in the mountains?”

Dane’s awkward laughter made her look up again. His head was tilted in what could be amazement. There was even a small smile on his face.

“You mean in the swamps?”

Jackie snorted at the dark humour and looked back to her book. Dane didn’t continue with any answer. Looking up, Jackie only saw confusion and awkward humour, like Dane was missing a joke. He shrugged a little, clearly gesturing for Jackie to answer his question. Her stomach felt something crawl within.

“It was the mountainside, you idiot.”

“No, it wasn’t. We literally threw the remains in the bog.”

He was serious. There was no irony or smirk or little giggle that gave away his teasing of her. Jackie hastily remembered that this was not the first time that Dane’s memory lapsed. He was very young to have such gaps, as well. Pressure and stress could easily made gaps form, but this was too blatant.

“This isn’t funny.” Jackie said bluntly.

“Then…stop it?” Dane replied with sincerity.

Jackie closed the book.

“Near the boarder, Dane. I stalked…I politely followed you. You were helping some locals with wendigos? Dane, fucking knock it off. Twat.”

Dane’s polite smile slowly curled into distrust. It then showed confusion and fear. Jackie became deeply agitated as she watched Dane’s eyes scan the room, as if expecting a trap. He then closed his eyes, and sighed in relief.

“Yeah, a few days back. We cut it up and burnt it. I…It’s been a long day.”

Dane smiled apologetically. Jackie’s face was blank. The creeping in her stomach did not leave her. Many theories grew about his memory, but Jackie did not air any of them. Rather, she just took her mental notes and would review them as soon as he was gone.

“It’s been a while since someone helped me off a monster.” He added, determined to move the topic away from his memory, “Never a vampire.”

“I’m an odd person.” Jackie replied evenly.

“An interesting one.” Dane shrugged, “Probably the most interesting vampire I’ve ever met.”

Jackie felt her cheeks redden. She had forgotten that she was even capable of that physical response anymore. She almost glared at him for causing it. The vampire stood up. She didn’t know what to say or do in this situation. In fact, it had been over a year since she was alone with a man in her apartment. Hastily thinking of what to do or say, a pale finger was pointed to the books.

“Anything on vampires?”

The two read and talked for hours. It was one of the first times in Jackie’s life as a vampire that someone was able to answer her questions about the world that she now lived in. There had always been the opportunity to ask Strange, but she was reluctant to even talk to the man that inadvertently caused her creation. With Dane, it was surprisingly pleasant. It was clear that history was his passion and that he worked in a museum setting. His explanations often turned into longwinded historical summaries of various monsters and beasts and how they were discovered. Jackie didn’t mind. Any information was good information. Every so often, Dane would smile as he mentioned that he had met one of the creatures that Jackie was inquiring about. Mild envy came through the vampire’s spine. She felt so sheltered compared to Dane.

By the time that Jackie had run out of questions, it was near midnight. Forgotten was her essay, and forgotten was the fact that her new mythical tutor was the man that tried to kill her only a short while ago. There was just a slightly awkward, yet surprisingly eager, man with his old books. Books that were left on Jackie’s table as he was led towards the door.

“Aren’t you going to take them?”

Dane looked at her in confusion.

“You haven’t read them yet. I’ll get them later.”

Jackie snorted indigently.

“There’s a later? You think you’ll be allowed in my house again?”

Dane grinned. Jackie hated that grin. It was too…smug.

“Yeah. You haven’t killed me yet.”

“Key word’s ‘yet’.” She grunted, “Well, say travels, I guess.” She said as she opened the door.

“You, too. Thanks for a good night. Was a nice change of things.” Dane admitted with a sheepish expression.

The two stood in front of one another. Not knowing how to exactly how to end the interaction, Jackie closed the door abruptly. She grimaced a little, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest as she walked back to the books that had been gifted.  

***

Excited snorts softly filled the dark air as Maxxie took to exploring and sniffing every blade of grass in front of her. Being locked in both her roommate’s apartment and now this strange, giant blonde man’s house had almost driven the scrunchy dog mad. Now that the pug could finally walk in fresh air and relieve herself, Maxxie was in paradise.

“C’mon, now. Hurry up. Now’s not the time to be shy.” Jennifer whispered in annoyance.

She was wrapped in one of Barbara’s hoodies and attempting to look as tall as she could. Her dark hair was tucked away, as was her face. Nervous eyes scanned the street constantly. Being in the dark had the advantage of it being harder to see. It also meant that you couldn’t see very far. Jennifer’s heart was a nervous, strong flow in her chest. Being cooped up in the house, constantly under surveillance from her friends made her almost want a fight. Anything to break up the sense of being trapped that overprotective friends gave her. She was very grateful to them all, but she wasn’t a glass vase. She had her ass handed to her once. A surprisingly vindictive side to her was determined to make sure it never happened again. She was the She-Hulk. Her hands bent steel like it was mere rubber.

Then there were failures of her research. Having her mind stuck on unconnected events and hidden people was driving her insane. She was a lawyer, not a detective. She had found no identity, no threads to pursue. Aside from the Avengers, there was no link to any of the mishaps occurring to her or her friends. It was leaving bile on her tongue. Even Peter, the college student, was allowed out to find some of the others. He was no doubt having some success, even if he was late. Jennifer swallowed. He was due back by now, as was Thor. While she was careful not to let her mind automatically go into panic mode, she was not liking how little contact they have given her. What if they had been kidnapped? All she was doing was watching television.

Jennifer swayed on her feet. Ants were starting to crawl in her shoes, yet she could not pursue anything.

“C’mon, girl. Your bladder is always horrible.” Jennifer whined.

The pug was not listening. No, she was too busy sniffing something at the edge of the road. Several jerks at her lead were not enough to dissuade her. In fact, the small pug even started to claw her way into the soil.

“Maxxie, I swear, girl…” Jennifer hissed.

She walked over to her dog as if she were a mother stopping her child from stealing something. There was something black and silver in Maxxie’s mouth. The pug and human met eyes. A mad battle hastily began. Determined to ensure her newfound treasure was not taken from her, the cream coloured pug ran between Jennifer’s legs. There was an exasperated sigh. Growling came after as Jennifer gently pulled the object from Maxxie’s mouth. Then came the manic whining.

“No, this is how you ate that highlighter.” Jennifer shook her head, “Not paying…”

She squinted. The object wasn’t a cigarette lighter, as she had originally assumed. It was a small, rectangular box with several antennae prodding out of it. Something cold slid down Jennifer’s back. Ignoring her roommate’s sulking, she led them back into the house and into the light.

Maxxie sat at her feet as Jennifer placed several of Barbara’s tools on the dinning room table. She would no doubt be screamed at for touching Barbara’s belongings, but Jennifer could handle that. A tiny chisel was picked up. The metal device was barely the size of her palm. With keen inspections, a tiny gap within the metal exterior was found. Jennifer slid the chisel in and went to work popping it open. There was little resistance. Gears, circuits, and God knows what else were unveiled before her eyes. Jennifer didn’t know what she was looking at, but she was excited. She had actually found something. In Thor’s lawn, yes, but it could still be something. Not many lawns had boxes like this within them.

What amazed Jennifer was how small many of the components and electronics were. Had she seen this on face value, she’d easily assume that she was dealing with Pym Technologies equipment. Jennifer continued her research with a pencil in one hand and a spyglass in the other. Soft mumbles left her lips as she wrote down any serial numbers that she could find. The crafter had been clever. They had carved away anything that could be seen, leaving only the odd numbers that she could find.

“What’s that?”

“Shit!”

Jennifer almost shifted green from the fright. A screwdriver was pressed to Peter’s throat. The teen swallowed and held his hands up high. A frantic, messy expression came over Jennifer’s typically easy face as she caught her breath.

“You…Late…Not cool, man.” She panted with red cheeks.

“Sorry, sorry.” He smiled apologetically, “Got…”

Peter’s face turned noticeably uneasy and agitated. He suddenly found it hard to meet Jennifer’s eyes. With a slightly softer voice, he continued.

“I got my head too in the game finding Cap. Couldn’t find him.”

He was lying. Jennifer’s lawyer instincts told her that. She chose not to press the issue, for he looked healthy and relatively safe.

“Don’t do that again.” Jennifer warned, “Be on time next time. I’ve been worried about you, okay?”

Peter blushed noticeably. Had Jennifer been in a more forgiving mood, she may have let it cool her agitation down. Peter quickly continued with a sudden stammer in his words.

“Kinda met Strange’s new girlfriend. Real, real unpleasant chick. Shockingly so. Then again, it is…Stephen…so maybe it fits?”

Jennifer was mildly taken aback by the development. Surely there were better reasons than his love life to go MIA from the old group. Their lives were in danger, after all. Jennifer grew dumbstruck the more she pondered on it.

“What girlfriend?”

“I don’t even know.” Peter groaned, “He’ll work on a spell for us to find Cap, though. Things really don’t look great over there. Some…I don’t even know, but Strange was giving me a bad aura or something. I don’t think he’ll give us much help. He’s not in a great place.” He grimaced.

Jennifer’s mood eased a little at the explanation. Magic always seemed so chaotic and messy. It was no doubt why Strange was already greying at his age. Still, Jennifer would have felt better with someone of Strange’s skills more easily accessible.

Suddenly, she looked confronted.

“What…What are you wearing, Pete?”

Peter blushed. He was still covered the expensive labels that Felicia had wrapped him. Namely, the blue turtleneck and the shiny black pants. His mind went blank as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse. There was none.

“Someone…said to change it up, ya know?”

Jen stared at him blankly. He looked ridiculous.

“Just…be yourself. That’s better.”

As Peter felt his chest warm up, he was presented with the contraption in front of Jen.

“You wanna have a peek?” She offered Peter her sit.

With Maxxie on his lap receiving idle pets, Peter carefully pulled the device apart with Jen’s aid. She found it interesting how quickly his humoured side switched off when he was investigating something. His young face scrunched up in concentration, his lips murmuring odd facts and observations whenever he came across them. Every so often, he would politely direct Jen to move something or to hold a tiny microchip as he looked around it. He looked older, and much more like the person that brought the majority of New York’s supervillains to heel.

“It looks like something Hank or Janet would make.” Jen offered, finding an excuse to stop staring at him.

Peter clicked his tongue.

“Yep. Weird, though. Their parts aren’t cheap. Even if you could afford them or could steal them, it’s overkill to use their products on a recording device.”

Jen went cold. The implications make her spine rigid.

“How do you know?”

“It’s got the same design as a basic handie-talkie. Harry and I would find old ones in bins and repair them.” Peter smiled behind the spy glass, “We’d modify them with any pieces we could find, to see how far we could get a signal to work. Same thing here.”

“Please tell me they can’t hear us right now?”

Peter shook his head.  

“Removed the battery as soon as I sat down.” Peter poked a component resting near Jen’s knuckles, “I’d kill to know the signal strength, though. It looks rad. Overkill with the Pym stuff, but really cool.”

Peter’s smile dipped a little when he looked up to see Jen looking stern.

“Pete, we’re being spied on. This isn’t cool. All of us might have these in our homes. Even you.”

Peter swallowed. There were so many embarrassing things that he did in his apartment. Terror overcame the young man’s senses.

“Ideas?” He requested meekly.

“We act normal, if we still can. Don’t let them know that we know.” Jen suddenly gestured to the parts lamely, “If that’s even possible now. We’ll need to act fast. Like, really fast if they know we’re getting on top of this.”

Peter nodded in agreement. Some comfort was found in how calm and controlled Jen was being. It was a façade for his case, of course. Jen was internally terrified that she was under surveillance. She did so many weird things, like debate herself when she thought she was alone.

“I may have a lead.”

Jen perked up at the unsure tone of Peter. He squinted very, very carefully at the frame of several internal switches. He brought the spyglass close to it. There was a smudge of white where someone had tried to erase a brand logo. Peter licked his thumb and rubbed the plastic. To his joy, it sharpened the texture by removing some dust and clumps of chiselled plastic. Peter leaned back. His head tilted to the side as he thought to himself.

“Baxter Foundation. Where the heck have I heard that?”

***

Steve growled softly in frustration as he rolled on the padded floor. A giant man was within his clutches, but a noble fight was underway. His opponent slipped from his grapple. Steve immediately rolled to his side to avoid a stiff kick to his ribs. Steve immediately struck his own leg into the man’s knee and knocked him to the ground again. Steve rose into a kneeling position. His arm slid around the other man’s arm, wrangling him into a lock around the back of his neck. After several seconds of resisting, Steve felt a tap on his forearm.

The super soldier released his son immediately. Both men panted loudly as they collapsed onto the training mat. John slowly picked himself up and sat next to Steve. Both were caked in sweat, grim, and other signs of nearly an hour of grappling and sparring with one another. They were the only ones using training room 1C within one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s more…mundane centres. The exterior was a simple boxing gym for amateurs wanting to refine their stuff. Under them were dozens of the world’s most skilled operatives.

John, having finally caught his breath, looked up with a smile.

“You really are strong. That’s…the first time ever that I’ve been able to actually throw a punch in sparring. Like, a real punch.” He laughed in glee.

Steve matched John’s energy.

“Same, actually. You had me on the ropes for a few times. More than a few.”

The welts and swelling on Steve’s skin was a testament to that. Training for Steve was more often than not an excuse in restraint. Not many people could physically handle being punched by someone of his genetic design. So, sessions focussed more on performance and technique. Sparring with John was entirely different. Not only could the man handle a genuine punch, but he could deliver one back with enough force that Steve actually staggered to recover. For the first time in countless months, Steve was genuinely out of breath.

“Still won in the end, though.” John pointed out.

“You gave up your control and defence during that last kick.” Steve explained, “Every hit is a gamble. You gotta make sure it’s a gamble in your favour. Otherwise, I can just keep kicking you down whenever you try to win.”

The men laughed, but John listened to the words carefully. He had taken much of Steve’s advice to heart, particularly when it came to self-defence. To John, who could be a better instructor than Captain America himself?

“A wise suggestion.”

The two men looked up to see Fury strolling into the training room. There was a bundle of paper folders in his face, clutched tightly to his chest. Steve’s stomach tightened in anxiety. The idea of needing to lie to Fury whilst getting closer to the agency was not an exciting one. Steve was almost certain people disappeared for less, yet he owed it to his friends. He could offer them that much.

“Fury.” Steve said politely as he rose to a standing position.

John immediately followed suit. Fury took note of their panting bodies and how red they both were. An amused snort came out of the rigid man.

“Not many people can give Mr. Rogers a run for his money.” He turned to John, “Got a hell of a body to you.”

John looked eager for the praise, but Steve only felt his trepidation increase. John was beginning to look at Fury is a potent desire for approval. Steve didn’t like it. Needing approval could lead any man down some questionable places to get it. Steve could only hope that John was wise enough to know that. The growing brightness in his eyes whenever he got positive words from those in authority didn’t give Steve much hope.

“Speaking of impressive bodies, rumour has it you had a guest a few days back?” Fury’s tone was casual, as if they were discussing the results of the latest baseball game.

Steve relaxed himself. The game between them was now due to start.

“Thor of Asgard. Mentioned to say thanks for getting him into college.”

Fury looked sincere as he spoke. Whether he actually was being sincere was anyone’s guess.

“Not many gods appear, only to want to study. It was a small…deal to make sure my life is less stressful. Tell him ‘anytime’.”

“I would if I could. He wanted Namor for some reason. He was polite, but…Well, he clearly wanted only one of us there.”

Fury nodded, contemplating Steve’s words closely. His neutral mask returned, not betraying anything that the spymaster was feeling. It made Steve’s chest tighten again.

“Odd. Last we heard, Thor was busy studying. Why would he go off on an adventure with the Prince of Atlantis?” Fury asked the air.

Steve shrugged, looking a mixed of perplexed and annoyed at the situation. He played his part well. Fury scrutinised him so very closely.

“It had to do with magic. I offered to help. Even offered your help. Thor didn’t really seem that interested.”

Steve began a tale of Thor journeying to Norway with Namor to solve some magical concern that Steve himself did not understand. Namor had been very reluctant to help, only agreeing to it as Thor bribed him with rare Asgardian metals and jewels. After packing up, Namor left to Thor’s home to prepare for the journey. While grateful for Steve’s hospitality, the Aesir was primarily interested in Namor and did not seem overly interested in Steve’s input on any matters.

Fury was silent as he listened to the story. His face was entirely blank. Something irked Steve. At no point did he ask any questions. Rather, he just took Steve’s story for what it was. Something about that brought the soldier no ease at all.

“A shame. I’d be damn curious to see how their magic works. Well, at least you got your house back to yourself.”

Fury sounded flat. Steve didn’t know what he was thinking behind that eyepatch of his. The agent gestured to the folders in his possession. John frowned and examined them as soon as they were given to him.

“Congrats, son. You passed the test. Well, all of them. You’ve entered the initiation process.” John’s hands wildly flipped through each document, a feral grin growing as he saw green tick after green tick, “A little further a long than usual, given you’ve already been in the initiation process once. My superiors didn’t see the point in repeating some steps.”

Steve’s mouth almost gaped. He hastily shut it and concealed the bewilderment and blatant concern over such news. Getting accepted was worrisome enough, but to have the process sped up gave the captain a sense of foreboding. He felt as if he had truly entered the snake’s pit at that very moment.

“Congratulations.” He managed a smile.

John shook his hand and squeezed it, smiling like a Labrador. It was the most joyous that Steve had ever seen the man. Steve felt guilty that he could not share his son’s glee at the news. It seemed to give the man a new wave of life. John was practically bouncing on his feet. Steve was as stiff as lead.

“You’ve earned it.” Steve added.

John looked as if he wanted to shout in joy. Fury smiled warmly.

“Now, given bureaucracy, you need to sign this form…and this one, and return them to the recruitment office. The actual recruitment office.”

“Pen. I need a pen.”

John whispered to himself as he hastily looked for something to write with. His journey led him outside of the training room, trying to discover where the pens used for booking rooms could be located. Standing in silence, Steve noticed a new weight to the room as he was left alone with Fury.

“He…properly passed, right?”

Fury’s eye slid like a serpent tracking a rodent.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Steve didn’t say anything, “He’s switched on, capable with a gun, has military training and service to boot. He has initiative. Reminds me of someone.”

Fury gave him a smile. Steve didn’t return it. Instead, he picked his next question carefully.

“Well, I was just thinking about that other issue.”

Fury quickly guessed what he was alluding to. The lean man sighed and crossed his arms.

“I’ve had some people look into it. Getting clearance and all that. His old files say that he was well suited to S.H.I.E.L.D. Then, suddenly, they mention that he was ruled out. I can’t find the in-between yet. It’s funny.” Fury added, chewing his tongue, “S.H.I.E.L.D. never liked having its dirty laundry out about anything. He could’ve sworn at the wrong supervisor. He could’ve had a drug issue. Anything ranging from that. Now that he’s a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., it’ll help our little hunt. I promise. S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t want to look like an idiot twice.”

It was a lie. Steve knew it completely. Everything that was just said was an utter lie. Steve’s sense of worth to the organisation felt as if it were in the negatives, whilst his infuriation grew. He was being looked at in the eye. Being lied to so casually was insulting to the old fashioned man. Steve managed to somehow adopt a look of gratitude.

“Thanks. I do appreciate it.”

Fury grunted a little in response. He seemed to latch onto the sentence rather quickly. He placed his large hands in his pockets and appraised Steve.

“I know. Which brings me to an awkward request. I need someone I can trust and someone that’s physically capable to supervise John’s field missions during training.” He took several steps closer, showing Steve just how tall he was, “He’s a stout candidate, but like you’ve mentioned, we still don’t know why he was kicked out. I want someone good to act as his auditor.”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“You want another super soldier there in case if something goes wrong with him.”

“Yes.” Fury’s response was direct enough to slightly throw Steve off, “I can put him with any number of genius or experienced auditors. None can drag him out of a bad situation if they needed to. And you’re his father. I know you’ll do what’s best for him.”

Steve didn’t know what to feel. He wanted to protest, but a horribly calculating part of him already went to work. He could have his eyes directly on John and make sure everything was okay with him. He could also prove that he was onboard with S.H.I.E.L.D., at least to an extent. That would aid his investigation significantly. But it felt manipulative, especially towards John. Dragging him into his affairs felt…horrible. Deceitful. It felt like every element that he was growing to loathe within S.H.I.E.L.D. was now being held by himself.

But he accepted that. He had to. For the sake of his friends and to uncover just what was happening to his son, he accepted that manipulation was needed. And so, with a heavy sigh, Steve nodded.

“Let me know what I need to do. No funny business.”

Fury grinned.

“We’re S.H.I.E.L.D., Cap. We’re not the enemy.”

***

For the first time in months, Strange was sitting on top of the Sanctum Santorum’s roof. His eyes were closed in a desperate attempt to relax and escape from the pressures of his mind. It was impossible, even in an idealistic place such as the rooftop. Four small gardens surrounded him, each holding various magical herbs and flowers that Topaz took great pride in fostering. Even her assistants, eager students with a green thumb, had become quite attached to the greenery that had grown. In a city of metal and pavement, it was a welcomed reprieve. Just not for Strange.

He opened his throbbing eyes. Without being able to help it, he immediately summoned his latest notebook and began to review his most recent notes. His attention turned to the ingredients around him. He rose to his feet, leaving the ornate wooden chair. Many of the magical properties of the herbs had medicinal uses. Perhaps one of them could offer some aid to his current concern. He was willing to try anything to make progress at this point.

Strange was only able to example two odd looking vegetables before becoming aware at someone was standing behind him. He sighed, but he did not stop inspecting the growth.

“I’m not slacking off, if that’s what you’re here for. I’m seeing what we’re growing and if anything’s viable.”

Clea made an offended noise. She didn’t offer a rebuttal, though. Out of the corner of his eye, Strange could see that she had brought several of his previous notebooks with her, hovering at her hip. Strange stood straight, dusting his dirty hands off as he did so. Clea was given a grimacing smile, for the sun was on his face.

“Any successes?”

Strange shook his head.

“Only just started looking. I tried making a clone of myself to be more useful but…”

Clea actually grinned knowingly. It was a sharp, severe smile.

“It is difficult to master. It…even took me some time.”

“Oh, wow.” Strange grumbled sarcastically.

He was not met with a slap or an insult. Instead, Clea chose to ignore it and instead offered him one of his notebooks. It was covered in an alien language and what appeared to be knife scars in the paper.

“Your magic pen’s handwriting is…frustrating.” Clea explained as she bucked up her chin defensively, “I lost my patience several times.”

“Right.” Strange murmured as he examined what used to be a journal, “Thoughts?”

“I…admit I’m curious about this solution. It’s entirely theoretical until we find magical substances that complete our needs. But…”

“But there’s some hope.” Strange nodded, closing the book, “Better than nothing.”

Clea’s face hardened. It was clear that she was debating whether or not to counter such a remark. It also felt unusual coming from Strange. He seemed to be nearly as pessimistic about everything as she was. Clea raised a second notebook.

“I’ve requested a full summary of what plants and materials are kept here. They refused. The masters claimed it was a security risk.” Clea seethed.

“It’d be counterproductive, anyway.”

Clea bristled.

“Please elaborate.”

“I’ve already gotten one.”

Strange raised his hand as a several pieces of paper materialised between his fingers. Clea looked at the parchment with blatant hunger.

“We’ll need to cross-reference everything in our library. It’s only a list of the names, not what everything does.” Strange grew somewhat embarrassed, “I thought I’d start with the plants up here first.”

Clea carefully approached him. Acting as if he were a wild animal, she gingerly reached out and took the paper from him. Strange didn’t resist. Instead, he sat back down on the ground and begin to inspect what was growing in the garden beds. Clea wrinkled her nose at the sight. After a moment’s hesitation, she summoned a fine carpet and sat next to him. Strange could hear her displeasure as she compared the list against the blue shrubs that were in front of her. She had no idea what she was looking at.

“Not a gardener, I see.” Strange observed evenly as he jotted a wavy ‘X’ next to an item on the list, “Too dirty?”

“I have severed the heads of demons. I have known blood more than baths. The Dark Dimension has its share of monstrous experiences.” She continued pseudo examining a three sprouted carrot for a moment, “I…do not appreciate the texture of most unprepared foods.”

“Grimy.”

Clea hummed in agreement. The two sat in silence, each making their own notes on what was grown. While Strange was finding the exercise oddly relaxing and of great interest, Clea looked annoyed and bored. Yet, she stayed.

“I almost killed myself with this once.”

Clea turned. Strange was holding up something that looked like grey broccoli. The texture was slightly damper than the vegetable, and it secreted some strange oil, but it otherwise looked harmless. Strange chuckled.

“It’s a powerful hallucinogen. But, if a small enough dose is given, it’s fantastic for severe pain relief. When I was first training here, I was fascinated by it. I was told that I was too inexperienced in the mystic arts to start researching plants. I laughed.” Strange looked mildly embarrassed and considerably remorseful, “A week into my research, and I’d been exposed to enough of it to pass out in a training session. I thought the Easter Bunny was trying to eat a fellow student.”

“Was this…bunny trying to kill such a student?”

Strange opened his mouth to politely explain the meaning of his story. The poorly hidden smirk on Clea’s lips revealed her true intent. Strange rolled his eyes.

“Was locked out from here after that.”

“A fitting but merciful punishment.”

“Yeah, that summarises my mystical education.” He grunted, “You? Any dumbness when learning?”

Clea’s face stiffened. Strange hadn’t noticed how relaxed and slumped her posture had been until it became rigid. He now felt guilt for asking such a thing.

“My education was strict and I was a keen learner.” Was the diplomatic response.

Strange nodded awkwardly, not knowing how else to react to such a change in emotions. Finding no comfort in words, he quickly turned back to the plants when Clea sighed.

“I was caught sneaking into the…our version of a kitchen, I suppose. One of the guards informed my mother the next day. For the next month, the only food that I was allowed to eat…was what I had stolen. I still feel sick whenever I see pronboms.”

“What are those?”

Clea flushed a little.

“A…sweet…I think you called them ‘dumplings’? There are similarities between the two, but pronboms are flaky. I gained an embarrassing amount of weight eating so much. My mother was keen to mention that, as well.” Clea spat.

Strange blinked a few times, trying to mentally unpack what he had just heard. Not even his own parents were that found of mental warfare.

“So, you never stole food again?” He asked carefully.

A vicious smirk overcame Clea’s embarrassed expression.

“Not for another two years. Then, I was good enough to conceal myself that not even the other sorcerers knew where I was. Even if I was behind them.” She growled wildly.

She cackled to herself after that. Strange found himself smiling a tad as well. It was a nice feeling. The sun, nature, and no existential terror at his throat. He almost felt normal for a few minutes. Then it faded. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t in a calm situation. Nothing about his recent life suggested so.

“I’m still quite poor at that type of magic.” Strange stated in a melancholic voice, “Illusions are…not my strong suit. It was one of the first things that the old Sorcerer Supreme told me to skip on for the moment.” Strange paused, “He said that about a few areas of magic, actually.”

The more Strange thought about it, the more bitter at himself that he became. He wasn’t exactly the best student, in hindsight. If it weren’t for his academic training, he’d hardly have survived the first month in the Sanctum.

“And yet you’re a capable sorcerer.” Clea cut in, “And I find you interesting, which is more than I can say for most of our kind.”

Strange chuckled.

“Yeah, we’re not as mysterious as we’d like to think.” Strange sighed, before speaking without thinking, “It’s been interesting talking to you, too. Rough as hell, but interesting.”

Clea rolled her eyes. The faintest trace of humour could be seen on her lips.

“I’ll accept rough but interesting. So long as the emphasis is on the interesting.”

***

The sound of welding hissed through the concrete walls like a loose serpent. The Leader found it pleasant, however. It meant that work was being done. Progress was being made. More designs and back ups would soon be available, should the current plan falter or break down entirely. With the way that things were slowing down, perhaps it was certain that he would need an altered plan soon. He never liked leaving things to chance, especially not something as severe as his niece’s life. He would not accept failure on that front.

As the tall, green-skinned man with a bulbous cranium floated through his research facility, he soon found the source of the voice. A short person was leaning by a large contraption of metal beams and supports underneath. The frame of the machine was the size of loading bay where it rested. The computing elements have no been installed, leaving the entirely metal object to look like a spider the size of a dinosaur. Eight ‘legs’ of supporting beams branched out from a circular middle. This centre would be the launching mechanism of a dispersal device that was also yet to be developed. Still, it was considerable work for one person alone to have completed by themselves.

“Outstanding.” The Leader called, “Your gifts are truly…remarkable.”

The person that he was addressing looked up, revealing a welding mask. They switched off the torch and carefully climbed down several metres of thick iron until they reached the floor.

“If you want this ready soon, I need help. Someone else can finish off the build. I need to focus on the circuitry now. Otherwise, this is just an amusement park ride.”

“Of course. My brother and I will refocus our efforts on the device. I’ll call Philip back as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Good.” The person before him replied, not bothering to remove the welding mask or unbutton the thick safety garb that they were wearing, “I want to run a test. The Irishman apparently got a test subject.”

“Perfect.” The Leader bowed his head respectfully and gestured to the exit of the loading bay, “After you.”

The two quickly made their way to their makeshift kitchen, where Eric O’Grady was found. It was a small, communal area with several lines of tables where workers would once share meals during break. Now, it was mostly dusty and abandoned. Even the decades old fridge was rarely used, aside from Eric’s odd tastes. The redhead was eagerly eating some noodles, slurping the food with grotesque noises. That was not what bothered the Leader. It was the collection of wads of cash resting near his feet on the table. The Leader swiftly estimated that half a million dollars was there, as well as two gold bars. The person in the welding mask stepped backwards just as the Leader stepped forwards.

“A pleasant day, Black-Ant?”

Eric jumped a little, only to laugh. He leaned forwards and swung his feet back to the floor. He winked at the person in the welding mask before patting his cash lovingly.

“Took the suit out for a joyride. Lad, this thing works like a fookin’ legend come to life. I ain’t nae been so good at robbin’ in me life.” He patted the cash again, “It took me three minutes.”

At no point did Eric notice that the Leader was encroaching on his space. At no point did Eric notice the severe glare that he was receiving. At no point did Eric read the room for what it was. His mind was simply too addled by the recent highs of his heist to care.

“I instructed you to keep a low profile.”

“Aye, and who’s fookin’ seeing me?”

“I don’t need S.H.I.E.L.D. or anyone else looking into disappearing money.” The Leader warned in a loud, stern, and almost painful tone.

Eric rose to his feet. Sensing a challenge, he was never one to back down from it.

“And who’s coming along? I nae see X-Men at our door. Do you?” He looked to address the silent welder, “Do you?” He asked the Leader in a whisper.

The Leader’s voice turned quiet.

“No. But you see me.”

Eric chuckled like a stubborn child. His teeth bared for the man. The thought came of striking the Leader and putting him in his place. Eric almost did. It would have brought such a beautiful smile to his face. He wasn’t a child. He deserved respect, even from the Leader. Anyone who thought otherwise would learn to respect him, just like those idiots in Ireland when Eric was a lad.

But, at the very last moment, reason managed to calm his violent streak. He was able to understand that it wasn’t a fight that he’d win. Nor was it a fight that even needed to happen. With some confusion, Eric cleared his throat and tried to regain his bearings.

“Look, ye prick. I deserve to blow off some steam.” Eric reasoned with some evenness to his tone, “I’m the one that’s been spying on all our new friends.”

The Leader’s face eased a little now that Eric’s tone was more reserved. He began flourishing his hand as he spoke, as if he were a college lecturer.

“Of course, and I promised this to you. I still will give it to you. I just request…patience. You won’t be able to rob anyone if you’re in prison before we can finish our tasks.”

Eric almost cockily debated the odds of him ever being caught. He wisely resisted such an urge.

“You have our rabbit?” The welder called.

Eric blinked at them.

“A fookin’ rabbit? What fookin’ rabbit. I don’t have a fookin’ rabbit.”

“You said you had a test for our device.” The Leader explained patiently.

“Aye, not a fookin’ rabbit.” Eric snorted as he walked from the kitchen.

The welder raised an eyebrow from behind their mask as they waited several minutes. Just as the Leader lost patience and prepared to mentally reach out of the irritating thief, there was a bark. Eric had returned, holding in his hand a bunch of furry rolls. Barely the size of his palm, was a British bulldog. The Leader lost his stoicism immediately.

“What is that?!”

“A test subject for ya.” Eric shrugged, “Found it on the street digging through scraps. Mangy lookin’ thing, ain’t it?”

The puppy was rough in appearance. Despite being only a few weeks old, it was already too skinny for its breed. The usually stout shape of a bulldog was now long and skimpy. Its brown fur was matted and inconsistently long, even for such a short-haired breed. A white streak of fur split above his eyes, making almost forked pattern. The poor creature barked again, confused and cold. He did not like the way that he was being held so roughly. The Leader looked infuriated.

“We asked for mice. Or a rabbit. Standard mammals for testing. We would have settled for even an ape! NOT A DOG!”

Eric looked dumbfounded.

“A dog’s a mammal? Right?”

Silence filled the room as both the welder and the Leader considered if they needed Eric alive for the plan to function moving forwards. Unfortunately, they did. Using his mind, the Leader lifted the now terrified bulldog into air and then into his arms. Eric grinned.

“Ya welcome.”

“You’re an idiot.” The welder whispered to themselves.

They followed the Leader into the small research space that was directly in front of his office. It was covered in sketches and designs that the welder had developed for the plan, as well as small proof of concepts machines that had been created some months ago. Within the centre of the room was a glass, airtight chamber connected to a dispensing device via a long tube. It was a crude device made from scraps. But it would serve its purpose of testing.

The welder silent walked to a safe that was hidden under the chemical hazard safety tap. The Leader telekinetically pressed the keys to allow the welder entry. They were grateful that they still had their safety gloves on. Very carefully, they collected the tiniest shard of a blue gem that was resting lamely on its side. It was barely the size of a finger. That mattered little. While being an extremely rare crystal, they only needed milligrams for the test.

As the welder placed the shard into the dispensing unit, the Leader floated the bulldog into the chamber. The puppy barked loudly, eager for the warmth that the Leader’s arms brought. The Leader sealed the chamber as he gathered a clipboard. The date, time, and even the species of the test subject were listed. The puppy eyed the two nervously. It did not like this.

“Are we ready?” The welder asked.

There was a nod. The smallest drop of water was placed onto the shard. Then, with panic, the dispensing unit was sealed shut. The pair watched as a gas filled within the unit, their measuring tools showed the rising pressure. The Leader nodded again. The welder activated the unit. With fear and confusion, the bulldog barked and tried to run as a blue mist encased it. The two humans watched with great interest as the dog breathed in the mist. It sneezed. Aside from that, nothing immediate started to occur. The dog was still alive and didn’t seem to be writhing in pain. No new ears sprung up, nor could the dog fly.

Then the gagging started. The small dog coughed and splattered, vomiting several times. The Leader noted this down, as well as the time it took for the first reactions to occur. The dog started to shiver and whine loudly. It vomited again. Fur started to harden and thicken into a strange wax substance. The Leader’s eyes shone with fascination as the skin moulded within minutes into a clump of mass. The bulldog became encased in a thick cocoon of green wax. The barking died down into silence.

The welder turned to the Leader after several moments of watching the motionless mass in the corner of the chamber. A levitating syringe entered the sealed chamber carefully. As blood was extracted, the welder could only question why bother. With utter care, the sample was removed and locked into a biohazard safe case of its own. It could be the key to ending all their problems.

“Is it dead?”

“Actually, no. I can feel a heartbeat.” The Leader replied absently as he noted this down, “Even if it was dead, that’s of little consequence. It’s the cells that we have to worry about.”

The welder hesitated.

“I thought this wasn’t going to kill people. It’s a cure, right? This looks like a bomb from a horror movie.”

The Leader turned and gave his coworker a calculating stare. He then held his clipboard to his chest.

“You’re absolutely right. This is a cure and for a lot of vile illnesses. Make no mistake, that is our end goal. But science is about trial and error. You know this well. We need to make sure that this won’t kill people when exposed. We do that through testing.”

The Leader turned back to the cocoon, but the welder was not finished. They stepped closer to the Leader with their arms crossed.

“Bullshit. I’ve seen the model. The altered cells are what we’re after, not the safety of the initial host.”

The Leader turned his head slowly. A rather daunting looked came across his face as he stared down at the shorter person before him.

“If you could save millions now and billions in the future, you’d be a hero. Now, if this mist can’t be refined further and it does kill whoever it is exposed to, but still retains the altered cells that we need, would you still be a hero?” The welder was silent, “How many need to die in the short-term for you to be willing to sacrifice millions in the long-term?”

The welder remained quiet. The Leader was left to reflect on his own words and he hated them. He hated everything about it. Growing irritated at both the situation that they were all in and by the lack of answers he was receiving, exhaled moodily.

“When we met, I told you what might be needed for my operations. You agreed some losses might be necessary.”

“Some.” The welder agreed, “Not the amount that could die with what you’re making me build.”

“It’s the alternative option. I never want to use it, either.” The Leader sneered, “And if I must, I intend to refine the mist as much as possible. I seek to cure people, not eradicate them!”

The Leader’s words were only mostly true. He intended to cure his niece quite sincerely. Whoever else was cured or impact as a result was merely a secondary result, a byproduct. The second plan truly was a loathsome idea, one which even the Leader felt sick about it. But he was running out of time. He dared not share that with anyone other than his brother, however. The less known, the less that could be used against him and his family.

“Then we focus on the first plan.” The welder replied stoically, “I’ll keep making the device, but you keep focusing on that green…thing. If it even exists.”

The last mutter brought amusement to the Leader. A suitable distraction was possible, then. One that may boost morale in the overall mission. He leaned back and straightened himself confidently. As he did so, Philip and an irritable Eric entered the lab. Philip eyed the cocoon with grave concern whilst Eric gawked at it.   

“The fook happened?”

“We’re running tests on its cells now.” The Leader informed his brother, “It’s still alive. I can feel a heartbeat. Weak, but alive.”

Philip squinted through the mist covered glass. He was not impressed. He crept next to his brother to murmur.

“If Plan B does this…”

“We will continue focussing on Plan A as soon as you get me Walters.” The Leader replied calmly.

Philip flushed but bit his tongue. Eric was busy tapping the glass until noticing the welder staring at him. He shrugged.

“Speaking of our original intentions, our friend here has been questioning it’s…foundation.”

Samuel eyed the welder curiously. Not understanding what his brother meant, he patiently followed his brother and the welder from the lab. Finding boredom in watching the cocoon, Eric turned and decided to follow as well. It was only when they entered an old, creaking elevator that flashed with yellow safety lights that Samuel understood. He gave his brother a look of great disagreement, but it was promptly ignored.

Neither the welder nor Eric had been to the level below. They didn’t even know that there was a level below. It was mostly dark. The welder removed their mask, squinting and trying to make out what was within the large storage room. From the smell, it clearly used to house chemicals at some point in its occupation. Using his mind, the Leader switched a heavy lever downwards. Bulky lights slowly flicked on.

The welder’s body jumped in fright. Eric’s mouth gaped. Not even he could think of a retort at what he was seeing. Hung upon the wall, like some ungodly artwork, was a gigantic being of pure muscle. Wrapped in green flesh and long, dark hair, the colossus of a creature stood many times above a human. His car-shaped arms were fixed tightly onto the wall with beams of metal the size of furniture. A collar held his meaty neck tightly back as his face routinely received a spray of some toxin. He was barely conscious. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy, whilst his gaping lips released streams of saliva onto the floor.

Eric looked at Samuel with distrust and even fear. The welder was motionless. Samuel ignored them both. His eyes were entirely on his brother. No pride or excitement was there, only mild dread. He didn’t like to be reminded of what was needed.

The Leader swayed his hand before the monstrosity before them.

“The source of most of the gamma-infest cells that we need. Find the cousin and we won’t need the mist.” He said as a warning to the other three, “Find the other, and everyone wins.”

***

The cocoon had split into five much smaller pieces. With no more painful mist and no more voices to be scared of, the single occupant of the chamber was eager to run and play now that it felt better. Whilst the bulldog had only a few feet of space to move in, it was enough to scare its own reflection and then jolt away. Only, the space that the bulldog had seemed to have minimised since entering the chamber. The walls seemed so much closer now. There was less room to run. That was, of course, natural, given that the bulldog puppy had grown to the size of an adult in less than an hour.

The now stout puppy was still skinny and bony, yet its sheer mass had increased beyond any expectation. The bulldog barked excitedly at the fellow dog in the glass. They both skipped and jolted in unison as they played their game. The bulldog suddenly skidded to the side, right where the mist’s dispensing tube was resting. The puppy sniffed at it curiously. Faint traces of the mist were sucked into its scrunched up nose, causing it to suddenly sneeze loudly. The white fur patterned as a fork on his forehead sudden shone with white light.

SHHHOOOUP.

The sound of suction filled the air. The bulldog was gone. Not a single trace of the puppy’s presence was in the facility. Gone was the teleporting bulldog, adventures untold eagerly awaiting it.  

***

A/N: Hello awesome readers. I hope you’re having a wonderful and super week. Thanks as always for reading, I hope it’s still fun.

We’re nearing the final act. Steve goes deeper and deeper into the underbelly of S.H.I.E.L.D. to see what’s going on. The Leader is starting to get a little desperate. Nothing like some crystals and a giant green rage monster to fill out your resume of questionable plans.

Next chapter will show the return of a certain socially awkward and quite unaware scientist. Jen and Peter begin their detective work around town. Hank and Janet try to process their new position in life. And Thor’s personal life gets a little worse thanks to a family visit.

While Bruce will be recurring in this story, Lockjaw sadly won’t be. I just couldn’t resist a cameo from the scrunchy dude. He’s safe and happy, away from the Leader. But I am thinking of having him in the sequel as a new member of the team, maybe partner him with a younger member or something. Or Cap. He seems like a dog person.

If anyone has any feedback or thoughts, even for the sequel, please feel free to leave a kudos or comment. Otherwise, still thanks for reading and have a great day.

Fact of the chapter: So, catnip is a type of mint plant, and filled with a chemical called ‘nepetalactone’. It’s not actually the taste that sends cats off, rather it’s the scent alone. Never owned a cat, so I have no idea if this is a stereotype or not…

Chapter Text

It was not with anger or wrath that Tony Stark returned to his home with. It was with silence. A silence that stilled even the most casual and lax of his security. Met at the airport by Jarvis, the billionaire spoke little during the drive. Jarvis knew his employer well. He had known him since he was born. Thus, he knew when to keep quiet and when not to press. It was clear that Tony was still sober. No, it was not drugs or poisonous liquids that was the problem in Tony’s soul. It was something else disturbing his mind.

