[Through the Eyes of John Garret]
"Good shot," he said.
Garret shrugged the comment off with a neutral expression, refusing to flinch under the direct gaze of the Devil himself. "They're all good shots, Devil. I did what had to be done."
"Indeed. The job is finished; everything is set in motion. All in its right place. Speaking of, don't let (him/her) out of your sight. For this to work, I need to make sure it works. Understood?"
John nodded. "Perfectly."
The evil incantation turned with a flourish of his cloak, stalking into the depths of the dimly lit hall. Moments later, he disappeared without a trace. And now Garett could breathe easily.
It was no surprise that the Devil had something against (him/her). Didn't everyone?
And yet, that was the real question.
Why did everyone have something against the kid? It was such a complicated set of events and the kid with ice powers was stuck in the middle of it.
He shrugged again.
It wasn't his problem.
You were in the way.
And when the time came, you would fall.
***
[Through the Eyes of Yourself]
For once, you didn't wake up in a hospital or a room with bright white lights.
It might've been comforting, except for the fact that your back lay against the rails of what you knew without a doubt were train tracks. What was even worse was that you could not --for the life of you -- get up from that particular position.
The words 'oops', 'dammit', and 'well crap I'm screwed' come to mind.
"The heck?" You groaned, blinking. Further inspection showed your wrists bound by chains and the same material wrapped around your feet. It didn't seem like a big deal; you'd been in worse situations.
But the longer it took you to freeze off the chains, the more worried you became. "It's like they're frickin' power proof! How? Why? Ugh . . . this day isn't getting any better." Letting your head fall back toward the track you sighed.
Hold up . . . wasn't this the same track that that demon asked you about? Indeed it was, for you raised your head up and spotted that same tunnel only sixty yards away. Well, that was convenient.
After a while you went back to working at the chains, though in a hopeless manner. It felt like days since you'd eaten and although you'd been out for who knows how long and should've gotten some rest, your head hurt immensely and pounded as though you'd gotten no sleep whatsoever. And every time you moved, your chest and ribs hurt and your left shoulder was much weaker than your right. What were you forgetting?
It hit you like a truck, which is exactly how your midsection and above were reacting.
"The Tesseract shard!" You breathed, jerking to sit up and failing. "Oh my . . . It . . . That thing freaking stabbed me! Why aren't I dead?" Look down, you saw blood staining the top left half of your blue sweatshirt and a quick glance showed your hands had meet the same crimson fate for it covered your fingers as well. "It must've missed my heart . . . But . . . Blood loss . . . And shock? I should be dead. My heart should've stopped beating. And," --you leaned down again, the pain sinking in from your attempt to sit up-- "Geez. I need a hospital."
"I'm afraid you won't be getting one."
Looking to your right, you saw a figure in the shadows. You couldn't quite make out who it was, but the voice was definitely male. "Yeah," you said, slowly shrugging. "That's usually how it goes. And who might you be?"
They chuckled. Their hand, in mere seconds, flashed over their shoulder and an arrow was suddenly nocked at their black compound bow. "(Your name), you have failed this city."
It was your turn to chuckle. "Oh ho. Playing vigilante, are we, Oliver Queen?"
"No. That would be you. And thanks to your service, we now know it works. If you survive this, feel free to track us down." You opened your mouth to reply, but the arrow sang out and your comment-to-be was cut short by your scream as the flesh-tearing point sank into your skin: on your left shoulder above the wound.
"Alright, honestly," you wheezed, wishing with all your being that you could take it out as you watched dark blood seep from the wound. With a gargled cough, you felt more dripping down your chin. "That was rude."
The figure said nothing and retreated to the shadows farther down the hillside. So many strange people . . . Loki was definitely involved somehow. He might have been that archer too, pretending to be the Hood. But since when did he start archery practice? And gosh that arrow felt painfully real.
That's when you heard a sound that chilled your soul to the bone. What blood you had left ran cold, and your pale, bloodied hands shook in fear. Yes, you were afraid.
Because down the track, only moments away . . .
Was the sound of a train.
Flashing into action, you went back to work on the chains on your hands for a third time. They couldn't be power proof.
They couldn't be.
In a snap, the left restraint fell away; you furiously struck the next one and it too opened and you had your freedom. Sitting up, you attempted to stand and run when you moaned and shook your head. "No, no, no, no! I'm so out of it! How could I forget?" The bindings on your legs stared you right in the face. You hadn't been attacking them at all. They most certainly wouldn't release you with ease. It would take minutes, at least.
The train honked its horn, rushing closer every second.
"I don't have minutes," you growled, smashing the one on your right leg in vain. Your shoulder throbbed, your head ached. Your eyes wanted to close, your chest heaved in pain. You'd come back from a lot of things. But this?
