Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 17: Not a Fan of Puppeteers

And so when the truck swerved and headlights blared at you from the other side of the road into your windshield, you didn't touch the wheel.

And you blacked out to the second loudest crunch you had heard in your life.

No, not explosion.

Crunch.

***

Blurry.

Very, very blurry.

"Now, now, (your name),' came your old English Teacher's voice, Ms. Daphia, who had a quirk for the strangest and extraordinary vocabulary and honestly, that's all you had ever picked up from the lady. Good riddance. "Don't say very. It's frankly exquisitely lame. Use a 'strong' verb!" Oh, yeah. That's what she used to called them: 'strong verbs'. Whatever. "Try, exceptional. Or, if you're feeling up to it, exceedingly. Or my personal favorite, tremendously."

Lady, that was second grade. Did you look like you wanted to spit out the word tremendously to increase your vocabulary to further impress your non-existent friends at the moment or did you look like you wanted to spit in her face instead? She never got the gist but that was fine. She was fired for hoarding coffee mugs anyways.

But it's whatever, Ms. Daphia.

Blurry.

Tremendously, exceedingly blurry.

Happy now?

Right, well, for the love of all that is merciful let us forget the English Teacher and come full circle to the problem at hand. Speak now or forever hold your peace, Ms. Daphia.

. . .

That's what you thought. Moving on.

The shapes surrounding you moved like a spectral in a misty embrace, sharing an unknown landscape of fog and water particles. The embrace was chilling, cold and uncomfortable but if you had the strength to move away, you felt as if you would've done it a long time ago. Your mental awareness waned and as it did so, every thought of 'escape' started to thin accordingly. What brought you back was a hand touching your shoulder. A warm, quite real gloved human hand.

Dream, your brain chanted in return to the touch that threw away the frost. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.

"You'll be safe here," he'd said. And you'd believed him. He was, after all, everything you wanted to be someday. Strong, handsome/beautiful, passionate, protective, friendly and respectful. Who wouldn't want to be him? An idiot, probably.

"Safe here," you'd echoed, in full agreement. "The Helicarrier is up in the air, undisturbed, unnoticed and feared. They won't attack it, will they? Of course not. Not unless you have something they really want. Do they?" That was sarcasm. You knew exactly why Loki was here; your hands twitched as you said this, bandages wrapped around your wrist, fingers and palms. The ice crackled at your fingertips and your buddy next to you held your left hand, comforting you like always.

At this, however, he avoided your question, as if he thought it genuine. He avoided your eyes as well, but kept a firm voice when he did speak. He hated lying, too, did you mention that? "You'll be safe here," he repeated.