What food was presented before him was met with a blank stare. The lemonade was barely sipped. Jarvis was not offended. While it had taken nearly an hour to simmer and spice the salmon, he was far more concerned about the shaking, the trembling little man before him. Dark fields festered under Tony’s eyes. A constant stream of sweat coloured his skin a grimy tone. Even as he cooked, Jarvis could hear the younger man retching in the bathroom. The fact that it was not drug related made the butler deeply uncomfortable. He knew how to handle Tony’s substance issues. He didn’t know how to handle much else with his erratic boss, not when it came to superpowered matters.

“Sir, you are worrying me.” Jarvis said plainly as the night started to pull over the sky, “If you can’t talk to me, then I can fin-”

Tony’s mouth moved. Jarvis blinked, understanding not a word of it.

“Pardon, sir?”

“Hundreds.” He whispered, his eyes frantically inspecting the food, “Hundreds of reactors.”

A lame hand placed something on the table. Cautiously, Jarvis reached for it. An Arc Reactor. The very same that had appeared on the footage sent to Tony. Jarvis’ own sense of anxiety grew. An unknown foreboding clapped in his ears.

“They’ve made hundreds. Enough to…I don’t even know what.” Tony shuddered before hiding in his hands.

The man devolved into a shaking mess. Jarvis was at his side in a moment, his arm around his shoulders. Tony peered up with a sickening fear in his eyes.

“I don’t know…who it is. Why. How. Anything!” He screamed like a child.

Jarvis listened patiently as Tony attempted to regale his journey to Vietnam. The words were frantic, messy, with many missing details. Yet, Jarvis was able to understand the basic story. It was enough for him to understand the terror in Tony’s voice. He was always a man prone to manic emotions. Jarvis had seen this through Tony’s life in more detail than any, even his late parents. This was not a matter of manic overreactions. Even Jarvis, a man with clandestine military experience, was shaken. He was determined to hide it from his fragile friend, however.

“Can you find a way to track reactors? Their energy or their materials? A large deposit of resources needed to craft some in a hidden factory, perhaps?” He suggested lightly.

It took Tony several moments to register the advice. His mind needed to slowly crawl back to into skull with much effort. With weak legs and a distant consciousness, Tony rose to grab a notepad. Many scripts were written, all ideas of methods to track such a large quantity of machines. Jarvis was content to watch him. Yet, a sudden exclaim burst from Tony’s lips after only a few minutes of writing. Tony stood, looked around, and ran about his home. Jarvis’ eyes creased in concern. Before he could catch the inventor, he was almost bowled over by him. Tony was now wearing another suit, albeit one was poorly done up and which gave him a rundown look. Sweat stuck to his grey clothing and made it a second skin. Within his hand was his journey, clutched tightly as if it were a long lost child.

“AA meeting.” Tony explained briskly.

Jarvis didn’t offer any commentary. He nodded in understanding.

“Shall I call a taxi? Or drive you myself? I don’t like you driving with so little sleep.”

Tony was not listening. He couldn’t. His schedule had been ruined for nearly a week. Now, after experiencing so many disasters, the idea of not even being able to attend a meeting made Tony feel sick. Trapped. Suffocated. Tony grabbed his keys and pushed his aching body into the garage, Jarvis watching in grave worry.

The drive to the meeting had been frantic. Rarely had he even bothered checking the speed limits. It was by God’s grace that he had not been pulled over. It had been God’s grace that he had not killed anyone moving in front of him. By the time that Tony had arrived at the small, local school, his suit was damp and his oily hair whipped by the wind. He looked like a poor cars salesman, not the heir of billionaires.

The meeting was already being conducted as Tony stepped in. Eyes widened. Not at Tony Stark appearing in a local AA meeting, but at the state of him. The short redheaded lady that was speaking paused, her plump lips gaping as Tony all but collapsed onto a cheap foldout chair in front of her.

Dave, in his usual button-up shirt, eyed Tony with blatant worry. He managed to clear his throat, however. The redhead continued her story, albeit with a struggled focus to not look at Tony. The man in question sighed as he looked at his lap. He didn’t even know what day it was in his journey. The last number marked down was ‘Day 247’ but that was well over a week ago. It had been such a descent into blind madness since he had written those numbers down. He felt like a different man had held that pen.

“Tony?”

He looked up. Dave was smiling at him politely. Tony looked around, trying to understand what was going on through the dozen eyes of those looking at him. Dave took mercy on him.

“I was asking how your week was?”

Tony almost vomited. The shaking returned, with some silently noticing.

“Long.” He admitted, “Very long. Like, fucking long.” His voice trembled.

Dave sombrely looked at Tony, trying to find any distinct signs of a relapse. Tony guessed what he was thinking.

“Work.” He added defensively, “I’m…I’m still on my journey. But…fuck.” He panted, “I’m struggling. I just want to drink and relax and black out again. I don’t…I don’t like this.” He patted to his damp chest, mimicking his chest, “I don’t like this.”

Dave wiped his jaw and flexed it. His eyes looked almost distant as he picked his words with utter care.

“You feel trapped and powerless.” It wasn’t a question and Tony didn’t disagree, “I’m not going to pretend to know what it’s like to be a billionaire who invents miracles.” Tony snorted, “I mean it. You do. I don’t know what pressures you’re under. I do know what it’s like to be overwhelmed in my life. To feel alone in feeling that pressure, that I’m the only one that can push against it. And I can’t, so I feel like my chest is being broken.”

Dave paused. He gently gestured to the six or so other occupants in the room. Tony barely acknowledged them.

“You’re not alone. You have friends. People who you can talk to and who can walk with you on this. Now, with wor…”

Tony stopped listening. His mind wandered to the Arc Reactors, to the footage of the riots, to the death his own father caused. The cycle was about to begin again, and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn’t even breathe properly. It took the staring of several people for Tony to notice that Dave had stopped talking. Tony looked up. He nodded. With a desperate glint of hope in his eyes, he nodded. Dave was merciful again. He turned to the man next to Tony and asked how his day was.

Tony didn’t help packing away the chairs when the session came to a close. He didn’t drink coffee with the other members. He staggered out, having found no relief to his mortal foil. Only delays and delays and delays. It was in an empty classroom that Tony found solace in the quiet. He rubbed his aching eyes, yet no relief came. No relief ever came from anything. Was this to be his life now? The living prison of his failures?

“You look like shit.”

Dave closed the door behind him. Tony laughed bitterly. The two sat next to one another. Tony couldn’t think of anything to say. Even as he was given a card with numbers scribbled on it, he could only look at Dave with confusion.

“In case you forgot my number. If you’re ever feeling trapped, you call me immediately.”

“I don’t even know where to start. You can’t understand. Not in an elitest way, I mean. You couldn’t understand the science, the scope.” Tony rambled, “I’m about to be my father again.”

Dave leaned back and exhaled.

“I’d give you the cliché ‘you’re your own person’ speech, but we’re past that, aren’t we?”

“Just a fucking bit.” Tony hissed.

He pulled out a box of cigarettes and struggled to shove one in his lips. He hesitated. Another was then offered to Dave, who silently took it. Dave reached into his jeans and pulled a lighter, saving the struggling Tony from attempting to burn their hands. Both men inhaled deeply.

“I won’t understand.” Dave agreed, “But if you’re in the shit, get yourself out.”

“Easier said.”

“You’re Tony Stark. You build hearts.” He nodded to Tony’s glowing chest, “You told Daddy to go fuck himself before it was cool.” Dave chuckled.

Tony didn’t smile.

“Look, for what little I can contribute, go for one victory at a time. Prove yourself right with one thing. That’s all. Go for the tactical victory. If you go for all fronts at once, you’ll lose. Get one victory and build up from there. Just one.”

Tony looked up, his cigarette almost dropping from his cracked lips.

“One victory?”

“One day at a time.” Dave nodded before adding, “You’re not alone.”

Such a phrase felt like it was being pleasantly cut into his sensitive mind. Tony managed to drive home at an acceptable pace. His mind was calmer, but not at ease. The tsunami was a mere thunderstorm, only that Tony was reluctant to be swept up in. It was dark and silent as he drove through his gates. Jarvis would no doubt be waiting for his return, even if it was better for him to actually sleep. The old man was too stubborn and too caring. It only added to Tony’s sense of guilt.

Yet, it was not Jarvis’ voice that he heard as he walked from his garage. His eyes narrowed like a threatened hawk when a feminine laugh echoed down the hall. A softer, younger voice mumbled through the walls as well. Tony’s hand reached for a nearby hammer. With his mind preparing to go blank and devoid of morality, he strolled into the kitchen silently. He dropped the hammer immediately, almost crushing two toes.

Jennifer Walters and Peter Parker were sitting next to each other at his table. Their cheeks were red and lips barely holding back more laughter. Jarvis was between them, smiling as he poured them more cola. Tony was quick to see why all three were in such delighted moods. A black and white photo of a very long, lanky baby was lying on the table. The baby was playing with a screwdriver as someone worked on a car in the background. Tony rolled his eyes dispassionately.

“Of course.” He muttered.

His guests looked up, both looking rather sheepish. Jarvis, on the other hand, smirked as he pulled the photograph into his sweater pocket.

“You were an adorable baby, sir.”

Tony’s lip twitched. As much as he hated it, seeing Jarvis so warm did ease his misery.

“Jen, kid.”

Peter leaned up, awkwardly offering his hand. Tony sighed and took it out of pity. Without anything further, Tony sat down and eyed the reheated salmon that Jarvis was offering the others. He suddenly remembered that he hadn’t eaten in over a day. Jarvis silently watched with pleasure as Tony stole back a plate of the meal and shoved a forkful into his mouth. Peter scowled but sat down.

Jen produced another one of her awkward and rather strange smiles. Tony had forgotten just how socially weird she was in…He blinked. It had been nearly a year since seeing the She-Hulk last. Nearly an entire year. Tony chuckled.

“You look…good.” He managed.

She’d have looked better green and with bigger breasts, but that was Tony’s hormonal mind at work. Jen flushed, her smile turning toothy.

“Thanks, same to you. How…How are things? I heard you went to Vietnam.”

Tony’s face changed only slightly. The contours in his jaw seemed to deepen in an unappealing manner. Jen quickly gleamed over the displeasure that she had caused. Things were clearly not going well for his hunt.

“I’m still looking into it.” Tony answered gruffly, “You?”

“Me?” Jen blinked, “Umm. Well, I’m still lawyering, and…being green. I joined a book club, which is…nice. More people to talk to. Maxxie’s still good. Snores a lot more as she’s getting older. Hmmm, what else?”

“The kidnapping?” Peter suggested, mildly annoyed at the lack of self-concerned from Jen.

“Oh!” Jen flushed again, “Yeah, um…I don’t know what you’ve been told-”

“This isn’t a social call.” Peter cut in, grimacing,

Tony ate in silence as he listened to Jennifer and Peter’s respective stories. It was clear from their tone how desperately unsettled they were becoming. Even Peter was lacking his usual mirth and childlike enthusiasm. Whenever he did speak, unease was pulling his face in weird directions. The exhausted man was secretly pleased that he was not the only one with their world burning around them. It made him feel less alone.

Peter, on his third glass of coke in twenty minutes, started hastily nodding as Jen finished her story. With speed that rivalled a silver-haired member of the X-Men that Tony found obnoxious, Peter placed a device in front of Tony.

“We think it’-”

Tony took it, still chewing on salmon. Without even needing the command, Jarvis had brought a microscope to Tony’s side. Almost lazily, the inventor inspected the work. He stopped chewing.

“This…isn’t poorly made, kid.” Tony whispered.

In fact, Tony found the ragtag design quite sophisticated. It was clearly made from salvaged parts, yet the actual structure of the machine was almost genius.

“Listening device, for sure.” He grumbled softly, “Four…Five batt…Huh.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he stared at the device. He snorted.

“You got some diehard stalkers, green.” Tony noted in a dower tone, “I’m very curious how far that can transmit things.”

“Miles?” Peter asked tentatively.

“Yeah. Miles.” Tony almost rolled his eyes, “Curious if Reed made it, though.” Tony turned to look at Jarvis, “He doesn’t really do surveillance, right?”

Jarvis tried to recall any announcements of the Baxter Foundation that could resemble a desire to create surveillance technology. He drew blanks. Tony sighed, rising to his feet. He eyed Jen and Peter. He then turned to Jarvis.

“If it’s not too late, can you take us for a drive?”

***

Peter whistled at the size of the apartment building in front of them. Even in the dark of the night, it was clear how huge the residence was. It was one of the largest in New York City. A tower amongst needles. Just as Peter prepared a dry remark, a flash in the dark made him jump. Jen lowered her camera, pulled the developing polaroid out, and started to wave it. Peter stared at her.

“Evidence.” She shrugged nonchalantly, “We all have our own little methods. I don’t judge yours.”

“You haven’t seen mine.” Peter smirked cockily.

Jen flushed a little whilst Peter cleared his throat. He was too tired for talking, it seemed. Thankfully, Tony pushed between them and waved at Jarvis as he drove off. The grizzled man sighed. A look of mild disgust was on his face as he seemingly forced his way into the foyer. His mood had not eased, even with the company of his old colleagues. Tiredness clung to the man like a glove. He was the only one experiencing this, however. Peter was used to prowling the city in the late hours of the night. Jen was simply happy to finally be out of Thor’s house and doing something. It was like fresh air had returned to her lungs.

As they entered the apartment complex, the younger two of the trio suddenly became aware of just how humbly they lived. Polished marble floor shone like a small disco. The wooden walls and beautiful paintings made it look like a European estate, not some apartment building. Peter felt uncomfortable and very inadequate. There was being a college student and living from pay cheque to pay cheque, and then there was the realm around him.

Several bleary-eyed men looked up from the reception desk. The moment they saw Tony Stark aggressively walk towards the lift, they suddenly forgot the need to check visitors in. An older man, one having worked at the building for several years, had seen such an event before. Silently, he rose. Tony acknowledged him with a curt nod as the old man pressed a code above the buttons for the elevator.

“Have a…pleasant night, Mr. Stark.”

“I won’t start a fight. Again.” Tony promised quietly.

As Jen and Peter joined him in the elevator, he was met with two sets of worried faces. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like Reed.” Was his simple explanation.

Peter silently eyed Jen with a mixture of excitement and anxiety about the upcoming encounter. Jen, however, merely held her camera close. The last thing they needed was a fight between two scientists. She was too tired for that.

As the lift came to a stop, the doors didn’t open. Fearing a technical breakdown, Peter felt his body tingle with upcoming stress. Yet, Tony calmly pressed the same code into the panel that the receptionist did. The doors opened. Peter was not met with a hallway filled with doors. Instead, there was a giant waiting area full of fancy lounges and chairs. There were even some artworks of famous inventors colouring the dark marble walls. Potted plants were growing warmly along some pillars running on the centre of the room. Several doors were placed at the very far enough. Peter assumed that they led to bedrooms or a kitchen or…something. He had never been in an apartment building where an entire floor seemed to be one person’s home.

As soon as they stumbled from the elevator, a musical ring danced outwards. Tony grimaced. He honestly wished he were dead. To make this situation even worse, Janet and Hank weren’t there for padding. Tony silently whimpered.

One of the doors at the far end opened. A rather short, yet muscular, blonde man sauntered out. It was clear that he was a similar age to Jen, and only a few years older than Peter. He was very attractive, with a sharp jawline, rough and wavy hair, and a pleasant nose. But as soon as Jen saw the cocky smirk and smug charm in his eyes, she was turned off. She had met enough of those types of men in college. Yet, the socially inept woman still found herself red and rubbing her hands shyly as the handsome man continued to grin at her. She wasn’t that used to such attention. Peter’s own opinion of the newcomer wasn’t high, either. As soon as he noticed that he was looking Jen up and down, the teen’s jaw tightened. He and Tony seemed to be utterly non-existent to the blonde.  

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” The man winked at an unbalanced Jen, “What brings-”

“I don’t know who you are and, quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Now, piss off.” Tony snapped, pushing the blonde aside. 

The blonde spluttered in shock as Tony led the others past him. His face turned red in shame and embarrassment. Peter felt mildly bad for the poor guy. However, he didn’t want to be left behind and was quick to run forwards as well. Tony made a beeline to the door that the man had come from, yet he was cut off.

“Hey!” The blonde snapped, “I don’t know who the hell you are, bu-”

“Bullshit.” Tony whispered softly.

“-t you can’t just break into my sister’s place and-”

Tony stopped, flummoxed.

“You’re Susan’s little brother? Haven’t seen you at any conferences.”

The blonde’s face turned red again. Jen, regaining some of her former social confidence, frowned and actually leaned into Tony’s line of sight. As she shook her head disapprovingly, Tony reluctantly accepted that the comment was meanspirited. His shoulders dropped a little as he sighed.

“Look, we’re all tired. We’ve had shit days. I…” Tony clenched his teeth as he spoke poison, “need to talk to Reed.”

“I will listen.” An intense, yet well meaning, voice called.

Jen found Reed Richards to be an odd man. He was lanky, even longer in shape than Peter. His jaw dropped by a matter of inches, and his round eyes looked tiny by scale. He had messy black hair with greyed temples, reminding Jen greatly of Strange. Unlike Strange, Reed’s eyes weren’t grumpy or sad. They were alive and scanning every part of his guest’s bodies with immense fascination and eagerness. He walked stiffly yet swiftly, reminding her of a bird. His entire upper body was still, yet he was almost running towards them. Then, there was the fact that he was wearing forest themed pyjamas. A squirrel was winking cheekily on his chest. Jen found it adorable.

She turned to an already bristling Tony, wondering just why the latter was so unimpressed by the odd, yet seemingly well meaning, fellow scientist. Then Reed spoke again.

“That camera is out of date.” He said matter-of-factly to Jen, “I gave a similar model to my Susan, my wife, six years ago. It was for a holiday. It was very expensive, too. I didn’t like the colours it made.”

Then there was a pause. Reed was looking at Jen curiously, clearly waiting for her input. Jen stammered.

“Um, it’s…all I can afford? And it reminds me of mum?”

“Hmm.” Was Reed’s simple response, “Peter Parker.” He smiled in a crippled line, “How’s university? Have you applied to our internship program yet? From what Hank and Janet told me about you, you’re very welcome.”

Reed’s smile was oddly cute. Wild and confident, yet the eyes above them were naïve and utterly innocent. As Pewter prepared to stammer out an unprepared replied, Tony shoved something into Reed’s hand.

“Found it eavesdropping on-”

Reed was clearly not listening. Instead, he abruptly turned and walked off through the door that both he and his brother-in-law had arrived through. The blonde man shrugged with a mild grimace. Tony scoffed in insult. Before Jen could convince him otherwise, the inventor marched through the welcoming area and through the door. A wide corridor met them, one that spun into a very expensive looking kitchen filled with plants and shining marble counters, a large loungeroom with plump sofas and a television that rivalled Tony’s, and a series of interconnected rooms filled with lab equipment that far surpassed what the Pyms owned. Jen’s eyes were wide and her lips agape.

When Tony finally found Reed, he was behind a microscope and murmuring to himself. Soft classical music was playing in the background. Tony rolled his eyes as soon as he noticed. Peter held a joyous smile as he saw the types of equipment that Reed could afford. A university would blush in a shame at the cost of most of it, yet Reed had it next to his couch. Maybe an internship with the Baxter Foundation wouldn’t be a poor idea for the hungry college student.

“We made some of these parts.” Reed stated when he noticed Tony lingering to his side.

“That’s why we’re here.” Tony replied coolly.

Reed looked up innocently.

“It’s not a social visit as well?”

Tony visibly filtered his first few responses. After a collected moment, he merely shook his head. Reed hummed in understanding. He returned promptly to examining the listening device. Tony continued.

“Recognise where it’s from? We’re trying to find who made it.”

Reed clicked his tongue and smiled.

“A fun challenge.” He claimed, “Susan doesn’t like when I do this.” He whispered, “She thinks it’s petty and a rude way of competing with people.”

“I stand by that.”

A very beautiful blonde was standing at the doorway, her brother at her side. Jen found her gorgeous, with soft cheeks, hair delicately resting by her shoulders, sharp eyes that led to pointed nose. A very guilty part of Jen immediately wondered just why she was married to Reed. He wasn’t ugly, but he was certainly not on the level as Susan. Though, Jen found herself greatly amused that she, too, was wearing forest pyjamas with a squirrel on the front to match her husband. Peter was blushing as he also noticed that fact. The shirt was rather tight, and that was enough to make Peter need to turn and pretend to examine what Reed was doing.

Tony looked bashful as he soon as he saw Susan. With an awkward grumble, he walked over and leaned down to kiss her cheek. His apologies at the lateness of their visit was waved off by the woman, who whispered something teasing about his routines in general. When she turned to Jen, the latter suddenly remembered she was in the house of something that she had never actually met. The woman turned red.

“H-hi!” She blurted out, shoving her hand out as she did so, “Jennifer Walters. Jen. Call me Jen. I like…science stuff of your room. Reminds me of that episode of Star Trek when-”

“Lawyer friend.” Tony explained, “We’re, ah, in an awkward situation. Trying to locate who built some listening device.”

Susan frowned slightly, and looked at Tony sceptically. When she couldn’t uncover any further pieces of information, she turned to look at Jen and Peter.

“Which one’s getting stalked?”

Before Jen could answer, Tony sighed. No longer did he look angry. In fact, he looked like a young boy about to admit he’d done something wrong.

“I’d rather we didn’t get into this. Please.” He asked with what was genuine need, “Just…trust me on this.”

Susan squared her jaw as she looked at him again. She could see a tired, sickly version of a man that the world had not seen in over a year.

“Are you sober?” She mouthed so that no one else could understand.

Tony’s eyes temporarily lowered, but he did nod with enough earnestness that Susan relaxed a little. Her brother, however, was not as sold on the private exchange.

“Care to share to the rest of clOOFF!”

He grimaced as he staggered back, rubbing his stomach as Susan lowered her elbow.

“Shut up, Johnny.” She commanded in a way that only an older sibling could.

Johnny glared at her pettily, though the injury wasn’t enough to draw his attention away from the odd situation occurring around him. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew from gossip that it was an odd friendship, if such a word could even be used, between his brother-in-law and Tony Stark. The latter was infamous for illegal, scandalous activities. And now, the billionaire was whispering requests to his family during midnight. Johnny’s lazy expression shifted into a hardened stare aimed at Tony. It felt as if his kind-hearted sister and entirely unaware brother-in-law was being taken advantage of.

“Why are you here?” He tried again, “Seriously. This is pretty damn weird that-”

Reed rose. Resembling a seagull, he ran in his odd way to his wife. A note was handed to her and, before Susan could complain, Reed was rocking on his feet with sweet excitement. Susan smiled softly and rubbed his cheek, departing soon after. Johnny looked infuriated.

“Seriously, man? This doesn’t look right to me.” He tried in a whisper.

Tony was too tired to argue. Peter was too polite. Jen was too awkward. The trio just watched as Reed seemingly ignored Johnny to walk over to Tony.

“I like these challenges.” He stated with a deep chuckle, “We should do this more often. Are you sure you don’t want to partner on my space project? Imagine the fun.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything more irritating. Reed was simply too…Reed. Yet, he was polite enough to filter himself. Reed was helping him, after all.

“Maybe next time. Got a lot on.”

Reed leaned in, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Like in Eastern Europe?”

Yukov and his arms dealing. Tony’s sweat was icy. His heart pressed against the reactor with enough force that it hurt. Reed couldn’t know. How could he know? Tony was tempted to throw Reed against the wall, but there were too many witnesses. Instead, the man could only manage to whisper in clear trepidation.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Project 63.1.” Susan called loudly as she returned to the room.

Tony could barely drag his eyes away from the eager Reed. Susan splayed an old folder onto the nearest table. Tentatively, Jen took the first look. Peter tried to watch over her shoulder, but stopped grinning as soon as he saw her face. She looked angry. Her usually beautiful, subtle face was taut and stilled with eyes as fierce as a lion’s roar. The papers shook with the tightness that she held onto them with. Peter didn’t like her looking like this. He much preferred her lopsided smiles.

“Gamma…Gamma Injection Therapy.” He managed, “What’s that?”

“Some stupid crap that never worked.” Jen muttered with a bitterness that rivalled Tony.

Such a man watched Jen with interested. Even when green, she lacked the cold rage that she clearly held now. That very thought made Tony very aware that her transforming was a possibility. With that in mind, he ripped the papers from her and started to read. He gave Reed an unimpressed look.

“Could’ve sworn this kinda thing killed a few researchers a few years back.”

Jen glared at him. She didn’t know how much Tony knew of her cousin. She had been very selective when explaining just how she turned into her green self. She, herself, barely knew of Bruce Banner’s current status. He could be dead from gamma poisoning by now. But she knew that after the blood transfusion, there was a strong chance that he had given her something that he also carried.

“Yes, but one of my research teams thought they could correct it.” Reed explained.

“It was shut down after two years because it went nowhere.” Susan shrugged, “No disasters, but no progress, either. A lame duck. This was a few years ago. We didn’t have a lot of funding for teams, so we couldn’t justify keeping them.” She paused, “From memory, the researchers were all really nice.”

Tony hummed as he flicked the pages. Susan was right. It seemed to be a relatively basic project, one aimed at infusing the body with concentrated amounts of gamma radiation to treat brain diseases. As soon as he found the list of hired researchers, he passed it to Jen. Without a word, she snapped a photo of the list. Susan grew unsteady.

“Tony, that’s…not legal.”

He didn’t verbally reply. Instead, he pulled his chequebook from his jacket and scribbled a number. Susan rolled her eyes whilst Reed looked nonplussed.

“You can’t offer us anymore money than we already have.”

“Excuse me?!” Tony bristled, turning red.

“We’re not accepting money.” Susan replied diplomatically, “But Tony, you’re worrying us. What’s going on?”

Tony felt guilty, but he knew that he needed to keep them in the dark.

“Trust me. Please. I’ll…consider going in for the space thing.”

Before Susan could say anything, Reed exclaimed in joy. He even clapped several times, clearly frustrating his wife as she continued to question just what Tony was after. He was quick to kiss her cheek and to offer his thanks. Even Johnny received a slight nod before watching the man practically run to the lift. Peter and Jen turned, smiling in their own ways.

“It was lovely to meet you.” Jen said as she shook hands, “Have a great night.”

“And you.” Reed nodded, “Peter. My internship. Please think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.” Peter couldn’t help but grin, “And ah, thanks for the help.”

“Hmm.” Susan rolled her jaw, “Don’t do anything illegal. It might be great tailing Tony Stark, but people have been hurt by him before. Be careful.”

Before Peter could inquire further, he was being tugged away by Jen. She could see Tony almost closing the lift without them. Tony was silent in the lift. His eyes drifted to the floor in clear sadness, but neither Jen or Peter knew what they should ask. The trio strolled into the cool night air.

“Got enough to go on?” Tony asked quietly.

“Names, contact numbers, and even addresses.” Jen paused, “Susan was right. This…is illegal.”

“Then I’ll pay off the cops, lawyer.” Tony chuckled.

Jen’s stomach shifted with the clear conflict of interest, given her job. Yet, lives were on the line, and she wasn’t naïve. Even Jen knew of the grey line they were all walking now. So, she turned to Peter and lifted the list.

“We can start tomorrow?”

“Got afternoon classes, so I’m in.” Peter grinned.

Tony felt a pang of jealousy. They were smiling and going on an adventure. Tony was left…there. He hid his lesser emotions quickly and waved down Jarvis. The older man was reading a newspaper in the car across the street. Tony was grateful that his back was to the others. It meant they did not see his lowered expression.

“Need a lift home? Probably not too safe being in the open, all things considered.”

Jen smiled softly and nodded. He was an asshole, but not completely.

***

“Softer.” Strange recommended, “You’ll crush the leaves.”

The small half-fairy Shaylee Moonpeddle looked up. In her tiny hands was a large leaf from the Forlorn Kiss plant, one often used for treatments requiring deep sleep. Even the resin was enough to knock someone out for nearly an hour. Strange had been minding his own business, auditing and researching the plants upon the Sanctum’s roof. The Cloak of Levitation, feeling in the mood for some sun, was lying on a clothesline lazily. Clea was in the library. Peace was observed.

That was until Shaylee had taken it upon herself to become Strange’s assistant. The seven-year-old was determined to help his ‘quest’, though Strange wasn’t quite sure that he knew what Shaylee thought his quest was. Rather than upset her, the hunched over sorcerer grumbled requests every few minutes for more plants to be given to him. Shaylee was delighted.

“Thank you.” Strange inclined his head as he was given the leaf.

He looked at the references to the leaf before him. Several old, ragged books possibly older than the city itself. As he took some notes, Shaylee waited patiently to be given her next task, her insectoid wings shifting every so often.

“That orange, domed plant? Get me a small bulb.”

Shaylee raced off. There was the sound of a crash. Strange snapped to his feet. Thankfully, Shaylee was only rubbing her nose as Jericho Drumm smiled apologetically. Shaylee huffed, glaring at him as she matched around him like a soldier. Drumm almost laughed.

“She’s a fierce one.”

“You should see her if there’s no ice-cream.” Strange recommended, earning a rare chuckle from his fellow student.

“You have more guests.” Drumm explained, “So popular lately.”

Strange grunted. He turned to the Cloak and cleared his throat.

“Watch Shaylee and make sure she doesn’t touch anything poisonous.”

The Cloak raised a corner of fabric to its top, saluting Strange. The small girl was seemingly oblivious to Strange’s departure, her hands busy gently snipping at the magical flora.

To Strange silent relief, it was Janet standing in the lobby, talking idly to one of the adult students. His relief faded, however, as soon as he took in her expression. She looked as tired as he did. Pale, dark eyes, and arms crossed. She wasn’t exactly as joyous as Peter Parker at any rate. Perhaps the situation with their former teammates was growing more dire than he had dreaded.  

“How…How are we?” He managed with an awkwardness that rivalled Jen.

Janet responded with a tight smile. Strange was already regretting leaving the garden. People and their…emotions weren’t near the garden.

“We’ve come to check on the tracking spell. Hank’s…in the restroom.”

Strange turned to the female student next to him. She shrugged.

“He was led by Cyril. I’m sure no one will cast any spells.” She replied in a thick German accent.

Strange wasn’t so certain. The odds of a student pranking him by making his feet turn invisible were uncomfortably high. He stroked his handlebar moustache roughly as he thought on the tracking spells.

“To be honest, I have no idea. Clea and I haven’t spoken about it much. It’s been…a complicated research project.”

A small light in Janet’s eyes dimmed, but she otherwise hid her disappointment well. She gave a stiff nod.

“I see. Okay. Well, any other ideas on how to find Cap? I mean…”

Janet bit her lip. Before Strange could say anything, there was water in her eyes.

“It shouldn’t be this hard, you know?” Her voice cracked, “I feel like we’re running…around…blind.”

Strange’s body sagged as Janet broke into sobs. Like a juvenile, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed. With almost painful effort, Strange stepped forward and patted her shoulder. The student beside Strange smiled in social discomfort. She departed moments later.

“I told Hank.” Janet admitted weakly, “Barely talking to me now. Not even when we’re trying to…hero things.”

Strange latched onto the worst possible part of her speech and then spoke.

“Jan, you can’t expose yourself to the Py-”

“I know that!” Janet snapped, “I know. I know the Wasp is over.” She hissed, her eyes trembling and struggling to focus, “All because I was dumb enough…to forget a damn tablet.”

“Enough, Janet.” Strange’s voice became grounded, “That’s just stupid. Accidents happen. I think I was.” Strange reflected a little before continuing with a scowl, “There are bigger issues than you wearing that stupid suit.”

Janet chuckled bitterly.

“I loved that stupid suit. I loved…helping people. A lot, Stephen. I never used to. Yeah, I built computers and parts. But I ­really helped people as the Wasp. I felt it. In my hands. I saw it when I saved people from thugs. I…I liked being the Wasp.” She admitted weakly, “Now my own…Hank looks at me with regret. I know he does. I see it. I see it.”

Strange was somewhat surprised. Hank was always the more emotional of the two. Highly introverted and closed off, but when he trusted you enough to show it, it was clear how sensitive he was with Janet’s happiness. The idea of Janet’s pregnancy throwing him off garnered many questions from within the sorcerer.

“He could be shellshocked. I saw many fathers in the hos-”

“Why…with me?”

All Strange saw was pain in her eyes. A very lonely pain. He didn’t say anything. Without thinking or effort, he managed to hug Janet. He managed to hug his friend. Janet trembled slightly, sniffing several times against his chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered in a muffle.

It was not a moment to be shared forever. Strange’s ear twitched. Quickly, he let go and stood back, straightening his robes and adopting a very stern look. Janet watched as he clearly stood to block her from someone’s vision. Bouncing footsteps echoed throughout the wood, coming to a halt nearby. Janet hastily wiped her face and tried to look as normal as possible.

Before Strange was an odd collection of students. Yet, they were the usual suspects and the bane of his stay within the Sanctum. Toth, Zoe Laveau, Calvin Morse, and Emily Bright. All were attempting to peak over Strange’s shoulder to see who the visitor was. Strange closed his eyes as he exhaled.

“I am politely…asking you…to return to classes.” He advised, his head twitching.

“On study period.” Calvin replied casually, still not even hiding his attempts to see Janet, “New friend? Old friend? Do you have friends, sir?”

Janet snorted from behind him. Strange’s stare made several of the students suddenly reconsider where they were standing.

“Now is not a good time. Return to the library before I get-”

“What did you just say to me?!” A familiar voice shouted.

The head of all students snapped down the hallway. Strange and Janet were faster. They immediately rushed down the corridor that the voice came from before anyone else could intervene.

***

To Hank’s relief, the bathroom in the Sanctum was not magical or a Lovecraftian nightmare shaped as ceramic. It was normal. It looked normal and it acted normal. There was some normalcy in his life. The exhausted man washed his hand, only to lean down on the sink. He stayed keeled over for a few seconds. It had not been a good morning. As soon as he saw Janet, the fact that she was carrying his child struck him like a foul cord. He still didn’t know what to say on the matter. To make matters worse, his delays in communication were still hurting Janet to the point of poorly hid tears. And like the coward that he was, he couldn’t find the words to make it better. So, he stayed silent and his wife stayed miserable. Like the coward that he was.

Hank pushed himself up and refused to look at his reflection. Anxiety and dread came afterwards, typically. The dark green halls of the Sanctum surrounded him once more. Cyril, the adult student that had been kind enough to show him to the bathroom, had gone. No matter. He could find his own way back. He had spent some time at the Sanctum during the Varnae incident, though that was some time ago. With hopeful legs, he ventured forwards whilst trying to remember which way he first came through within the seemingly living house.

“Strange’s friend.” A strict, important voice drawled.

Hank almost jumped. A woman with silvery-white hair, Clea, was standing by the corner. A book was in each hand, as if she could read two at once. Maybe she could? Strange had offered little information on his odd new visitor. Clea looked severely unimpressed at Hank’s presence. A deep scowl was on her face, yet it did not diminish her hostile beauty. Hank eyed her with caution. His mind wandered to where Janet could be, or even Strange, should he need them. No, not Janet. He wouldn’t risk her at all.

“Hank Pym.” The quiet man replied politely, “Clea, right?”

“Sorceress Supreme Clea, right.”

Hank internally shuddered. There was something uncomfortable about the stare that she was giving him. It wasn’t hunger or rage, but utter disgust at his very being. It was the same expression that one gave when stepping in something unpleasant. Hank forced a smile.

“Sorry. Sorceress Supreme Clea. Been…well?”

Clea gave no visual or verbal reaction to the question. Hank felt his cheeks redden. Investors were easier to deal with than this.

“We actually…My wife and I actually came to see you.” Hank did his best to sound jovial, “We were curious how the tracking spell is coming along?”

Clea stepped forward. The books in her hands closed and lifted upwards, hovering as she continued to prowl towards Hank. He didn’t like the look she was giving him. It annoyed the already emotional man. He resisted the urge to back away. Rather, he buffed out his chest a little. Clea smirked as she came to a stop. She was only a mere few feet away.

“You’re very sensitive, aren’t you? So many feelings in one mind.” Clea drawled, almost condescendingly.

Hank was taken aback.

“What?” He almost chuckled at the social discomfort rising in his chest.

“I can feel it. Oh, you’re not in a good mood today.”

Hank crossed his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what this is. But I frankly don’t appreciate it. If you’re not going to tell me about the spell, fine. I’ll ask Stephen-”

Clea’s lips curled into an unpleasant line.

“Oh, the emotions are fresh, too. You’re angry. No, that’s too obvious.” She snorted.

Hank felt the most subtle pressure in the back of his mind. Like a pressure headache that was slowly expanding across his brain. He shook his head and adopted a frightened and insulted look.

“If this is some spell, then get the hell out of m-”

“You’re sad. No, anxious. Unsure. And that’s making you sad. You’re insecure and holding it against someone…you love.”

Hank’s breathing slowed to almost a non-existent amount. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts on the matter. There was just a silent…coldness that the woman before him made. A silence that drowned out all other stimuli.

“I’m always correct on these matters.” Clea continued in a prompt tone, “Partly why I got my title. So, why so insecure? You have my interest now. Family matters? Can’t continue them?” Hank whispered something and Clea titled her head, “What was that?”

“What did you just say to me?!”

Hank’s snarl cut through the air. Clea looked taken aback, but an amused look soon infested her face. Hank’s breathing was rough as his face turned red. The days of self-directed judgement and shame boiled within him, desperate for a release that Clea just may be offering. Before he could scream at her again, Hank heard frantic footsteps.

Strange and Janet were both at their sides. Janet looked worried whilst Strange was clearly irritated. His square head was turning red as he quickly pieced together who had made Hank shout and why he did so. The scientist glared at Clea before taking a step near his wife, effectively cutting the small woman out of Clea’s eyesight. All that protective display did was make Clea snort.

“The spell.” Hank repeated, his head turning to Strange as his eyes stayed on Clea.

“Clea.” Strange requested gently, “We’re all busy with majo-”

“Yes, and yet you keep getting distracted while my universe dies.” Clea hissed.

Strange was quiet as he picked his words. Yet, someone pushed past him. Janet put her hands on her hips and sniffed. Her emotions barely under control, the petite lady did her best to play polite.

“Look, we’re all having a shit period right now, so how about we all help each other. You help us find our friend, and we leave you alone. For good.”

Strange’s eyebrows dimmed a little as she said that. Clea noticed it immediately.

“Ah, what loyal friends these are. A sorcerer isn’t a whore to be bargained with. We’re the masters of the mystic arts. Our crafts bend reality to our will.”

Clea suddenly held open her palm. Dozens of lines of runes were shooting into the centre, where a ball of blue and orange magic was pooling. Despite his mood, Strange couldn’t help but be fascinated.

“The spell is not ready. It takes time for such a complicated spell. Now excuse us, as we must focus on the fate of my universe.”

Strange felt air around his body. His feet lifted off of the ground. Hank’s eyes widened as Strange skidded to Clea’s side. To Strange’s horror, Clea arrogantly waved the back of her hand to the Pyms. An oval-shaped disk coloured with many magical markings grew and grew, racing towards them. Before Strange could stop it, it curled around the Pyms. They were gone.

A proud snigger followed as Strange’s mouth gaped. He stared vacantly at where they used to be, only stopping when there was a clearing of the throat.

“It’s a simple teleportation spell, linked with some tracking. They’ve been taken to where they were an hour ago. A complicated spell, but nothing less should be expected of me.” Clea mimicked a human winked, “Now, enough distractions. We ha-”

“She’s pregnant.”

Clea looked dumbfounded by Strange’s contribution. She watched as an animalistic rage flashed in Strange’s eyes as his teeth remained bared in a snarl. Clea shrugged.

“She was distracting you. We have work to do for my universe. And you heard them. They just want you for your magic. You’re wise. Very wise. Don’t play the fool for the vinegar tears in their eyes.”

Strange silently stepped close to the tall woman. Sensing a challenge, she puffed out her chest and lifted her chin. Strange was too infuriated to notice the gesture. When he spoke, it was barely audible.

“You teleported…a pregnant woman from my…from the Sanctum?”

Clea’s lip twitched, betraying the smallest amount of unease from the confrontation. Strange didn’t care.

“You ever…ever do that again, and you’re on your own.”

“Putting your little friend above the enti-”

“I am choosing to help you!” Strange roared, “Show some respect!”

The two were silent, red faced. Strange’s breathing was rough, forced, and lifting his chest with every movement. Clea curled her mouth to insult him. She could only watch as he abruptly turned and left. His hunched figure was actually straight, betraying his true height and solid shoulders. Clea couldn’t inspect him for long, for he departed up the stairs and towards the nearest private phone. If he was lucky, the Pyms would be at their home and available for Strange to inspect Janet’s welfare. He never once looked back at Clea.

Clea was mutinous.

***

Large, calloused hands held a knife and fork with such care that it was almost comical. Delicately, the knife sliced into the roasted chicken, carving it into six pieces. The Nordic god preparing the meal took utter grace when lifting three sections into a plate. Thor was used to fighting for meals in his large family, and amongst his soldiers and fellow warriors. He had not expected how fiercely Barbara defended her meals, particularly her favourite meat of chicken. Thor also didn’t know how much Jennifer Walters ate. So, he politely prepared many sections in several plates. At his feet, Maxxie eagerly sat awaiting her own portion. While her breathing made Thor uncomfortable, he did find the small animal a fitting companion for the shy Jennifer Walters.

His hands were rinsed under the tap. Then, with a different knife, the god went about slicing tomatoes, beans, lettuce, and other necessities for the salad. He was unused to such food items, yet Barbara was fond of them. Perhaps, they would ease the tension that Thor had caused. He did not want them to linger on his foolish inability to speak. She was always sharp with him. It attracted the god to her. Rarely, however, was she upset at him.

Just as Thor finished preparing the salad, the front door opened. Thor looked over his shoulder. A grimy Barbara kicked off her boots and pulled the gloves from her belt, tossing them next to the shoes. The two exchanged uncertain looks, both wondering what mood the other was in. Thor felt like an adolescent. He felt immense relief when he received a nod, which he promptly returned. Barbara quickly walked to the shower on sore legs. By the time that she was clean, food was on the table.

“Where’s the nerd?” She asked as the two sat down next to each other and Maxxie took her place in front of her own plate.

Thor leaned his head back. Barbara watched with interest as he lifted up a sock that Jen had been wearing. Thor reached into his other pocket, pulling out a pen that Peter Parker had been using. Before Barbara could comment at the creepy hoarding, Thor whispered against. A wind bounced next to the sock, and Thor closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he whispered against the pen. The same wind blew against it.