You were most certainly going to die.
As the haunting reality hit home, you quit struggling. Behind you, almost as if in another world, you heard the train try to stop on its brakes; the screeches reached your ears. They sounded like the shriek of a banshee, or the reaper coming for your life. Hum. Not much of a life left to come for, really.
Closer and closer it came. More honking, more screeching.
You waited for the impact, cringing inside.
Maybe it would be like the movies, where the hero closed their eyes and everything was just a dream. Maybe you'd be saved in the last few seconds, and all would be well. Maybe the impact would never come.
But those hopes shattered like glass as the locomotive hit your back and sent you flying.
***
Pain is a loose adjective.
It floats about, ranging from a dark scale to a light one. From situation to situation. But of all the things you'd encountered, of all the things you'd been hit with, getting slammed with a real as heck train really put things in perspective.
And honestly, how were you not dead?
You could feel you limbs sprawled across the ground. You felt the cool air whistle through your hair. You imagined the blood rushing out a wound; or what little you had left, anyway. And yet, the thing was, in all the pain, you could feel. It wasn't an otherworldly sense, nor was it a verge of death feel.
You felt alive. Your breathing was ragged, sure. But not every breath was a struggle and somehow, in the most impossible of ways, you lived. You were going to live. You didn't just feel it. You knew.
"Heh. Right about now I could use a Raggedy Man to help me out," you laughed. Of course, you immediately regretted the laugh but forced a smile anyways. You were alive! A little bit of laughter couldn't hurt too much, could it? You took a few spurting coughs and came to a quick conclusion: Yes, yes it could.
It was then, as you reached for the arrow tip embedded within the flesh of your left shoulder, you realised you were missing a very important part of your body.
Your right arm.
"Okay," you muttered, rolling over to face the sky, "that's a bit more than weird. I know I'm insane, but I'm 99.9% sure this isn't what insane feels or is like . . ." Drifting into empty thoughts, you looked around in muffled awe for you missing right arm. What you saw disrupted everything you knew.
shards.
That was how you best describe them. Blue bits, spread out in pieces. Most lay scattered on the forest floor, while others were rested near your side where your arm should've been. Following them lead you straight to your arm.
"Oh," you said, like a profound idiot.
It too, lay in pieces. Most of it remained intact, though, and not in a bloody mess. I wonder- You thought, directing all thoughts to the pieces. They wobbled, moved, and then began connecting. "Okay," you said. "That's actually pretty awesome."
There was no pain involved in the process, just a lot of stress as piece by piece your arm was restored back to its former glory. Like fixing an old car, maybe a '67 Chevy Impala, for instance, but better. Flexing your fingers amiably, you smiled. "Well, that's new. Not that I'm complaining, but wow. I'll need to look into that while I search for a different town . . . I can guarantee that I'm not welcome in his town anymore after what happened. I bet police cars are all over the place. Which sucks."
Beginning your likely-to-be-precarious walk, since you were in really no condition to explore thanks to lack of blood, you thought about recent events.
Most confusing was the reality that your heart hadn't stopped and you were now a pixelated, ice shooting, pale genius dork. That's what the shard had done, and probably Loki and the Devil too. But there were so many questions. How long would it last? Would it affect your system? Would you die anyway? What did they have planned? And where were the Avengers? Or Coulson?
But, everything besides the questions seemed alright. Until a thing happened.
A voice shot into your thoughts.
Oh, don't worry. It'll all make sense. Soon, (your name). Very, very soon.
And for the first time in a long time, you snapped.
"Okay, listen up, shuck-face." You seethed, spit hitting the ground. "The next time you and I meet, it will not be on good terms. I may be called Ice Box, which is stupid, I know -- not my idea -- but you can bet on your goddamn life I'll beat the living shit out of you. And after getting hit by a train, getting shot with an arrow and a friggin' bullet, that's saying a damn lot. So I hope you have defence." You staggered to a standing position, leaning heavily on your right leg. A body part not missing in action or frozen in ice, thank goodness. "I hope you have plans. I hope that you're as shucking brilliant as you think you are. Because Devil, I've been holding back. I've been abiding of the law for as long as I saw fit while you slit the rules throats. No longer. You'll no longer pounce on me like waiting prey. I do have friends. Not Caster, -- yet -- but friends. They're on my side, you bloody fool. And if you think for even a second that you stand a chance, you'd best think again. There's not a winter coming, I'm not an oncoming storm nor are they no strings to hold me back. Those were neat," -you admitted, smiling slightly- "but irrational. My goals are higher. I am part of a Higher Calling. You and I will meet one day, Converse, and on that glorious day I will show the small-minded doubters I was right all along, and also really cool, and I'll show them and you something else you should've known way before you started this fight. You should have been nicer to us."