It took half a minute, but some wind made the house’s blinds rattle. Barbara rolled her eyes at the mystical display. She was quite frankly over the Fantasia habits that plagued her poor house.

“She is coming closer to us. She’s not far. And,” Thor smiled softly as he looked at the pen, “Peter Parker appears to be with her. If not, the young warrior is close.”

“Hmm.” Barbara dug into her chicken leg, using her hands to hold it as she tore into the flesh, “As much as the pug annoys me, if that dumbass gets kidnapped…”

Thor’s face turned stern.

“No harm will come to anyone. I swear that to you.”

Barbara didn’t respond. Instead, she focussed on her dinner. As the two ate in silence, something dug into Barbara’s mind. She tried to ignore it, but it was truly impacting her ability to enjoy her meal. Soon, she dropped the leg and sighed.

“Any…weird bird sightings…lately?”

Thor’s face dropped. His eyes snapped to the door. Barbara’s shoulders dropped.

“That’s just being dramat-”

“Barbara.” Thor murmured.

He was oddly still. His typically calm eyes were large and seemingly trembling at the door. His face looked younger, but not in a pleasant way. He seemed…garnered with child-like terror. Never once had Barbara seen Thor with such a look. She watched. Thor rose to his feet, his mouth gaping.

Knock. Knock.

The two rebounds off the wood made Barbara shiver. Thor’s hands were flexing as he contemplated summoning his weapon. Maxxie, still eating, did not care in the slightest about the noise. Thor looked at Barbara, seemingly trying to find support in her eyes. It was that look of need and fear that made her hastily run to their bed. Within ten seconds, the woman had a loaded gun. The door was open.

A tall, stick of a man was before Thor. Barbara, a stoic, found herself marvelling at the beautiful night blue cloak that clung to his frail figure. He was tall. Even taller than Thor. As the Nordic god slowly staggered back, the newcomer bent down and stepped into the house. He was almost touching the ceiling. His pointed, round hat did. The man took off the strange cap to reveal long, wispy hair that thinned until disappearing at the top of his head. The strands of hair pooled at his bony shoulders and long fingers with cracked nails pulled some out of his eyes. No, his single eye. A cloth hid his right eye entirely. A sunken, squared face filled with horrible scars looked at Thor. A hoarse laugh came out.

“Me lad.”

The voice was forced and barely audible. Thor took a step back as the man took another step into the house. Then, Thor was still as skeletal arms wrapped around his body. It was during this distorted embrace that Barbara finally noticed the wooden staff that the old man was holding. It looked like something a child would find in a forest. But Barbara did not look at it for long. She couldn’t. Something made her look away from it with haste.

“My…king.” Thor managed.

A sunken, elderly, taller Thor looked delighted at his son’s remark. A hoarse laugh came out again. With a content sigh, the King of the Aesir released Thor and stepped back. With his single eye, he appraised Thor closely.

“Still strong. Still a warrior.” The King sighed with a tired smile, “Me lad always had the strength of Ymir in his blood. A beast that learnt to walk on legs and grip with hands.”

His accent was thick. Whereas Thor’s accent could be mistaken for Scandinavian, his father’s could not. While whispery, his words were still thick and throaty, as if his mouth was massaging the words as they came from his lips. Unfortunately, Maxxie had finally finished her meal. The white pug sneezed, and then realised that more guests were in her new home. Excited barking made the king snap his head towards the dog skipping near Barbara’s feet. His staff was trembling in his hand, for the ancient man considered striking Maxxie. It was then that the ancient noticed Barbara.

His eye seemed to search every part of her body as it slowly dragged from her bare feet to her eyes. The weapon that she was holding was not unnoticed, yet it was her shave haircut that seemed to interest him greatly.

“Strange clothes from a human shieldmaiden.” His eye returned to the gun, “And what tool do you aim at my chest? A weapon of a…human.”

He had started to laugh. It was a throaty chuckle. Thor didn’t move. He only glanced at the gun and then to the ground. Reluctantly, Barbara took the hint and lowered her weapon.

“A fair companion you keep. She has faced years, more than you usually allow them to keep…”

The old man’s laugh fizzled out. He blinked at Barbara, looking quite confused at her. Thor watched keenly as his father examined his surroundings. His eyes danced about with great distrust. His think lips wobbled a moment before he stiffly slapped the floor with his stick. He turned to Thor, smiling again.

“It is quite good to see you, boy. May I be welcomed into this…home with food and company?”

If Thor was uneasy, he hid it from Barbara well. He regained some of his bear-like nature and lifted his large arm towards Barbara. His father’s eyes slid along it until he rested his gaze upon her again.

“I shall ask whose home this is. Barbara, will you welcome my father, King Odin of Asgard, in your home?”

Odin looked bemused. Barbara quickly regained her senses and cleared her throat.

“Yeah, sure. Always happy to meet family.”

Odin cracked a thin grin. He placed his pointed hat in Thor’s hands and crept forwards with disjointed movements.

“You place honour to me. I thank you.” Odin lowered his balding head, “I smell something pleasant.”

Without any permissions, Odin made his way to their small table and groaned as he sat. Several joints creaked like chalk being snapped. Thor gave off a soured look as he placed the hat on a small table by the door. He gave Barbara a stoney expression, but nodded to her in support. Without looking, he leaned back to close the front door when something hit it. Thor spun around with impressive speed. A tall woman was leaning in through the door. With widening eyes, Barbara saw wings follow the beautiful woman as she took herself into Barbara’s home. Thor sighed miserably as he took in the second guest.

“Hlokk.” He greeted, “I see not even the young may escape this.”

“Escape me?” Odin called out, “One does not ever want to escape pleasant company. Come. This young girl and I grow very hungry.” 

Barbara screwed her mouth open to snap. A warm hand caressed her shoulder. Thor smiled gently behind his beard. All Barbara could do was give him an uncomfortable expression. She was in a house of gods now.

Hlokk took little interest in Barbara. In fact, Barbara was certain she wasn’t even look over once by the winged woman. Instead, the Valkyrie took her place behind Odin, arms crossed, helmet still covering her strong jawline. After a moment, the staff was thrust into her hands without so much as a long given towards her direction. Thor took some chicken and placed it upon a plate without any care whatsoever.

“Ah, me lad. Thank you.” Odin smiled.

He noticed that both Thor and Barbara were standing in front of him. He pointed to the chairs before him.

“Don’t look at me as if ye were mere fish. Join me. I miss your tales of conquests, Thor.”

Thor was the first to sit. Before doing so, he reached into the fridge. Placing a cup in front of his father, Thor poured him a glass of beer as he sat. Barbara quietly did so as well. Her gun rested on the counter. She frankly had no idea what to say, what to do, or how to act. Every glimpse of that she had received from Odin, albeit small, was not positive. In fact, Thor had rarely spoken on his time on Asgard. Barbara assumed that was for a reason. Maxxie silently sat at Barbara’s feet, baring her tiny teeth at the man that scared her.

Odin did not eat with a knife or fork. With pincer-like hands, the skinny elder ripped flesh from bone and shoved it into his mouth. There was no royal grace at all. He reminded Barbara of a very nervous man, one that was always on the move. He craned his narrow back forwards, leaning into the food. Even Thor was more house trained.

“I hear no tales.” Odin spoke with some weight to his voice, “No worthy battles on Midgard?”

Thor gave his father a calculating look, trying to understand the aim of the question. Odin gave nothing away as he cleaved through his chicken. With a heavy look, Thor answered.

“I…banished the demon. He is impri-”

“Demons from Muspelheim?” Odin cackled and leaned back, giving his son a judgemental smile, “Have you been so slow with your hammer that it is only now they lie dead?”

Thor looked confused. Barbara was confused. Hlokk shifted slightly behind Odin, but was still silent. Her covered eyes never left her king, not even to look at the discomfort in his son. Thor spoke gently.

“Father, Muspelheim was many an age ago. The winds since have roughed my cheeks. My beard was once red, now grey.” Thor said with some sad humour.

Odin scowled as he observed his son’s greying features. If gods aged slowly, Barbara had to idly wonder just how long ago Muspelheim was if Thor still had fully red hair. The king snorted.

“I thought you’d be mocking me with poor magic to assume me looks. The years truly have passed us. All of us.” Odin added bitterly.

He stared at his chicken with loathing. He finally took the glass of beer and hastily threw it back in a single, gigantic swig. He grimaced with insult.

“You offer your father, the king, dirty water that a bluthen bathed in?”

“It was on sale.”

Barbara’s soft addition to the conversation made Odin appraise her again. He frowned at her, looking to Thor again soon after. Barbara was never one to show anxiety. She practically shrank in her seat under Odin’s gaze. It was like sharing a meal with a crane. Odin frowned at her again, pointing to her.

“Your hair. Reminds me of many other shi-”

“May I know the reason of your visit?” Thor’s tone was calm.

Odin leaned forwards. He tilted his head patronisingly.

“Do I need a reason to visit me boy? My crowned prince.” Odin grinned like a cat before slowly straightening himself, “Midgard is nice. Warm homes now.” He gestured to Barbara without looking at her, “You’ve enjoyed your comforts. Your women. Come home. Asgard’s enemies have returned. I need my sons. My loyal sons.”

Thor stroked his beard. Barbara thought that he looked contemplative, yet the sudden glare quelled such a view. Thor’s figure swelled as he leaned his mighty arm on the table. Side by side, the two Aesir were simply enormous.

“What enemies beckon my return?”

Odin laughed. He stopped. The lean mean huffed as though insulted.

“Thor, me lad. You have not learnt till now?” The lines in Odin’s face deepened, “Alfheim challenges us again. We must protect our borders. Ye, the Nine Realms must be held close. If dropped, many will die in its shattering.” Odin softly stroked the garb that hid his missing eye, “I have seen these, me lad. These secrets and truths. They sound sweet until they are bitter on the tongue. Alfheim must be under our control again. For the security of the Nine Realms.”

Thor didn’t break eye contact with his father. A long moment passed, only ended by a deep exhale from the lord of thunder.

“How does Alfheim challenge Asgard? How do the glimmering elves threaten our kin?”

“Threaten…” Odin turned to Barbara, making her feel cold, “What poisons have you given him, girl?”

Barbara’s mouth gaped. There was a dangerous look in Odin’s eye that she was simply terrified of. The more Thor played ignorant, the more aggressive that Odin became.

“Has her tongue left her?” Odin asked Thor.

“Enough.” Thor warned in a deep, unfamiliar voice, “I asked what Alfheim has done. A fair question.”

“The Pendant of the True Foreseer. It’s been stolen by the hands of the elves. With a relic such as-”

“Father.”

Thor’s voice turned soft again. His features did not soften, but his eyes revealed some anxiety that was most unlike the god.

“Such a theft passed many years ago. My hair was not grey on such a day. Do you remember it to be fresh and so?”

Barbara’s chest seized as Thor’s voice broke a little. Pity and fear were on his face as he looked at his confused father. The skinny Aesir mumbled words that she could not understand. Hlokk moved a step forward, but immediately stopped as Odin waved her back irritably. She remained silent, her eyes on her king.

Odin laughed again.

“I remember all. I know all. Ye know this. Little curiosities keep me stiff and true. Little unknown fears to give one caution.” He scoffed as he stared bitterly at the table, “Girl. Me lad told you why they crown me ‘god’?”

Barbara managed a stoic look.

“Knowledge and war.”

Odin smiled, still staring at the table.

“Aye. An endless knowledge. I’ve held cosmic gems with impossible powers. I’ve witnessed miracles with no explanation. Forces of dreams and thought walking on solid feet. Seas and rivers turned to desert and sand. All before me. I am knowledge.” Odin turned to Thor with a contempt not fitting for a father to a son, “I remember everything as it is. Don’t question me, boy.”

Thor considered his options as carefully as he could. He wanted to run, to fight, to scream, to panic. All was felt within an utterly calm face. A storm hiding with stone. He knew enough to know the need for calm.

“Who sits with you at court?”

Odin shook his head irritably.

“Is the request of a father not worthy to a son?!” He screamed as he slapped the table.

The wood cracked with the impact. Maxxie yelped in fear and hid behind Barbara’s legs as the table wobbled. Thor didn’t move, though his eyes immediately snapped to Barbara as soon as she gasped. Clear displeasure grew on his face. He turned his attention back to his father, and then to Hlokk. The Valkyrie’s hand was at her hip. Barbara could guess what was concealed there. Thor’s severe stare lingered on her for several moments until he once more looked at Odin.

“I wish to only know of the state of court.”

“State of court.” Odin whispered to himself, “This is not of the Thor that I once knew. The warrior that-”

“Was banished for my sins.” Thor cut in.

Silence filled the room again. Odin blinked, scoffed incredulously, and seemed thoroughly bewildered by the comment. Hlokk’s eyes turned to her king. Barbara silently guessed that she was resisting the urge to speak and to explain Thor’s comment to the confused Odin.

“Of course.” The lean elder murmured vaguely, “Of course you were. Yet, a wise king knows when a broken bridge needs to be repaired to cross a raging river. Thor, Lord of Thunder. The man who held Jotunheim under his boot for wars that no songs dare be sung about. I ask me boy to return with me. Return to crush Jotunheim.”

Thor closed his eyes slowly as soon as the last word was uttered. Great pain was clad on his face. The greying god felt an entirely new discomfort and fear, one that only a child could feel for a frail parent. It was sharp and sliced his inner chest over and over as he contemplated the nature of his father’s words.

“I cannot aid you in this, my king.” Thor managed to open his eyes, “My place is protecting Midgard.”

Any confusion left Odin’s face, replaced by only resentment.

“What could possibly be worth more than the safety of your own realm?” Odin turned to Barbara, “What troubles threaten them? Is an island threatening another island over some meagre crops? Do you busy yourself making it rain for their ponds? Is ye cock too far up her ars-”

Thunder shook the room. Maxxie yelped in terror as lightning flashed in the kitchen and she raced off into the bedroom. Thor met his father’s eye unflinchingly. Within his hand, the mighty Mjolnir rested. Both sets of runes, one triangular and the other an Aesir set of circles, glowed white and blue. Odin was sitting straight. At some point, he had taken his staff from Hlokk. A metal sceptre stood proudly at his side, a speared tip of gold and blue shining in the light. The two gods, with centuries of war and death between them, were silent as they stared. Barbara wanted to run as much as she wanted to help her partner. She knew that she couldn’t. She was only human, and she loathed that fact.

“Thor,” She whispered, “It’s okay. It’s-”

“You have disrespected this house and who owns it.” Thor spoke quietly, “Please leave.”

Odin leaned forward.

“I’m the King of Asgard. You really wish to challenge me, lad? She’s a mortal. You’ve had plenty, and-”

“Your words slip from your mouth like the drool that follows.” Thor’s voice turned saddened, “You know not what you truly say, even as an insult. I wish no conflict, father. Leave. That is what I request in peace, King of Asgard.”

Odin gritted his narrow teeth. His spear rolled in his hand, ever present in both Thor and Barbara’s mind. Thor had not lowered his hammer. He did not intend to. Even as his heart beat faster than it ever had in his life, he did not intend to back down from his father. Odin rose, tightening his hold on his weapon.

“My king.”

Barbara noticed that Hlokk was a step closer to Odin now. She looked apprehensive.

“We told the court of our desire to speak to the prince. We must inform them of his decision with haste.”

Odin turned so very slowly. His very being seemed to grow over Hlokk as he gave her a severe look that could shatter ice. To her credit, she did not move or look away. The king bared his teeth.

“Your words be true, Hlokk. We have no further need to be here. Thor of Asgard is no more a warrior than a distracted child.”

“That has learnt from his mistakes.” Thor replied coolly as he slowly lowered Mjolnir.

Odin did not apologise or even acknowledge Barbara as he left the house. With his pointed hat upon his scared head, the tall Aesir ducked beneath the doorframe and strode out in the evening air. Hlokk hesitated. When she eventually followed, Thor trailed behind. He closed the door behind her, but he stayed to overhear what Barbara assumed was a vile serious of threats from a king to his subject. She watched from the front windows as Odin animatedly snarled at the Valkyrie. Hlokk took the words without reaction. Thor noted that was a good soldier for her age. Then, much to Thor’s relief, the two departed in a trail of magical light and hues.

The god closed his eyes. Mjolnir dropped to the ground without care. It was almost humanising to see the god so defeated by his father of all things. He stayed that way, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. It was only with a deep sigh that he straightened himself up. He walked lifeless towards Barbara. Without a word, he pulled to his chest.

***

“My king, I do not believe the prince wi-”

“He will do as commanded by his father, as you will do as commanded by your king.”

The Aesir had not returned to Asgard. In fact, they had not strayed far from Thor and Barbara’s abode. With great magical illusion, the master of magic had taken them several streets away, secluded in the darkness of an empty street. Even if it was full of people, no eye, not even Aesir, could easy lay upon them. Odin’s mind was frail. His magic was not.

“What does my king command?” Hlokk requested softly.

She knew to keep her eyes on his. To lower them would be a sign of weakness, and weakness was not tolerated from one within her order. Odin dragged his spear along the gravel as he paced.

“He must know of Alfheim’s…He must…”

Odin peered around, seemingly confused. Hlokk said nothing. She was used to such vacant yet bewildered expressions from her liege. She also knew of the wisdom of silence when they came.

“Alfheim, my king?”

“Alf…Yes.” Odin whispered.

He was barely paying attention to her now. He seemed utterly enthralled in trying to understand his surroundings. The design of the houses, the paved roads, the cars. They all seemed to intimidate even the mighty Odin of Asgard. Hlokk felt sympathetic, yet she could not express it.

“Thor must…aid us.” Odin managed to refocus, “I will…Do not allow him to stray from your sight, Hlokk. You are to have him return to my side. Do you understand this? This is a command from your king. Hold it to your chest, or I shall remove your head from it.”

Hlokk was silent still. She dared not portray the mortal terror Odin was carving into her spine at that very moment. Hlokk’s ranks were amongst the deadliest warriors in the Nine Realms. Courage was expected to flow within her very blood at all times. Yet, as the withering king spluttered next to her, she could find little.

“Mark this foul rock and soil. Let our eyes never stray from him or…Yes, the human female.”

Odin broke forth into more mumbles as he staggered forwards. Dark eyes watched him closely as he faded from sight and sound. His regal shape lost colour and hue until it entirely vanished. Hlokk had never seen such magic, but she was hardly surprised. Odin’s skill sparked much wonder and terror across the cosmos. He was talented at generating such emotions from all, even his subjects.

Hlokk withdrew her blade and cut into the pavement. A small rune glowed yellow for only a moment. Hlokk wasn’t a talented sorceress, but she dared not fail at a simple monitoring spell. She desired to return to Asgard without further strikes against her flesh. With horrid memories in mind, the winged woman silently strolled through the street, intending to cut more runes around Thor’s home.

It wasn’t long before her lifeless body shifted. Her wings fluttered. Then, her body snapped around. Her full and healthy wings fanned her sides, flaring her form up as if she were a defensive animal. Her sword shone with the streetlight several metres away. A lean man with tanned skin was creeping forward. Around his throat sat a strange collar so large that it rolled around his shoulders. His dirty-blonde hair was thin, as was his overall shape. Even his smile was tight as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Few can sneak up on me.” Hlokk snarled.

The man stopped. He then lowered his head apologetically.

“Don’t take it personally. I have an interesting group of friends.” The stranger lower one of his hands, “Philip Sterns.”

Hlokk did not relax. Her sword continued to be aimed at Philip’s chest.

“Okay.” Philip shrugged, “I, ah, overheard some things, too.” Hlokk eyed the human with contempt, “It’s his friends, you know?”

Philip took a step closer. He suddenly felt the air leave his body. His skull erupted in pain. His body spasmed and then became numb. It was a moment later that he realised that he was being held against a brick wall. The blade was at his throat. Philip’s hands went for his collar. The blade pressed deeper into his throat.

“I won’t move.” He whispered as sweat poured through his skin, “I’ll talk. You’re desperate. I am, too. My daughter is sick, and I need Thor gone to cure her.”

“Why tell me this?” Hlokk hissed.

“My group believe in honesty with each other.” Philip replied with a shaky smile, “I need Thor’s friend to cure her. Thor is here because of his friends. That’s the only reason. We’ve been watching. We could help each other. I mean…Why would Thor stay on Earth if there’s no reason for him to stay on Earth?”

***

Within the dark research chamber of the Sanctum Santorum, Strange eyed the presented spell before him with mild disinterest. The dark blue glow of the mystic lines offered enough hue to present how deep his scowl was. His mood had not improved in the slightest since Clea’s ousting of the Pyms. To his immense relief, both appeared within their home, and were healthy. Shaken, but with no signs that the unborn infant was harmed. That was all Strange could ask from God.

Strange had not seen Clea for many hours since. There had been no attempt to find him after he stormed off. While initially grateful at the solitude, Strange’s mood festered with time. The utter lack of an apology resulted in Strange’s mood souring like milk in the sun. His usual grumpiness had curled into a sneer at whoever looked at him. Tired of feeling guilty from the horrified children that unfortunately crossed his path, he locked himself into a room and refused to leave. There were better things to put his time into, anyway.

Yet, try as he might, his mind could only focus on Clea. Her arrogance. Her utter disregard for a pregnant woman’s safety. It was beyond appalling. It was sickening. She should know better. Strange’s square jaw tightened, and he waved his prototype spell away. Replicating magical ingredients was never something that he was talented at. Still, he turned back to his notes and made his observations. Even the magical pen was starting to seem deflated with the amounts of roadblocks they were encountering.

As he turned, Strange almost jumped. A hawkish woman with silvery-white hair was standing stiff at the door as it silently closed behind her. Strange said nothing, and he was bold enough to even glare at her before turning to perform another spell.

“I acted…inappropriately to that woma-”

“She was pregnant!” Strange screamed.

Several floating books snapped shut and dropped to the ground. The sharpness of the shout cut through the silent room almost painfully. Clea stared directly at Strange with a neutral expression. Strange hated it. It was so…emotionless. Too proper and ingenuine. There was too little sorrow in her eyes for him to offer any semblance of pity or emotional control. The human sorcerer shook his head hotly.

“I…I don’t even know where to begin with you.”

 Clea didn’t flinch. Her shoulders did drop, however. Her stiff, aristocratic posture melted a little in a smaller shape.

“I don’t like the distractions.” She admitted, “I know you care for them, but you have no idea how desperate I am. You didn’t see the bodies when I left. I am desperate, Stephen. More desperate than you can understand.” Clea leaned up, somewhat regaining her strong posture again, “I was rude and…What I did was dangerous. I apologise. I do not ask for forgive, just understanding.”

The comments were softly spoken. That alone was disarming for Strange. He hated her. He hated the way that she spoke to everyone. He hated the way that he endangered Janet’s child as she had. He hated that his mood was already becoming quiet.

“You are to never do that again. Not here.” Strange warned in a cold tone.

Clea stared at him for a moment.

“As you wish.”

The comment was met with a grunt. Strange was already replicating another spell. His mind simply wasn’t fully in it. The frustration of the whole situation kept his face flush, even if he was no longer directly upset with Clea. She remained where she was, watching silently as his shaking hands struggled to finish the incantation’s movements. After the third failed attempt to get it right, Clea spoke.

“Shall I cast it? Your fingers are…not helping you.”

Strange snorted gruffly.

“I’ve been able to cast magic for a long time. The fingers aren’t the issue.”

Clea didn’t ask what was. Rather, she continued to stare at the scarred lines that decorated his fingers all the way down to the palm. They were thick and heavy. A testament to the amount of work needed to ensure that Strange could even move them at all.

“Do they hurt?”

Strange halted his casting. A void grew within his eyes.

“Sometimes.” Strange turned to look at Clea and then sighed despite himself, “I crushed them in a vehicle. Going too fast. Goodbye medical career.”

Strange eyed them with the fullest of loathing. Even as he relaxed, they trembled before his eyes. Over a decade of medical training and experience, all thrown away with a nice car and a blonde in the passenger seat. He felt sick as memories of just how much he had lost due to them resurfaced. He regretted not wearing his gloves. At least then he could return to work without the constant reminder.

Strange flinched. A soft hand slowly slid under one of his own and pulled it slightly to the side. Strange’s jaw clenched in the sharpest of insecurities as Clea seemed to inspect the damage closely.

“And yet, you are still a capable sorcerer.” Clea murmured, “An honourable sorcerer.”

Her fingers gently held onto his quivering palm. Strange wanted to rip it away. He didn’t.

“As I said, magic runs in my family. We didn’t have to train like you did. I didn’t have to overcome these injuries. Respect is due there, Stephen Strange.” Clea hesitated and a colder look decorated her face, “You know, magic was a craft all my family needed to learn. It was the only way to have eyes turned to you for longer than a glance. Yet,” Clea started to chew her cheek in thought, “I never did seem to achieve that in the end. Even as the Sorceress Supreme. And I hated that. You, you became a sorcerer to heal people. Don’t pretend like you didn’t. I see it in the desperation to find a cure for my universe. I became a sorceress for…petty childishness.”

Clea’s hands finally weakened. Strange didn’t let his hand slide away. His attention was too fixated on the taut lines growing on Clea’s gaunt face.

“I envy that nobility.” She finally added with a touch of loathing, “And even when I try to quell a disease out of genuine fear for my peoples, I don’t succeed. I admire your honourable nature, Stephen Strange.”

Strange finally pulled back his hand. Something in her words made him woefully insecure and spiteful towards himself. Clea’s eyes widened and then hardened, fearing her vulnerability had soured things. Strange looked fierce. A snarl coloured his grumpy face.

“I’m not honourable. Don’t ever say something stupid like that again.” He scoffed, barely making eye contact.

His mouth opened and closed several times. A look of great discomfort crept into his all too quickly aged eyes.

“There…There’s a reason why no Sorcerer Supreme in this world.” His head craned downwards, “I led him to his death.”

Despite having told the story before, Strange found no ease. Despite the events occurring over a year in the past, Strange found no distance. Despite justice being delivered, Strange found no peace. Clea listened silently as the return of the first vampire, Varnae, was retold. Of how Strange had inadvertently summoned him to Earth after being exiled for centuries. Of how Strange tried to fight him, only to need the other sorcerers to come to his aid and be slaughtered as a result of their courage. Of how Strange was the only one to crawl out of that foul, ancient place alive.

His words soon dissolved. No more was he able to speak of his greatest failing. His eyes were dead as he looked at Clea. She was as neutral and concealed as ever. If there was any judgement or torment within her soul, she was hiding it well.

“My sins…” Strange rubbed his eyes and broke into a horrid grimace, “My sins will forever outweigh my honour.” He spat the last word like poison.

His chest was tight. The air felt rough in his lungs. He wanted to reach into his ribs and tug at them.

“I was so desperate to prove my worth to my family, I summoned my own demon into the palace.” Clea’s words were filled with her flavour of self-directed animosity, “A demon of dreams and wonder. I released it from its prison to challenge and destroy it.”

Slight humour grew on her face. Strange didn’t dislike it.

“I was young. Foolish. I almost died, were it not for my mother. Many did.”

The room became silent and heavy. Strange felt some many uncomfortable emotions rise from the small tale, and the one that overtook him the most was something that he had not felt in a long time: genuine understanding. He didn’t feel lonely in his existence. Even in such a small way, there was someone else who had walked a similar path. That feeling, such an unexpected feeling, tightened Strange as if he were clockwork and he sealed his quivering lips.

Clea subtly returned to holding Strange’s hand. He didn’t pull away.

“But we have both grown older, even just a little. And the purpose of aging is to be better. To do better. And no finer craft needs that than sorcery.”

Clea’s hands had moved. They were on Strange’s face. Before he could question, not that he ever would, Clea’s lips were upon his. Strange, not thinking, leaned in within an instant.

***

Barbara’s eyes continued to peak to the side. A giant of a man was at her side, silently washing the dishes. It was like watching a bear vacuum. It took several attempts for Thor to learn what strength was needed to not snap or crush the plates some months ago. It had been funny back then. It was not at the moment.

Thor had not spoken a word since his father’s departure. Even as they coordinated cleaning up, the god had been utterly quiet. Not even his breathing could be heard. Barbara put her drying towel in front of the sink and sighed loudly. She idly noticed Thor pause momentarily as she did so.

“If I’m too blunt, I’m sorry.” She began, bitting her lip as she looked at the sink, “My pop was as lively as they came. Used to live in a farm. Real old school type. Wrestled bulls for fun. Smart, too. Didn’t finish school, but he read like no one else. Politics. Sports. Nature. Even history. Pop was the smartest dumbass I ever knew.”

Barbara hesitated as she tried her best to think of soft words to use. Thor remained motionless as if he were a boulder.

“Then he stopped being so smart. He struggled to remember things. Small things at first. Left the doors open a few times. Forgot to call people back. Retold the same story. None of us really knew any signs of what was happening, so we didn’t say anything. Then pop left the stove on. He almost died. Mum had to take him from the farm. It almost ruined the family. He said he regretted having her. Then he forgot that he said it. He forgot that he wasn’t at his farm anymore. Then he forgot that his grandchildren weren’t five anymore.”

There was an odd feeling in the air. Barbara didn’t want to continue talking. In fact, she felt highly uncomfortable talking about a part of her life so raw and so rarely exposed to the elements. But Barbara didn’t want Thor to linger in silence. She loved him too much for that.

“I don’t know Aesir brains, but I know when someone’s not with it anymore.”

“My father has not held all his wisdom in some time.”

Thor was leaning over the counter, identical to Barbara. His face was stony, but his eyes were full of misery and regret.

“How long?”

“Ten years, perhaps? The symptoms would be plainer to see for a man without so much blood in his eyes. My mind was drawn to battle, Barbara. I cared little for the mind of my own king. My father.”

He drew off into a whisper. With a silent sigh, Barbara squeezed on of his giant paws.

“You’re not his doctor. You’re not his only kid. Yeah, some of us deserve blame with shit like this. Not all of it, Thor. That’s just stupid to think.”

Thor’s misery turned to bitterness.

“I was too…determined to hear the woes of enemies that needn’t existed for me. I was not a kind god.” Thor admitted with shame, his head lowering, “Even if I saw such symptoms of my father’s falling, I would not care. Cruel and selfish, that is what I was. Asgard brought out the demons in my heart and put weapons in my hands.”

Barbara’s hand continued to squeeze Thor in comfort.

“Is that why…you don’t want to return?”

Thor could read the uncharacteristic insecurity in her voice. He turned to look at her.

“I do not wish to part from you. That is a reason.” His eyes dropped, “There are many. Asgard is a violent pace, and I have come to enjoy the peace here. Many view me with hatred, nearly all deserving to do so. But I fear my father.”

Thor’s voice broke. The aging god of thunder grimaced. He was holding back tears with fury and contempt. He tried to pull away from Barbara, but she held onto him tightly, albeit being pulled slightly forwards as a result. When Thor spoke again, it was with a pain that Barbara had never heard come from him.

“He is a god of war, of wisdom. He held back armies with whispers in the wind. Worlds worship him whole. Now…Now he cannot understand what time of night it is. He does not recognise the beard in my beard. This man taught me to be a warrior, yet he knows his truths no longer. To witness this…”

Barbara’s hand moved to Thor’s chest, and then to his cheek. Thor was still grimacing. He felt pathetic and childish as tears stained his cheeks. It had been many centuries since he had been so broken into tears. He hated the feeling. He wanted to crush it. But he couldn’t. All he could do was hold back the sobs as Barbara held his face.

“It hurts. I know. Seeing someone who raised you like this hurts.” Barbara softly wiped a tear away, “Feel what you feel, accept it.”

Thor bared his teeth. He closed his eyes.

“Then…I feel fear returning to Asgard. I fear returning to a world I once covered in blood. And I feel fear and pain to see my father in such a way.”

Then he opened his eyes, Barbara was still looking at him. Her face was uneasily stiff, as if she was afraid of betraying any of her own emotions.

“I love you.” Her voice was croaky, “I love you. But if Odin is as…strong as you say, people aren’t going to be okay if his mind is slipping. What if he starts a war? What if he uses magic to…I don’t know.” She sighed, “I know you’re scared, but you are Thor. You stopped that ape vampire thing. You’re studying being a paramedic to help people. And I think a lot of people need your help in Asgard.”

Thor looked at her with pain. She hated saying every word, but it was all true. She kept her emotions in check rather well, her voice only giving her up slightly. Thor leaned down, resting his forehead on hers, not knowing what else to do.

***

Tony’s glasses did a poor job of hiding the bags under his eyes. They were puffy and swollen, leading many to whisper as they assumed that he had broken his sobriety. Tony was too tired to care. His fingers strummed against his journal as he curtly made his way through the Stark Industries foyer. Sleep was for those that could afford it. With countless reactors on the loose, Tony could afford nothing.

His mind refused to leave that matter. Even after dropping Peter and Jennifer off at Thor’s, his anxieties clung to him like clothing. His skin was also so damp now. Loud noises annoyed him considerably more, even if it was mere conversation with an excited person. His eyes peaked around corners, determined to ensure no one was near him without his knowing. He wanted sleep so much. His mind just simply demanded something else.

So, with fidgeting hands and deathly stares, Tony headed towards the elevator. While he typically wouldn’t bother to check in with security, a small commotion drew his attention. A lithe girl, college age, was awkwardly backing away from one of the larger guards, Lucas. The bald man turned to Tony, rolled his eyes dramatically, and resumed loudly chastising whoever he was talking to. Tony was about to continue his tepid path again.

“Mr. Stark! It’s…It’s me?”

The awkward voice made Tony sigh and turn around. He squinted. Taking off his glasses only vaguely helped his memory as he looked at the small woman with Asian features. He looked back to Lucas, who opened his mouth with uncertainty.

“Anna?” The woman tried meekly.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, shit. Anna. Yeah, I remember.” Tony grumbled, “What’s…What’s up?”

Anna smiled as she leaned down to pick up a box. Messily written notes, receipts, even an essay. It looked like she had literally just emptied her desk from her lab.

“I found some more stuff about where I got some parts. I wanted to drop them off, but someone,” She tossed a glare to Lucas, “won’t let me because it’s a security risk.”

Lucas rolled his eyes again.

“Ma’am, I asked to vet it first. I don’t know if there’s a bomb in…Sir!”

Tony had started to dig through the box with mild haste. Lucas started to sweat. After several seconds, Tony sighed and shook his head, already walking away.

“No bomb.” He called as he gestured for an elevator.

There was a pause before he heard a hesitant voice.

“Do…Do you want the box?”

 Tony watched as Anna’s eyes turned to giant globes filled with wonder. As they entered his personal office, the younger scientist politely raced about. Half built machines that were tossed near a couch were a marvel to her. Scrunched up blueprints of failed designs seemed to inspire her further. Excited fingers tapped at her small lips as she took it all in. Tony couldn’t help but smile at the pure joy in her face. It was a warm relief and a welcomed distraction.

He placed the box of files in front of his guest sofa and sat down with a huff. After tossing his glasses away, he picked up the first paper and read it. Anna was still ogling his set of model cars that he held in glass cases.

“Jesus.” Tony groaned as he flipped through a correspondence, “Why…Why wait three months for these parts?”

Anna flushed.

“Well, I want my thesis to work.”

There was an innocence to that answer that disarmed Tony’s snark. Instead, Tony murmured to himself as he inspected the companies that the student was mailing to. It was a hell of a lot of effort, especially for a Ph.D. student. She had gone to considerable lengths to get the right components for experiments, even attempting to barter with what looked like an arcade company at one point.

“You know, you’d probably do half decently without all this stuff. The theory’s all there, anyway. You could snap up some postgrad position with ease somewhere.”

Anna’s sheepishness turned to mild indignation.

“I don’t want half decently. I don’t want some postgrad position. I can help people.” Her voice was almost stubborn to the ear, “And I can prove I can do it with the right parts.” Her fist met her open palm eagerly, “I can wait a few months. There’s always other research to help out with in the meantime.”

“Another never-ending thesis.” Tony snorted, but not in poor taste, “Why engineering, anyway? We don’t exactly have fun lives.”

As Tony asked the question, he moved through the box again. Anna had been thorough in her gift giving. As Tony began to examine receipts sent from Vietnam, the student continued.

“My dad.” She shrugged.

Something in the back of Tony’s mind twitched.

“What about him?” He asked in a slightly more gravelly voice.

“He worked in a factory where they made parts for radios. He loved working with the pieces, even though he never had a degree. He couldn’t afford it. And he always wanted to be close to engineering. We used to play and put things together. All televisions, radios, even tried and failed to work with old cars. Anything we could tinker with. So,” Anna shrugged again, “I do it to make him proud. To make my family name just that little bit better in my community, when I go back home.”

Tony didn’t like that answer. He knew it too well. The intense desire to make something of one’s self amongst a sea of a parent’s fixation and interests. It was too easy to drown in. He himself had suffocated in that pursuit since he was a preteen. Tony looked down from the notes. He was clutching the couch so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“You’re, um…You’re a good kid.” Tony managed with a saddened smile, “A real good one.”

Anna turned bright red and hastily mumbled something that Tony couldn’t understand. He looked back down to the receipts, seeing a final series of printed notes that the manufacturer had left for her.

“Missing some…What?”

Tony held the paper up to Anna, who leaned down and squinted as she read to herself softly. An embarrassed giggle came afterwards.

“Oh, it’s just a type of cooling system. My previous experiments kinda…started some flames.” Anna scratched at her wrist, “I need a specific build that can fit into my current prototype, but I’m struggling to find the pieces to make it and I can’t afford to order something directly.”

Tony rubbed his swollen eyes before leaning into his hand and peering up at her. He then briefly turned his eyes back to the receipts.

“I think I have a similar piece back at the house.” Tony mentioned and he stood up, “You got a car?”

Anna blinked in confusion.

“Ex…Excuse me?”

Tony sat behind his desk and reached for his phone.

“I have to stay here, but my butler can show you the piece, if you want? No need in keeping waiting over some mystery piece that barely appears on the market.”

Anna’s mouth gaped a little. Her lips curled into a sweetly smile that made Tony feel better than awful for once.

“I…I need to contact my supervisor about fundin-”

“I’m Tony fucking Stark.” Tony sighed, looking up with some humour, “I can afford a new cooling unit. So, am I calling Jarvis to pick you up, or do you have your own car?”

There was a shy, insecure pause as Anna scratched at her wrist again.

“Can…Would it be too much to ask to visit my house first? I need to measure how big the unit needs to be. I…can’t remember off the top of my head…”

***

The truck shook and rumbled like thunder. It brought Steve a sharp feeling of nostalgia. Similar trucks carried him and his fellow soldiers around Europe during the war. As he looked around at the silent, steely eyed men and women lining the truck, Steve wondered just how little changed in forty years. He swallowed the bitter taste that curled on his tongue.

John was at his side. A dark blue uniform of a flexible, yet thickened, fabric covered his impressive form. The man had his eyes closed. Soft words left his cracked lips. A tight grip held his rifle to legs closely. While not scared, there was clear agitation on his face. Steve knew the expression all too well.

“Holding up?” He whispered under his breath.

Thankfully, the sound of the engine roared far too loudly for anyone in the back to hear faint words. John slowly pulled his eyes open. He shrugged softly.

“Yeah, just hate the quiet before it. Makes me nervous. Hate it. I just wanna start already.” He hastily explained.

Steve nodded in understanding. He tilted his head as he silently counted just how long they had been travelling. It had been at least three hours in the truck. Seven in a small plane before that. It was enough to make anyone restless. Steve kneed his son’s knee almost playfully.

“Eyes up. We’ll be there soon.” His fingers rested against his shield, “Details?”

A dry laugh escaped John.

“I’m fine. We don’t need to-”

“Your C.O. just asked you for the briefing. Are you intentionally ignoring an order?”

John chuckled again before straightening up and adopting a more professional expression.

“Extraction of files believed to be linked to unauthorised nuclear weapons. Intel posits the files in an abandoned oil refinery, specifically near the old storage barrels. Quick and quiet mission. Raccoons will sever any internal surveillance. Badgers extract files. Squirrels ensure the escape route is clear. Left anything out, sir?”

“Yeah, you actually did.”

John resisted a curious quirk of his eyebrow. Instead, he waited for Steve to continue.

“Do what I say.” Steve added with some humour.

John smiled warmly. He opened his mouth, only for someone to knock from the driver’s cabin. Within a second, everyone aimed their guns. Within a minute, the truck came to a stop. Within an instant, Steve silently prayed to God. He always did during such moments. The captain rose to his feet. He nodded to a short woman, leader of those responsible for ensuring cameras and communications were cut off, and then to the man leading those securing the parameter that they would flee through. The twenty broke into three.

The rural, hot night air flooded Steve’s nostrils. It was beautiful, almost like an American summer evening where cold beers would be shared as a group would listen to sports on the radio. Steve missed those days so dearly at times such as these. The truck had dropped the teams a few miles off some small, dirt covered road in a barely known country. With darkness around them, the three groups split up as they broke into soft sprints. Within a few minutes of pushing through dry trees and rough shrubs that stuck into skin, tall pillars of concrete could be seen.

The refinery was old and of the same vintage as Steve. The fence around it was rusted and incomplete. Many of the office buildings were crumpled and painted with politically mocking graffiti. Whoever ruled this land some years ago was loathed as much as the devil himself.

The refinery was large. Most of the complex was held within the centre, heralded by a rough road where trucks would be loaded full of their precious, purified cargo. A part of Steve was curious why such a refinery would be abandoned with so little care, but he pushed it away. Thoughts for another time. John and another man were lying on their stomachs, eyes peering through binoculars. The five other men and women were silent as the pair surveyed their surroundings. John whispered to himself and he looked down. A small watch with green liquid that glowed in the night decorated his wrist.

After several minutes, the two rolled up.

“We clocked at least twenty.” John whispered, “Thirteen on the rooves of Building B, C, and E. Two positioned by the front-loading bay. Five doing laps in intervals of about eighty seconds. All by themselves.”

Steve registered the information the best that he could. In the darkness, he missed John licking his lips. Steve had taken to reading the suggested plan of infiltration many times over, memorising the best that he could.

“How many on Building B?”

“Three.” The second scout replied quietly, “The patrol lines come from the left, by the carpark.”

Steve nodded. Remembering the layout of the facility carefully, he made his decision.

“It’s eighty metres from Building B to storage. That’s a lot of space. But it’s the least amount of guards.” He added, “Ivy, take up sentry. Everyone else, one at a time. We wait for radio silence, then we move in. Go in through the right.”

No one objected. Quietly, they waited. John exhaled deeply, an almost desperate look of determination on his face. Steve was at his side, thinking of everything that could go wrong and how best to fix those issues if they arose. The two men looked like Roman statues looming in the night, solid and strong, yet filled with foreboding. It was strange to be on a mission with a family member. Never once did Steve ever think that he would be. Sadly, he found no comfort in it. Only a new, wholly undiscovered type of stress.  

“They’re down.”

As soon as Steve heard it, he turned and nodded. Estevez was the first, for he had the cutters. Silently, he laid upon his belly and began to cut a hole into the old fence. Dozens of metres away, the others watched with bated breath. Then, his form vanished. John was next. One after another, the S.T.R.I.K.E. team crept through the dirt and foliage and through the hole in the fence. Steve was last.  

Silently, he crept into the refinery carpark and raced towards the nearest wall. Gravel and rock cracked under his boot, making him highly anxious of being spotted by patrols. Lights coming from lone men on the edge of building threatened to shine on him. They never did. When Steve arrived at his spot by chipped wall, a fellow agent was still lingering there. He silently pointed. Someone was strolling in the dark, inhaling a cheap cigarette as they whistled a poor tune. Steve slowly reached for his handgun, calculating how long they had until they were spotted. The man shook and writhed. Something grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows of storage centre. One at a time, Steve and the other operative crawled into the building.

There were three bodies being hastily hidden in an old cleaning cabinet of all things. To Steve’s mixed gut, it was John’s knife aggressively digging its way through the patrolman’s throat. John hissed quietly as he held the man’s mouth shut. Blood poured down his arm. Then, the struggle was over. With a disgusting and undignified noise, the patrolman’s life gave out. He joined the others in the cabinet. John looked at Steve with apprehension. Steve swallowed his discomfort. Now was not the time. He nodded, making John smile with pride. Steve instantly hated that smile.

Silently, he commanded the others to take position in a single line. John took the rear. His grip on his gun was tight and his eyes wild with life as the team began their infiltration. Steve would inspect his team every so often, but it wasn’t enough to see John beginning to roll his jaw. What started as a stretch turned to aggressive flexes, as if he were struggling to breathe through his throat. At no point did he say anything, for he never would.

It was a relatively quiet mission. Only once did Steve unload a round. An unfortunate soul walked in front of their line as they found the decontamination areas. Within an instant, the super soldier aimed for the chest and fired. The two men in front of him were quick to remove the body and do their best to wipe away drops of blood in the few seconds available. Three more times they ran into patrols. Three more times his team needed to remove them as quietly as possible. Steve was used to this part of his life. Deeper and deeper they travelled. No communication poured into his ear. That offered some relief, as it meant that there were no issues so far. He was grateful for that. John deserved that for his first mission.

The line slid into the large storage complex. It was like an old warehouse with so many tubes leading to other rooms. Gigantic barrels and pipes that fed oil into them filled most of the room, making it hard to move with ease. Worker’s comfort was clearly taken into consideration last when designing the building. Steve retook his place at the front, curling himself into a corner by some levers and signalling the others to join him.

“I spot ten.” His whispered as he gestured to an overseer’s office.

The rundown room was full of restless men that were pacing in a very crammed room. If there were ten in the office, there was no doubt ten more patrolling around them. The poorly lit building could only offer them so much cover. They couldn’t linger for much longer. They couldn’t take on that amount of foes outright. Not even Steve could face those odds, and he deeply desired for his team to return with him whole. He examined the scenery again.

“We flank them. Take them from the sides. Estevez, take John and Paul through the back room. I think you can get to it from the way we came. We’ll give you a minute before me move. Rest of you, we go straight ahead. Don’t fire unless we need to. We need to be silent.”

The small team became even smaller. John nodded obediently, but Steve finally saw the unusual flexing of his jaw. When he licked his lips, his tongue looked dry as if he’d been heaving. It was too late to say anything. John was already away with Estevez. Steve hastily reconsidered his options, given what he had just seen. Something was wrong. The air suddenly smelt foul to the soldier. What was a calm, warm night felt suffocating. Something was wrong. He knew it.

Steve waited for his minute, checking his watch closely. He nodded stiffly. Leading his men, shield on his arm and gun aimed forwards, the veteran crept up a staircase. He checked his watch again. As soon as it struck a minute, he stood straight and kicked his way through the door. The guards were surprised for the first few seconds, and then they were terrified as soon as they saw the shield. The myths were true. Captain America was still alive. One man even muttered a prayer in confusion, questioning if he had been poisoned enough to hallucinate a hero as famous as Captain America.

To Steve’s gratitude towards God, the shield was enough for the guards to raise their hands in total surrender. They had grown up seeing the reels from the front lines. They knew what that shield could do to their bones and flesh if needed. Several men began whispering to who Steve assumed was their own captain. They became agitated, demanding new orders. To Steve’s disliking, no one dropped any guns, however. The leader of the guards, a strong but old man with wistful hair, swallowed and puffed out his chest. He spoke in a language that only few in his team could understand. Steve turned to Lita.

“I think he’s mocking how short you are compared to the old movies.” She explained.

Steve tilted his head, but didn’t take the bait.

“Ask him for the files. We won’t kill anyone. He has my word.”

Lita translated the request. As she did so, the leader of the guards stared blatantly at the shield and gun in Steve’s hands.

“You have us outnumbered. I’m not dropping a thing. But,” Steve’s voice became lighter, “we don’t want you. Get on your knees, hands up, and we’ll be gone once we-”

The next few moments unleashed a type of hellish confusion that even Steve had rarely seen. Estevez’s team barged through the second door. It was John at the front. Steve eyed him in confusion, but could only do so for a second. At the sight of more agents, one of the guards went into a panic. His arms shook as he staggered back to resume praying. The close semblance of reaching for his gun was all that was needed.

John fired. The room was silent as the man dropped to the floor. Blood frothed from the hole in his head. Steve watched John’s jaw continue to flex. He was sweating profusely. His eyes struggled to focus on a single target. A guard beside the deceased looked as if he was about to vomit from the blood on his legs. He gagged and reached forwards to steady himself. John fired again, this time without any possible area of grey or rationale. The entirety of the room went into panic. The S.T.R.I.K.E. either charged at John or fired on the guards that were raising their weapons as they fled.

“I surr-”

John aggressively whipped his gun into the side of the begging guard with inhuman strength. Bones weren’t snapped, they were crushed.

Within five seconds, the room was silent again.

Steve looked around in horror. Every guard was dead. There was shouting coming in through the radio in his ear. Blood decorated the floor and half of the agents, Steve included. Shouting could be heard echoing from the building, footsteps becoming heavier. And there was John, flexing his jaw and hyperventilating. His hands were bending the metal of his gun with the power of his grip. Without hesitation, Steve reached for it. John almost struck him. His arm reeled back for a punch. Steve grabbed his arm immediately and pushed him against a wall, securing his ability to throw any blows. There was a silent exchange for a moment. Then, John blinked and breathed desperately. His gun was in his father’s hands. He seemed confused and angry, almost severely scared.

Steve didn’t know what to do. His own son was having a mental episode, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Sir.”

Steve reluctantly looked away. Estevez was holding a series of files in his hand. Steve glared at them with utter distain.

“We’re moving out.” He said coldly as he stepped closer to John, “You’re staying with me.”

John didn’t resist. Steve doubted that he had the mental capability to do so anymore. He wasn’t with his team anymore. His swaying and frantic eyes betrayed just how mentally distant John had become. All Steve could do was take his handgun from John’s thigh and take his shoulder in his hand.

The mission turned to hell. Getting out was far longer and bloody than getting in. Multiple guards had heard the initial gunshots. Even with their radios hindered, enough were close to the storage centre to run towards it. The walls rang with gunfire within minutes. Sheild at the front, Steve took the lead and drew as much of the fire as he could. It was enough for several guards to cut down by agents, but not enough to stop Estevez being shot in the thigh. Being dragged with soft screams, he followed at the rear.

The team maintaining the parameter was pulled into the facility, allowing both them and Steve’s team to pincer the remaining guards. What was a silent night turned into one filled with blaring torches and scorching gunfire. John never left Steve’s side. His eyes were disorientated but full of hatred. His jaw never stopped flexing, even as they got into the truck. Steve was last to enter. As he counted the agents as quickly as he could, he noticed the man in charge of the perimeter team shaking his head slowly. Three of his agents were lying, completely motionless, in a crude heap by the edge of the truck.

Steve exhaled deeply as the truck roared with life. As they departed in a storm of madness, he couldn’t help but look at John. He was fidgeting, but otherwise silent and apathetic to his surroundings. His eyes were incapable of staying still. Steve wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know if it was the best thing to do. He didn’t know what was the best thing to do. He was left sitting only a metre away from his son, not knowing what to do or what was even wrong in the first place.

It was about seven minutes into the escape when someone from the front of the truck was given a radio the size of a forearm by someone in the front cabin. Without hesitation, she passed it to Steve.

“Command.” Steve greeted lifelessly.

Static hissed for several seconds until words could be made out.

“I hear…success.”

It was Fury. Steve kept his voice as quiet as he could.

“There’s been complications. Full debrief when I-”

“Complications…happen, soldier…hat we need. Be proud of that...ight home.”

Fury cut the line. Steve was speechless. The entire team shuddered as they saw a super soldier snap a metal radio in half with his bare hands.

***

The Leader hummed to himself as he examined the endless scrolls of data that his computer was pumping out. The machine was a mishmash of over a dozen computers, all connected to one another to provide enough processing power for the research required. The room was filled with cables and wires, inducing a maze-like feeling caused by webs. What wasn’t filled with wires was covered with endless streams of paper reels. All relating to the genetic composition of the behemoth below.

Bruce Banner.

The Leader was in an odd position with Banner. He could admit that he admired the researcher. For someone who had been so underpaid and received little exposure from the wider academic community, Banner’s work on the medical applications of gamma radiation was simply genius. There was no other way to describe. Even with such an enhanced brain, the Leader had found himself in awe at the theories and later discoveries that Banner had produced. Yet, it was ironically Banner’s failures that made him so vital to the Sterns family. It was his mutated and warped cells that made him invaluable to his niece. It was the beast, not the genius, that the Leader had come to need. The position that the Leader was in was almost humorous, a cruelly dark manner.

As the Leader poured over the latest printings that detailed Banner’s radiation levels, his cranium twitched. The door behind him had opened. Without turning, he addressed the man that he assumed had walked in.

“Are you well?” He asked with sincere concern, “Because I fear I may have to ruin that mood. I’ve been reviewing the amount of energy still stored in Banner’s cells.” The Leader tattered, “I think it’s not enough. We need Walters now.” The Leader hissed before hesitating, “Tell me. How…How confident are you at fighting a god while…we take Walters?”

“Unwise, even for a mortal.”

The Leader turned. His feet dropped to the floor as he forwent his hovering. His brother was standing behind a tall, muscular woman with a foreign helmet of shining metals. Flayed proudly at her side, two coloured wings flexed every few seconds. A sword was pressed to her defined hip muscles. The Leader adopted a diplomatic smile.

“My brother has told me about you. I am Samuel Sterns. And you?”

The winged woman titled her head, as if humoured by the pleasant gesture.

“My name need not worry you, green man.” She replied firmly, “Your brother spoke of a worthy deal.”

The Leader turned to Philip with cautious curiosity. The rangy man smiled smugly, though there was little warmth left in his eyes. The most recent news out of his brother’s mouth left him no ease. It was becoming increasingly difficult for the man to remain focussed and in control of the fear and desperation rising in his gut.

“We motivate Thor to return home. In exchange, she’ll help us get Walters. She knows.” Philip quickly added, “Openness to new friends and all that.”

“I am no friend.” The Valkyrie informed them, “Your brother has the confidence of a bear that you can make my prince forgo his place at this…world.”

“All he has is his friends.” Philip noted smoothly as he walked towards his brother, “My brother and I have been thinking this through for a while. If he’s alienated, he won’t want to stay.”

The two brothers exchanged a silent look as the Leader quickly surmised what his brother had offered the mystical woman. Philip looked exhausted. The Leader wouldn’t be surprised if he offered the world itself in exchange for a healthy daughter.

“Philip is correct.” The Leader nodded, “He needs to feel alone, and-”

“You are repeating yourself.” The woman sighed in boredom, “I have heard of this strange band on companions that he knows. If I were to agree to help you, what would do you propose I do them?”

The Leader did his best to conceal an eager, cat-like grin. It was a new variable to consider, yet one entirely pleasing to experience. The winged woman hid her expressions fantastically, even the areas exposed under the helmet. Yet, her voice revealed just enough desperation for the Leader to identify.

“So…You’re open to joining the new band?”

***

A/N: I hope you’re well!

Sorry for the delay, life has been…life. But we’re nearing the end, and I have finished drafting the story for the third. There’ll be about three-ish new Avengers in it, which I hope you’ll like.

More and more, people’s worlds are starting to crack a little. And within the next chapter or so, it’ll only get worse haha. But at least Strange’s life is getting a little better.

Next chapter, we’ll see how Namor is attempting to define a new identity for himself, Jackie and Dane will delve into Dane’s life a fair bit, and Jen and Peter resume their detective work together whilst reflecting on their lives.

As always, if you have any feedback or suggestions for this story or the next, feel free to leave a kudos or comment. If not, thanks for reading and have a brilliant rest of the week!

Fact of the chapter: theoretically, your naps are only meant to last 15-30 minutes, which is ridiculous. Napping so few hours is for cowards…

Chapter Text

Hank licked his lips as he attempted to regain focus. It was a rough movement, like drawing sandpaper across unworked timber. He barely took notice of the uncomfortable sensation as he dug the expensive and finely crafted screwdriver into the circuits behind his domed Ant-Man helmet. The chips popped free, hanging downwards from their wires like odd grapes. Hank licked lips again. With time and patience, he carefully extracted the parts without damaging or even moving many of the electronics around his targeted chips. They were obsolete, due for replacements. Keeping on top of things such as this with a suit so powerful was a silent necessity. It went without saying or prodding. Yet, Hank only felt compelled to do it past midnight.

The darkness under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but he couldn’t sleep. Hiding from Janet within his nearby workshop, Hank squirreled himself away with his parts and tools. The concentration intense task offered little recluse for the man’s overactive mind. Even as he worked on carefully installing chips smaller than his fingernails, an oddity came into his mind. Would a son or daughter enjoy doing this with him?

It seemed like a stupid question. Their parents would be Hank and Janet Pym. Both were academics. Both were, as Tony would hypocritically label them, ‘nerds’. They didn’t have a wide gene pool for other personality traits. Yet, what if they weren’t interested in the sciences? Hank stopped to stare at the screwdriver in his hand momentarily. A tool that could be used in many situations. Hank didn’t think that he was that limited in his interests. He liked sports, history, jokes. He could find a way to bond with someone without science needing to be there. He had non-STEM related friends, after all. Many, in fact. Yet, it felt so much more daunting talking to a child with little to no shared interests. What if Hank’s kid grew distant as a result of their lack of interests? What if they grew to hate him or just be apathetic?

Hank sighed. Without any decorum, he picked up the helmet from the workbench and sat on the cold floor. He was finding it calming to sit on the floor in recent days. Even as he aimlessly fiddled with the screwdriver, he felt better now that he was away from the desk. He hadn’t done it in years, but he had found himself sitting on rough floors to calm himself before. When he was younger, back on his parents’ farm.

His eyes grew glassy at the memory of the place. It was hot, dry, and loud. So very, very loud for the introverted Hank Pym. Whether it be the calling animals, the creaking metal of rusted sheds feeling the wind, or screaming parents, Hank could vibrantly hear it all still. He locked his jaw in a foul manner. What if he scared his own child? He couldn’t imagine anything that he wanted less, but it was a possibility. He knew it. He just knew it. He could snap one day, yell too much. He could say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. Anything wrong.

The screwdriver was thrown lamely across the floor.

He had less fear fighting those with guns than what he had in his gut as he sat. It sounded foolish, but it was true. He felt more comfortable being an Avenger and risking his life. And then something new sunk into his mind and refused to let its teeth out. What if he or Janet died? What if the other was left to raise their child as a single parent? What if their child didn’t even know one of their parents?

Hank cupped his mouth. As he did so, he realised just how damp his skin was. He was oily, sleek, and not in a kind way. He felt nauseous and weak just thinking of it. As he wiped the sweat through his hair, Hank felt cold. He was already going to be a disaster. The cycle would repeat itself, and his child would hate him.

He just knew it,

***

Through waves and roaring winds, the vessel charged. Like a sword through flesh, the crabbing boat refused to yield to the turmoil around it. The skies were overcast, making the water an even greyer colour than usual. The anger of the water raged and threw against the hull, determined to turn it sideways. Yet, it pressed on. Unyielding and scoffing at the challenge.

Soon, waves met wood and pavement. Those in yellow and orange scrubs rushed to the side, lining themselves with thick rope as the crew in the small cabin eased it as smoothly as possible into dock. The crew ignored the severe bump as the ship struck the wharf. Desperate movements mirrored frantic shouts across the boat’s deck. Rope snaked around wooden pillars and tightened. The crew did not hesitate. Without their precious nets of crab meat, they poured onto land. Desperate eyes peaked out from sodden hats and messed beards. The dock was empty. Whilst several ships were tied to the wharf, all were unattended and unusually quiet.

The men took little notice or care for this beyond it dampening their needs. They rushed forwards. Like ants running from a mound, they broke off into lines as they battered on doors and peered through glass. The fishermen’s hall, an old excuse to drink and host the odd social event between the various companies that had crews operating from the bay, was the only one that opened to the wailing.

“Need phone!” A crabber bellowed roughly with salt in his throat.

“Men overboard.” Another explained as he sprinted with weak legs to stand at his captain’s side.

The fellow fisherman opened his mouth but hesitated. It was too long for the desperate captain. He pushed the younger man aside. The fishermen’s hall was crowded. Not since an infamous Christmas party several years ago had it been so full. Many turned to look at the mounting crabbers, nearly all with relief.

“Phil.”

The captain turned towards the croak. Three men were curled by the wall and next to several old heaters. They were wrapped in thick blankets with soup dripping from their blue lips. The missing crabbers were alive, but not well at all.

A loud grunt regathered everyone’s attention, even the newcomers. Standing at the front of the wooden hall was a tall, very pale man in tight swimming trunks was standing on an old box. His eager smirk irritated several of the crabbers. He looked as if he owned their very souls with delight.

“Such a slow speed on things.” He chuckled, “Now, you may be wondering who I am and-”

There was a scramble. Namor watched as the crabbers immediately rushed to the men that they had thought dead less than a minute ago. They snatched them, rushing off towards the nearest car. None wanted an ambulance, as none had the time or money for it. Several of the fishermen carried extra blankets and water for their journey. Namor scowled, affronted by the lack of a speech. He just saved lives. He was due a little chance to address the commoners. A speech or two was hardly expensive.

The captain of the crabbers, an old man in a weathered hat, slowly trudged his way to the prince. He squinted at him as he drew near, trying to understand what he was seeing. Namor grinned, holding his head up high as he was appraised.

“I am Prin-”

“An X-Man?”

Namor bristled immediately. Pale skin turned oddly pink around his nose. He sulked as he crossed his large arms. The old man wasn’t particularly concerned. In fact, the gathered audience seemed amused by the young man’s display.

“I am no ­X-Man, I am Namor, Prince of Atlantis.” He proclaimed with some pride returning.

There was silence. The old man huffed softly.

“Mutant.”

“What?”

“How do we know you’re not some mutant and not that kinda royalty?” Someone called from the back.

Namor took a moment to translate the question into acceptable English. He smiled coolly.

“I don’t see your point, my friend. I am-”

“You could be a mutant. Doesn’t mean you’re no king, see?”

Namor’s eye twitched. With a sigh, he leaned over and aimed a palm a cup of cool, fresh water. It erupted. A small horse the size of an arm danced in the arm, yet only a few of the older men staggered back. Many of the younger fishermen had lived in an age of mutants. Such displays hardly shocked anyone when Nixon was held at gunpoint by giant robots thanks to Magneto a decade prior.

Namor, noticing the lack of fascination, cut the spell short. The water collapsed on the floor into a lean puddle. Next, he clapped his hands together. As he pulled them apart, he bejewelled sceptre formed between his palms. Proudly, he slammed it to the ground. Silence. Namor was bewildered.

“This is the Sceptre of San’Ti. My bloodline has held this for-”

“Could be a fake.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I know a guy.” A man started, “Down Broadway. He makes shit like that. Makes a decent living, too. Mainly from the tourists.” He nodded as several others grumbled in agreement.

Namor chuckled without warmth. He slammed the sceptre into the floor and angrily gestured to the soaking seats where the crabbers had once rested.

“Did I not save your fellow man from the cruelty of the wa-”

“The X-Men done that.”

“I’m not an X-Man!” Namor broke into a frothing shout, “I am a mutant, but a prince as well!”

The shout welcomed some silence into the hall, but only temporarily. Chuckles and snide comments were made, only furthering the prince’s fury. He could simply not understand the apathy that these people were having towards him and his efforts. He had saved over a dozen people working in the waters in just a few days, yet each time he waited for their praise, the old, salt kissed men scoffed or snorted.

“Kid.” One of the older man chuckled, “We deal with water, storms, and fish guts every single day. You want a royal welcome, go to some fancy museum or somethin’.”

Namor blinked.

“I saved lives today, elder.”

Several men grunted in agreement. Namor actually grinned as he saw several men nodding and murmuring to themselves. The smile faded as soon as a bucket of fish was shoved into his chest. The fish were large and fatty, and the prince did find himself licking his lips at the sight of them.

“We are grateful.” Another of the fishermen said, “But we ain’t got a fancy cars or watches, pal. This is what we can give. We can’t even afford much time away from the sea. Got quotas to make for the big ones.”

“Big ones.” Namor chuckled, “I am a prince. Name someone bigger tha-”

“I don’t know, maybe the guys paying us.”

Several men laughed. Namor watched curiously at the crowded. It had thinned. People had actually left since he had first demanded their attention when he brought the crabbers in. Sure enough, as he peaked out the dusty window, he saw men getting back in their boats to brave the seas for more produce. The idle entertainment of a strange mutant had dissipated.

“You really don’t know what you’re trying to do here, do you?” The old fisherman asked with some care, “It’s hard for the nicer stuff in life when you’ve got scales on your hands.” He laughed.

He eyed the prince up and down some more. A comforting chuckle left him.

“You wanna get the royal treatment? Come ‘round here more often. Maybe getting your hands dirty will…stop…that.”

Namor looked to see the older man blatantly waving to Namor’s entire body. The prince huffed, but as he was left alone, his eyes couldn’t resist peaking at his hands. He saw some dirt from the seafloor, but little else. He could get his hands dirty. He had before. He was a warrior. He’d seen his fair share of blood and gore. These fishermen were just stubborn idiots.

***

As Namor strolled towards Thor’s home, his hands continuously rubbed together. A bizarre level of self-consciousness had afflicted the vain prince. For the first time in his life, he felt too clean and too proper. They were just fishermen. There was no need for their words to wound him so deeply, yet they had. Namor rehearsed his return for the next day, how he would smugly dismantle their comments and inspire respect from them. Yet, as he walked towards the suburban street, even Namor could guess how poorly that fantasy would materialise. If he could confidently know one thing, the humans that worked the seas were not fickle creatures at all.

Namor suddenly stopped. His nose flared almost comically as he took in the air. Almost out of reflex, he murmured a spell whilst spinning his pinkie in tight circles. A glowing pink ring shot out into the air. Namor was in close pursuit, his bucket of fish still to his chest. He concealed his expressions as he silently walked under the afternoon sun, his eyes keenly pointed ahead. He watched the ring scale up between two old houses. He flares his nostrils again. His lip twitched curiously, and he placed the bucket to his feet.

“You’re not human.” He spoke carefully, his eyes slowly investigating the walls of the quiet houses.

There was a pause.

“Nor are you.”

A woman’s voice. Low and strong, but still feminine. Namor heard movement behind him before he saw her. As he turned, he saw a tall woman concealed in a helmet straightening herself. Her eyes were beautiful, but Namor was more interested in her round breasts, hidden by strange armour made from many small triangles. His eyes took in her wings as she slowly fanned them out, covering the prince in the shade of her size. The prince was not intimidated by the gesture. In fact, he was still ogling her chest.

“Waiting for the so-called god or for another of the…odd ones?”

She didn’t reply verbally. Her hand dramatically drifted to her hip, where the base of a large blade was unsheathed. That was enough for Namor to finally stop imagining the fun he could have with her body.

“Jennifer Walters.”

Namor squinted.

“Is that your name or are you asking for someone? The boy or the one that stinks of drink like a common whore?”

He wasn’t playing coy. He genuinely didn’t remember most of the Avengers’ names given he had not been even told them in the first place. If Hlokk had described Jennifer’s body, that would have given a far quicker reaction.

The Valkyrie’s wings fluttered. She gave him a curious, but no less severe, look.

“Who are you? You fit no list I know of.”

Namor laughed desperately. As he leaned on the wall for support, he shook his head.

“I am NAMOR!” He shouted abruptly, “A prince. I rule the greatest empire on this worl-”

“An associate of Prince Thor’s.”

It wasn’t a question. Namor looked up and shrugged at the stern woman. She was clearly looking for information. Namor was somewhat willing to play with her.

“From a certain view, yes. As a fellow prince, I share ma-”

Hlokk took an aggressive step forward. Namor didn’t react at all. He was too invested in sulking over not being recognised to recognise just how close the muscly woman was.

“I may not know of your realm, but I may be of some use to it. Aid me, however, and I will aid you in turn.”

“Oh, how fitting.” Namor rolled his eyes.

Hlokk narrowed her eyes. The unknown vagabond’s tone struck her as oily and disrespectful. The fact that he seemed completely apathetic to a winged, statue of a woman made her curious about either his courage or his experience with the mythical. He had certainly known Thor to some extent. She just needed to know how much.

“Jennifer Walters.” Hlokk repeated, “Where is she?”

“I sense there is a language issue here.” Namor bemoaned, “Which one is that?” He asked as he shrugged once more.

The gesture was not met well. Hlokk’s wings grew far more agitated. Her hand now rested on the hilt of her blade. Namor was keenly aware of such an action and he stood straighter. Hlokk didn’t care that he was finally assessing her as a possible danger. Her patience with her situation was beyond the realm of the dead. She had no air to waste on a sulken boy.   

“You mock me.” Hlokk hissed in warning.

There was an edge to her voice that made Namor uncomfortable. She was willing to offer violence in exchange for silence. Which of Thor’s associates was desired so highly? Perhaps the emerald beauty? She was a stunning jewel worth hoarding to anyone with eyes.

The sooky prince subtly assessed his surroundings as the winged woman muttered in a foreign tongue. There was no stillness or calm to her words. Her eyes look wide and round behind her helm, almost vulnerable.

“I lack the time for such games, prince.” She warned through gritted teeth, “I lack any time. Where is Jennifer Walters?”

Namor titled his head, finally showing some confidence. He was a prince. He deserved some respect on this damned surface world. He bared his teeth a little.

“And what is the information worth to you? Why is it so valuable to threaten a prince?”

Hlokk did her best to pick her words carefully.

“She’s wanted by my king. That is enough for my offering of a reward for her.”

Namor found the answer odd and lacking. The words were of a different tone from her lips, as if she was struggling to push them out. She was lying.

“Now, now. I’m willing to help. But I need to know why it’s worth my-”

Namor felt the tip of the blade before he registered the movement. He peered at his bare chest as a cold metal was pressed into it lightly. Namor became very still.

“Where is she?”

“Unhand me.” Namor said firmly.

“I will not request this again.”

“Nor wi-”

The Valkyrie was beyond logic or rationale. The hidden pressures in her mind were mirrored by the pressure of her blade in Namor’s chest. The Atlantean scoffed as he slapped the sword away. He grinned. Some excitement to the day.

He prepared to summon his sceptre. A punch to the throat stopped that effort. As his face turned purple, he wheezed weakly as a wing crashed into his gut. The wall behind him thudded with the blunt force of Namor smacking and dropping from the bricks. Namor was coughing weakly, but he still managed to roll away. He threw his hands forth, summoning runes around his fingers. A wall of glass-lie magic separated the two of them. Namor took his chance to summon his weapon, yet he did not hear Hlokk’s words. He only noticed them as the wall of magic dissolved in seconds.

Her sword was mighty and her arms thick with power. As Namor met her strikes to deflect them, he was pushed further and further backwards. He turned on his heel, using the momentum to turn a deflect into a swipe downwards. It was enough to break Hlokk’s advance. As she paused to regain her defence, Namor took the advantage and threw a fist to her side. The force drove her back with a feral grunt. Water from the gutters shot upwards and flew towards Hlokk. She encased herself in her wings. To Namor’s horror, her feathers darkened. More and more, until they suddenly shone under the sun as if they were metal. They were metal. The blades of water crashed into the clever shield and dropped lamely at her feet. She took a step forwards, treading on a puddle. Namor flicked his hand to the side.

The puddle grew and moulded into a hand that desperately tried to pull Hlokk down. Namor charged forwards, sceptre in hand. It was a naïve attack, for at no point had the Aesir lost coordination. With terrific strength, she pulled her ankle free. Her blade easily met each of Namor’s strikes. Her wings, now light and organic once more, hungrily punched Namor’s cheeks. They began to swell as Namor grew panicked. She was an animal. Rapid and savage, there was no delay. Namor staggered back and attempted to slam his sceptre into the ground to summon as much water as he could. Hlokk was faster, hungrier. Like some beast, she tackled him before Namor’s weapon touched the ground. The prince fell on his rear and hastily picked himself up. Hlokk’s eyes were just…hungry. Namor’s back shuddered.

Jamming his sceptre into the wall, he pulled himself into the air and aggressively kicked at Hlokk’s jaw. The Aesir didn’t even flinch. Instead, she grabbed his led and threw him to the ground on his back. Still holding onto his foot, the warrior twisted.

“AGHHHHH!”

Birds took the skies in fear. Namor’s screams could be heard throughout the street. The prince spluttered spit as he weakly reached for his now dropped sceptre. As his fingers touched the metal, a boot slammed onto them. Another wail left the poor, battered prince. His eyes were suddenly bloodshot. Without thinking, he let out a maddening shout of fury. The ground shook with Namor’s rage as whatever water was nearby lifted into the air. Hundreds of small streams swiftly poured into a wall that roared and sieved with malice. The speed and size of the attack took Hlokk off balance. As she braced herself with her wings, Namor leaned over with his good hand and held his sceptre tightly. He thrusted forwards.

A pained shriek filled the area. Then there was light. Then there was silence.

Namor collapsed, panting. She wasn’t dead. Namor was painfully aware that he only got her shoulder. But he had scared her, and that was enough. For now. She was probably reluctant to fight and was only desperate. Namor wasn’t her prey, and he wasn’t worth the fight. He was smart enough to know that if they were to fight again, she wouldn’t be taken aback by Namor actually landing an injury to her. She’d be ready. She’d be willing. He’d be worth it then.

Trails of water collected around Namor’s ankle and reddening hand. He grimaced and whimpered weakly as the water soaked into his flesh, slowly rebuilding the bones shattered underneath. He was a prince. He was meant to be better than this.

***

The cold, sterile room was an unpleasant sight for anyone to have to sit in. With dark cream walls, a single earthy table and a single chair behind it, it was one of the duller offices that Fury had to deal with. Fortunately, it was only rarely that he was required to spend his day reviewing the recent training assessments for the newest applicants and members of the few S.H.I.E.L.D. divisions that he oversaw. While he enjoyed the pay increase that middle management offered the seasoned spy, he was less enthused about the resulting bureaucracy behind it.

And so, as he heard what could only be described as something heavy being thrown into a wall, he found himself growing excited. He smoothly leaned back and watched the one bland blue door in front of him, waiting for the angered shouts to come to an end.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Soon, a giant blonde man all but crashed through the door. Four security guards clung to him, careful not to hurt him whilst still doing their best to pull him away. Fury snorted in amusement. Almost casually, he threw his hand to the side. The security backed off immediately. Steve Rogers rolled an arching shoulder, but didn’t hold any malice to the men doing their jobs. Instead, he saved his severe glare for the one-eyed man sitting crossed-armed before him.

“Mission success? Mission success?!”

Fury sighed, but he didn’t move.

“Yes, Captain Rogers. It was a mission success. We retrieved what we needed.”

“It was a bloodbath, and you know it. Not a single report didn’t show that.”

“And how would you know what your team put in their private reports?” Fury asked with a smirk.

Steve was not in the mood for his games. He stepped closer to the table.

“He can’t join S.H.I.E.L.D.” He almost whispered, “He’s…He’s…”

“He’s what?” Fury challenged, “Say it.”

“He snapped. I’ve seen that in France. The shaking whenever a ‘pop’ goes off. He wasn’t there with me, not in the end. He’s not fit for duty. Not…Not like that.”

There was a long silence as Fury contemplated Steve’s words and while Steve prayed for some humanity.

“Steve,” Fury took a much gentler tone as he stood up, “You think I’m a liar.” It wasn’t a question, “I’m a spymaster or somethin’. I’ll be honest now, and I want you to listen. On paper, by the facts, he completed his mission. He displayed strength only one other man I know has.”

Steve felt heat rising in his chest as he listened. He didn’t cut Fury off, however. His honour forbade him.

“There are only two super soldiers. I’m looking at the other. I don’t have a lot of resources, and he can do a lot of good. He’s your son. He has it in him. I mean, son, you survived the greatest war in history! And here you are, still doing your part and beyond. It was nerves, Steve. It can be treated and ironed out in time. It happens to many agents in the field, especially the new ones.”

Steve blinked slowly.

“I was in the war.” He agreed coldly, “I know nerves in new soldiers. This wasn’t nerves, and you know that. He snapped, sir. We both know what snapping does to a man.” His voice rose as he closed the distance between he and Fury, “I want a full medical examination and I want to see the report.”

“Captain Rogers,” Fury chuckled awkwardly, “We both know that’s not how this works. You can’t pull something like that.”

Steve eyed Fury, who didn’t back down for a moment. The same, confident, yet blank, face just stared straight back. It was infuriating. So much so that Steve lost control of the heat in his chest.

“He’s my son! There’s something wrong and you know it! And you want him on the field when he shouldn’t be!”

Fury didn’t even flinch at the surprising volume of the scream. Instead, he merely looked over Steve’s shoulder. A cold, sinking feeling gathered and turned in Steve’s chest as he turned. A secretary was holding the door open for a very red-faced John Walker. Steve’s face dropped like a child’s. Before he could say anything, John was gone. Steve’s breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the room.

Without turning, he addressed Fury.

“We’re not done here.”

“Look, I don’t know how else to politely phrase thi-”

Steve wasn’t there to hear the end of the clandestine excuse. He was already running into the lobby of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s civilian office space. A normal, unsuspecting place that could easily be mistaken for somewhere that sold stocks. Lines and lines of cubicles, all with overly chatty workers.

By the time that Steve reached the lobby, John was almost out the glass door.

“Save it.” John warned venomously.

As Steve got close, he could see only mild bruising from the recent mission. His son healed just as swiftly as he did, it seemed.

“Look, we need to talk.” Steve said quietly, hoping not to be overheard by the many walking about around them.

“We really fucking don’t.”

John reached for the glass door, and Steve followed him out.

“What happened? You can talk to me, but I need to know what happened on the op.”

Steve halted as John turned to glare. There was distrust and pain in his eyes, both of which hurt his father deeply.

“I did my job. I screwed it at the end.” He hastily added in a loathing tone, “But like usual, I did my job. I did my job for this country.”

“You almost got us killed.” Steve said in shock, “John, it’s okay. I’ve seen this happen, you can talk to me. I saw in France when-”

“Don’t you say another word.” John warned in a violent whisper.

He leaned over, looking like a dangerous animal. Steve was taken aback by the display.

“This…This isn’t that.” He explained heatedly, “I…I just had a bad…call.”

“A bad call, huh? A bad call? John, please. Let me help you.” Steve tried, not knowing what to say on this matter, “You can still be a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. You heard them, they want you!” John’s eyes softened, “But not like this, not now.”

John’s eyes hardened. He reached for his father’s arm and pulled him close.

“You aren’t going to take this from me. I earnt this. I earnt all of it! Through these!” He reached into his shirt, pulling out chained dog tags, “I deserve to be here. You don’t have a right to take it from me.”

“John,” Steve whispered, “Please. You do deserve to be here. You’re a soldier.”

“I’m a soldier.” John hastily agreed, froth almost on his lips.

“And every soldier needs to be at their best.”

“Yeah? And I thought every leader needed to be there.”

Steve frowned in confusion. John let him go. There was a shallow smile on his sunken face. It was at this point that Steve noticed the fidgeting. The creasing and playing of the hands in rough, short motions.

“I didn’t see you once as a kid. We didn’t see you once in Nam. Where were you for the last four decades?”

“Don’t.” Steve warned.

For the first time of the conversation, there was gravel to his voice. John didn’t care.

“You were gone, and I fought. You were gone, and I helped this country. You were gone, and I had to looked after mum while her mind was going and I was spat on for fighting in a jungle.”

“I didn’t choose to be frozen!” Steve roared, “And I’m trying to help you now!” He panted loudly for a moment, “John, you’re not well. You need help.”

John laughed humourlessly. His hands continued to fidget.

“Nah, old man. You need to back the fuck off. I earnt this. Fury wants me. And I’ll do what I should’ve been doing for years. And years. And years. Serving my country and being around people that actually value what I do!”

He left Steve. The captain watched his son storm off. His arms were still fidgeting and Steve could hear his hasty words for some time. Steve was silent as he stood there. His mouth gaped and his eyes were soulless. All he felt was fear. Not for his wellbeing, but for his son’s. John was right, though. Steve should have never gone on that last mission. He should never have left so many behind.

“Get out!”

“No, we’re not from the IRS. We’r-”

Jen and Peter winced as yet another door was slammed in their face. This time, it was Arthur Lukin, a narrow shaped physicist, who was disgruntled by their presence. The pair had lasted seven minutes before being tossed out of the small university office space. It had been a very long day of searching through phone and address books, travelling to offices or even homes, and just getting rejected. As it turned out, bringing up failed and controversial research projects that almost ruined careers wasn’t a popular thing amongst scientists.

“Well, he didn’t have a gun.” Peter shrugged.

Jen looked at him and smiled softly.

“Always the optimist.”

“Someone’s gotta be. Anyway, it’s been a fun day.” He shrugged.

Jen chuckled softly, and then allowed herself to shrug as well. He was too sincere sometimes. Despite being in hiding and trying to find who was after her, it was a fun day. One full of lame jokes, genuine debates over Indiana Jones, and donuts. The donuts were the peak in Jen’s sugary mind.

“I’ve had worse days.”

“Giant red dudes can do that to you.” Peter smirked and Jen rolled her eyes, “Who’s next?”

Jen reached into her backpack, scurried through the maps and notes that they’d brought, and found the right notepad.

“Alicia…Banes. Dr. Alicia Banes.” Peter groaned, “What?”

“She’s the one that works at the recycling plant.”

“And?”

“They smell, Jen. They smell.”

“Anything with a nose does.” She murmured softly, “C’mon. We can swing by the house and then head to the plant. I think the bus stop’s near the corner, right?”

Peter was too busy snorting at her nose joke to make verbal replies. He simply nodded with a red face that Jen found annoyingly adorable. The pair, whilst chatting casually about their first science fiction convention, never once dropped their guard. Peter, in particular, was determined to make sure his senses never switched off. He’d never forgive himself if Jen were to be hurt. It was why his hand never left the webslinger around his wrist, not once. Jen was more just stubborn in the sense of refusing to be surprised again.

As they stumbled out of the bus, the pair were still arguing over Harison Ford’s better film role. Such chatter immediately ended as soon as touched the lawn in front of Thor’s home. Two thick bubbles of yellow liquid encased the pair of them. Peter sucked in his breath as he frantically tried to move in the hovering sludge. It was impossible. Jennifer gritted her teeth as her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. Her muscles flexed and cramped as she desperately tried to calm herself until she knew what was happening.

The front door shot open. A loud, crazed laugh escaped a pale man with dark hair. He sprinted towards them, some spear-like weapon in his hand. The scream died off, ending in a disappointing sigh. Peter was almost blacking out as he tried to kick and punch his way out of the bubble. The man pressed his weapon to the grass. Both bubbles popped.

Peter and Jennifer gasped weakly for air. Jennifer’s eyes were a foul green and many of her veins were dark and swollen. Without saying anything, she promptly sat on the grass, closed her eyes, and started softly whispering to herself. Peter watched on with a mixture of misplaced guilt and genuine anger. He stood up and glared at the pale, pompous looking man in front of him.

“What the hell, man?!” He extended both of his arms to his side as he panted loudly, “Almost killed us!”

“I was expecting another.” He sneered, “Show some respect. I am Prince Namor of Atlantis, boy.”

As soon as she heard that proclamation, Jennifer groaned. Namor. The creep that she had rarely forgotten. Even in New York, it wasn’t often that such a level of sleaze came into Jen’s life. With luck, he wouldn’t recognise her with pale skin. She could go without someone cupping her breasts without asking today.

Peter titled his head, clicking his lips as he tried to remember.

“Yeah! You…You were there with Varnae. At the end.”

“You were there?” Namor smirked, “Or did you hear tales of my nobility?”

“No, I saw you.” Peter sighed, “Kinda a jerk.”

Namor scoffed at the remark. He took his own turn to try and remember the bony boy in front of him. The voice was familiar. He eventually grinned in triumph.

“Red and blue. That ridiculous costume. I remember you.”

Peter flushed in embarrassment.

“The suit looks cool, dick.”

Jennifer stood up, turned, and put her hands on her hips. Namor was about to snarl at her when he stopped. There was something about her glare that he liked.

“My jade beauty.” He grinned as he looked her up and down, “Such…smaller features, like this. I do not complain. You are as stunning as a-”

“Yeah, yeah. Cool.” Peter cut in, turning red and annoyed, “You here with Thor?”

Namor suddenly looked back to Jennifer. The woman almost ran backwards as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“You must leave. You are Jennifer Walters, aren’t you?” Her blank expression said enough, “A winged woman, of Asgard I’m certain, came looking for you. She was…a capable warrior. I doubt she wished for pleasant things for you.”

The pettiness in Namor’s tone was caught by the others. Before Peter could smirk and tease him, Jennifer’s cool voice filled the air.

“Why is a Norse goddess looking for me? I…I know Thor. Just Thor!”

Jennifer’s breathing became laboured as she tried to understand what was going on. She didn’t know any of these people, yet there were all so determined to capture her. Like eyes peaking through trees and bushes, everything seemed to be spying on her. The fact that she didn’t know why or how to fix it felt suffocating.

“Hey.” Peter called, seeing her eyes scatter, “You okay? It’ll be okay. We got this.”

Jennifer could only manage to nod weakly as she hid just how terrified she was becoming. The safehouse was no longer safe. What was next?