No reply.
Yet, there was fear in the air. You knew you'd won that conversation.
Smirking, you crossed your arms. You were more confident than before; a silent rage raced in your veins along with satisfaction. You raised your eyes to the sky and laughed loud. "Rest in friggin' pieces you shuck-faced piece of shit."
***
Setting your hand down, your palm made contact against the counter.
Sort of loudly.
The bartender glanced up, raising an eyebrow. He was a bit of an old guy, maybe in his late 70's, with a receding, white hairline. A white moustache appeared to float below his nose where a pair of glasses rested themselves. But he smiled, a wide smile that brought out wrinkles due to a lot of smiling. "How can I help you (son/miss)?"
"A drink please?" Came your reply, hesitantly.
You hadn't had a drink in quite a while. But what could it hurt? After visiting the hospital and not-very-stealthily finding out the password to Jamie's bank account, you'd not only acquired a crapton of money, but some extra blood and as far as you were concerned, a free hospital trip where you'd been declared as good as new. (With about two weeks of rest, that is.)
And heck, after all you'd been through, you needed a break. Who could blame you?
"Yeah, a drink." You confirmed as the man raised his other eyebrow. You nodded, more for your own benefit than his. "Please." Came your repeated statement. "Just, any one, really. Don't care what it is; I just need a drink." 'Troubles at home' came to mind as an excuse, but you didn't have a home, so that went spinning down the drain.
The bartender shrugged. He turned and went to work, leaving you alone to sit for a few.
As you sat, you let your gaze wander around the bar.
For nine-thirty at night, the place was mostly empty, with the exception of a couple in the corner playing darts, three guys playing cards with drained beer cans and lady by the entrance with a half-full shot glass resting in her hand. You didn't find it strange, just peaceful. Peace is nice, you thought. Every once in a while, it's quite nice.
A song began to echo throughout the structure and this time, it was your turn to become skeptical as a tune you knew well reached your ears from a rustic looking piano in the corner.
"Piano Man by Billy Joel," you said to yourself. "Huh."
Facing the polite bartender, your gratefully accepted the drink pushed your direction. Taking a sip, you shook your head. "That's, thats-" you started to say before getting cut off.
"On me, (son/miss)." Said the man.
You blinked. "Thanks, but it's soda!"
"You don't need a real drink, I can tell. Got your shoulder nice and wrapped up; a worried look on your face and eyes that have seen the end of the world or worse. Don't know what you got goin' on but a drink sure ain't gonna fix it."
Sighing, you flashed him a smile of gratitude and took another sip of the fountain drink, letting the cool liquid wash away your troubles for just a bit. He was right, and you were glad he stopped you.
Sing us a song, Mr. Piano Man,
Sing us a song tonight.
Oh we're all in the mood for a melody,
And you've got us feeling alright.
The song lifted your spirits; for once you felt alright. Really and truly alright. Not tense, not stressed. Calm. Peaceful. This was the night you needed and wanted.
You chuckled.
Just never thought would happen the way it did.
And yet, for the first time in never, it didn't last as long as you wished. The song finished abruptly and a gasp from the lady by the front door alerted you. Reaction time on the double, you spun around to face the person walking your direction from the piano where they'd apparently been sitting.
What you saw was not what you expected.
A hand clapped itself on your shoulder and a grin met your eyes.
"(Your name), long time no see."
You stammered out the words that came to your mind first in disbelief.
"Deadpool?"
_____________________
A/N:
I will have you know I hinted at this a while back.
I did I did I did
AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE I DID, MY DUDES?
I ROSE TO LIVE FROM 1ST SEMESTER FINALS AND NOW I ARISE FROM MY WINTER BREAK GRAVE TO SAY
DID YOU MISS ME?
AND WHOO HOLY SHIT IT HAS BEEN A WHILE
But I hope I did you guys justice with this chapter. I really did try. Honest, I did. Sure, it wasn't as great. But suspense is the best part, trust me. Besides, Coulson will be back like everyone else eventually and we'll all have a good time.
#gonna get a little weird
#gonna get a little wild
#i ain't from round here
And yeah.
So, any theories? I know I've been what some would say off track, but red herrings are mandatory, y'know? Who else will join your side? Who's in charge of all this really? What's the Devil going to do with Caster? What's the next chapter he's going to pen?
Well, again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and caught my fandom references 'cause I'm a bloody nerd. Comment and Vote and thank you so much for all the reads. I bet you've heard it many a time before, but I really never thought I'd get this far. Thank you thank you thank you!
Happy New Years,
Styx