“They know where she is.” Namor cut in mechanically, “She needs to be moved. Thor will no doubt be aggressive if I let a friend of-”      

“We need to find who this was.” Jennifer cut in, “Quickly.”

With that, she rushed into the house. Namor and Peter exchanged looks. Peter ran after her, whilst Namor scanned the street in paranoia. Jennifer was already filling her bag with spare clothes, water, and any notes she had on the case. Maxxie eagerly jumped at her feet. Jennifer smiled sadly as she kneeled and stroked her forehead.

“You’re safer without me, baby girl.”

“Jen, we shouldn’t go out again.” Peter tried in a careful voice, “This really isn’t the smartest idea.”

“They already know where I am, right?” Jennifer asked Namor, who nodded, “They could already be watching us right now. So, we regroup? Where’s everyone else?” There was silence, “Thor’s off hunting. The Pyms are busy. No news on Cap.”

“I actually have been staying with him.” Namor replied.

“Oh? Is he nearby?” Jennifer pressed, and there was more silence, “Exactly. I’m not waiting to be captured again. I’m not bait. If they want to hunt me, I’ll hunt them as well. See who catches who first.”

“Jen.” Peter groaned weakly.

“I have one more name on the list.” She countered, ignoring Peter’s look of severe unease.

As Jennifer pushed past them, Peter grimaced. He didn’t know what to do. She was being an idiot. A panicked idiot. But, she couldn’t be left alone. Two were better than one. And the young college student honestly didn’t know of a better idea. They were exposed and in a known spot by the enemy. His apartment was terrible and had only one bed. None of the others were contactable. Yet again, the young man felt like an unknown mass was surrounding him whilst being invisible. His throat flushed red.

Peter hastily wrote a note using one of Jen’s notebooks, telling Thor of what was happening, but as vaguely as possible.

‘Gone with Jen. More info sessions. If not back by night, please find us…using your magic.’

Namor leaned over Peter’s shoulder to read the note and rolled his eyes. He watched with amusement as Peter ran after Jen like a pet. Speaking of which, he peered down to see Maxxie staring at him as she sat on the couch. He wrinkled his nose.

“What are you?”

Maxxie barked. Namor ignored it. He was not that afraid by the idea of joining the pair. Three were better than two.

If need be, he could also summon or find any of their mutual associates to aid them. He could do so right now, but he was quiet on that. He was far too keen to discover just what was going on, and exposing Jennifer a little was hardly a steep price. As he caught up to them, tugging on a bright red jacket, he turned to a marching Jennifer. They were running to what he believed was called a ‘bus stop’.

“So, tell me more about this kidnapping issue.”

***

Jackie was finding it difficult to stay in one place. It was a common thing for the vampiric girl, given how fast her life was compared to those around her. Sitting around for moments felt like minutes to her. But she had to do her best given that she was in public. The pale redhead felt almost foolish as she impatiently swayed by the entrance of the public library. It was an old one that the British student didn’t even know existed in New York until a phone call last night suggested that she visited it. It was rundown, the stone covered in graffiti, and from what she could see, several of the lights were broken on the first floor.

“Not exactly NYPL.” Someone laughed sheepishly.

Dane was quickly making his way to her, pushing past the odd person as he did so. Despite herself, Jackie found her chest fluttering as soon as she saw him. Almost immediately, she mentally berated herself for such a reaction. He was an idiot, after all.

“This looks like a drug den.”

Dane squinted.

“It’s not that bad. It’s nearby.”

“It took me an hour on the bus.” Jackie whined.

“We both know you ran here in minutes.” Dane smugly countered as she walked past her.

Jackie opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t. He was right, she had leapt across the tops of buildings to save time. Ever since their time with the Wendigo, Jackie had found herself eager to use her powers when possible. It was exciting to actually leap across buildings so fast that the eye could barely register it. She felt like a child playing in trees again.

The library was two levels, old, and smelled like cats. Only a few dozen rows of books were on the first floor, with barely anyone on the creaking reading tables. An old lady glared at the two youngsters creeping past her, just daring them to make a sound. As they climbed the dusty stairs and entered the library proper, Dane immediately raced to the left. Jackie followed, with the pair soon finding themselves in the historical biography section. Jackie almost groaned.

Dane took great delight in pulling out a yellowed and torn book, even holding it out to Jackie. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Dane turned red, “This is the autobiography of Luther Di’Meligo. Funny story about Luther. See, he was a gardener of some rich lord at the turn of the century. Claimed that his lord was sneaking magical animals in for hunting trips with his rich pals. Wrote a book on it.” Dane drummed his fingers against the cover, “And was immediately sent into an asylum.”

“Well, that’s shite.” Jackie didn’t know what to think of the morbid story, “Why…Why are you reading h-”

“He wasn’t insane.” Dane continued, “I found this by accident, but his notes are…genuine. Based off what he was writing down, he actually saw these things. The details are too exact to be bullshit.”

He flicked some pages over to reveal some typed pages with sketches of odd creatures that looked like they belonged in a Lovecraft novel. Tentatively, Jackie took the book and began to read some of the descriptions of the caging requirements for the beasts. It looked like a horrible tale. Much of the text was devoted to catching, roughly handling, and eventually fatally hunting these magical animals. It made Jackie very still.

“I found it a few months ago when looking for college stuff.”

“Hmm? Bit old for college, idiot.”

It was the silence that made Jackie look up. Dane was frowning deeply as he murmured to himself. His fingers counted down as if he were doing child’s math. Jackie watched him closely, but chose not to interfere with him. Eventually, Dane smiled sheepishly.

“I found it a few years ago. Time flies.” He chuckled awkwardly.

There was a pregnant pause that both were very much aware of. While Jackie reviewed what she saw quietly, Dane was determined to press on.

“It’s a good read. I thought you’d, maybe, enjoy it…too.” He concluded.

Jackie was only absently listening to the man as she continued to read.

“As far as first date ideas go, this is a poor one.” She joked dryly, still squinting at the annoyingly small print beneath the image of a ‘behemoth’.

Dane’s eyes narrowed and his mouth gaped.

“No. What? No. This is-”

“Stop pissing yourself, I was joking.”

She was grateful her back was to him, for her cheeks were redder than desired. The lame joke thankfully faded in time as the pair sat down to read. The afternoon was mostly quiet. Dane focussed on reading his odd and bewildering tests, many of which were not in English. Jackie, having read most of the books presented before her in mere moments, switched to her readings for college. With a pen rolling in her fingers at unnatural speeds, she fell into a rhythm with Dane’s reading. It was a silent, but a comfortable and relaxing silence.

By the end of the day, Jackie’s head was resting on the table. Dane smirked in amusement.

“I thought you could read this entire library in a day with your senses.”

“It still takes time to sink in, twat.” She groaned under her arms, “And stop being a nonce about my powers.” Jackie finally leaned up and smirked, “You don’t have any.”

Dane raised a confident eyebrow.

“Most of your kind can’t handle sunlight or crucifixes.”

“Well, I can, can’t I?”

Dane snorted.

“I can handle High Vampires.”

“We established you can’t by me kicking your arse, but sure.”

“My sword could kill you.” Dane pointed out.

It was then that Jackie realised that today was a rarity. Dane was without his precious weapon.

“Yes, your little toy. Santa was nice giving it to you, wasn’t he?” Jackie cackled, “Still not a power. Me, I can hear the people walking outside.”

Dane smiled softly at her confidence. He liked her happy. Then, as Jackie returned to reading her textbook, he sighed uncomfortably as weighed something on his mind. Eventually, he came to an uncertain choice.

“It wasn’t a Christmas gift. Birthday.” He admitted.

His tone was nothing other than miserable. His shoulders sagged and he looked very distressed by the memory. Yet, as sympathetic as Jackie was, she couldn’t control her curiosity on the relic Dane seemed so reluctant to part ways with.

“Creepy ritual? Uncle that didn’t love you try to offhand a cheap sword?”

“Cheap…What? What swords are chea…” Dane shook his head as soon as Jackie’s humoured smirk formed, “Closer with the creepy ritual. It was when I was sixteen. Got ‘summoned’ the family farm in Ohio. Small place. It was meant to be my birthday dinner with all my extended family, but everyone went to my aunt’s place instead. Uncle Nathan was sick. Couldn’t travel.” Dane shrugged.

He rolled his jaw a little as he seemed to become very interested in his hands. Jackie couldn’t blame him. She knew family was complicated all too well.

“Cancer?”

Dane’s eyes flicked up in an almost menacing way. The look was so severe that Jackie almost flinched.

“His mind. It was…gone. We thought it was Alzheimer’s or something. It wasn’t.” Dane said foully, “So, we all come ‘round for him. We have some cheap cake. Wasn’t that bad. Mum tells me to go wish him goodnight before we went back to the hotel. So, I went to his room. He was silent.” Dane tensed up and took a moment to calm himself, “He grabbed me.” Dane mimicked the action, startling Jackie, “Took my arm.”

‘Fix it. Fix what I did, Dane. Fix it or I’ll burn in hell.’

“I thought he was having an old person’s moment and tried to call mum. Then the sword came out of thin air. He still had me, you see. One hand on me, one hand on the Ebony Blade. Then, he shoves it into my hands.”

Dane swallowed. He averted eye contact in what could only be described as shame. Jackie did not like such a face on him.

“He died. Just…stopped…living. I was screaming. Everyone came in. Saw the sword. I tried to tell them what happened but could barely speak English. Crying. And, uh…My grandmother recognised the sword immediately. That was a fun weekend.” Dane ended dryly.

He was still staring at his hands. Jackie was tempted to reach out to support him, but felt stupid for wanting to do so. Not knowing what else to do to ease his discomfort, she settled on talking.

“So…They knew about Excalibur?”

“Different sword, but yes.” Dane sighed deeply, “It’s kinda been in my family for centuries. Grandma said it belonged to one of King Arthur’s knights. From what I’ve read, there’s some evidence of it belonging to a similar group that may have inspired the myth.”

Dane sighed again and threw his hands out in frustration.

“It’s cursed. Apparently, when it was forged, it was blessed with powers from the stars. But, the blacksmith swore to only use it to protect the innocent. Then, someone cruel stole it and became one of the Knights of the Roundtable…apparently. He killed a lot of innocent people with it. He was banished, but that wasn’t enough. Whoever…came from the skies…that blessed the sword soon cursed it.”

Jackie’s jaw tightened.

“It messes with your head, doesn’t it?”

Dane met Jackie’s eyes for a long moment. Then he looked away in shame and hurt.

“Every time an owner wields it. You lose a bit of yourself. It’s why I only use it against demons or-”

“Why the fuck are you using it at all, you twat?” Jackie hissed.

Several people looked around at her. Dane flushed red in embarrassment whilst Jackie just glared at them. She did lower her voice, though.

“Throw it away. It’s not worth it.”

“My family are atoning for its mistakes. We use it to hunt monsters, to help peo-”

“Any luck after a thousand years?” Jackie questioned hotly, “You dumbarse, just toss it away. I’ll do it!”

“I want to.” Dane said weakly, “It’s my family’s duty to hunt monsters. I…I’m not going to be the one that breaks the line.”

“Oh, so you’ll give it to your kid?”

Dane’s eyes widened in fury.

“I would never give that thing to my kids.” He snapped.

Several more people looked over at them. Dane flushed again and crossed his arms. Jackie was bewildered at what she was hearing. She was also furious. He didn’t deserve to be that stupid.

“So, then what? You want to be the one that ends the curse?”

“Yes.” He nodded weakly, “And I can. I know it. I just…need more time. I’m researching-”

“I know a sorcerer. He can help.” Jackie said quickly, “We can go now. Actually, let’s go now and-”

“I know sorcerers, too.” Dane admittedly sadly, “The curse is too old for that. It’s too unique. It might not have even come from Earth. I’ve always wondered if aliens exist and, if they do, if they have magic.”

“Dane, that’s both adorable and ridiculous. We can try. We can look at the sword and-”

Dane’s hand was on her forearm. Jackie’s eyes were round as soon as she felt it.

“I’m a Whitman.” He said, “I hunt monsters to stop this, like every other ancestor I have. And I’m okay with that.”

Jackie swallowed. For some reason, she felt almost desperate in her need to convince him otherwise. She didn’t want him anywhere near a curse like that. She wanted him…happy, because she suddenly felt herself become sad otherwise.

“You can be better, though.”

Dane’s sad smile died. He let go of Jackie’s arm and his arms sunk into his chest. There was just an empty, aimless stare by the end.

“Maybe.” He whispered, “Maybe not.”

***

Janet’s careful eyes inspected the blue and red suit before her. It was a sleek material, tight and smooth. Yet, it was not shiny and prone to reflecting light. Perfect for someone that tried not to draw too much attention to himself, his job as his own secret photographer aside. As far as Spider-Man suits went, Janet was happy with the replacement. Peter would be, too. The boy was a labrador. Happy whenever he was given positivity and new toys. Such a thought made Janet smile.

She leaned back and groaned softly. After feeling several joints in her back pop, she leaned back onto her workbench. Her stomach touched the wood. She froze. Out of an unexpected terror, she immediately cupped her tummy and leaned forward to inspect it for any severe wounds. It was the lightest of taps against the table, yet it was still enough to send the newfound mother into a mild frenzy. She didn’t like this part of her. Hank was always the anxious one, not her.

After cooling her oil, she reminded herself that her unborn child didn’t need to fear table taps. Humans were stronger than that. With that in mind, the scientist resumed her inspection of the newly created suit. There were no gaps, no tears, no weakened seams. The lenses in the mask offered enough light for the wearer to be able to see. The webslingers worked well, as evident in the thickened substance now upon Janet’s wall. A good suit. A job well done. She could make her own like that.

She froze again. There’d be no point. Wearing such a suit would be horrifically irresponsible given her condition. But, she could always wear one after giving birth. All of her powered associates and friends balanced work with their normal lives. Surely, Hank and her could do the same. A cold chill crept through her spine and whispered in her mind, rendering her motionless. What if she died? She didn’t want an orphan. No one deserved that. Hank didn’t deserve to raise a child alone, even if he was being a total ass to her.

Such anxiety made her cross her arms underneath her chin as she rested on the bench. She used to envy and dream about the future. The scientist in her hungered for uncovering future truths in the present. Now, she just loathed thinking about it. It made her stomach upset, and her chest clench. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like thinking about anything. And she loathed that Hank was not at her side more than anything.

With that, she buried her head in her arms, forgetting about the world around her and only considering what was within her belly.

***

A cassette player sung loudly in the room. The movements of those that occupied it were clunky and lacked any finer grace that an experienced lover could give. Once upon a time, an arrogant Strange would grin seductively as he keenly unwound his lover around his fingers. He could whisper and hear moaning soon after. His bed was warm within mere seconds of entering with a partner. That was before he shattered his hands and his mind.

His attempts at pulling clothing off was faltered considerably by his trembling fingers. The endless string and ribbon that tied Clea’s clothing together would not yield to such jarred movements from his hands. Increasingly humiliated, Strange was turning red. He felt like a teenager. To his silent gratitude, Clea softly cupped his shaking hands and pulled them away as she pulled each finger to her lips for a kiss. Strange swallowed. His eyes blatantly stared at the increasingly visible skin as Clea removed her clothing. She smiled smugly at his expression. It was the softest that she had seen the gruff man yet. Ever keen to keep a tactical advantage, her hands reached for his robe.

Strange sat at the edge of his bed. Clea sat on his lap. Hard, rough skin eagerly explored pale, flawless skin. To Clea’s begrudging surprise, she found herself exploring Strange’s body herself. He was not a man of peak fitness, but he was broad and strong. While there was a bit of pudge, it merely held back the muscle that the man had earned from his battles. Such battles also offered scars. Dark, unnatural markings on his skin. Demons and foul creatures of the like. He was so unlike the simple scholars and orphans who had spent their entire lives in the sanctums and schools of this world.

Strange was embarrassingly eager. His hands clung to her taut rear in an attempt to bring her closer to his member, but the angle wasn’t right. Clea chuckled softly. Carefully, she pressed Strange onto his back. His mouth opened to complain, but he only moaned as she sat fully onto his lap. His hands squeezed her hips and the pair rolled against one another. It was awkward, rough, and very desperate. Strange had forgotten how good intimacy felt, and Clea had not had sex with someone she had been interested in for too long a time. It all made the pair of them unwind in depressingly quick succession.

All it took was one swipe of Strange’s thumb through Clea’s silvery southern curls for Clea’s entire lower half to tighten. All it took was the tightening and Clea’s silent bite into the air for Strange feel his lower belly weaken. The pair were panting seconds later. To Strange’s amusement, Clea ended up on his chest, breathing loudly into his shoulder. It was the most undignified that he had ever seen her. Silver hair a mess, skin reddened, and her breathing sounding like an engine. So very different from the Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension.

“You make…a respectable…lover.” She admitted, still lying on his shoulder.

Strange scoffed and broke into a dry laugh.

“Thanks? Haven’t heard that one before.”

He took a moment to catch his breath, only for a lazy arm to hit his nose.

“Compliment my performance.” Clea demanded in a yawn.

Strange rolled his eyes.

“You were fantastic.” He felt himself becoming awkward, “Honestly.”

“I know.” Clea rolled onto her back so that she could look at him, “I just wanted you to say it.”

Strange snorted at her. They laid in silence, content to process what had just happened. For Strange, he had not anticipated the first-time having sex post his accident would be with someone so…Clea-ish. She annoyed him too much. Yet, he had admittedly enjoyed himself. He felt…good, and so a smile was on his bearded face. Clea as well had a small smile. One that she slowly hid as soon as soon as she focussed on the music occurring around her.

“What is this?”

Her nose was scrunched as the long drawn out vocals struck her small ears. Strange took a moment to remember what it was.

“There is a Light That Never Goes Out.” He replied somewhat sheepishly, “The Smiths.”

“None of that means anything to me.” Clea snorted, but it was not in a nasty way, “It is…acceptable music.”  

“Wonderful.” Was Strange’s reply, “It’s one of my favourites.”

“I am not surprised. You have a melancholy…Ah!”

Strange felt Clea shift away from him. He peered down, seeing an edge of a smirk from the side of her face as she leaned over the bed towards the bedside table. Strange shamefully used the opportunity to stare at her rear for a time before growing stiff with shock. To his embarrassment, Clea now held his personal journal. A tattered, old thing that he had found unused the library some months ago. The faded red leather was stained and even cut in some places, yet the withered pages within were still relatively intact.

Strange swallowed, suddenly feeling small and childish as the Sorceress Supreme squinted at his horrific handwriting.

“The Winds of Watoomb.” Clea pulled her head back from the paper as she read, “The Crimson Bands of Cytorrak. Spells? Inventions?”

Strange shifted a little so that he was on his side. Despite the desire to snatch the book away and change the subject, he answered her.

“Restorations.” He corrected meekly, “Old spells that…no one has been able to master in a while. I’ve been trying to fix them.” He suddenly felt a frown forming, “Ambitious and stupid, but anyway.” He shrugged.

Clea smiled sweetly.

“I’ve tried a similar thing. I’m not that talented at resurrecting old spells.” She turned back to the notes Strange had written on each spell, “I lack the patience for deciphering the old world. You’re very much the academic. You will no doubt have better success.”

Strange smiled shyly, even looking down.

“You’re one of three people to say that. You, Wong, and Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Rogers. One of…Janet and Hank’s friends.”

Clea’s smile tightened ever so slightly, yet she didn’t betray her emotions beyond that.

“More friends?”

“Maybe. I haven’t seen Steve in…a long while.” As Strange admitted that detail, there was almost melancholy on his tongue, “He’s a good man. He, uh, helped me through some rough things when Varnae…returned.”

Clea examined Strange very closely.

“You’re a good man, too. Too good, perhaps. You try to help to everyone, even when you cannot. Even when there are bigger matters than the safety of a few.”

Strange looked up and stared back at her. A silent moment passed.

“The safety of people isn’t a small matter. These are good people.”

Strange exhaled deeply. Not knowing what else to say, he slid onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Clea tilted her head. She was tempted to mock such a comment, yet she could not bring herself to do so with Strange. Instead, her soft hand rested on his chest.

“Forgive me. I merely…I think we have different scales of concern.”

“I agreed to help you.” Strange said with earnest, “I will. I promise. But I can also help my friends.”

Clea gave him a contemplative look for many moments. When she spoke next, it was with an almost loathing tone.

“You cannot always have both.” Her eyes dropped, just a little, “Especially in this life we live.”

Her soft head rested on his broad chest. Neither spoke after that, neither knowing what else to say. For Strange, it gave me a deep sense of foreboding at the life of a sorcerer he had chosen to take. For Clea, it was the most exposed she had been with her words in years. And part of her hated it.

***

Steve sat at his small office in silence for almost an hour. It was a small room, next to several other S.T.R.I.K.E. related offices. None were used much. Steve only used the room when he wanted somewhere quiet to read a novel or to catch his thoughts. There were no thoughts to collect as he sat. His chest barely moved as he seemed to struggle to breathe. He felt sick. He was outmanoeuvred, in the dark, and no one was even listening. This was not the S.H.I.E.L.D. that he wanted or expected. It was not the S.H.I.E.L.D. that Peggy would have dreamed off all those years ago. Maybe it was. Maybe she was just good at hiding her darker nature towards Steve. His old friends would certainly be ashamed and shocked to see how things had been dealt. Stark would be having a field day…

Steve caught his thoughts out of nowhere, shocking him.

With a renewed eagerness, he hastily left his office. He ignored the many stares he received as he walked about the office building. News of the argument with his son had clearly spread. He didn’t care. He was more focussed on running down several flights of stairs and into the first basement level.

The smell of old paper immediately struck him. A part of him enjoyed it, for it reminded him days in Europe amongst ancient ruins. The S.H.I.E.L.D. archives were surprisingly small. One could, however, argue that a spy organisation refused to keep any records, and thus it made sense that it was only a few rooms wide. The floor was filled with stacks of boxes, drawers full of old reports, and even photo displays. Steve doubted it kept any value relics or weapons, unlike the place where he and the Pyms had once stolen his shield back the year prior. Instead, it was just paper and the odd human. Said human of such jumped as he saw the giant blonde, dropping the stack of papers in his hand as he did so.

“I’m sorry.” Steve apologised softly.

He immediately knelt down to help gather what was dropped. The short man of Asian features was still shaking. His face was red, but his eyes wide as he took in the hero’s presence.

“You’re…”

“Steve.” He offered his free hand.

“Of course you are.” The man whispered before turning even more red and shaking Steve’s hand, “James. Jimmy. James Woo. Archivist.”

“Long name.”

“What? Oh.” Woo broke into a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sorry. You can call me Jimmy.”

Steve looked around. The place was entirely empty. The fact only one staff member was there only cemented for Steve that it wasn’t the real storage centre at all. He sighed internally, but still had some hope.

“Jimmy’s a good name. I knew a James once. A great friend. Oh, here.”

Steve leaned in to hand Woo the dropped files. As he did so, he whispered.

“How secure are we right now?”

Woo tensed and Steve hissed softly. As he leaned back, he saw a red Woo swallow. Yet, to his surprise and relief, he spoke normally.

“How can I help you?”

His eyes flashed several times to a corner. Then, to a section near the fire alarm. Then, his finger discreetly pointed to several boxes, each on a shelf. Steve gritted his teeth,

“I was hoping to find something about an old friend. Peggy Carter.”

Either Woo was a genius who understood the subtlest of hints, or he was an incredibly lucky idiot. Either way, he nodded in thought.

“Um, I can check. You can wait by the stairs if you want. We don’t like people near the papers. They damage quickly.”

Steve immediately walked away, stood outside, and waited. After three or four minutes, a very sweaty and shaking Woo appeared. As he closed the door, he slowly looked at Steve.

“Is this…I am being tested? For security protocols? Are you really Captain A-”

“I can’t explain why, but I need you to trust me. You don’t know me, but I need you to.”

“I know you.” Woo nodded, “You’re Captain America. I have your reels at home. My family and I still watch them at Christmas.”

“That’s…humbling.” Was Steve’s awkward reply, “Has there been any technology from S.H.I.E.L.D. stolen in the last month or so? Or anything no longer on record? Or just...any tech from any company that would be worth noting?”

Woo leaned back and crossed his arms. Soon, he spoke.

“I don’t know. That’s not my department. I don’t even look after the cool archives. We have one of Magneto’s helmets in California!”

“Jimmy…”

“Sorry. I handle paper. If you want tech, or even…missing stuff, that’s top level stuff. I don’t even think Fury has access to that.”

Steve closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to scream. It was one of the worst days that he had experienced in a long, long time.

“Hey, I can keep an ear out. I promise.” Woo said eagerly.

It brought a smile to Steve’s tired face.

“You’re a real trooper. Thanks, Jimmy.”

Woo blushed. Steve’s mind hastily swam to other waters.

“Papers, right?” Woo nodded, “Would that include personnel reports?”

“Ah, some. Most.” Woo nodded, “Not your level, though. Your name was hidden like-”

“John Walker.”

Woo blinked.

“I haven’t heard of him. Who was he?”

“A recruit from last decade that’s back in the program. Any chance of finding the initial recruitment review?”

Woo crossed his arms tighter as he thought. He then shrugged.

“No promises, but I’ll certainly try for you of all people.”

Steve offered him his hand. Woo silently but eagerly shook it again.

“I can’t tell you why, but you can’t let anyone know about this. If you find something-”

“I’ll tell you in a sneaky way.” Woo winked, “This is exciting. Exciting archives mission. Okay, I’m on it!”

Without another word, the short man hastily disappeared. While an overall bizarre experience, it gave Steve some hope. Woo seemed genuine, and Steve needed some genuine people in his life. Steve straightened his shirt and strolled up the stairs. He already couldn’t wait for the day to be over.    

***

“The Daily Bugle?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Peter beamed.

“The Daily Bugle…is doing a story…on my research?”

Peter nodded like a child. Jennifer stood at his side, doing her best to look like a journalist whilst ignoring the several laws that they were blatantly breaking at that moment. Namor sat on one of the three reception room seats. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he arrogantly threw his arm over the remaining chairs and pretended to be too important to listen to the woman talking to them.

Dr. Alicia Banes was a plump, elderly woman with a homely feel to her. Her glasses were far too big for her round face, and her greying hair was frizzy, but not in a manic way. She wore a nice but simple green blouse that went well with her dark skin, but there were many ink stains that drew Jennifer’s eyes on it. The old scientist raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. All that could be heard was the creaking of the single ceiling fan in the small building. Thankfully, the tiny office was sealed enough that the smell of recycling was mostly kept out. Mostly.

“It’s on the history of black women in the sciences, and as one of the-”

“Sweetie.” Dr. Banes smiled warmly, “I’ve read Jameson’s work. I’m not a model and I’m not a mutant destroying the city. I don’t think he’s interested in this story.”

Peter stalled, not entirely disagreeing with her, yet not knowing how to step around the sudden roadblock. Jennifer smiled in turn.

“We know, which is why we’re taking the lead and gonna force it down hi-”

“Your work with Reed Richards.” Namor called out with an impatient groan, “We wish to know about that. The story is about how he treats people.”

Peter blinked whilst Jennifer glared at the prince venomously. An amused giggle drew them both back to the short lady in front of them. Dr. Banes had turned a shade darker as she hid her giggling mouth with a hand.

“You’re trying to expose…Reed Richards? The boy’s harmless. Rude, mind you.” She hastily added with a pointed finger, “I have never met someone with such little social awareness. Thankfully, that poor Sue was usually around to translate…his Reedisms into normal English.”

Now forced into the new story, Jennifer felt no choice but to press.

“That’s…what everyone else has said. It’s made this story a bit hard to right.” Jennifer sighed, “So, he never showed any profession foul play to anyone? No one’s really willing to talk about the project you were all a part of.”

Dr. Banes shrugged. She reached for her half-drunken mug of coffee and sipped lightly. She seemed to accept the new version of the story willingly, enough so to actually give Jennifer’s words some thought.

“Are you sure you don’t want some, dear?” She asked Peter, who shyly shook his head, “Well, if you’ve been asking my old team,” She snorted, “I guarantee you no one’s talking because of how much time they wasted. It’s a boring story, even for the Bugle.”

“I think it’s heaps cool! I’m studying a science at college right now, and these personality stories are rad.”

Dr. Banes snorted and raised a bemused brow.

“You won’t go far in this field if you’re writing stories about poor habits and established researchers. Or, worse, boring projects.” She repeated, “It was good money, mind you. Just…not a good research project.”

“Radiation to…cure disease?” Peter suggested meekly, “We’ve been able to understand that much from the guys actually wantin’ to chat.”

Dr. Banes grimaced a little.

“A very rough summary, but kinda. Reed had hired our team to study the effects of exposing various chemicals to gamma radiation, and whether any had any medical applications. It was a bizarre project to begin with, but everyone was either young or old, like me, and wanted a challenge. It didn’t help that Reed was telling all the postgrads who applied that the project aimed to cure all cancers.” She shuddered, “That boy and his mouth.”

“Any success?” Jennifer asked, becoming genuinely curious.

“None. It went nowhere, and Reed wisely cut the funding. It was a shame for the young ones, but a good lesson for them. Unless you’re near retirement age, don’t put all your chips on a surreal premise for a project.”

She giggled again, and Jennifer couldn’t help but smile.

“So there were no issues?” Peter asked, “Sorry, but I’m used to horror stories about this stuff.”

Dr. Banes sipped her coffee as she thought.

“Sterns was always knocking things over, the poor boy. He and his brother were almost the last to leave the project. They even outlasted this old bat.” She giggled again.

“Brothers?” Jennifer’s lawyer voice slowly rose, “We…We haven’t heard about the Sterns yet.”

Dr. Banes broke in a wide grin.

“Philip brought his older brother into the project with him. He was such a protective, good younger brother. He was in charge of building the equipment that shot the radiation into the samples. A small man, but very outspoken. I think…I think he needed to be, because of Samuel.” She added hesitantly.

“Quiet?” Peter chuckled.

“Mentally so.” Dr. Banes sighed, “I don’t know if it was Autism or…something else, but there was something. He struggled to speak, and complex tasks overwhelmed him. Violently. But he was a sweet, thoughtful boy. He always laughed whenever he saw an animal, no matter how ugly it was.”

Jennifer was mentally taking notes, absorbing everything that she could. Peter had lost his smile. He, too, was staring at Dr. Banes keenly.

“What role did he play in the project?”

“Samuel? The cleaner. Philip wanted him close, so he could keep an eye on him. But he wasn’t…dumb. That’s the fascinating thing about Samuel. He was very smart in certain circumstances.”

Dr. Banes took a sip of her coffee and put down her mug with a heavily sigh. Her mouth flickered as she tried to pick the right words.

“I think he was born too early. The fifties and sixties didn’t have the schools for those…types of children that they do now. We’ve come a long way, even last decade. I think if he had different teachers or if Philip knew how to communicate with him better, that boy would have lived a better life.” She explained sadly, “Last I saw of them was when I was packing up. Samuel gave me a beaker that he had found and cleaned for me as a goodbye gift. Still have it.”

She jabbed her thumb behind her. True enough, a glass beaker was sitting next to a set of coffee mugs on a tiny shelf. Jennifer tilted her head.

“Any idea what they’re doing now?”

Dr. Banes shook her head.

“Philip was stressed that the project was ending, but I don’t know if he got another position anywhere. I mean, look where I ended up.” She chuckled, but it was a soft, emotionless noise, “And even if I knew where they were, Reed treated them very well. He gave Samuel that job, after all. Maybe that is something to put in your story.”

Jennifer hummed as she thought to herself. Her mind was busily at work.

“I just might.” She murmured, “Thank you so much for your time. Have a wonderful day.”

As the trio stepped out into the smelly air and became surrounded by large concentre buildings being fed trash, Peter turned to Jennifer.

“On the plus side, your social skills have come a hell of a long way.” He smiled.

Jennifer didn’t. She was staring outwards, into infinity. Peter sighed and put his hands in his pockets. His chest felt funny as he looked at her. Even when concentrating on just the air, she was a looker.

“Yeah, me too. The only two people not on the list. Been around long enough in this business to know that smells. Well, not quite as bad as thi-”

“One was a mentally shortened cleaner.” Namor abruptly countered, even shrugging, “Why would he be worth putting on a list?”

“Because every other janitor was on Reed’s list.” Jennifer murmured, still staring out as she put things together in her mind, “Even if they weren’t, that wouldn’t explain why Philip was excluded. He built the equipment. That’s not someone to exclude in a staff profile list.” She said gravely.

Peter nodded in agreement.

“Reckon Reed has any other files? He has to. One could…have their address or something?”

“Not being on a list doesn’t prove any guilt, though.” Jennifer sighed, “But it’s still the best hunch we have.”

“It’s now the only hunch we have.”

Jennifer turned to Peter and frowned.

“You’re meant to be the positive one.” Peter broke into a laugh whilst Namor rolled his eyes, “Come on, Grumpy. Let’s find our only hunch.”

As the trio walked downwards across a concrete path towards the large steel fences, Peter huffed.

“Grumpy. I’m…offended. Hurt, even. You wound me, Jen. You hurt me.”

“Pete. I will slap you.”

***

Upon the ceiling of the small office block, a speck rested. It watched as the three visitors strolled away, Jennifer Walters and Peter Parker still playfully teasing one another. As they shrunk with the distance that grew, the speck vibrated. Within a mere second, mass appeared where there once was none. The speck was now a rangy figure in black and red leather and a shining helmet.

With a pop, the shining helmet opened.

Eric O’Grady’s bloodshot eyes stung as the fresh air touched them. He winced, blinking irritably as he swore under his breath. It had been many hours since he had breathed anything other than Pym Particles. Whilst there was an immense energy to his muscles, there was an untold exhaustion in his very bones.

Almost lazily, he slapped a button on the side of his helmet. He waited, almost immediately impatient and infuriated by the delay. What else did the Leader have to do aside from getting his reports? No one else was tracking his precious target.

“Black Ant. Are you well?”

“Better than you, lad.” Eric snorted in a malicious manner.

Eric leaned back on his arms and took in the distant city before him. He started to smirk.

“They got ya name, mate. Your brother’s, too. Full names at that. Got that you used to work for some…nerd dude. Maybe the twat from earlier. Fooked if I know.” He shrugged, still amused, “I think they’re gonna start hunting you.”

The silence was almost orgasmic to the childish and malicious thief. He could almost hear the Leader’s anger and frustration behind the radio. It served the arrogant man right.

“Get back to base immediately.”

“Ya don’t sound too-”

“Immediately! This has gone on too long. Walters is to be dealt with within this day. Get back to base now.”

The radio abruptly hung up. Eric bristled at the tone that he was spoken to. He rose, hissing. He was smart, though. He could play the long game. This whole thing would get him rich. And if it didn’t, the Leader wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

For yet another hour of his life, Eric snapped on the helmet and pressed the button, clouding himself in pulsing gas and unnatural mist.     

***

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope we’re having brilliant weeks and a great year so far. I’m so sorry for the madness of this delay, but life and work and study are…fun to juggle. Don’t worry, I will finish this story, and hopefully the next one that I’ve already sketched out.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed the happiness of this chapter and Clea and Stephen’s fun time. Bit by bit, the Leader's sad backstory is being uncovered. Next time, everything goes bad. Dark revelations, Strange put to the test, Walker’s backstory revealed, Tony’s quest comes to its climax, and really…just some fun madness planned as the villains show their faces.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you have any feedback or comments (or suggestions for what you want in the next story), please feel free to leave them or a kudos. They are simply fantastic and it’s great to engage with you guys and gals. Otherwise, thanks heaps for reading.  

 Fact of the chapter: The first U.S. President to speak on the radio was Calvin Coolidge, in 1923. I hope our Americans readers find that…somewhat fun.

Chapter Text

Chirping.

Steve did his best to read the official report given by S.H.I.E.L.D. from his latest mission. His only mission with his son. His most recent mission where a man lost his nerve and almost compromised the all objectives.

Chirping.

Steve blinked again. He did his best to focus on the words in front of him as he stood in his small kitchen. The phrasing was completely optimistic, at best. While the mission had succeeded, it had barely done so. The negatives outweighed the positives by a margin that Steve found unacceptable.

A deep sigh left the man as he struggled to continue reading. ‘Objectives met to an adequate degree’. Not a single mention of his son’s mental episode could be read aside from ‘John Walker initiated the initial conflict’. He shook his head. This was an official report. S.H.I.E.L.D.  had lost their minds. Or their standards. Or both.

Chirping.

Steve exhaled loudly, seething at whatever bird was outside his kitchen window. With the report scrunched in his mighty hand, the blonde strode to his humble lawn to glare at nature itself. What once brought him comfort brought him only annoyance. He couldn’t find the culprit. No graceful gliders or winged rogues could be seen. Instead, there was only silence. Silence used to bring the old soldier peace and comfort. Now…Now it just insulted him. The silence was a lie. It was all a lie. He knew that there were a least five agents watching him as he stood on his back porch. Whenever he went to the local shops, he was followed. Whenever he sneezed, S.H.I.E.L.D. heard.

It was all so suffocating. Even as he stood looking at his wooden fences, Steve felt his chest tighten and his lungs burn faintly. As he thought about it, he knew that even as he slept, he was watched by invisible, sterile eyes.

Chirping.

He wasn’t at home. It couldn’t have been. It had taken just over a year since being unfrozen, but Steve Rogers was learning a cruel truth as he stood in his yard with a mission report in his hand. He didn’t belong there anymore. The eighties, the street, the culture, S.H.I.E.L.D. itself. He should never had taken that last mission. He should have stayed with Peggy. He should have stayed in the home he knew.

His lungs burnt harshly as he struggled to breathe.

***

Knowing nowhere else to turned but to face the demon itself, Steve drove into the administration centre of S.H.I.E.L.D. with a stoic expression. He turned off the ignition and felt his entire body sag. He had no enthusiasm. In a way that he couldn’t describe, the super soldier felt that his very body was getting heavier the closer that he got his workplace. His mouth was dry, his eyes lowered. He sat in the parking lot for almost ten minutes, playing fantasies in his head of better days. Days that were no longer possible. It almost brought him to tears.

He reluctantly stepped out of car with heavy shoulders. His work satchel swung by his hips. His face stoic and expressionless. Eyes glanced at him as he passed a few office workers. Steve almost shuddered as his through dried. He neared the glass doors of the building just as-

“Pssst!”

Steve staggered. He blinked. The large man subtly scanned side to side as carefully as he could.

“Sit. Look forward.”

He knew the voice. Without hesitation, Steve sat at the nearby bench and pretended to look at the pigeons fighting near the glass wall. Jimmy Woo loudly bit at the sandwich in his hands. He was two entire benches away, but he was clearly putting considerable effort into vocalising. Steve reached into his satchel and pulled out a random report whilst Woo continued to munch on his food.

“I put it in the right bin. Take your time.” He whispered harshly.

Woo took almost two more minutes to finish his food. He then waited another minute as he cleaned himself of the crumbs. Then, without a word, he got up and left. Steve never stopped reading his report. Instead, he pulled out an apple as he read. He waited almost ten entire minutes before putting it back in his satchel. He rose as he finished his fruit. As he walked to the bin, he couldn’t help but feel his heart race. He reached into it as he deposited the apple core and felt around. Paper. Scrunched paper. Steve hid it in his hand and pulled it out.

Steve Rogers was no fool. He didn’t trust what he didn’t know. There was no guarantee that his office wasn’t wired with cameras, so he didn’t risk opening the paper in it. Rather, he struggled against his anxiety and waited with a dry mouth until lunch. He sat within his silent office, pretending to read pointless report after pointless report. Not a single word managed to speak louder than the endless thumping in his chest.

Then, just past twelve, he strolled out to a private corner of the nicely sized garden that many administration workers used during their lunch breaks. They chatted eagerly amongst themselves as Steve passed them in a cold sweat. For the time in years, he was almost shaking.

Steve sat down with his sandwich and eyed the small trees around him in clear paranoia. Yet, he chose to look away after only a few seconds. He didn’t care anymore. He simply didn’t. With a frustrated and pained gasp, he reached into his pocket and stared at the document that Woo had so carefully smuggled him. He frowned immediately.

It was a photocopy of one of John Walker’s training reports.

As Steve read hastily, his heart dropped. Soon, his head was in his hand and his body felt cold and numb.

“Clear signs of mental distress.”

“Incapable of tolerating anything resembling gunfire.”

“Clear inability to process stress.”

“Paranoia towards superior officers.”

For the first time, Steve understood what had taken place when John was taken within the S.H.I.E.L.D. training system. He was first eyed after Magneto’s threat to Nixon over a decade ago, when mutants and super humans were first revealed to the whole government. Based off the two references to Steve himself, Steve’s parentage to John was clearly theorised by S.H.I.E.L.D. at that point. They had clearly been hopeful that they could use John’s evident super capabilities to their advantage.

It was the third mission in the field. Overseen by several experienced operatives, John had ventured into the deserts of the Middle East. It was a basic mission, much like the one that he had shared with Steve. Extract, in and out quietly. Yet, the same events played out. He saw an enemy nearby and something hidden had broken within John’s mind. Yet, as Steve read, his jaw tensed. He had not shot an enemy, not initially. In the panic that swelled in front of his senses, John shot another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent nearby. It was a bloodbath.

Mission failure.

Almost immediately, John was pushed from the training program after a series of resulting mental checks. He failed nearly all of them. Steve wished he was dreaming a nightmare. As he sat in the cool garden, he wanted nothing more than to laugh it off as a sick joke. Yet something in his get told him that it was the truth. He knew there was something wrong with his son, and so had S.H.I.E.L.D.

The super soldier hid his face in his hand. Why on Earth was he still being eyed as a possible recruit? He needed help, not a mission. They had known of his condition years ago. They were the most powerful intelligence agency in the world. It made no sense to be so desperate to want him that badly. He casually waved the paper in front of him, almost sarcastically looking for more information. He found some.

It was a set of names, junior officials within S.H.I.E.L.D., that signed off on the report. Steve swallowed.

‘Nicholas J. Fury, Jr.’

Steve sat silently. He read the name over at least ten times. Without a sound, he rose, shoved the paper in his pocket, and walked towards the office building of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was beyond caring at this point. He had suffered too many blows to feel shame or anxiety.

He was simply done.

***

Jackie threw yet another piece of paper at her fridge. With a feral hiss, the British vampire glared at her typewriter as though it had killed her mother before her very eyes. It hadn’t. It had only typed the poor words for her essay that she had asked it to. The redhead sat back down in a dramatic thump. College was ridiculous. Overrated. Overpriced. Why teach children? Children were loud, annoying, and overrated. Being a teacher was hardly needed in Jackie’s immortal life.

Yet, after cooling off from her fifth breakdown of the day, she placed her fingers back on the keys. She was thankful that she was too cheap to buy a computer. She would have destroyed the flimsy thing within days. She licked her lips, trying to think of another way to word the miniscule point that she had come up with only minutes ago. All she needed was a pass, all she needed was a pass…

Her ear twitched. Then her body tensed. Before the knock at the door occurred, she was already behind it. A familiar scent filled her nostrils. A smile grew on her face, though she quickly hid it. Politely, she waited for the knock to finish, and then she opened the door. Dane Whitman smiled, although confusion coloured his face. She had opened the door within a single second of him knocking.

“You are…shockingly fast.”

“You have loud feet.” She huffed, smirking as she leaned against her doorframe, “Whatcha want?”

Dane lowered his eyed. After a moment, he shrugged lamely.

“I dunno. I was in the area and…”

He eyes never lifted from the ground. Jackie rolled hers, and snorted. Her smiled threatened to poke up from her pseudo annoyed expression. It was good to see him again, even if it had only been a day.

“Lame pick up line.” Her cheeks were starting to redden like a child’s, “I’m busy doing an assignment, you know.”

“Ah. Cool.” Dane nodded, finally looking up, “What on?”

“Lesson planning.”

“Cool.”

The pair stood in an uncomfortable silence for several seconds. A bomb going off would have been a welcomed change. Jackie couldn’t help but darken as she found herself enjoying the sight of his eyes and his hardened jawline. The mullet wasn’t unattractive, either. She hissed in frustration and impatience.

“Oh, fine!” She snapped, throwing her hands up dramatically, “Pointless, aren’t ye?”

Within a second, she was wearing a dark coat and smelled distinctly different. If Dane wasn’t wrong, she had also taken the effort of some foundation and parting her hair differently. His eyes lowered again, though Jackie interpreted it as sheepishness. She tugged at his arm after locking up her front door.

“I’m not paying. I’m not cheap.”

“What?” Dane blinked, looking at her again as she led him towards the road.

He was still very confused by the complete outfit change.

“I…”

She stopped herself before she continued ranting. She had a habit of overthinking things and not quite wording things well. Dane was increasingly becoming the target of these episodes for some foul reason.

“It’s…good to see you.” She admitted despite herself, “Just…Let’s go somewhere quiet, okay?” She requested quietly and with the softest of smiles.

Dane looked at her with an even face. Jackie didn’t like it. It was a strange look from him. That damned sword of his…It had been playing on Jackie’s mind ever since he told her what it did to his mind. It needed to be destroyed. Removed. Gone from his life. He was acting like he was eighty, not in his twenties. Still, Jackie showed patience as Dane worked through his mind. A small smile crept on his face as she watched him piece himself together. He still struggled to look at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He swallowed.

“Want to see my place?”

***

As was often the case, it was a loud thud that heralded Thor’s return to the home he shared with Barbara. The giant of an Aesir lamely pushed through the door and dropped Mjolnir to the floor by the shoes and boots. His greying beard hid most of the sullen feeling in his chest.

He had found Peter Parker’s note on his desk several hours prior. The skies broke into a storm for several hours as the anxious and frustrated god attempted to track them down. He did so for near an hour, coming close to their trail using his magic. Yet, something quickly drew him away. A voice on the wind that hardened his emotional ties to his old warband. The Valkyrie had been close. Immediately adopting a new target for his hunt, the aging god hid his mighty hammer within a tennis racket sleeve of all things. Thor had hoped to only need it as a final deterrent for this misplaced child. A child his father had pressured into his madness.

Try as he might, the god felt no prey in his hands. He was no Freyr or Skaldi. The Valkyrie was clearly an elusive fox. Her magical trail had led Thor into the edges of suburban life and towards the outer layer of the city. Yet, as he neared the silver towers filled with windows, the path shot like a straight arrow back towards Thor’s origin. It was as if the woman had suddenly had a swift change in her thoughts and desired a new object to focus on. It was baffling. It was infuriating.

By the time that Thor found himself in a quiet road filled with small houses and suspicious housewives eyeing the giant man, the trial went cold. Nothing. Not even Thor’s magic could hear her voice in the wind, feel her feet on the grass. Thor wanted to throw his hammer at the sky. If he had been younger, perhaps he would have. Instead, he stroked his beard as he exhaled deeply. Things were so much simpler when he was a mere lad playing with his brothers in barns and sneaking into taverns. Oh, how the Aesir missed such days.

Thor walked into his living room to see Barbara dusting herself off from the day’s oil and grime. A certain fat pug was snoring at her feet. His eyes quickly glanced to the holstered weapon lying on the couch armrest behind her. She had not parted from a weapon since these ordeals had begun. He did not blame her.

“Find ‘em?”

“No.” Thor replied in a grave voice, “Nor the Valkyrie who has been close. I feel like a toy to the wicked.”

Barbara cocked an eyebrow as she finished wiping her hands.

“Wicked? Or family?”

Thor managed a dry, but not cruel, smile.

“Can they not be the same?”

He sighed as he collapsed on the couch at Barbara’s side. The rugged beauty threw the towel down and sat on the armrest, careful to avoid her gun. Maxxie remained snoozing in her little spot. Thor eyed Barbara weakly. He secretly prayed they could talk about anything else other than his family. He could not bare the topic’s soreness, nor another venomous fight with his love.

“Any thoughts since our last chat?” Barbara tested carefully.

Thor internally sighed.

“Yes, many. Many a voice in my head.” He sighed, “You are right. Wisdom has been with you, always.”

“Odd, coming from someone ancient.”

Thor managed a small laugh and Barbara smiled softly. It soon faded into a saddened expression.

“The wolf before us is the one lurking around Jennifer Walters. The bear behind that…rests on Asgard.”

“Until he doesn’t.”

“Until he doesn’t.” Thor agreed, “He must be…Barbara, I do not know what to do.”

His eyes were weak, and his lips trembled like a child before an angry parent. Despite being the size of the furniture, he looked as a small as a mouse as he shook his head in bewilderment.   

“I am no healer. I am no favoured son. I am an exiled warrior that put his vanity and lust for violent glory above his kingdom. I know not how to treat my father.”

Barbara took in his words. Slowly, she swung her defined arm around his shoulder.

“What about your brothers? Tyr? Baldur and Holdur? All the others.”

“Only few know wisdom. Others know strength. Lesser few know how to contend with my father’s will. He is a mighty and wise king, respected by those that walk in his golden paths. Feared by those as well. I fear conflict if I should confront him or whisper the wrong words.” Thor broke into a tired, nostalgic laugh, “Not even Loki could speak the right words to him. He tried more than any.”

“The trickster.”

“The ward I failed to protect from himself.” Thor sighed, “Though, you must think I am doing the same to my own father, now. Perhaps I am. Perhaps…Perhaps I am repeating my sins upon my family.”

Barbara squeezed his shoulder. She swallowed.

“I won’t bullshit you. There’s no easy solution to this. You clearly know that. But given how torn up you got over Loki and how you got exiled…Thor, imagine what it’s gonna be like when shit hits the fan with Odin.”

Thor tensed under her touch, but he didn’t interrupt. He was too absorbed in the swelling emotions forming in his throat, drowning him in boiling nothingness.

“I love you.” Barbara said, “A lot, you old idiot. And you love me. And your brothers. And your father. I know nothing about being a king or a prince. I’ll save you some crappy prep speech. I’ll just say…heavy is the heads that wears the crown. Or, whatever it is.”

Thor clutched at her hand, holding it softly. If he could, he would sink within the couch to a hidden realm, never to hear of this again. Never to think of ailing fathers or endangered kingdoms. Never to remember why he was exiled.

“Heavy indeed.”

He rose. A strength returned to his face as he surveyed his surroundings. There was a hunger to his eyes. Barbara always found it attractive when he had it.

“I shall find these foes that threaten my brothers and sisters of the sword, then we shall go to Asgard to deal with this madness.”

Thor took a step forward when an uncertain voice interrupted him.

“Asgard? We?”

Thor turned to her, looking at her incredulously.

“But of course.” He replied keenly, “I shall part with you not a day. I have…I cannot.”

Barbara’s face looked dumbfounded. The usually confident and even fierce woman was staring at Thor as if he’d grown a new nose. Thor, in turn, became confused by her confusion.

“I’m…human. I’m not…Thor, I’m a mechanic.”

“Hmm. I understand. If you feel without place or purpose, I shall eagerly introduce to the craftsmen of Svartalfheim to you.”

“Thor…I don’t…think I’d be welcome there.”

Thor’s hands were soon on her face, stroking her face with his hardened fingers. She blinked several times, trying to hide the insecurity and uncertainty blossoming in her chest.

“I love you.” He said softly, “And you are welcome wherever I am. I cannot do this quest, or any other, without you. I ask that you come with me. Please.”

Barbara’s mind went through hundreds of poor issues relating to just leaving to another realm of existence. Her house upkeep, her rent, her job, the chances of her dying on some alien rock. But she couldn’t lie. The idea of exploring a mythic Nordic world was starting to excite her.

“The house…The…bikes.”

“Tony Stark or Jennifer Walters will aid you.”

Barbara laughed at how innocent that answer was. It was enough. Despite her grizzled nature, the old god was enough.

“I expect to come back and retire here.”

Thor’s laugh boomed through the house. He embraced her, and then hungrily kissed her. His hands squeezed her toned rear tightly as he felt a new energy in his veins. He was Thor. He was lord of the skies above. He would catch this fiend stalking his friends, and he would bring reason to his father’s madness. He was a god well past a thousand years in age. He had seen many victories. With Barbara at his side, he would see this done. He needed to. He would not let any other thoughts into his mind.

He pulled away from her before he allowed his arousal to bend her over a table. Panting, he immediately walked to the tennis racket sleeve that hid his weapon.

“I shall end this damned hunt soon. Should Jennifer Walters or anyone else return, whisper to me.”

A mildly disappointed yet amused Barbara nodded. It was relieving to see him have some hope and passion back in his crush body again. It took immediate weight off of her shoulders. She casually strapped her gun holster to her hip as she watched Thor open the front door.

“Be safe.”

***

Peter felt somewhat shy as he was followed to his apartment. Almost sheepishly, he had realised that he had needed some extra web fluid in the event of a prolonged battle or attack. He was hoping such an event did not happen, but his desire to always be prepared would make even Captain America proud. Plus, he also desired to stay close to Jennifer for as long as possible, meaning he’d need at least some clothes for the next few days.

Yet, as he stood outside his cheap apartment door, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Namor was the prince of the ocean and no doubt would mutter some remark at how poor the college student lived. While he was okay with that, Peter found himself eyeing Jennifer’s excited expression closely. He felt so shy that she was about to enter. Part of him wanted to pretend that some emergency was going on and that only Peter was allowed in. He sighed.

He opened the door.

Jennifer’s eyes widened eagerly as she took in the many sights of Peter’s apartment. It was messy, filled with fast food wrappers, a never-ending trail of computer parts on a tiny table, and papers. So many, many papers. Peter stood still in the corner, swallowing as he watched Jennifer’s reactions keenly. The silence as she slowly walked about was maddening.

“This is…quant.” Namor managed in a pseudo-polite tone, “Do you parents pay for such…accommodation?”

Peter snapped away from Jennifer and frowned.

“Just…my part-time job. I work as a photographer.”

Namor gave him a judgemental look but was otherwise silent. When Peter turned back to Jennifer, he almost squeaked. She was snickering as she walked past his bathroom, a pile of underwear resting before the shower. Peter was as red as a sun.

“Ha. Um, laundry day was…I didn’t have time to…Yeah.” He nodded intensely.

Jennifer, also lacking the social skills to move away from such a moment, merely bopped her head with red cheeks. Peter hastily collected some random clothes and threw them into a grocery bag, much to Jennifer’s kind amusement. He really was a cheap college student.

“Your precious formula?” Namor moaned as Peter came to a stop.

The prince was already impatiently tapping his feet as he stared out the window. Peter frowned again, but didn’t throw anything back at the arrogant prince. He was really starting to regret allowing him to come on board. Peter crawled up the wall, much to Namor’s shock and clear discomfort, and reached over the ceiling fan. Ever so carefully, he spun the frame off and reached in to collect several vials of a thick white substance.

The back of his neck tensed.

Silently, he peered through his window as he resealed the fan. The city was clear and beautiful. It took just a moment, however, for Peter’s keen eyes to notice black fabric swaying in the wind, just poking out near the bottom right corner of the window. Peter’s heart seized. As subtly as he could, he jumped back down and grinned falsely. Jennifer applauded softly, making his stomach flutter.

“Very impressive, Mr Wall-Crawler.”

“Please. Mr was my father.”

As Peter and Jennifer snorted, Namor rolled his eyes. Without a word, he walked to the door and left through it. Jennifer and Peter exchanged highly amused expressions, but quickly followed. They made it a few steps down the hallway before Peter groaned, slapped his forehead, and turned towards his door.

“Gimme a mo! Need the spare sling-thing.”

Before Jennifer could stop him, he was gone behind a closed door. She tilted her head curiously, crossing her arms as she let her mind wander around.

Peter’s breathing intensified and his mouth was dry. Without hesitation, he opened his window and swung himself to the side, his soft hands latching onto the rough brick. Sure enough, he wasn’t alone. A shorter woman with a white mane of stunning hair was sinking her talon-shaped nails into the brick like an animal. Her pale eyes seemed momentarily panicked, but eased into what Peter believed to be a sombre state. It was an almost comical sight. A beautiful woman in a clearly overpriced purple pants-suit, casually latched onto the side of the building and letting the wind play with her hair.

“Fancy…seeing you here.”

Peter’s attempt to be playful only sounded like a pained noise. Felicia smiled wickedly. Though, it was a poor attempt as well. Her lips slowly sunk down into a small looped expression.

“Needed someone to talk to.” She shrugged.

There was something in the way that she said it that made Peter’s entire body sag. He almost reached out. Almost. Instead, he exhaled softly and did his best to remind himself that he was needed elsewhere. Jennifer and Namor were metres away. He had seconds, if that.

“What’s happened?”

Felicia looked down at the cars racing below them. Peter felt a horrible guilt as he found himself impatient. Something was wrong and he was upset at how long she was taking. He swallowed in shame. He had to be better than that.

“Same old, same old. Father stuff. But you’re busy, aren’t you?”

There was an edge to her voice that the college student didn’t feel comfortable with. Guilt crept into his mind faster and colder than before. He swallowed again.

“Kinda.” He admitted quietly, “Now isn’t a good time b-”

“It’s fine.”

She shook her head, still looking at him. Peter couldn’t explain it, but the lack of eye-contact was hurting him. He felt as if he didn’t deserve such treatment at all. He didn’t even know what was wrong, after all.

“I shouldn’t have come.” She added.

Peter winced, muttered, and shook his head all at the same time. He eyed his window again.

“Tonight. I’ll be here past midnight.”

He said the words before he realised what they meant. He couldn’t just leave guard duty. He wasn’t that much of a self idiot. Jennifer needed him. Yet, as he watched Felicia look up, sniff, give a small smile, and reach up to squeeze his leg in gratitude, Peter knew that he was going back to his apartment that night. He knew that she had him.

And then an entirely different type of guilt swam within the confused boy.

“You’re…You’re really a good person.” Felicia smiled weakly, “I’d really like that. I’m so lucky to have you, Pete.”

Peter said nothing. He couldn’t. He gave a soft smile and a nod. As he climbed back into his apartment, he fell on numb legs. Why the hell did he just agree to that? She was in trouble. But so was Jennifer. But he would only be gone for two hours at the most. But what if something happened in those two hours?

As Peter walked out, his stomach was wobbly and he was unusually pale. To his horror, Jennifer was waiting right outside the door, her eyebrow raised. He smiled and patted his pocket. He wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t bare to meet her beautiful eyes.

As he hastily walked towards Namor, Jennifer chewed her lip. The smile was a lie, and there was clearly nothing in his pocket. Her eyes glanced back to Peter’s door. Had she any time, she would have walked through it. She didn’t. Instead, she slowly followed Peter, her eyes scanning him closely. Something wasn’t right, and it made her very worried for the skinny idiot in front of her.

***

It was clearly his parents’ house, that much was clear to Jackie. Two stories high, with a poorly kept lawn and near abandoned gardening equipment scattered about. No car. No push bike. Just a…quiet house. It lacked the gothic moat and gargoyles that Jackie assumed the monster hunter would have.

Dane was sheepish as he led Jackie forwards. She thought it was an adorable expression. The redheaded vampire was more excited that she thought she would be. As soon as Dane opened the pale door, Jackie had run through the house and peered in each room within a second. She was guilty of robbing Dane of a tour, she knew. But she couldn’t contain herself. She was simply too curious at how…bare it all was.

The walls were an off-white colour, and while the curtains were a beautiful light green, there wasn’t much colour elsewhere. Only two rooms held beds in them, and one was so clean and proper that it looked completed unused. There was the odd cabinet or bookshelf, even a nice rug in a few rooms, yet there was nothing else. Even the kitchen, which Jackie inspected with glee, only had a few plates and glasses. The fridge only had a few T.V. dinners inside and two pears. It all gave the house an uncomfortable emptiness to it, as if it was used as an advertisement for real estate.

As soon as Jackie returned to behind Dane, the latter sighed.

“What?” She shrugged.

He lamely thrusted his thumb over his shoulder.

“You were on my left a second ago. How many rooms did you look in?”

He wasn’t angry. He even had a small smile on his face. Jackie couldn’t help but shyly tilt her head as she walked past him.

“I like the rug in the main bedroom.”

“My ma’s.” Dane’s voice was tight, “She decorated most of the place. Back when she could.”

Jackie nodded in genuine interest, but didn’t pry any further. There weren’t any photos of any family at all. At least, none on display. Dane led her into the main entertainment area. A lounge room with two small sofas and a tiny television. He didn’t even have a tape or record player.

“Looks nice. Real nice.”

“Yeah?” Dane asked softly.

“Yeah.”

He awkwardly lingered by her side, not knowing what to do. He didn’t even know why she was there. She had already raced through his house. She already knew how little he did for ‘fun’. He blinked a few times, his mouth agape.

“So, um…Want to watch…”

“You’re really bad at this.” Jackie noted, looking bewildered at him, “Have you…like ever…even…”

She made an obscene hand gesture with three fingers. Dane suddenly turned red and crossed his arms defensively.

“Yes! Plenty of times.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not like I just…brought you here to…bang.”

It was the most awkward and uncomfortable phrasing that had ever cursed Jackie’s ears. She couldn’t help but cover her mouth as she laughed. Dane grew even redder and more confused at what was happening.

“I’m just teasing. Relax. I can hear your heartbeat. I can practically already smell the blood.”

Dane rolled his eyes childishly, though a small smile was on his lips.

“What do you do at home?”

Dane thought about it for a moment, actually struggling for an answer. As she waited, Jackie plopped herself on one of the sofas. They were old, but the type of old that you’d sink into and enjoy the smell of. It reminded her of her gran’s place back in England.

“Mostly study magical stuff.” He clicked his tongue, “Sometimes work stuff that I couldn’t finish during work hours. I cook. Sometimes.”

“You’re as thrilling as Tony Stark or Whitney Houston.”

The pair laughed softly. Dane found himself in agreement with her jab. He was a quiet man at the best of times. Focusing on hunter dark creatures left little room for parties or extreme hobbies.

“I don’t do…things. Is that weird?”

“You hunt monsters by night, work in a museum by day. Those are…things.” Jackie suggested as she lazily relaxed on the sofa, “Oh, and you stalk people.”

“I don’t.”

“Defenceless redheads.”

“You were not defenceless.”

“You try and take their virtue from them.”

“What does that even mean?” Dane frowned.

“See, I should have you arrested.”

“For trying to hunt a vampire?” Dane smirked.

“For your creepy hobbies. You’re lucky I’m the forgiving type.”

Dane broke into warm laughter, and Jackie couldn’t hold back a smile at the stupid noise.

“You’re many a type, I don’t know about ‘forgiving’.”

“Am I your type?”

Dane’s laughter shut off as if a switch had been flipped. Jackie’s eyes snapped open as her smile turned into a humiliated grimace. The cliché, horridly corny line made her wish to sink into the floor itself, like some acidic resin. Another part of her considered running under some table or simply dashing back to her house. She thought that she could make the distance. Dane put his hand through his dark mullet, his face red but not overly uncomfortable.

“Who wouldn’t find you attractive?”

It was a quiet, sincere response. Jackie slowly pulled her eyes to look at him. The resulting silence was irritating to the girl. So very…thick and it encased them both like a lazy python. She hated it. It made her feel like she was a dumb teenager waiting for a stupid blonde in a movie theatre to get the courage to hold her hand.

“You’re cute, too.” She managed in a terse voice, “For a prat.”

It was Jackie, of course, that made the first move. As slowly as she could manage with her energised state, she stood in front of Dane. His hand was curiously holding her cheek a moment later. The first kiss was soft and very careful. Jackie stopped inhaling, not trusting herself as she felt his rough lips. He tasted good. He felt good. To her utter embarrassment, she moaned.

To her horror, Dane heard. He pulled back with an amused grin. With a roll of her eyes, she pulled him back. The vampire was careful as they sat on the couch. Both were content to merely kiss and enjoy the feeling of being in each other’s arms. Dane’s hand was resting on her lower back, only to fall to the top of her arse as she shifted to get more comfortable. He quickly moved it, only for Jackie to roll her eyes and shift again to sit on said hand.

“How…do we do this?” Dane asked as he pulled back to breathe.

Jackie blinked, suddenly feeling guilty and very panicked.

“You…You said you’ve…”

“What? No, not that. I know how to…God, Jackie.” He rubbed his face, “Given I’m a human and you can break me…how…Like, what position…Don’t make me say this.” He pleaded.

“Christ, you’re awkward. You’re worse than that nerd in the city.”

Jackie leaned back. Dane had a point. She didn’t need the terror of killing him in bed. He was far too precious for that. She rose, nodding as she delivered their solution.

“Top or behind me. Do you, um…have a preference?” She asked shyly.

Dane was as a red as usual, and shrugged. Jackie rolled her eyes.

“Boys. Idiots.” She muttered as she began to play with her stubborn belt.

Dane did so the same, eagerly yanking his pants down.

“I am older than you.” He pointed out as he pulled off his shirt.

“Another thing to mention to…the…police.”

He had muscles. He had…noticeable muscles. Nice muscles. Jackie had entertained only a few boyfriends in her young life, and none of them had been bulky and scarred. Jackie swallowed like some pathetic schoolgirl seeing her first athlete. Dane was strong and defined, but carried the marks of his years hunting monsters. Thick, ropey skin decorated his chest and his left hip. Bite marks coloured his collarbone. Even his left outer thigh was cut in the past.

Jackie realised in that very moment that she liked scars.

Impatiently, she pulled her shirt off so fast that it tore around the clip of her bra. Soon, her clothes decorated the floor. Dane was on his knees in a moment. Jackie’s squeak was too loud for her tastes. Even his tongue was rough in just the right way. It took every part of her control not to break Dane’s skull as she rested her hands in his mullet.

“Left.” She whispered.

“Wha-”

“Don’t stop, I said left.” She whined.

Her breathing turned into a squeal. Such an uncharacteristically high-pitched sound for the rough British girl. Her eyes closed. Her thighs tightened. Her hands dug into her own hips as she thrusted them out into Dane’s mouth. It lasted longer than she had expected. Years of not even entertaining her hormones suddenly caught up with her. The college student was trembling for several moments. Then, she pushed back.

If she could sweat, she would be. The vampire panted softly, feeling very exposed and very shy as she watched Dane wipe his lips. He noticed that she was looking. A small smile met her. Jackie swallowed.

“Should’ve…Wasn’t planning on…If I knew…Would’ve prepared certain…”

As she rambled, she awkwardly gestured to her southern curls. Dane snorted loudly.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jackie smiled softly.

“I’d offer the same service but…can’t guarantee biting might not be an issue.”

Dane rolled his eyes.

“Any excuse not to.”

She was on her knees in front of him, kissing his rough lips softly. Her fingers traced those beautiful scars closely. She was tempted to offer him another. After several moments of gentle exploration, Jackie was on her hands and knees. Dane playfully kissed her back in a trail leading down. He had been considerate enough to give her a pillow to rest on as she laid upon the ground.

“Be slow.” She instructed, her snark returning, “It’s…You’re the first since…fang me became current me.”

Dane hesitated.

“You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

“How?” She looked back with a glare.

“Just…don’t accidentally kick me.”

“We can stop if yo…ahhhh.”

She broke as his fingers explored her again. The redhead leaned into her pillow and closed her eyes. Seconds melted into minutes as she relaxed into a loose puddle. Large, calloused hands carefully unwound a tension that Jackie didn’t know she had. With a moan and grunt, the pair joined.

Jackie’s head rolled back. Dane’s hands touched every part of her back that he could reach. Her mouth flared open and shut. Dane’s breathing hitched in a delicious way that made Jackie growl. Her hands dug into the wooden floor. To Dane’s mild surprise, he watched as Jackie’s small fingers snapped into the wood as she clung to it. She didn’t know when her fangs had protruded, but she noticed them as she licked her lips. Her eyes were dark. Her nostrils flared as she took in Dane’s scent.

As soon as his hands clutched at her arse, Jackie was stiff, quiet, and twitchy again. Once again, the bliss lasted longer than expected, but it ended with her lazily slumping onto the pillow with lazy eyes. Dane was behind her, panting as well.

“Come. Cuddle me.” Jackie commanded in a barely audible murmur.

Dane laughed and then followed her orders. The large man curled into her side, and she immediately rolled onto his broad chest. Her eyes were closed and Dane was tempted to sleep, only for a sharp jab to make his side spasm.

“Don’t laugh at what I’m about to say.”

“I won’t. Hey!”

She had poked him again.

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“I’m…very happy you tried to fight me that night.”

As she admitted that, she sighed into his skin. A hand was slowly stroking her hair. As Jackie slowly zoned out, she missed the blank and weighted look that Dane was giving the back of her head.

***

“It’s not a good movie.”

“It is!” Jennifer barked, making Peter roll his eyes, “Yeah, the ending’s crap, but it really opened up the world building and-”

“It ends with the world being blown up!” Peter cried, “Charlie Heston is in it like…twice!”

“Charlie Heston? What are you, his mother?”

Barbara eyed the bickering pair from the kitchen. The loud one was sitting in her favourite chair and the awkward nerd was sitting in front of the television with that loud, smelly dog on her lap. She missed the quiet of yesteryear. At least the pale, pointy-eared one was silent. He had not uttered a word since it had become dark. Instead, he had taken to pacing throughout the house. Every so often, he would leave the house to stalk the street or the small yard behind them. Barbara chewed her lip. She thought she was in some bizarre house arrest case.

She missed Thor more than she wanted to admit. At least he could get the children to shut up. He had not returned since he had left. Barbara questioned if he would return until he captured whoever was stalking the nerdy woman stealing her furniture. He was a god, true. But Barbara still wanted him safe.

“At least it was better than the show. That thing…ugh.”

Peter was oddly quiet. Jennifer suddenly gasped.

“Oh, Pete. Please tell me-”

“Now, hear me out.”

“No.”

Both turned to see a highly irritated Barbara glaring at them with her hands on her hips. Even Namor peered at her from his place near the front door.

“This is a small house with loud voices. And I’m going to bed.” She pointed angrily at Jennifer, “Turn the T.V. off, or I’ll shoot you.” Her finger turned to Peter, “Turn your mouth off, or I’ll shoot you. It’s bad enough I have one unwelcomed guest. Three is…”

She ended with a pained sigh. The kitchen light was turned off and then she disappeared down the hallway, making a point of loudly closing the door.

“I think mum just told us to go to bed.” Peter whispered, and Jennifer threw a pillow at him with a gleeful grin.

Soon, as if they were on a school camp, the lights and television were switched off. As she returned from the bathroom with her nightclothes, Jennifer noticed Namor gone. She turned to Peter, who shrugged as he rolled out his sleeping bag.

“Sea people. Very antisocial.”

He omitted Namor’s rough comment that he would take the first watch and Peter the next. He didn’t need Jennifer feeling any more guilt. He watched shyly as Jennifer stretched out on the coach. Maxxie watched for a moment, and then performed her own nightly ritual of finding Jennifer’s chest and immediately flopping onto it. Peter slid into the sleeping bag but didn’t close his eyes. As his eyes flicked to the clock hidden in the dark, he sighed. Only a few more hours until he’d be making a horrible mistake.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Peter almost jumped.

“Wh-What?”

“Guarding me. I’m a big girl. Seriously. If you need to go back-”

“Pfft. To that crummy place? Nah. Not gonna do that to you.”

Peter’s voice trailed off as he spoke. He was grateful for the night. He couldn’t bare to look Jennifer in the eye.

“Go to bed, or I’ll web you.”

Jennifer giggled softly.

“You’re gross, webhead. Goodnight.” She said softly, letting herself relax amongst the sheets.

“Night.” Peter whispered back, still staring at the clock.

It was nearly eleven in the evening when Peter saw a shadow move. As silently as he could, he snapped his arm up and aimed a webslinger forwards. A soft, yet cocky, laugh filled the room. Peter sighed as he recognised it as Namor. Careful and quiet, Peter rose from his sleeping bag. He passed a sleeping Jennifer and a snoring Maxxie. Peter swallowed in guilt.

“I’ll be on the roof.” He informed Namor.

The prince nodded before slumping on the empty couch. With years of experience, Peter was able to sneak through a window and crawl onto the ceiling. He sat with his head on his knees for some time, his eyes downcast.

He could always stay.

It was always an option. But something was wrong with Felicia. And he had given his word. His uncle and aunt had raised him to respect that. It would only be a few hours at most. Peter swallowed his shame. With a long leap, he left the house.

***

It took just under an hour for Peter to leap, swing, and sprint back into the city. By the time that he reached his apartment, he was sweating and almost heaving. He rolled in through his window. With a tired sigh, he sat on his bed, not even bothering to turn any lights on in his tiny apartment. What was he even doing?

His resolve in leaving had nearly failed minutes into his journey, yet a strange guilt kept him going. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t just ignore someone that asked for his help. Not when they were almost crying in front of him. But Jennifer also needed him. He was meant to protect her, as well. And there he was, sitting like a tired idiot in his bed, miles away. Peter was an idiot. An idiot that was still waiting for Felicia.

It took nearly half an hour for her to creep in. Like the cat she adopted her name after, her lithe form silently sunk in through the open window. She was wearing her black, tight leather attire that contrasted her hair so much. Peter was usually so stunned whenever he saw it. When Felicia stood straight, she almost backstepped. Peter was staring directly at her in the dark, his face unusually blank. She smiled gently, nonetheless.

“You look good.” She said.

“Yeah. So do you.”

Even his voice didn’t sound the same to her. It was gravelly and heavy, and she was surprised he wasn’t talking her ears off. Something started to grow in her stomach.

“Thanks so much for being here. I know you’re busy but…” She shrugged lamely, “I just needed a pal to chat with.”

Peter didn’t say anything. Instead, he silently stepped closer to her and stopped by the few chairs near the tiny table that he had. When he finished sitting down, he finally spoke.

“So, what’s going on?”

Without prompting, Felicia took a chair and dragged it close to Peter. Her exposed chest was mere inches from him. The boy leaned back, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. It was the first time that he’d ever felt such a reaction to her. She shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here. He should’ve been with Jennifer.

“Dad’s…trying to reach out again.” Felicia began, her voice harsh, “Says he wants another…attempt at…us. Selfish bastard. He doesn’t get to waltz in and expect to be a father again, right? Well, he does.”

Peter didn’t react. None of this was any surprise. Felicia’s father was Baron Walther Hartz. As the title presented, he was rich, and then poor, and then rich. Peter had never met the man, nor had his daughter said much about him, but it was clear how he regained his wealth. He was a thief. Just like his daughter after him, the baron took to discretely burrowing items and trading them to his wealthy friends. Naturally, he was father of the year many times running, and the relationship was healthy between he and his daughter.

Peter almost snorted at his own dark sarcasm. This was not the first time that Felicia had mentioned her relationship with her father. Yet, unlike those other times, Peter felt no compulsion to hug her. To comfort her and to tell her that her father didn’t deserve her. He had said so a few times before. His mind, however selfish that it was, could only think of Jennifer and even Namor and Barbara.

“-nd he always treats me like this. Always, Pete.”

“Peter.” He whispered to himself, but it was clearly not heard beyond him.

“And I hate it. I just…I’m not just a thief. I’m a hella lot more than that.” Felicia bristled.

She leaned down, holding his wrist. Peter tensed. She was so close. Her eyes were wide and seemed to try and absorb him. Her ample chest was nearly touching his shoulder, but he didn’t blush or shudder.

“You…You see me as more than that, right?”

“Of course.” He replied with honesty, “You can be a heck of a lot better than just a thief. Like, I’ve before. You’re a great person, Felicia. I mean that.” Felicia’s frown swelled into a broad smile, “You just…gotta make some better decisions, sometimes, ya know?”

“I…know.” She admitted, although with a taut voice, “It’s just hard to. This is the life I live.”

Something in that response made Peter titled his head curtly.

“It doesn’t have to be.” He countered, “Study, get a job, be a hero. It’s gotta be better.”

Felicia giggled a little. Peter’s stomach turned at the noise.

“Pete, that kinda life won’t pay off my debts.”

“I could help?”

“Oh, Pete…”

“Seriously, stuff’s gotta be better than making all these enemies and just helping your dad steal things. All it does is make you miserable.”

“He makes me miserable.”

“The stealing makes others miserable.”

“Please. Only rich old hoarders. They won’t miss much. Besides, others deserve it more.”

“Like you?” Peter asked carefully.

Felicia shrugged with a meek smile. She was still the exact, even after years of knowing her. Peter sighed quietly, removing the beautiful smile.

“You’re meant to be cheering me up.”

“I know. I just…”

And then he stopped. He found no motivation to keep speaking. There was simply nothing to say. What could he say.

Suddenly, Peter rose.

He peered down to a confused Felicia with a saddened expression. She had never seen it upon the slightly younger man. She didn’t like it. He immediately eyed the window. Then, he shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t be here. Someone…I need to be somewhere else. I don’t like your dad, I don’t think he likes you, so stop being like him. Simple as that.”

Felicia practically winced at his impatient and rushed words. Peter immediately regretted it.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean, I’m really not. But you’re a good person. I mean that. I do. So stop doing bad things.”

Felicia’s wince turned into a sour expression as she watched Peter hastily walk to the window.

“That’s it? That’s all? I’ve been here two minutes and just some…lame and pathetic speech?”

Peter, one leg out of the window, froze. There was hurt in her voice. He looked back, ashamed. She was right. She needed better, but Peter couldn’t provide it. Not now.

“I’ll be back in a few days, I swear. Heck, I’ll even make a mini-hero team up plan with you. Anything. But some bad stuff’s happened, and I need to-”

Peter was leaning out the window when something grabbed his arm. To his surprise, Felicia pulled him back into his apartment with considerable and inhuman strength. Peter stumbled backwards, almost falling on his butt. Felicia no longer looked sad, she looked almost panicked.

“Please. Please don’t leave me. You don’t have to leave here. We can…We can do whatever you-”

“Why can’t I leave?”

Peter’s voice was low. His eyes were perfectly still as he stared at Felicia. The white-haired girl’s eyes revealed the smallest flash of a reaction. Peter’s stomach turned again. He flipped onto his feet, his face reddening.

“Why can’t I leave?” He repeated, louder. “Felicia, what’ve you done now?”

Felicia’s face turned into many different shapes and bore many different emotions. It was clear, for the first time in Peter’s life, he saw her truly unable to process a situation that she was in. She didn’t know what line to pull on him. Something in Peter’s mind whispered to him. A horrible, deep paranoia that chill his spine into a brittle substance.

“Pete, look, I’ve had a horrible day with da-”

Her body snapped to the left. She blinked in confusion. As Felicia looked down, she saw her arm webbed to Peter’s chair. Peter was gone, having leapt into the air with a speed he didn’t know he had.

Something was wrong.

***

Jarvis frowned deeply as he tightened his evening gown. It was well near midnight and someone had the audacity to ring the gate’s bell. This was not uncommon. Usually, members of the paparazzi would attempt to sneak peaks through bushes and the like. Yet, rarely did someone ring the bell so consistently. With huff from the gruff old man, the front door was opened and the front lights automatically switched on.

A small figure was looming by the gate, making Jarvis frown harsher. Even in the darkness of the night, the lights helped him see the vague form of a woman, at least a young girl. As he neared the thick iron gates, he cleared his throat.

“Miss, this is a deeply late time for a photo-”

“Mr. Jarvis? I think I heard your voice on the message machine. It’s Anna, the college student? Mr. Stark said to swing by because you guys have a…Well, you have one of these that I can have.”

Jarvis squinted as he noticed something being pressed forward. Jarvis tentatively reached forward, taking the several sheets of paper. He shuffled closer to a light and squinted as he read to himself.

“Ah, yes. I remember, I remember. Awfully late for an equipment loan.” He stated sceptically.

In the darkness, Anna shrugged weakly.

“It took a long while to get here, Mr. Jarvis. I really wasn’t expecting so many…so many buses.” She giggled with some mild frustration, “I…I can leave?”

There was a nervousness to her voice that Jarvis didn’t like in a young woman. He sighed. He couldn’t just leave her. While it was a fairly safe and wealthy neighbourhood, she was still a college student and alone.

“Come, come, miss. I’ll give Mr. Stark a call to see where this is.” Jarvis elaborated as he pressed in the security code.

The small college student waddled into the house, backpack on a single shoulder, and eyes wide at the scope of Tony Stark’s home. Jarvis was behind her, not quite knowing what to make of the situation. With a polite smile, he led her to the loungeroom and hastily ducked to the nearest phone. His eyes never left the surprise guest, not once.

“Stark.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“Jarvis? It’s like…midnight. What’s wrong?”

“We have a guest.” He whispered, “Miss Anna, the college student.”

There was a pause.

“Shit, that’s right. She’s after the…fucking…thing. Yeah, I told her to come ‘round. Seriously? Now?”

“It appears so.” Jarvis murmured back.

“Ah…Um…Look, just…From memory, the equipment she wants is in the storage by the garage. It’ll be marked.”

“Yes, because I label everything, sir.”

Tony laughed dryly.

“A tired Jarvis is a sassy one. Yeah, look. Just give it to her and she should be gone. If not, threaten to call the cops. You know students. She should be good, though.” He added, “She seems decent.”

“I trust your judgement, sir. I hope to see you back soon.”

“Yeah.” Tony replied vaguely, giving Jarvis little actual hope of him returning before sunrise, “Night, Jarvis.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Jarvis placed the ornate phone back on its holder. With a polite smile, he strolled back into the loungeroom. Anna was busying herself staring at the many pictures of cars and aeroplanes that Tony liked to collect. Most were black and white, barely treated at all.

“He does have some hobbies.” Jarvis chuckled, “Now, may I please be rude and depart for a moment? The case will be downstairs.”

Anna frowned and stood up from her white sofa.

“No, no. Please let me help. I mean, I just woke you up and-”

“Please, you insult me, miss. I’ll be a moment. If you’d like some tea, I believe we have some-”

“No, seriously.” She looked mortified, “You’ve done so much already. Please let me help?”

Jarvis stoically shook his head. He inclined his head, turned, and began walking towards the nearest staircase. He made five steps. Five. Five steps before a pipe collided with the back of his head. Five steps before his vision turned foggy and then black. Five steps before collapsing onto the floor, convulsing.

Five steps before Anna stood over his form, nothing but utter apathy on her face.

***

Janet shifted on her bed again, struggling to get comfortable. It was impossible. Soon, the book in her hand was abandoned and tossed under the bedframe, leaving her to cross her arms as she wondered what to do.

It had been a long day. A very long day. Hank had been avoiding her, yet again. Once more, dozens of errands seemed to be needed to be resolved. Janet, his pregnant wife, was left to potter around the lab whilst he hid in the office. Her own husband was still hiding from her. He was supposedly at the office, trying to find some device that could help them find the stolen particles. Supposedly. It didn’t take hours to check the building storage. They weren’t exactly Stark Industries. She could’ve done it in an hour. Hank had been gone three.

Janet sniffed loudly. She didn’t deserve this. Well, maybe she did. She wouldn’t know either way, given her husband’s damned silence. Maybe it was worth visiting her mother’s. That’d annoy him. Maybe enough into actually talking to her.

Janet suddenly jumped.

Something crashed. Something loud, like a microwave or something hitting the floor. Janet felt nerves creep into her gut, yet she still climbed out of her sheets.

“Hank? Hank?”

The tiny woman slowly walked through the house. Most of the lights were turned off, leaving the evening darkness around her. She turned on the kitchen lights, her chest tight. Without hesitation or thought, she reached into the top drawers and pulled out a knife. Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest. It would be her luck to have someone break into her house when she was alone, pregnant, and out of her Wasp suit.

“Hank?! This isn’t funny, okay.”

Something tight wrapped around her back. Before she could stop it, a hand grabbed her wrist so tightly that she dropped the knife. She composed herself, or at least tried to, quickly. The back of her head cracked into someone’s chin, earning a horrid shout of agony. She tried to bite into the arm of the person holding her, but they were covered in a thick leather. A hand grabbed the back of her neck, but Janet swiftly kicked backwards and up.

“Fook!”

The man behind her almost dropped to his knees as his groin exploded in pain. Yet, Janet still wasn’t fast or big enough. Something sharp pierced her neck. She was thrown to the floor and she only just managed to roll so that she landed on her shoulder. In panic, her hands clutched her stomach. Her vision was blurry and her muscles lethargic. She could see red and black looming over her. She glared, yet crawled backwards.

“Ya a crazy bitch.” An Irishman growled as he rubbed his jaw.

It was the last thing Janet saw before succumbing to the chemical in her throat. Eric O’Grady’s jaw throbbed and he flexed it several times. She’d down damage, alright. Bitch. He spat on the floor before walking throughout the house. It took only a matter of minutes to locate what he was looking for. The Leader had given him a good enough tip off with one of his gadgets.

There were four hidden stashes of Pym Particle. In the bedroom, in the lab, in the garage, and under the television cabinet. Eric grinned as he scoped the vials into a duffle bag. Yet, as he passed the sink, a new idea came to him. A childish, silly one that made the redhead giggle. Against orders, he stood in front of the kitchen sink and reached into the bag.

He pulled out a vial of Pym Particles.

He opened it.

He poured it down the sink.

One by one, the Pyms’ precious liquid weapon disappeared down the drain. No more toys for him to use. None for the Leader to play with, either. Eric didn’t see the need for bringing back other samples. He was perfectly happy with the particles that he had already been using. He grinned wickedly as he emptied the last vial and tossed the glass backwards with a cackle.

Then he noticed her again. The unconscious woman sprawled on the kitchen floor. Eric looked her up and down as he neared.

“Tiny lass, aren’t ye? Got those stiff tits, though.” He observed as he lolled his head to the side.

He then paused, and took time to look around the house. Soon, he began opening and closing the drawers and cabinets, whistling as he did so. Within a minute, he found the phonebook. Almost lazily, he flipped through the pages until he found the home number for the very house that he was in. He tore the page and hid it within his suit before turning back to Janet.

“You’re gonna…have a wee holiday with me, love.” He murmured as he lifted her up with ease, “Hell, might liven up that miserable fucking base.”

Within five minutes, they were gone. The house was empty, only signs of a minor struggle and the abduction of Janet Pym.

***

Steve exhaled loudly as he pulled into the office block parking. Before him, a video rental store, a karate dojo, a small convenience store, and a cheap clothes store stood alongside each other. In the dark evening, they seemed like the usual type of back lane shops that lazy fathers would bring their kids to on a Sunday afternoon. Beneath all of them rested another S.H.I.E.L.D. complex, the fourth that Steve had driven to that very day.

As it seemed, Fury was a very difficult man to find. He was not in his office. He was not at the training centres that he frequented to inspect the new recruits. He was not at the smaller intel centres that often only carried five or so agents at a time. It seemed that the reclusive spy operative had disappeared from all of his usual haunts. And with each of them vacant, Steve had grown fouler and more severe in his mood.

He knew that he was being tracked. S.H.I.E.L.D. tracked him ever since he had woken from the ice. He knew that they knew he was looking for Fury. Yet, there had been no effort for the one-eyed agent to contact him. No desire for Steve to get any word or message. Steve was beneath that, it seemed. Once more, he was left in the dark by the very organisation that he had been aiding for over a year.

It made the air thick in his lungs.

Steve pushed himself out of his car. As the neon lights from the video store struck his eyes, he winced but continued to walk towards it. As the shine eased off and his eyes adjusted, he noticed a figure shifting from the alleyway beside the front entrance to the video rental store. Steve exhaled again. His eyes narrowed as a building anger suddenly shook in his gut. He was angry, frustrated, hurt. He hated the feeling. He wanted it gone, to banish it from his body through an aggression that he didn’t know he had. The super soldier gritted his teeth as he neared the empty store, ready for an argument with the unknown individual.

His suspicions that it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent were darkly true. As the two continued to close the distance, there was enough light in the evening darkness to see that it was John in front of Steve. The latter immediately stopped. His anger deflated into concern and fear. His mind immediately questioned just why he was even there. He had no reason to be at such a reclusive base, not unless he had been tailing Steve for some time. But if so, why not simply reveal himself at an earlier location? Regardless of the uncomfortable appearance, Steve managed to speak first.

“John,” He started without hesitation, “I want two minutes. That’s all. If you don’t want to buy what I’m selling, I’ll go. Two minutes.”

His eyes were wide and desperate. John let out a dark chuckle, but nodded. His eyes were padded with dark circles and his hair unusually uneven for the usual military standard that he kept it in.

“These aren’t good people. Not like I thought. John, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but you failed multiple entrance and psych tests.”

John rolled his jaw, eyeing his own father like a rival. Such a look sickened Steve, but he continued.

“You were never meant to join S.H.I.E.L.D., not like this.”

“Like what?” John whispered with a shrug.

“You’re not…well.”

John rolled his eyes dismissively.

“Like I’m a freak? I’m some lunatic that hears shit? I fucking don’t. I never have.”

Steve took a moment to pick his words carefully.

“That’s not the only way a man can be rattled. Has anyone ever talked to you about Viet-”

“Don’t you fucking start with that shit.”

The viciousness of John’s tone silenced Steve. The son chuckled again, pointing to the neon sign for the rental store behind them.

“This is seriously what you’ve been running about for? People are thinking you’re going around threatening agents. I overheard some guys at the main office. S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks you’ve lost it, running around like this. You’re that determined to fight Fury over accepting me?”

“Over endangering my son, yes!” Some broke in Steve as he spoke, and his tongue felt weak and loose, “He lied to me, he lied to you, and now he wants someone unwell in a warzone because you have abilities.”

“Damn straight, I have abilities. And I can serve my country again, and they won’t spit at me this time!” John bellowed as he slapped his chest with both paws.

His words echoed down the empty street. Even if there weren’t cameras watching them, Steve guessed that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the compound below them could hear such volume.

“John,” Steve whispered, “Look at me. You’ve already done enough. Believe me. You’ve done eno-”

John rolled his jaw again and suddenly avoided eye contact. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and seemed to be counting to himself.

“You…are the last person that gets to have this chat with me.” John whispered, still not looking at his father, “I came here to try and tal…Fuck this.”

He turned to Steve again and glared. Steve was silent as he watched his son step within a foot of his personal space.

“You are the most celebrated soldier in history. But why? You got doped up on green shit. They gave you a pretty frisbee, and then you hid. You hid from mum, you hid from me, you hid from everyone. Super soldier, my ass. You’re just pissed at me for wanting to actually stick around for my country.”

“You don’t believe that.” Steve cut in with an even, firm tone, “We both know you don’t think that. You’re upset. Let me help you. I wasn’t there when you were in Vietnam or as a kid, but I sure as heck am now. So let me-”

Steve only registered that he was on the ground. He never felt or even saw the punch, even though it was enough to knock him to the pavement. As he looked up, he saw fear in John’s eyes as he realised what he had just done. A hand was offered to the panicked man.

“John, it’s okay. Look at me, soldier. It’s okay. Focus. You need to focus, right now.”

As Steve pulled himself up carefully, John’s eyes were still as wide as plates. He looked disgusted and in terror at himself. Then, he stepped back as Steve straightened himself. Steve withdrew his arm.

“Please.” He begged, “I can help you. I can be there this time.”

John’s eyes locked onto Steve’s eyes. For a moment, Steve was filled with nothing but confidence. Then, a darkness swelled in John’s eyes. He rolled his jaw slowly and stepped back. Steve made the mistake for taking another step forward.

“Don’t do this alo-”

Steve was able to block the next punch. His forearm knocked the fist to the side. Using John’s momentum against him, he turned to the side and allowed him to trip forwards. John almost growled as he realised what was happening. He only just held himself up from completely falling.

“John, enough!”

Steve ducked. He knocked a fist downwards. He slapped another to the side. John’s eyes were glued to him, wide and red and seething. All Steve could feel was the blood pumping in his ears. Not once did he ever consider throwing a punch at John. Not once did he consider harming his own son.

John was fast. He was capable. He was strong. Every so often, a blow would land. Steve gritted his teeth as his ribs erupted in pain, but he didn’t react otherwise. He stood firm as he blocked the follow up strike, even though it hurt like madness. John grew tired of the punches having minimal effect. He grappled his father’s wrist and used his considered strength to throw Steve to the ground. As he fell, Steve held onto John’s arm and took him with him. The pair rolled on the floor as if they were teens wrestling over the television remote. Steve became determined to restrain his son, however his opponent was strong and agile. John leaned over Steve, but the latter clutched at his collar and threw him down to his chest before a punch could be thrown. An awkward knee cracked into Steve’s sore ribs and he exclaimed loudly.

Steve released John, who was quick to swing another punch at Steve’s head. Steve caught it. He tried pushing John away, but his son was relentless. He hissed and snapped and growled as he threw aimless arms at his father. No more were they coordinated, skilled strikes of a professional S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit. John was waling on his father, screaming as he did so. Determined to not punch back, Steve merely covered his face and did his best to push John back with his feet.

After absorbing punch after punch to the forearms and ribs, Steve finally angled his feet in such a way that he could shove John backwards. He did so with a shout, his body already red and throbbing with the pain only a super soldier could inflict to another. John staggered back. A lethargic and slow Steve crept onto his knees, his hands out and a desperate call for peace on his lips.

John’s knuckles collided with his temple.

With a sickening thud, Captain America himself collapsed onto his side without dignity. His body jerked once or twice as he immediately lost consciousness.

John was silent. For a moment, he thought it was a ruse. He hoped it was a ruse. He swallowed. His jaw stopped rolling and his eyes widened yet again. Slowly and slowly, his feet dragged forwards.

“Old…Old man?”

The lack of any response made John stammered. His chest started to feel heavy, and it soon hurt enough for John to wince and grimace. His jaw rolled again. This was his father. He had knocked out his own father.

“You defended yourself.”

John reached into his back holster, withdrew the gun that he had been hiding, and aimed it behind him. To his confusion and mild fear, a bizarre mockery of a human form was before him. A lanky man with a bulb-shaped forehead was slowly prowling towards him. He wore a typical lab coat, even with safety glasses on his collar. Even with the neon light, it was clear to John that his skin was not normal. A sickly colour had blossomed over it.

“Stay back and stand down. This is governme-”

“John Walker.” The newcomer said calmly, only to then point to the unconscious body behind him, “Steve Rogers.”

John took his gun off safety mode. Raising his hands slowly, the green man suddenly looked apprehensive. John was becoming frantic. The neon lights were burning into his eyes. His father was unconscious behind him, and a strange creature lurking before him. Sweat poured through his shirt as he struggled to stop his jaw from rolling.

“I’m a friend. An ally. But you’re in danger right now.”

“Who are…Who the hell are you?”

“Samuel Sterns.”

The answer was casual and automatic, as if he had no fear at all of his identity being known. The name meant nothing to John, which only furthered the anxiety burning his veins. Samuel blinked.

“I like your talents. You…You are a super soldier. Just like your father.”

“On your knees. Now. This is government property.”

“It’s a strip mall.” Samuel chuckled, but it did not lighten the mood as intended, “I’ll be direct, then. I’ve been watching and admiring you for a while, super soldier. What you are, what you can do…We need people like you.”

“We?”

“The world.” Samuel shrugged, “But more specifically, a group of friends I’ve made. All gifted, and all ignored. S.H.I.E.L.D. aren’t the only ones who are interested in recruiting you.”

“Give me a fucking pamphlet after we process you. On the ground, now! Last time before I put you down!” John roared, his hands shaking on the gun.

“I sent you to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Samuel revealed calmly, “I made them aware of you.”

“Wh…What?”

“You got a phone call from your mother’s care home, she wanted to speak with you. That was me. I knew your father was going to be there, so I had you two meet.”

 John’s eyes were wide. He momentarily peeked at the downed man behind him, only to swiftly glare at Samuel angrily.

“Why?!”

“I knew that your father would mention you to S.H.I.E.L.D., and the newly promoted Fury would jump at you, like any smart man would. I wanted you to have what you deserved. A father, and a job that respected you.”

John swallowed. He was struggling to process any of this. This felt like a dream, a trap, or something possibly even worse.

“Yeah? Why’d I deserve such charity?”

“To be honest? A trade.” Samuel admitted, “I help you, you help me. I’m trying to save my niece from dying. I need…I need your help to save her. This is not a trick. I want you to join my group of former outcasts, and help me protect my research for a single day.”

“From what?”

“Gods and demons.”

 John’s breathing was erratic. He felt lightheaded, so much so that he struggled to feel his legs. At some point, he must have been falling. When he realised this, he was already being supported by the lean, green man. Up close, John could see thick veins running across his gigantic cranium. The strange man smiled sympathetically as he helped John to his feet. John was sweating so severely that his skin shone under the neon lights.

“I know this is a lot, especially from me. But I don’t have a lot of time. You want to help people. Really help people. Then please. Help my niece. Nothing else. No more requests. We’re squared.”

John looked down. He saw Samuel offering his hand. The taller man peered back, looking at his father as he laid upon the pavement.

“He loves you. He just…doesn’t know how important your skills are. Not like I do.”

John’s scattered and exhausted mind latched onto such words. His eyes darkened once more. He turned away, his hand tightly squeezing Samuel’s. The latter smiled in genuine relief. Without another word, he led John away from the neon lights and past cameras that he had deactivated some time before.

Steve was left lying there, alone and in the cold night.

***

“No, that won’t help.” Strange grumbled as he squinted to read the text.

Wong exhaled, but otherwise did not complain. He lowered the thick tome that he was holding, carefully placing it on a growing pile of other disregarded texts. He then picked up another from the collection that he had brought from the library. Strange looked up from his own notes, squinted as he read the ancient Persian title of the tome, and shook his head. Wong patiently placed it on the disregarded pile. Their place on the rooftop was suddenly becoming a hoarder’s nest.

Neither complained too much. It was a pleasant evening, cool and calm. Feeling himself in a pleasant mood, Strange had brought himself outside to study for once. Under the darkened skies of the city, he held himself under the dozen or so conjured orbs of light that he had produced.

“I do not think you are aiding yourself.”

Strange snorted, but in a jovial manner. He was in a surprisingly good mood of late. Many of the younger students are noted that the gruff man was even smiling at times. Other had thought he was ill or dying.

“Why’s that?”

“You are limiting what you can find if you are so selective.”

“I know what I’m looking for.” Was Strange’s soft reply.

“You are…” Wong paused to think of the English phrase, “tunnel sighted.”

“I have tunnel vision, and I don’t.” He sighed, putting down his notes, “I know what I’m looking for. I can see other things, too. They just…don’t wor-”

Screaming.

The men stood up immediately from their woven garden chairs. Screaming. A group of screams. Children. Without hesitation, the pair sprinted back into the Sanctum Santorum. Doors were opening from within the green and black sanctum. Confused students and sorcerers of all ages were looking around for the sound of the noises. All were in their pyjamas and groggy. To the dread of every adult, there was more screaming following by the sounds of aggressive collisions.

Several sorcerers begun raced downwards. The Sanctum seemed to vibrate with agony. The sounds of a kettle hissing filled every room in the magical abode. The floors seemed to grow hot. Jericho was suddenly behind Strange and Wong as they leapt down an old staircase. As soon as he noticed several children attempting to join them, Jericho’s face shifted into a snarl.

“Go! Go!”

“Outside. Now!” Strange snapped as well, “Take them to the street with veils or portal them out.”

Wong grunted in reply. Without hesitation, he grabbed the wrists of the nearest sleepy and confused children and pulled them forwards. The typically quiet man bellowed loudly to any nearby students to follow. Several of the older students immediately ran towards the quarters, intent to awaken any sleeping child and pull them out of the building as the walls shook and howled louder.

Yet, within only moments, they were all thrown into the left wall as the Sanctum erupted. Chunks of wall, wood, metal. It all crashed over the students like a wave, covering them as they struggled to regained awareness. Jericho pulled himself up with a wince. A nasty gash bled eagerly on above his right eye.

He pulled a confused Strange up to his withering legs.

“What the hell is…”

Strange stopped as he saw the Cloak of Levitation. With a maddening fanaticism, the guardian of children pulled at the rubble as much as it could. Its fabric almost tore as tried to lift several blocks away from a small, pink figure. Shaylee. The seven-year-old coughed and sobbed, her fairy wings fluttering in confusion and pain. The cloak wrapped her up immediately and lifted her into the air and into the arms of Wong. Strange could only watch in horror.

He swallowed. He blinked. He had seen this before. Only once. The day that he summoned Varnae the vampire. The day that Varnae slaughtered nearly all sorcerers in front of Strange. Strange suddenly felt stiff and very cold. It was only Jericho’s harsh voice that brought him back to reality.

“Come on!”

Strange was trembling as he passed the chaos. Students screamed as they were led or carried through the crashing building towards safety. Almost three floors looked as if a bomb had gone off. Students of all ages were limping away or helping others get out from the rubble. Strange’s stomach turned to jelly as he followed Jericho. A hiss made them pause. A bizarre, unworldly creature that resembled a mix of a hyena and a serpent leapt in front of them. It flared spikes upon its spine, threatening them as a black liquid oozed from its fangs.

Instantly, Strange summoned a blinding light from his hand whilst Jericho screamed. A shard of blue mist shot from his hands as the creature was blinded. Its head was soon severed and resting in its dark blood.

“Recognise it?” Strange asked softly.

“No. Not at all.”

The pair resumed running from where they guessed the creature had come from. They were not the first to have encountered such a beast, nor was it alone. Several bodies of bizarre animals littered the floor towards the library. With a loud scream, a falcon-like animal crashed into the wall in front of Strange and Jericho. It flapped its leathery wings desperately as Master Rintrah thrusted his mighty horns into the beast’s chest. The minotaur leaned back, detaching his head from the body and muttering a spell quickly. His hands lit up in orange flames that also appeared before him in a circular pattern. A six-legged mammal with spider-like mandibles raced towards him, only to step on the rune that Rintrah had weaved. Within a second, it burst into unnatural flames and screeched until falling to the floor.

“What in the hells is this?” Jericho snapped.

“I have never seen such beasts, but I fear I know who summoned it.” Rintrah’s eyes momentarily slid to look at Strange, “They are coming from the library.”

Strange’s heart pounded as he quickly assumed what Rintrah meant. Without needing to be asked, he and Jericho followed the master sorcerer through the madness. The Sanctum’s walls decayed around them, and Strange could hear faint groaning coming from its mystical halls. It was wounded with something foul. Strange felt a deep sympathy for the abode. It didn’t deserve this.

The library was covered in spheres. Books protected by ancient spells were ripped from their wards and shields and flung into a growing pile of swirling texts. One after the other, spell after spell was shattered and hissed as they dissolved. Before Strange laid a cringing figure, one writhing on the floor as she held her bleeding chest. Mistress Jennifer Kale was alive, but barely. Her robes were singed and trials of smoke rose from burnt edges. Her eyes were barely focused as they scanned the floor aimlessly.

Above her stood Clea.

Strange’s face was pale, and he felt his stomach harden into steel and drop as he watched her summon book after book from the library’s stacks. At her feet, creatures of black ink growled and hissed. They rose from a pool of foul sorcery, snapping and hissing at the air. Before Strange, Rintrah, or Jericho could do anything, they were whipped to the side by a gush of air.

Mistress Topaz beckoned them to be silent as they hid behind a downed bookshelf at her side. The Indian sorceress was silently panting, but otherwise unscathed. Together, they watched as Clea continued to collect an ever-growing pile of books from the Sanctum. Rintrah mouthed to his fellow master, and Strange struggled to understand the conversation. Some seconds passed, until the masters turned to the two students.

“You and I will distract.” Topaz mouthed to Strange, “You and Rintrah, attack from two side.”

Jericho nodded. He silently crept next to Rintrah and the pair wove magic within their hands. Yet, as Strange and Topaz crawled behind another collapsed bookshelf, no spell was cast. A blinding light overtook the senses of all sorcerers. Strange hissed as he fell onto his back. The light was so painful that he clutched at his eyes. He heard the pained gasps of those around him. Murmuring what protection spells that he could remember, Strange eventually felt the burning in his eyes fade. Something pressed onto a shoulder. As he opened his red and weeping eyes, he saw Clea standing above him.

She held her hand towards him, her palm open. Yet, no spell had been cast against Strange.

“I’m…Just do not engage. My work will soon be done here.”

Strange peered side to side. Rintrah, Jennifer, and Jericho were being held to the ground with purple bindings. Strange flexed his arms. He had been left free.

“Clea. What…What are you doing?” Strange panted.

“Time ran out.” Was the simple answer, “I’m…sorry. I have a universe to save and…” Her voice broke and Strange saw her face ease into uncertainty, “I got distracted. I hope…you understand.”

“Clea. Clea!”

Strange felt immense panic and anger as she moved her foot from his shoulder. He reached for it, but due to his eyes, he missed entirely. Clea stepped backwards, her face now stoic as she stared at Strange. Foul howls and calls filled the room. Creatures of darkened, oily skins ran towards her. One by one, they all melted into the demonic puddle that Clea had cast into existence. Soon, the pool shrivelled up into nothingness as Clea gestured to the books that she had collected. Strange rolled onto his feet and staggered forwards. Clea gave him a pained, angry look as he stubbornly pained his teeth.

“Clea! I can help you!” He screamed.

The Sorceress Supreme dulled her eyes. With something that could be viewed as distaste, she titled her head. Such an expression made Strange feel sick. With the masters still bound or wounded around him, Strange did the only thing that he could think of. He sprinted whilst murmuring a spell to summon a net. His attempts to subdue Clea failed in seconds. Almost casually, Clea waved her hand and Strange was gently but forcefully thrown backwards. He watched as the books that Clea had collected disappeared from existence.

The sorceress stared at Strange as he knelt. Without thinking, he rose. This time, magical bindings encased his limbs.

“Clea! I…I can help! Don’t…”

Clea’s mouth opened and closed several times, yet nothing came out. She swallowed.

“I need to save my universe. Time ran out.” She repeated.

“CLEA!”

Strange’s eyes glowed as bright as a sun as his heart raced in his ears. Without a care, he shouted spell after spell, desperate with maddening rage to break free. To understand. To stop her from doing this. Before his very eyes, Clea vanished.

All that was left was a destroyed Sanctum. Wounded Masters. Terrified children. Stolen texts. And Strange. A very alone and empty Strange.  

***

Namor shifted on his side. Something wet was on his cheek. Almost immediately, his eyes snapped opened. In the darkness, a light mass was hovering in front of him. Every second or so, it would press something damp onto his cheek. The Prince of Atlantis rubbed his eyes, only for the dampness to move to his hand.

Jennifer Walter’s bizarre pet was licking him. With a pained exhale, he pushed the dog away and attempted to readjust his positioning on the coach. And then his pointed ears rung with a loud pain. In an instant, he was on his feet. His sceptre was kicked into his open palm. His ears throbbed as the spells that the Aesir had cast rang like alarms. To his frustration, it was clear that the spell was woven at a pitch that humans couldn’t hear. Jennifer was still snoring on other coach and Barbara presumably still asleep. Only the dog was barking in protest at the noise.

Namor hastily but quietly ran to the window and knelt. As he peaked through it, he could see nothing that would have triggered the alarms. Then he felt something cold and sharp being pressed to his throat from behind.

“You are very talented.” The arrogant prince admitted.

“You were unwise to leave no protection or watch.” The winged lady whispered back.

Namor’s lip twitched.

“What have you done with the child?”

“What child?”

Namor’s eyes narrowed. The foolish boy wasn’t even there. That, or she was lying and had killed him. Neither scenario was relevant at that moment. The prince slowly dropped his sceptre and held his open hands up. Then he closed them.

The winged woman of Asgard hissed as Namor’s silent spell knocked her backwards. Immediately, he kicked his sceptre back into his hand, leapt over a barking dog, and attempted to impale the Valkyrie. His enemy swung to the side of the floor and struck a wing to his cheek. It was enough to push him back enough for her to slice at his chest. Namor hissed in pain but otherwise ignored the bleeding as his chest opened. His sceptre swung madly, desperate to strike at her helmeted head. The warrior was too swift. Despite being a bulky figure, she was able to duck and flow with the ease of water.

Namor growled as he swung at her face with the strength to rival an Aesir. His opponent leapt backwards and prepared the knock the sceptre down with her sword, only to collide into the floor with enough force to break the floorboards. Namor’s eyes almost lit up as he saw a very, very tall woman with dark emerald skin standing above his foe. Jennifer’s clothing was tight and even torn in many places, making him smirk as he admired her exposed skin.

“Really? Now?” Jennifer rolled her eyes in disgust.

 “I am not blind, and I cannot stop admiring perfectio-”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Not here. I have not seen him si-FUCK!”

 Namor screamed in agony as a sword slammed into his bare foot. Blood immediately oozed around the blade as it was pulled out. A wing struck Namor’s throat, knocking him back into a wall.  The winged woman turned and swung a gloved fist at Jennifer. The latter managed to catch it, but the force alone was enough to send Jennifer back into the couch. Maxxie barked in terror, scampering back and forth. The Valkyrie looked at it in bewilderment, before turning back to Namor. The prince was seething.

Spittle left his mouth as he swore in Atlantean at his opponent. He charged with a bleeding foot. One hand holding his sceptre and another conjuring a spell, the prince growled and hissed as he tried to overwhelm the Aesir. She flowed with too much ease. The sceptre did not touch her once. Even his attempts to dose her senses with a spell that would disorient her failed. She merely caught Namor’s wrist before he could complete the motions, and squeezed. As he screamed, he leant forward and shoved his forehead into her nose. Something cracked.

With a glee, Namor leaned back to see the woman’s face dripping with blood. Jennifer was to her side. The green giant attempted to tackle her side, but their enemy was too fast. She leapt into the air, wrapped her legs around Jen’s shoulders, and used their combined weight to drop Jennifer to the ground. Immediately, she turned her torso around and deflected Namor’s sceptre as it strove for her head. Namor staggered back, only for a wing to punch his cut chest. Namor hissed in agony and clearly struggled to maintain his hold on his sceptre. As he collected himself, the winged woman pressed her other wing to Jennifer’s eyes, concealing her vision. Blind punches were madly thrown at the Aesir resting on her chest, but none had too much impact.

“You…smug…little…”

Namor whispered a spell into his sceptre. Suddenly, a yellow shine took upon it and he flipped it in his hand, preparing to hurl it. The wall behind him crashed. A giant orange hand grabbed the back of Namor’s throat and pulled him up into the air. Before he could understand what was happening, all air was pushed out of Namor’s lungs as he was brutally punched. The house shook with the impact. Maxxie barked madly, and then hid up the hallway. Namor’s sceptre dropped to the ground as his muscles spasmed horrifically. A giant orange man with a metal collar around his collarbones dropped him to the floor like dirty clothes. Namor writhed, but could do little else.

The Aesir suddenly gasped as she was picked up. With a shout, Jennifer slammed her into the floor beside her. A wing tried to strike her face as a distraction, but Jennifer merely grabbed it and pulled. A pained shriek filled the house. A giant orange hand attempted to grab Jennifer’s throat, but she slipped under it. Rising to her feet, she landed an impressive punch to the familiar giant’s ribs from behind and stepped back to gain some distance.

“Still…Still after me?” She glared.

“Ugh.” The man groaned as he massaged his bare ribs, “We can do this peacefully, Jennifer.”

Almost sarcastically, the jade fighter gestured to the convulsing prince. The Aesir, on her feet as well, flexed her injured wing carefully. With a grimace, she turned back to Jennifer and aimed her blade forwards. Her wing stayed half folded behind her.

“Think logically.” The orange man continued, “You could barely survive a brawl with me last time. Now, I have help.”

“And?” Jennifer asked bravely.

“Foolish mortal. No one must die here tonight.”

“In fact, everyone would prefer it.”

Jennifer chuckled nervously. Even if she wanted to run, she wouldn’t make it far. Besides, she wouldn’t abandon Maxxie, Barbara, or even Namor. Or Peter. Her eyebrows furrowed. Where was he? Pushing such thoughts aside, Jennifer gritted her teeth and leapt towards the giant man first. To his surprise, her body lost life within moments and anticlimactically dropped to the floor. Strange markings that glowed purple crept on her sleeping face. The orange man turned to the winged woman, seeing her hand glow the same hue.

“We could have started with that.” He hissed in frustration.

“I wished to challenge that loathsome prince again.” She explained, “But…perhaps it was not worth such a cost.” She added as she carefully moved her injured wing again.

Jennifer was lifted into the arms of the giant man when his companion spun around, sword aimed forwards. Barbara twitched a little, but remained mostly firm. Her arms trembled ever so slightly as they aimed the hunting rifle at the head of the giant man. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise seemed unphased.

“Drop her. Drop her right now.”

“I need her to help me save lives.”

“I don’t give a shit. Drop her right the fuck now.” Barbara warned.

“Lower your weapon, mortal.”

“Hlokk.” The man warned, “Look, we’re not here for you. We don’t wanna hurt you. Now, we’re leaving and you’re lowering that damn gun.”

There was a moment of silence as the two stared at one another.

“I’m a good shot.”

“You can’t hurt u-”

“Drop her!”

“Enough of this.”

The moment Barbara saw the Valkyrie move, she turned her gun and fired. The bullet shattered around the Aesir as her companion shouted at her to stand down. Barbara was stiff. Then, as her body went out of shock and energy, she felt pain. She looked down. A giant orange hand was wrapped around the Valkyrie’s, but he hadn’t been quick enough. The tip of the mystical blade was pressed in the side of her belly.

Silence.

The orange man looked horrified. Even the one holding the blade seemed to snap out of whatever madness that she had been in. She blinked several times, muttering in an ancient language no one else understood. She immediately withdrew the sword and Barbara gasped weakly. She fumbled backwards and collapsed backwards, her hands clutching her bleeding torso.

“You…This didn’t need to happen!” The orange man shouted.

Hlokk was silent, not knowing what to say. An orange hand the size of her entire shoulders pushed her forwards. Still holding Jennifer, he led his mentally void companion from the house. Barbara was left there, cold, in a silent and broken house, and alone. Her only source of comfort as she bled into her hands was the scared whining of a white pug as she slowly sat on Barbara’s leg, nuzzling her.

***

Tony groaned as he continued to read whatever reports on stolen technology that he could find. He didn’t have much to go on. He still didn’t want to alert S.H.I.E.L.D. of anything, so all he had was the few people that he could call and the odd notes that he had collected here or there. In short, he was close to smashing his head into his desk. It was only the new sounds of the phone ringing that made him resist that urge.

He frowned and looked at his office clock. It was past midnight. Though, it could be a foreign caller. That did happen from time to time. Tony sighed as he picked himself. It would be a break from the pained routine that he was creating. As he picked up the overly priced marble phone off the dial, he groggily cleared his throat.

“Tony.”

“Evening, Mister Stark. You have a lovely house.”

“What the fu…” He frowned, paused, and tried to understand, “Anna? Are you quoting a horror film?”

A highly irritated chuckle was heard. There was something in it that made Tony suddenly shift on his feet.

“Where’s Jarvis? Why are you calling? Is everything okay, kid?”

“No. No, it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long, long, long time. For almost seventy years, it has-”

“Kid, is this weird prank or-”

“The dry humour. Silly Americans love it, right? Your dad had it. Yeah, I used to see it in the footage.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. Without making a noise, he picked up the phone and carried it to his office. There, he opened the bottom draw of his desk and then turned on his computer. A small monitor was resting in the drawer, and Tony quickly plugged a cord from his computer into it. After pressing several keys, he turned on the television. Yet, no security footage was playing. Just a blank screen. He pressed more keys for different cameras. Nothing came up.

“Who are you?” He asked softly.

“I used to watch your dad all the time. Hours and hours. I saw him visit my country after the war. He promised a generous grant to rebuild one village. It was kind of him, after bombing and raping the whole country.”

“Who are you?” Tony’s voice turned cold, “Where’s Jarvis?”

“He’s close to you, isn’t he? A father? Nice. I had one that was killed. He was blown up by a helicopter made by your family. I had to hide in a muddy river with no one. When I came back up…Have you ever smelt burnt bodies?” Her voice suddenly broke, “I have. I did when I was a child.”

“That wasn’t me. It was my father. I-I-I stopped the arms dealing.” Tony stammered.

He was angrily typing now, desperate to see Jarvis. Sweat was starting to form on his brow. Something in her words of his father managed to twist at his throat.

“When I found out who made the guns, the bombs, the tanks…I was so angry, Mister Stark. So angry. But then he died. I was hopeful that it would end. No more countries being invaded and slaughtered by the Stark Dynasty. But that’s the thing about dynasties. There’s always a new layer. A fresh seed to sprout when the others are dead.”

“Anna, please. Just let me talk to Jarvis. If you’ve hurt hi-”

“It’s logical. If the father, the grandfather, the great-grandfather are all murderers, the son will be, right?”

Tony swallowed. That question felt like a punch, and his insecurities swarmed from the hole that it left.

“N-no. Stop this. You need to listen to me, I’ve-”

“They call you the ‘Iron Man’.”

Tony’s heart almost stopped. His hand dropped away from the keyboard, and he stared blankly forwards.

“What did you just say?” He whispered.

“I’m not as talented as you, Tony. But you’re not the only one gifted with engineering. I stole the fire from Zeus, after all. If we’re having nicknames now…as pathetic as they are,” there was a chuckle, “then you can call me the ‘Tinkerer’.”

Tony was nearly hyperventilating.

“Anna, pleas-”

“That’s not even my real name. Well, that’s beside the point. I just wanted to give you a courtesy call. You took my family, my country…It’s only fair I take one as w-”

Tony slammed the phone down. Within a second, he was sprinting down the hallway towards the elevator.

***

The Tinkerer rolled her eyes dramatically as she put the phone down.

“Men.” She murmured in Vietnamese.

The short woman sighed, but there was a glint of excitement in her eyes as she walked towards a steel door. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a small gadget with several buttons and an antenna. She pressed a switch and felt the contraption hum for several seconds. Soon, the lock by the steel down clicked. Then, a green light flashed on her device. With a smile, she walked through the door and into the secluded area of the mansion.

Tony Stark was no fool. It took the young woman nearly ten minutes to disable the security measures that he had put in place. However, it was nothing that the Tinkerer wasn’t able to handle. Soon, she stood before her prize. Suits of armour. A dozen or so. All full of weapons and other tools of death. The Tinkerer glared at them for a moment, before swinging her bag around. A large metal box with a timer was placed in the middle of the room. The Tinkerer grinned.

“I wish you were here for this, papa.” She admitted with a bittersweet tone.

The Tinkerer pressed the timer. With one last glare, she left the room filled with suits that only reminded her of the dead. As she neared the front door, she took no care to look at the unconscious elderly man that had left by the entrance.

***

By the time that Tony raced into his street, the evening sky was wavering with orange and red. The smell of metal burning filled the air with a toxicity that made Tony gag. As he slid over his seat, he saw a small fleet of firefighters, ambulances, and even the police. Tony knew it before he saw it.

He pushed past gagging paparazzi and startled onlookers. With shaking feet, he managed to stand at the front of the crowd. Fire. His home was burning. Nearly all of the walls were collapsed in one way or another as flames licked and caressed them. Teams did their best to dose the flames, but it was clear that the fire was the result of an unnatural explosion. The entire house was all but gone.

Tony collapsed. Not caring for the dozens of cameras now flashing at him, he broke in pained sobs.

***

Cold.

Tight.

As Jennifer opened her eyes, she saw concrete above her. She was moving. At least, she thought she was. Her eyes were heavy and they ached. Her ears also rung loudly. She attempted to stroke them, only to notice her pale, human-sized wrists were bound in metal shackles. Shackles with glowing symbols that seemed to be steaming. She gritted her teeth and yanked harder, only to gasp. The shackles had shrunk and started to cut into her skin.

“Unwise.” A soft voice said from behind her.

Jennifer tried to move her head to see who it was, and it was then that she realised that she was being wheeled down a corridor on a medical cot. Jennifer hissed again, trying to free herself. Her heart was raising. Being bound in an unknown place shattered any bravery that she could muster. Her movements were frantic and desperate. She almost screamed as she tried to free herself.

“You’ll only hurt yourself. Go green. That won’t change anything either.”

“Who the hell are you?!” Jennifer shouted, her voice turning hysterical.

“We’ve met twice now. Thanks for cracking a rib, by the way.” The man snorted, “Took a while to fix. At least for my tastes.”

“You…You! You freak. Let me go.”

“A feisty one.” A new, distinctly Irish voice called.

Jennifer was stopped and heard a sigh from behind her.

“Given the recent crap you’ve pulled tight, you’re brave showing your face.”

There was a cocky laugh from Jennifer’s left. She did her best to turn her head, but she couldn’t see anything other than concrete walls.

“Crap? Are you fookin’ daft? No more particles for the tiny man to pla-”

“That’s exactly the problem, you imbecile. We wanted more sam…”  

The man behind Jennifer sighed again. He then whispered something to the Irishman that Jennifer couldn’t make out. There was an indignant snort, and then the sounds of footsteps. Jennifer was pushed forwards again.

“Not all of us are so…him. But don’t worry. You won’t need to deal with him. You’ll be saving my daughter’s life.”

Jennifer frowned, not knowing how to reply.

“Wh…What?”

“Yep. You’ll be saving my kid. For that, I’ll always be grateful. You think I’m lying. I’m not. I owe you more than I can repay.”

“We both do.” A new voice uttered.

Jennifer was wheeled into a room full of medical equipment and strange contraptions with monitors that she didn’t recognise. Without warning, her upper body was propped up.

“Jesus!” She exclaimed, seeing the green man with a bulbous head staring at her.

He was standing by the door that she had come in. Tall, skinny, green. He wore a lab coat with several ink stains. Several clipboards rotated around his chest, each with a pen making notes on them. Even as he stepped forwards, they continued to write.

“Jennifer Walters. At last. I’ve been waiting for this for…months.” He chuckled.

“Who the heck are you?” Jennifer asked.

Her heart was almost giving out. Yet, her skin was still pale. She couldn’t help but eye the strange changes that she was in as she noticed her lack of transformation.

“Forgive me. This is rude. I’m Sa-”

“You have me tied to a bed and you’re trying to be polite.”

The green man raised a small eyebrow. One of the notepads floating around his body stopped and he examined it.

“It says you have a social anxiety condition. Your shyness has clearly come a long way.”

“Kidnapping can do that.” Jennifer sighed, “Please. You need help? I’ll help. I promise. Just please let me go.” She whined.

“Pfft! She ain’t so confident without her green skin.”

The Irishman wandered in with a sway. A man with rusty hair and a lecherous smile that made Jennifer deeply nervous. As he blatantly ogled her, a tall woman with a proud step pushed past him. She had silver hair with a beautiful purple coat on. Without saying a word, she stood next to Jennifer and examined the shackles.

She didn’t even look at Jennifer once. She had not arrived alone. A familiar winged woman was standing behind the Irishman now. Her eyes bore directly into Jennifer’s skull, her hand still on the sword by her hip. The only joy Jennifer had was the fact that the woman’s wing was clearly still recovering as it lamely drooped, nearly touching the floor.

“They’ll hold.”

“Nervous, love?” The Irishman giggled, “I thought you were a talent witch.”

The woman didn’t not reply. Instead, she wiggled a finger and Jennifer watched as an empty metal case collided with the Irishman’s head.

“You fookin’ tart!” He roared as he went to charge at her.

“Enough!” The green man snapped.

As the commotion roared down the unknown complex, attention was drawn. Two women entered the room. One a confident, though clearly sad, girl with white hair. The other was very short with Asian features and looked uncomfortable as soon as she saw Jennifer. She walked past the steaming Irishman and began to inspect several of the strange devices that surrounded Jennifer.

“Children.” The green man rubbed his mouth as he eyed the Irishman.

He then turned his tired attention back to Jennifer.

“Forgive me. This must seem unprofessional.”

“Just slightly.” A rough voice replied.

The green man wasn’t talking to Jennifer. Someone else was behind her. The orange man hadn’t been the only one wheeling her in. There was shuffled movement, but they both stayed out of Jennifer’s line of sight.

“A lot…A lot of strangers here.” She glared at them bitterly, “All for me?”

“You had annoying friends.” The Irishman scoffed.

“Enough.” The orange man said from behind.

The green man eyed Jennifer, examining her closely.

“You’re going to help us save a life. In fact, a universe full, as well. We’re similar to you, Jennifer. All lost, originally. No influence. None of us were born rich. Not really.” Though, his eyes did seem to hastily flick to a suddenly irritated white-haired girl, “Or…not with a lot of say in our lives. But through one way or another, we were given gifts.”

Jennifer swallowed. All eyes were on her. There was movement, and she finally saw the two men behind her. One, an unassuming man with sandy hair and in a similar lab coat to the green man. The other was a man made of pure muscle. Tall, strong, and stiff. He didn’t look anyone in the eyes. He slumped in a corner by the door, his hands in his pockets and his head down. The man in the coat slowly stood by the green man. There was a vague resemblance between the two.

“All blessed with powers.” The green man continued with a sigh, “Now we can have control over lives. Never slaves to fate again. This…Our club here. We gave ourselves a little name to remember us by. We’re big believers here in being the lords and ladies of your own fate.”

As he spoke, Jennifer noticed one more person creep into the room, almost reluctantly. He was tall, broad-shoulder, and had a dark mullet of thick hair. Within his hand was a dark duffle bag that he carefully dropped to the floor, standing by the other silent man in the corner.

“Well, anyway. If you want introductions, you can call us the ‘Masters’.”

***

A/N: And with that, the plan is a bare. I hope you’re all well and had a great week.

Thanks very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and the Masters of Evil reveal. The full line up is there, even including a certain…traitorous…museum exhibit installer. And everyone’s life is now hell…Fun.

Next chapter will reveal what the Masters want with Jennifer, and the fallout for each of the Avengers as they try to work out their next moves. We’re nearing the very end now. Only two more chapters left…

If you have any feedback or suggestions, or anything you want to see in the next story, please feel free to leave a comment or kudos. They are fantastic to see. Otherwise, thanks for reading the story so far and have a great week.

Fact of the chapter: There are actual ‘crocodile tears’. However, crocodiles don’t cry from emotional stimuli, but when they’re eating. There’s some research that this process helps break down the food, however this is inconclusive and currently still being researched.

Chapter Text

The almost painful sheen of light bouncing off sterile white and faded grey tiles did little to soothe Tony’s erratic mind. His red, glossy eyes constricted as he pushed through the glass doors. The hospital waiting room was full, as expected. At least three dozen people were sitting in cheap chairs made from artificial fabrics, some even nursing minor wounds as they waited in reception. The presence of Tony Stark drew some curious attention, but most people were too lost in their own worlds to care about a billionaire appearing before them. Even the stressed staff seemed apathetic to his presence.

As he pushed past a too slow nurse, Tony impatiently slapped at the reception desk. A short, greying woman jumped a little at the noise. She looked up from the several clipboards splayed over her desk and blinked. Tony spluttered at the lack of immediate response.

“Stark.” He growled, “You know who the hell I am. Th-there was a man that was taken here…Taken here about thirty minutes ago? Look, Edwin Thaddeus Jarvis. Jarvis. He was taken from my house at-”

The receptionist immediately started scanning her many clipboards. Her stout finger traced both the hastily written names, as well as the times they were admitted. Each time she passed through a name, something jabbed at Tony’s heart. He suddenly rubbed his sweaty hair.

“C’mon.” He hissed desperately to himself.

There was a pressure at his throat. A wave wanting to roll over his mind and take away any control he had. He wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something. He wanted anything. Anything at all that wasn’t being in a hospital with his butler dying. With his…oldest friend dying. He wanted anything but that.

He let out a weak noise as he watched in despair as the receptionist apologised quietly and rose from her seat. Tony licked his lips as he resisted snapping at her. People had finally started to take notice of Tony. The man’s suit was covered in the markings of smoke and ash. His skin was sweaty and caked with dirt, and the muttering…The muttering was growing louder.

“Mr. Stark?”

The short receptionist smiled in a very apologetic and forced manner. Tony knew immediately what her next words were.

“Your friend was admitted only a few minutes ago. We don’t…have a full diagnosis or anything yet. We know that he’s been taken to Emergency for burns and-”

Tony took a step closer to her. Almost immediately, three very large security men in matching uniforms standing idle in the hallways stopped their conversation and took a step towards him. It was late, and they had seen enough people causing issues that night to allow some rich boy to carry on. Tony didn’t care. He didn’t even notice them. Instead, he leaned down.

“Please…I…I need to know. Will he…”

Tony swallowed with a throat so dry that he winced. The receptionist’s frame dropped sympathetically as she heard his broken voice, but she could do little more than that.

“I’m sorry. It’s too early to tell, sir. He’s been taken to Emergency, and they’ll see what needs to be done, and they’ll do it as soon as they can.” She almost avoided his eyes, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

Such words felt like weights being tossed around Tony’s ankles. He felt very heavy all of a sudden. There was nothing that he could do. Nothing. It was simply out of his hands. Yet again, another loved one’s life was out of his hands. And the last time that happened, people died, and Tony was alone.

Tony said nothing. Instead, he turned with his mouth agape and walked out of the waiting room. Not even the calling receptionist pulled him from his mind. As soon as he roughly shouldered the doors open, he noticed a tall figure leaning against the wall. Some feeling returned to him. Uncertainty.

Tony stepped aside to let some nurses into the hospital, inadvertently stepping closer to a dark-featured man standing lazed against the front wall.

“Hell of a damn night.” Fury muttered deeply.

Tony didn’t spend much time assessing if the spymaster was being genuine or not. In fact, he barely even registered that Fury was there.

 “Yeah.” Tony managed.

“We’ve spoken to the hospital. Jarvis will be looked after. Well, not that he needed us for that. But still.” Fury drifted off in what could possibly be interpreted as social discomfort, “If we can help at all, we’re here.”

Tony stared at Fury blankly. Then, he nodded. As he turned to leave, Tony heard Fury clear his throat.

“The house has been sectioned off by us. The fire teams and the local police didn’t find any…of your toys, so no need to worry about that. We’ll make sure it stays that way, for both our sakes.”

Once more, Tony was silent. His bloodshot eyes didn’t even turn to look back to Fury as he was being spoken to. Fury began to sharpen his gaze, trying to gleam any information from Tony’s body language that he could.

“I can’t help,” He murmured, “but wonder how someone bombed the ‘Iron Man’s house.”

Tony’s chest thudded dully against his metal battery. He had run out of adrenaline by such a worn hour of the evening. He was tired and numb to the bone. Whatever energy that he had left was spent weakly walling up the emotions pooling in his throat.

“Is there something we need to know about?” Fury asked, his tone the sharpest that it had been.

The pair waited for a moment or two outside the waiting room entrance. It was a warm, dark night. Clammy. Fitting weather for having one’s house turn ablaze.

Tony didn’t say farewell to Fury as he walked off.

His face was blank as he slid into his car. He sat there for almost a full minute, just staring at the wheel. Then, he departed with a heavy sigh.

His next stop was less than three minutes away. As he drove to his company building, his eyes latched onto a cheap neon sign as if they were laser focussed. He pulled his million-dollar car next to the broken-down bike. Several locals looked bewildered that Tony Stark was in such a street to begin with. Tony entered the empty, poorly lit store with numb legs. He stood before the counter with a dry face. The man behind the counter, an older man with round cheeks and greying tuffs of hair, squinted as if he was seeing things.

Tony pulled out a chequebook.

“Two hundred bucks of liquor. I don’t care which, as long as it’s fucking strong.”

***

Thor’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly agape. Even without the scent of so many unknown people, the site of his ruined home decorated a battle well enough. The furniture was destroyed. Walls were covered in scars and fresh blood. No lights were on. Just a dark, silent house that looked barren in the cool evening.

As Thor’s heavy feet pressed onto the wooden floor, barking echoed in the room. Jennifer Walters’ strange, scrunchy faced dog ran from behind an overturned sofa, barked at him, and then ran away. When he didn’t immediately follow, she repeated the act again. Thor slowly followed the dog, his mouth still gaping in shock. He felt heavy, thrown off. His very home laid in disarray and been pillaged.

And then he saw her.

Wheezing and coughing, she laid upon her back. Barbara was barely consciously, for she was pale and coated in her blood. Her eyes flickered, seemingly only roused by the barking as Maxxie sat at her head. Her clothes were sodden, her body still.

Thor dropped to his knees. His behemoth hands effortless tore at her shirt, revealing the festering wound. The blood was thick and smelled foul near the entrance. Carefully, he tapped his finger to it and lifted it to his nose. A cruel mixture was resting within whatever blade had pierced Barbara. A mixture that was crawling in a thick mass in her body. Her life would not cling to her body for much longer, no matter how strong and stubborn a shieldmaiden she was.

There was a thud.

Thor’s arm extended to the side and the skies shook with thunder as Mjolnir was aimed forwards. There was a violently cough and another thud. Then, from behind a shatter wall, Namor of Atlantis rose. The prideful prince looked like a child before the God of Thunder. He clutched his concerningly swollen wrist gingerly as he wheezed short breaths of air. His pale face was red with the strain of breathing alone. He took a single step forward, and almost collapsed again.

 “Ambushed. Winged…whore.” He spluttered weakly.

He soon fell to his rear, sliding down along the wall behind him for support. As he sat wheezing, Namor looked as if a steep battle had befallen him to stay awake.

“A giant man. Orange. He came, too. They overpowered…even me.” The words seemed of poison on Namor’s royal tongue.

“Of the others?” Thor asked flatly.

“What others?” Namor asked darkly, “The boy was not here. Whether they took him before we awoke or…I don’t know. He was not fighting among us.”

Thor took the news with great unease. Peter Parker was a lad, yet still fought with honour. His disappearance brought him no comfort, nor had he much courage that Peter Parker was safe.

“The jade beauty…She was gone when I first…awoke. Might have taken her as well.” Namor finished, “They seemed to focus on her.”

Thor closed his eyes sombrely. This evil had truly festered for too long. He had been complacent, like an old fool. His father was desperate to have him at his side, and Hlokk quivered at such desire. Thor did not blame her. He truly did not. But the young lass had taken a road that needed to end now. Thor would not allow such savagery anymore. No more.

He rose, Barbara scooped carefully in his arms. Maxxie barked tiredly at him, only to then sit at his feet expectantly.

“Are you of severe health?” The greying god asked gruffly.

Namor splattered a dry cough. He was still clinging to his wrist and struggling to breathe.

“I’ll dose myself in water soon enough. I will not die tonight, Prince of Asgard. Give me time, and I will be at your side when we crush these…”

Thor was gone. As Namor began speaking, the large god turned and walked out of the house. Before Namor could protest in indignation, there was a crack of thunder. A moment later, Namor could feel that the Nordic god was gone. He spluttered again as Maxxie curled at his side.

“Fucking gods.”

Without realising it, Namor had lost consciousness. He awoke to pain in his ribs and wrist, and then the sound of a door opening. His pointed ears twitched. With a groan, he leaned his craned neck up and see a tall, skinny figure lurking in the shadows of the silent house. A rough cough left his dry throat, and Namor scowled.

“Well…You weren’t kidnapped.” Namor observed bitterly, “Just…gone.”

Peter’s mouth was slightly agape as he took in the sights of ruined walls and crushed furniture. Everything was so…torn. That was the only word that stuck in the college student’s mind as he slowly stepped towards Namor.

“Where…Where is everyone?”

As he asked the question softly, his heart was thudding and drumming painfully into his ears. In the silence, he could only hear the rush of blood and feel the adrenaline it carried scouring his chest. He felt sick as he looked around desperately.

“Wh-where’s Jen?”

Namor wheezed a little more. Without opening his mouth, he pointed to the sink as he keeled over. Maxxie was awakened by the sudden movement and barked in confusion at the bleeding man next to her. Peter hastily ran, grabbed two glasses and filled them with water, and, without caution, threw them at Namor’s face. The prince hissed in shock, but soon relaxed as his body absorbed the water immediately. This process went on several times, until Namor was on his feet and no longer bleeding. His wrist was still being cradled to his chest.

“Jen?” Peter asked again.

He was shaking.

“Taken. It was hard to protect her by one’s self.” Namor hissed.

Peter looked down in shame. Namor took a step closer as a vulture would to a carcass.

“Where were you? What took you away from your post, boy?”

“I was…Someone called me away and-”

“Someone called you away? Was it God? Who in the damned trench was so important that you abandoned us? I don’t like these people, yet I stayed.”

Peter could offer nothing. There was no justification, no reason to excuse what he had done. He had left them, and now Jennifer was gone.

“Barbara?”

“Possibly dead.” Namor scoffed coldly, and Peter looked up in horror, “A…An incredibly…intolerable being stabbed her. Thor has taken her, but to where, I don’t know.”

As Namor spoke, he began to search the floor. Eventually, he leaned down and Peter saw that he now held his sceptre. With a pained hiss, he strapped it to his back and started towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked hastily.

Namor stopped to give him a look of utter judgement.

“To find aid where possible, since the people in here are unreliable.”

Yet again, Peter found nothing to say. He watched as Namor whispered something into the air. His eyes turned a darker shade, and the prince disappeared into the night.

Jennifer, gone. Barbara, possibly dead. All while Peter had left like a complete idiot. Namor was gone to heaven’s knew, and there was Peter. Alone and in a destroyed house. Something all of his own making. His friends could be dead or being hurt, and he did nothing. The adrenaline and the pressure in his chest were too much.

Peter only just made it to the bathroom before being violently ill.

It took some time before the lanky teen crept out of the bathroom. He didn’t know what to do. He simply didn’t. He had no magic or ways to track Jen or Thor. He couldn’t even find any of his more superbly abled friends of his. He didn’t know where they lived or what their phone numbers were. It was not like many of them kept in contact aft-

Peter’s eyes widened.

He leapt to the wall, where a small table had been snapped. The phone. He immediately took it and held it to his ear, praying. He could hear the ring. The line was still good. With shaking fingers, he jammed in several numbers. He bit his breath. The number rang out. Peter’s heart dropped into his feet, but he immediately tried again. Once more, the numbers were dialled and Peter waited. Yet again, it dialled out.

Peter threw a piece of broken table into the wall. Maxxie jumped in fright. Peter curled himself into a ball, and he once more dialled the numbers. He listened as the ringing continued for several seconds without interruption. He closed his eyes in defeat.

“Yes? Who is this?” A clearly irritated British voice muttered in Peter’s ear.

The teen almost jumped. Waves of relief crashed around his exhausted and sickly frame.

“Jackie, it’s Pete. Peter. Peter Parker. I…I…” Peter swallowed and cupped his eyes miserably, “It’s gone to heck and back. Things are…Things are really, really bad right now. Please tell me you’re free? Please…”

***

Hank looked at his own front door with laboured breathing. It was his house. The place he conducted research in when not in the office. The place he slept. Yet, as he neared it, he couldn’t help but feel his chest being fizzy. Something was wrong with him. He pondered if he was now a broken man, one so weak that the very news of being a father cracked him before even meeting the boy or girl. None of the fathers he knew were like this. His own father wasn’t…

Well, Hank’s own father was not the man to base more realistic understandings of parenthood on. The very thought of him made Hank scowl and force himself forwards. He tugged at the lock, only to notice that it was already open. It was past midnight.

Hank’s lips twitched.

He immediately dropped the small radar that he had taken from his office and hastily walked into the living room. His stomach dropped and the fizziness in his chest turned to cold stabs. Several chairs have been kicked over. The walls were marked with stab indents, some of which were formed in crude attempts at making shapes or pictures. As Hank slowly crept near the kitchen, he saw a tiny line of saliva and blood on the ground.

Hank’s lip twitched again.

“Janet? Janet?!”

The far away neighbours would be able to hear his bellowing. He searched every room, but two things were clear: Someone had already riffled through them all, and Janet was gone. Hank could not control his panicked breathing. Mattresses had been tossed over, and every drawer had been opened. His small home lab was a mess, with all containers opened and clearly inspected crudely. And then he noticed it. As he stood over the kitchen sink, near hyperventilating, he saw the thick serum in the sink. He leaned down, carefully inhaling it. Immediately, he pulled his head back as he recognised the scent.

His particles.

He dropped to his knees and practically pulled the pipes out. Even in the poor lighting, he could see the red liquid oozing down. He dropped the pipes. He ran to every part of his house, inspecting wherever he had stored his particles. Gone. Every single stash had been poured down the sink.

Someone had known where to look. Had they been watched? Had Janet…Was Janet tortured or threatened into telling them where to look? Their unborn baby…Hank closed his eyes as he stood in front of the sink again. His tanned face turned a dark shade of red and, with a scream never released by the man in his life, Hank grabbed the pipe and violently struck the kitchen counter. Within four blows, he had cracked it. Within six, several chunks split off as he wailed.

His wife was gone. Taken or worse. And he had been sulking and avoiding her. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks as he sneered and grimaced. Janet didn’t deserve. His child didn’t deserve him. He had failed them before they had even been born. And with that in his head, Hank collapsed and prayed for ideas on what to do.

***

“We shouldn’t have let him out.” Philip Sterns growled to older brother Samuel, the Leader.

The pair were hidden away within one of the quieter rooms within the old research facility. From memory, it was an old office space for a few of the junior researchers. Tight, concrete, and with rotted carpet. Neither minded, as it was far away from prying eyes. The Leader sighed and rubbed his bulbous head.

“We needed a thief.” He began, “We needed someone to distract the Pym-”

“Distract? He’s fucking kidnapped one of them. This is a monumental fucking disaster, Sam.” The sandy-haired brother exclaimed, “We don’t need this attention so close!”

The Leader nodded in reluctant agreement.

“We only need a few more hours. The others are too distracted to offer Hank much help. I think we handle one of them. Besides,” the Leader straightened his stained lab coat, “he won’t find us.”

Philip grunted, not fully believing that. Hank Pym had developed a gas that could shrink a man to near atomic sizes. Being able to track his newly kidnapped wife was something that Philip honestly didn’t think was beyond him.

“Philip. Phil, look at me.” The Leader said gently, “By tonight, this will be over. My beautiful niece will be healthy by tonight. Okay?”

“By tonight.” Philip agreed, “The computer’s still calculating the gamma in her cells. I’ll…I’ll go check now.” He added, suddenly impatient to see the results.

“And I’ll have a polite discussion with that Irish Neanderthal about following orders. The fool didn’t even gather any further iterations of the Pym Particle.”

The two began to depart the room when Philip suddenly touched his brother’s arm. His father was melancholic to put it mildly.

“I still don’t know if this is the right thing to do. But thank you for the support.”

The Leader exhaled softly.

“You’re my little brother. She’s my niece. You’ve looked after me…for decades.” The Leader nodded bitterly, “I can do this for you. Now go. Sooner we know how much gamma is in Walters, the sooner we can adjust accordingly.”

Philip felt without another word. His mind was cloudy, making it easy to slink into different routes and paths of thought. There was guilt in his mind for what he was planning to do. Shame. Regret. Even some self-loathing. Yet the thought of his daughter pushed his feet forwards. There was simply no other option that he could accept.

He told himself that as he entered the examination room that Jennifer Walters was currently being held in. She was still in her human form, thanks to the mystical bounds that Clea had placed around her wrists. She was awake, too. Anxious and even scared eyes scanned his form as he walked towards the thick computer in the corner, one with many screwed-on components and cords that disappeared out of the door.

“Do you want water or something?”

“I want to be home?” She said quietly.

Philip let out a dry, possibly even sad laugh as he sat down.

“For what it’s worth, I’m honestly…sorry about this.” He mumbled heavily as he keyed the password.

The computer groaned and shook with electrical life. As Philip waited for it to fully boot up, Jennifer spoke again.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

It wasn’t a question. Philip could not bear to look up from the black and green monitor as she spoke. Instead, he became very fixated on checking the results from tests conducted on her blood.

“W-why? I can help. I…I know smart people. Smarter than me.” She let out a weak, desperate giggle.

Philip sighed. Slowly, he turned his head to see her frantic, trembling body. The body of someone he was sending to the slaughter.

“Our bodies have a…very disproportionate amount of gamma in them. The four of us…We have enough energy to kickstart a bomb far more impressive than what we dropped in Japan. Gamma is also a fairly unique type of radiation.”

Philip paused. His eyes lowered.

“My daughter is sick. Terminal. It’s…a very rare disease. One that…fights back in a way that scientists are terrified of. One that’s very similar to what the sorceress is dealing with in her home. She even thinks it might be the same one or have a similar ancestor. My brother and I…My brother and I have spent months trying to come up with a cure. We…We’ve only found two. We need the gamma in our cells extracted as a fuel source to burn the virus out entirely.”

Jennifer’s eyes scattered as she thought.

“I can…I can give as much blood as I can-”

“We need every cell. And I’m sorr-”

“So I’ll die having gamma radiation ripped from my body.”

“It’ll be painless, I sw-”

“So I die becau-”

“Because of my daughter, yes!” Philip bellowed.

There was a heated silence. Jennifer had long since given up on trying to break free. Instead, she looked like she was about to break down in tears. Philip looked down in shame once more.

“You’re not the only one, if that’s worth anything. None of us are making it through this.”

There was a long moment where no one spoke. Philip keyed the commands into the noisy computer whilst Jennifer watched him in horror.

“I…I know people who can help.” She tried again, “I know a magical doctor who-”

“We’ve already been quietly watching his work.” Philip explained with an empty shrug, “Silver-haired lady. He can’t he…”

Jennifer watched as something akin to dread filled Philip’s face as he read the screen.

“No.” He angrily typed more commands in, “No. No. NO!”

He began to scream violently. Jennifer didn’t know what to say or do as her captor devolved into a frothing mess of cursing and hissing. Something was printed at his side and Philip viciously ripped it away. On his feet, he read the tiny words. Without saying anything further to the bound woman, he lifted the chair and hurled it at the wall, making Jennifer jump. She watched as he sprinted from the room, shouting.

Jennifer was left there, trembling in fear and confusion.

***

The small, pinked skinned child sniffed softly as she sat in the crowded loungeroom. Her eyes were downcast and she was uncharacteristically silent. Strange was standing at Shaylee’s side, his hand on her wrist and gently rotating her shoulder.

“Anything?” He asked softly.

Shaylee shook her head silently. Strange exhaled in relief. Her shoulder wasn’t dislocated, as originally feared. He gently placed his hand on her chin and pulled the seven-year-old’s face to look at him. As he murmured on last spell, the several cuts oozing purple blood sealed themselves. With luck, without scars too. Her eyes were still glossy and Strange couldn’t stop looking at them. His stomach was loaded with metal, and his scarred hands were shaking with more than just his previous injuries.

“It will be…You’re…” He swallowed, “Get something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Shaylee, you need to e-”

“I’M NOT HUNGRY!”

Frustration, impatience, and sheer emotional exhaustion suddenly spiked within Strange. His nostrils flared and his mouth shot open, only for a tall, skinny student to suddenly appear at Shaylee’s side.

“C’mon, I think there’s some ice-cream we can steal.” Emily Bright suggested in a warm tone.

Shaylee still wasn’t looking up from the floor. Her face was stilled and she had now started to cross her small arms. Emily knelt to her side and started to whisper in her ear. Strange, feeling more control over himself, stood up and inspected the rest of the loungeroom.

Nearly ten copies of himself were sitting or standing around various students or sorcerers. He had been left to treat the wounded whilst Masters Jennifer Kale, Rintrah, and Topaz secluded themselves for emergency talks. None of the older students were invited. Even if they were, Strange doubted he’d be included. He was tasked with watching Clea and now this. Yet again, he had failed his order. Yet again, his actions had led to the deaths of so many…

Each of his clones were carefully examining or treating the bloodied, bruised, or even worse. The more…severe…victims had been taken to private rooms so that the younger students didn’t see their conditions. Nearly half of the entire student body needed medical assistance. Nearly all of them were children. Toth’s icicle arms were cracked and near shattering. Calvin’s face was covered in severe bruising from being flung into a wall during the explosion. The Cloak of Levitation was doing its best to entertain them by changing into funny shapes but even it had its limits for humour.

 And then there was Zoe and German. Zoe was being treated for the lashes that Clea’s summoned demons gave her, deep and full of vile magic. German was still unconscious, with two copies of Strange attending to internal injuries from the explosion. Even the Sanctum Santorum was off. Walls groaned as if sore. Mind games were being played, as usual routes to rooms suddenly led inhabitants to completely different parts of the building. The site of the explosion was now sealed off, with a profound magic spinning and winding behind the closed doors.

Every single one of them harmed because of Strange’s blindness. Because of his attachments to…her.

He gritted his teeth as he felt a betrayal unlike anything he’d ever felt. She didn’t care about him. She probably never did. Maybe even the virus itself was a lie, all to lure Strange’s medical obligations into her grasp. If it weren’t for his need to focus on the children, he’d have already left by now.

“Stephen.”

“What?” Strange asked Jericho briskly without looking behind him.

“You have a visitor needing medical help.”

Strange turned to look at his fellow sorcerer with suspicion.

Several paranoid sorcerers eyed the Aesir with great uncertainty as he silently rose up the stairs. He took great interest in seeing the injuries of the humans and mythical beings, as well as the tension in the air. Thor was no fool. The greying god quickly guessed what had happened and the odds of it just happening the same night that he was attacked.

“Prince Thor.” Strange greeted in a tired voice.

Jericho was at his side, and together they hastily walked to the top of the staircase to meet the god. Strange’s eyes immediately turned to the pale, still, and barely breathing woman in his arms. Within an instant, Barbara was levitating in the air and Strange shuddered violently. His form blinked in and out of existence several times until it split into two. Both were panting and suddenly very sweaty.

“Injury?”

“Stabbed with a poisoned or cursed blade. One of Aesir make.” Thor answered gravely.

“Asgardian?” Strange rubbed his face, “I’ll do my best. I don’t know much of your magic.”

His clone immediately departed for a spare room, Barbara floating at his side. Strange wiped his damp forehead.

“What happened?”

Thor regaled his version of events, as well as that of Namor. Strange listened closely, not being able to shake a horrid feeling in his stomach.

“Odd…timing that we’re both screwed like this.” He muttered.

“I smell a foul magic in this place, not the same of your kind’s focus.”

“Heard of the Dark Dimension? Thor grunted, “The Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension happened. Half of our students are injured. Bad. She…unleashed demons and set off some magic explosion in the library. There were children in that room!”

Strange’s scream was loud enough for several people in nearby hallways to stop what they were doing and to peak at the sudden scene. Thor stroked his rough beard.

“I have not heard from the Pym house. Jennifer Walters and Peter Parker are missing. Barbara has been…wounded by a foul blade. Your Sanctum has been invaded.”

“We’re being targeted.” Strange cut in aggressively.

“I fear so. We have more enemies than we considered.”

“How? The only link between us was Varnae, and the vampire is still in an Atlantean prison. How would he know Clea? Or a Valkyrie?”

“Even more, she would not work with the demon.” Thor added, frowning at the contradiction, “I need your aid. I know not where most of our allies are, and I fear we do not have much time. There has been great evil plotted for some time. You are a powerful sorcerer and-”

“I can’t.”

Thor looked visibly taken aback. Strange exhaled and shook his head in remorse.

“I can’t. The children need me. They’re not in good states and-”

 “Stephen Strange, if this Sorceress Supreme is allied with a Valkyrie of Asgard, I cannot stand against them both. Even I…But together, our warband band could challenge them both. We not not what their plan is but-”

“Thor, I can’t.” Strange repeated through gritted teeth.

His eyes were wide and almost trembling. Thor’s words triggered something within. His mind crashed against an invisible wall, rattling his thoughts and emotions.

 “I…Look. Look.” His voice was heavy and his skin flushing red, “I can’t just leave. I…I welcomed her in here. I did this. I did! Look, I-I-I abandoned this place once.” His voice suddenly turned almost inaudible, “I can’t fail them again.”

Strange could barely breathe. He felt vile, disgusting to touch. The idea of worsening his own victims was something that made him feel so cold and brittle. He was expecting a lecture, a snap, or maybe even a strike from the god. Instead, Thor merely held his shoulders. His eyes held no malice, only understanding.

“Protect your kin. Tend to Barbara.”

As Thor released him and began to walk towards the entrance, Strange could only feel shame clutching at his throat. He was doing the right thing. The kids needed him. The injured needed him. But so did Thor, especially if he was trying to fight an ancient warrior and Clea. No matter what, Strange was abandoning someone. No matter what, he was making the wrong choice in some way.

Strange collapsed onto the floor, no longer having the strength to stand. He had no concept of how long he sat and leaned against the railing of the staircase. His mind offered him no warmth or comfort from the situation. Darkness snapped at his insecurities, his mounting failures. He should never have become a sorcerer. So many more people would be alive if he hadn’t. To make matters worse, Clea was still out there. There was no answer to what she was planning or capable of, of the further pain that she could cause to the sorcerers of this reality.

Before such thoughts had little time to worsen. Out of the corner of his eye, Strange saw movement. He rose and gathered himself as he watched Rintrah, Topaz, and Jennifer leave a room secured with silencing and privacy wards. All three of them, even the minotaur, looked unravelled and very tired. They had been locked away for nearly three hours. Strange didn’t know if he should stay or leave. At the last second, he hastily attempted to lower his head and avoid their detection. He was too late.

“Stephen.” Jennifer called softly, her voice raw from previous shouting.

As Strange slowly trudged towards them, he saw the clear distaste from Rintrah. Strange didn’t blame him.

“Don’t say a word.” Jennifer commanded as Strange opened his mouth, “We asked you to watch her. We made the decision to let her in. We take collective responsibility of this…disaster.”

Strange lowered his eyes, not baring to see someone foolishly take credit for his mistakes.

“We cannot stay here.” Topaz continued, “We do not know what or who Clea has been dealing with. There may be another attack. For the safety of the students and the survival of our order, we’re…separating and going back into hiding.”

Strange looked up, his eyebrow raised.

“I don’t understand.”

“We will each take a third of the remaining order and go to one of the few…still hidden sites we have. You will come with me to Peru and continue your training there.” Jennifer explained.

Strange nodded. It made sense, and it was a logical way of increasing the chances of survival for their order. Suddenly, before he could filter himself, he added.

“And Clea? How do we deal with her?”

“We don’t.” Rintrah growled, “She’s a Sorceresses Supreme. No one left is even near that skill. We couldn’t fight her if we wanted to.”

“And we’re masters.” Jennifer sighed, “Survival is now our best option.”

It was logical. Strange understood the need to focus on the safety of the students deeply. Yet, something squirmed under his skin. Something writhed at the prospect of just leaving a threat to grow. There was every chance that Clea could find one or all of the splintering factions. There was no guarantee of survival, just buying more time.

Postponing his mistake.

Strange’s eyes flickered between the three sorcerers between him.

“So, we leave Clea to…her plans?”

“We cannot afford to spread ourselves too thinly. We don’t have the numbers, and we risk extinction at this point if any masters were to die.”

“And Clea’s plans? If they are worse? We did this and now we’re doing nothing?”

“Careful.” Topaz advised, but Rintrah had already growled once more.

“If you had watched her more closely instead of becoming her toy, we may have stopped this.”

Something snapped. Strange pulled his arm but a gust of wind threw him back before anything could be done. Jennifer and even Rintrah were surprised at his brazen reaction. Topaz lowered her hand and tilted her head in warning.

“I…This…” Strange spluttered, “She can’t…”

“What choice do we have?” Jennifer asked calmly, “We have children we need to protect. They are our priority. I expect your support on this.” Her tone was final, and she turned to the others, “I’ll gather the students.”

Rintrah strode off with Jennifer, leaving Topaz to watch as Strange pulled himself up. He was on the verge of tears as he struggled to handle the spiralling emotions within. He felt suffocated by himself with no clear way out.

“I know you’re in pain. But this wasn’t your fault, Stephen. She was manipulating you-”

Strange left. The handlebar moustached man was breathing heavily as he locked himself in his room. He caught his reflection in a mirror and wanted to vomit. So many emotions struck him. He wanted to do so many things to fix everything, yet each seemed worse than the other. Then, he saw his robes. The robes given to him by kind, forgiving people. People that didn’t deserve to live like rats because of him. People that didn’t deserve to be sobbing in pain because of him. People that didn’t deserve to be in the same order as him.

It took less than ten minutes to accept what he had done. It took even less to accept what he needed to do. He swallowed. It would be the right thing to do.

He departed and hastily found Wong auditing what food and supplies that they had. The masters must have already addressed him. The bushy eyebrowed man silently observed the pale Strange as he approached. With a look over his shoulder, Strange began.

“Medically, how is everyone?”

“Your clones are seein-”

“Wong!” Strange snapped impatiently.

Wong remained cool, not even flinching.

“German is stable but needs rest. I believe your clones are otherwise attending to minor injuries or tending to the newcomer.”

Relief washed over him. Only minor injuries were left, and the students could handle that just a little while longer.

“Okay, good. I’m taking all of them but the one looking after Barbara back into me. I need the energy back.”

Wong finally lowered his clipboard and gave Strange his full attention. Strange swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I’m not going to say anything, I can’t hold involve you in this.” Wong blinked twice, “I know I’m a grumpy dick…but you’ve been a good fello…You’ve been a good friend.”

Strange offered a trembling hand. Wong merely looked down and then up.

“Let me come with you.”

Strange shook his head.

“I need someone to make sure I’m not followed and to look after the kids when I’m gone.” Strange adopted a muted expression, “Even if I survive, I’m not being welcomed back for this level of breaking an order. You know that.”

Wong’s face hardened just a little. Strange cleared his throat.

“And I need someone to…occasionally come back and check in on this place.” Strange smiled softly at the Sanctum.

Wong closed his eyes, and Strange felt his hand being squeezed.

“A pleasure. When will you-” 

Pale imitations of Strange suddenly floated into the room. One of them was being urgently followed by the Cloak of Levitation, as it looked panicked that the healer was disappearing from whatever room it was in. Strange began to violently shake and hiss as the ghostly images collided with his self, all merging into one. He almost collapsed. When he rose, it was with a grimace. He nodded to Wong, before swiftly walking away. He murmured a soft spell into the air.

His robes darkened into a black, tight material. His forearms, chest, and shins were shielded in a dark, glistening armour. Thick red gloves appeared around his hands whilst a red sash wrapped itself around his waist. A red, upward cross pattern formed on the armour in his chest. He felt uncomfortable. The only other time that he had worn his mystical armour was to fight Varnae. Now, he was forced to wear it again. Suddenly, something wrapped around his throat.

“No!” He warned, turning to glare at the Cloak of Levitation, “No. I’m not coming back, okay? You need to stay here and protect the kids.”

The Cloak lowered a little in the air and turned away somewhat. Strange sighed, turning away. He twisted his fingers several times until a several of circles appeared before him. Then, he swallowed yet again, and stepped through…only to feel something grab his neck as he did.

Strange hissed and muttered as he felt the Cloak attach itself to his armour. He glared at it over his shoulder, only to see it shrug. Strange glanced forwards, seeing himself in an old building with runes in the air. A giant of a man stood in front of him, a mighty hammer in hand.

“You’re easy to find.” Strange explained bluntly.

Thor snorted but lowered his weapon. He returned his attention to the various tracking runes that he was attempting to fine tune.

“Why are you here, Stephen Strange?”

“Taking responsibility.” The sorcerer replied simply, “So, a Nordic god and sorcerer. I think those are decent odds against most foes, don’t you?”

Thor once more turned Strange. A wide smile formed.

***

Felicia licked her lips and bit down. As carefully and as silently as she could, the white-haired girl slid a slender arm into the foamed polystyrene crate. Her sharp eyes scanned downwards as she felt around for anything loose. Then, after a moment, she silently retrieved her arm. More bottled chemicals. Common and cheap ones, too. Rolling her eyes, she carefully returned the contents to the crate and slid the lid back on.  

“If ya lookin’ for somethin’ worth a quid, ya too late. Nothin’ in here for any worth. Cheap bastards.”

Felicia internally groaned and turned around. Eric O’Grady was smirking at her as he stood in the doorway of the small storage room. His eyes were glossy, yet it was still obvious that he was staring directly at her exposed cleavage. The redhead looked sweaty, and even rougher than usual. His shirt was damp and half tucked in, and his jeans were dirty on the knees.

“You have nothing better to do?” Felicia yawned, “No more wives to kidnap?”

Eric howled with laughter. It made Felicia wrinkle her nose.

“At least I’m doin’ something productive, darling girl. Took out the Pyms for us, and now I can relax.”

“How impressive.” Felicia drawled.

“That ain’t the only thing impressive about me.” Eric winked.

Felicia snorted and looked away. That was enough to puncture Eric’s ego. He shifted on his feet and huffed.

“At least I’m not scrummaging for…whatever is even here. I ain’t pulling that wee shite around here.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already stolen everything worth a cent? Sorry, a quid.”

Eric grinned. He then took a lighter tone.

“Nah, not nothin’ here to begin with. Us high end thieves need better targets than glasses wearing nonces. Though, can’t help but wonder if wee Dane’s sword’s worth somethin’.”

Felicia’s giggle shattered Eric’s smile.

“You think you’re ‘high end’? Only one of my scores would outweigh everything you’ve ever taken.”

“Aye?” Eric asked in a low voice as he slowly prowled closer to her, “My prizes too lil for ya? Not everyone had access to rich friends and daddy’s millionaire coworkers to rob from. Some of us had to start small, missy. Not of us were raised in high towers and had our asses wiped with silk. Some of us had to fight tooth and nail, blood and bone, to get where we fookin’ are. Worked our way up.”

To his surprise, Felicia took a step closer to him and thrusted a clawed finger to his chin. A sense of challenge struck the erratic Eric, and he almost snapped at her for such a display.

“You…have…no…idea what I’ve been through, you drunk Irish prick. Say that shit again, and you’ll be on the floor.”

Eric bared his teeth at her as heat travelled up his spine, but Felicia didn’t flinch.

“As long as it’s with you, darlin’, I’m happy to be on the ground.”

“It fascinates me how, given how much in common you both have, that neither of you can stand the other.” A third, highly irritated voice, strung out.

Immediately, Felicia and Eric stepped back from one another. The Leader eyed them both suspiciously, and it was clear to them both that he was exhausted. His vibrant, scheming eyes looked tired and withdrawn. He was not levitating. In fact, his lanky frame was rather hunched over and lame looking.

“You’re both highly capable thieves. If you were capable of closing your mouths for once, you two may actually get along.” His eyes slowly slid to Eric, and they hardened somewhat, “A word?”

Felicia was silently grateful for the exit excuse. She tilted her head mockingly to Eric, who rolled his eyes at her as she left the storeroom. The Leader didn’t stop staring at Eric, not for a moment.

“Janet Pym.” He growled.

Eric huffed and dramatically threw his arms out like he was a puppet on a string.

“I made one mistake. It was barely even a fookin’ mistake to beg-”

“Two. The Pym Particles are gone.”

“Destroyed.” Eric corrected cockily, “No more threats from them. They can do shite all now.”

“I wanted…” The Leader suddenly exhaled loudly, “We pride ourselves on being quiet. Being slow. Kidnapping a wife with connections to S.H.I.E.L.D. is neither.”

“We have a hostage if shite hits the fan.” Eric laughed, “Think it through, smarty man. If this secret plan of yours doesn’t work? What if we’re found? We got leverage now. A ransom. Time.”

The stunned silence was hard to interrupt for the Irishman. In his particle addled brain, he viewed it as a positive sign and not one of a man of genius intellect trying to understand a bewildering statement.

“I deserve a pay rise from this.”

The Leader shook from his daze and hardened his face.

“You’re lucky we’re even having a discussion, Mr. O’Grady.”

Eric chuckled and took a step forward, his arms swaying at his sides as he did so. 

“Is that so? I’ve done all you’ve asked.”

“And more.” The Leader added through gritted teeth, “I gave you the particles. I’ve paid you well. And the payments will continue when this is…”

“When you and ya ol’ pally brother are dead. I know.”

The mention of his planned death made the Leader’s lip twitch, but he didn’t cut off the man. He simply lacked the energy to.

“But maybe I don’t like handouts. Maybe I want a bit more. Maybe I want to take more.” Eric suddenly grew excited, “I can…I can do a hell of a lot with this stuff. I can steal…I can steal fookin’ monuments. And why would you care?” Eric laughed, “You’ll be dead when I start doin’ it anyway, lad. I even promise by my honour, that I’ll wait until the super special plan’s done before stealin’. But…I will take stuff.”

As Eric finished his little spiel, he was almost panting with excitement. His reddened eyes were wide, and the Leader couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort at being near the increasing manic individual. Something was wrong. Either with the formula or through another substance that O’Grady was taking in private. Regardless, this was not the solid asset that the Sterns had identified some months back. Temporarily, severe options flashed before the Leader’s mind. The last thing anyone needed was O’Grady ruining their plan and endangering his niece’s life so close to the endgame.

After a moment, the Leader stilled such thoughts and collected his anxieties again.

“You still need the particles I give you to do that.” Eric’s face hardened and flashed red, “And you’ll get every vial I have…when this is done. Until then, don’t you ever pull such a stunt again.”

Eric was bristling at the lecture. He could see a such a threat easily. He eyed up the lanky, green man, assessing which way to attack him first, to show the Leader to respect him first. Yet, the door behind the Leader suddenly flew up. Even the Leader looked taken unawares as Clea strutted in. Eric soon grinned at her, but Clea didn’t even look at the man.

“Your brother is angrily arguing with the Tinkerer. I believe…the content of the argument is worth your attention.”

The Leader frowned, but he nodded in gratitude. He gave Eric one last look of warning, and then he hastily followed the Sorceress Supreme towards one of the more open meeting rooms. Eric stared at the hallway with a foul sneer. Then, acting upon his more primal impulses, he stormed out and almost broke the door as he slammed it shut behind him.

***

“Run it again, then.” The Tinkerer requested in earnest.

The small Vietnamese woman’s eyes were almost pleading as she looked up at Philip. Her body and padded welding suit were grimy and smelled of burnt metal. She was still holding her welding mask tightly as she watched Philip exhale spittle.

“I have four times!” He snarled, “Four!”

“Philip?” The Leader asked coolly.

The pair were standing by the dusty and rusted meeting room desk. Dane Whitman was lingering on one of the ancient chairs by the corner. His eyes every so often flicked to the two, yet he seemed preoccupied with his hands. He looked ill and shaken, but not as much as Philip.

“There’s not enough.” Philip explained weakly, his voice almost cracking, “There’s…not enough.”

The Leader quickly surmised what he meant. A cold chill stroked his spine.

“Even with the beast below?”

“Even with Banner.” Philip shuddered, “The four of us…don’t have enough concentrated radiation in our cells combined. The extraction won’t generate enough energy for the cure.”

The silence was heavy and unforgiving upon the soul. The Tinkerer looked to the Leader, possibly seeking guidance. Dane was silent, unfocussed, and seemed confused by the nature of the revelation.

“You promised a solution.”

Clea’s cold voice cut through everyone’s mind, even Dane’s. He eerily looked upon the Sorceress Supreme with agitation as she took a threatening step towards Philip. Her arms hung by her sides, but her fingers danced in the air. Everyone glanced at them, silently weighing their chances should Clea cast a spell at them in rage.

“A cure to my universe’s disease. That is why I came. Why I…Why I spied like some ill taken criminal!”

“The original projections show-”

“Such words mean nothing to me!” Clea roared at the Leader, “Can there be a cure formed? Yes, or no?”

Philip and his brother exchanged a silent look. Philip looked deadened. Clea laughed bitterly.

“All for nothing. My universe dies and I have been absent…for nothing.”

“There’s the second option.”

All eyes turned to the Leader. He felt sickened by saying it. His tongue was thick with growing bile as he realised such an option was increasingly the best avenue for success. Philip stiffened. Even Clea was taken aback.

“I asked…I had the Tinkerer prepare the device’s construct just in case of such a reality.”

“The Terrigen Bomb.” Philip swallowed, his eyes swaying side to side, “I…Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

The group watched as the rangy scientist clutched his hair and collapsed on a chair, nearly hyperventilating.

“We’re running out of options to save Charlotte. A decision needs to be made.” His tone was strong and blunt, “We activate the crystals, or we accept…” The Leader’s eyes dropped.

Philip’s breathing was shaky as the weight of their new reality sunk in. His daughter was dying. The original plan of sacrificing his own life to cure her was now no longer an option. And the only thing they had time left to do was…unleash a chemical bomb and impact possibly millions. Philip started to gag.

“Will this option work?” Clea inquired in a stilled voice.

“In theory.” The Leader replied cautiously, “If we charge the Terrigen Crystals and change them into a gas form, the effect of human exposure would be analogous to gamma exposure, but on a far smaller scale. We would need to extract…countless amounts of radiation from subjects.”

Clea gave him a steady, unsettling gaze.

“But would it work? Would it give me a cure for my dimension?”

Philip rubbed his face in defeat as he conducted several morbid and ungodly calculations in his mortal mind.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“More likely than not!” He snapped at her, “The device…It can…collect the energy stored in the cells? From…so…so many people?”

The Tinkerer nodded slowly as several eyes turned to her.

“It will disperse the Terrigen gas, then after a few minutes, it will extract every ounce of energy from a contaminated cell within seven miles.”

“Seven miles?” Philip’s eyes were wide.

“This was to save your daughter.” The Tinkerer countered defensively, “You said we were just curing a sick child. I did not plan this.”

“No, you just didn’t give a shit so long as we fed you money and information on Stark.” Philip snarled, “You were happy then!”

“We distract them, separate them.” Dane suggested quietly, “Keep them apart.”

The gathered Masters all frowned in confusion at the comment. The Tinkerer had forgotten his presence entirely until that point. Even the Leader struggled to understand Dane’s point. Dane looked at them airily, and then blinked.

“How is that relevant to anything?” Philip growled.

“We…What? You told me to separate…” Dane blinked again, and suddenly looked flushed, “Forget it, just thought something else.”

The Leader continued to stare at the unsettled man for a moment more, then turned to the others.

“We all agreed that this was an option. And we all agreed it was acceptable, given what was offered in return.” He added, looking directly at a flushed Tinkerer, “There can be no second guesses now. We do this, we generate a cure. We don’t, we accept the sacrifices. It is simple.”

He looked at both his brother and at Clea. Clea had her elegant arms crossed, her filed nails digging into her purple sleeve. Her eyes were severe as she stared at the Leader, her mind ablaze with the options presented before her. She was not cold, not cruel. She never sought needless death, she was sworn to prevent it. Yet, entire worlds were dying. Weeping as their last breath eased out of them. A scale to which no one else in the room could understand. Only her. Only Clea.