You know when you've been driving for so long that you start to become convinced that the signs and advertisements along the side of the road are messages personally speaking to you?
Yeah, well, it'd been a long night.
The last one you'd seen had just said, HUNGRY? In black letters with a white background. You didn't even know what they were advertising, or why for heavens sake, but it sure sounded like good advice. Maybe you ought to stop and eat... No. Can't do that. Nuh uh. You had dinner only a few hours ago and your goal was to take the edge off the hunger, not gain a billion calories. Okay, your stomach agreed. But also, food? Who the hell cares about driving anyways?
You. You cared about driving.
Speaking of driving, you loved cruise control more than anything else. Sorry, friends and family you're all great people but that cramp in your ankle from holding the gas pedal just so is the devil! And cruise control is the hosts of heaven banishing it away.
Anyways, here you were. Night had fallen long ago; you had flicked on your headlights once it became clear that there would be no way to see without them.
Wade, of course, was dozing in the passenger seat. A gun in one hand and the second on the floor near his shoe, you were half tempted to wake him up and insist on your buddy ejecting the ammunition but he looked kinda peaceful so you left it alone. It isn't often one gets sleep and when one does you accept it, embrace it, and wait for the next possible nap. That's it. All there ever is and was to life; you can go home now. Haha. You wished.
Ah, see, now this sign said, WORN OUT? Like, no shit, mystery sign person. On this desolate stretch of road? Absolutely. What a dense mothershucker. Who wouldn't be? Plus, without Wade, you would've long since abandoned the drive to Queens, New York. It was, after all, the Avengers home town and although you were nothing close to keen on hitching a ride there, options were low and no one had a plan B. Especially Deadpool.
You whistled softly.
Queens, New York. You'd been there. Once upon a time. You'd known someone there. Not Spider-man, though you admit it would've been handy at the time and place.
That same someone had once told you with great conviction: " You're one in a million. That means there are 320 of you in the United States. Find yourself. Start an army. Overthrow the government of a small mid western town. Run crap."
Made you laugh every time. Always knew how to cheer you up, that one.
It'd been Theyel, by the way. Boy, where would you be if that boy was still around? Probably in collage. Joking around, passing classes because both of you were bloody smart. It wasn't like you needed teachers to tell you stuff. Mischief would ensure, no doubt. Friends made? Unlikely. Even though the two of you had been friends, anti-social came at a great cost: Only like, three friends max. Which while untrue for many people, in your case, it was the most true. You missed him, the more you thought about it. And you hated yourself for everything that had happened that day. All of it. You'd never told anyone that that was your real reason for wanting to make a show - wasn't as if someone would've believed fifteen year old you, anyways. Besides, now it was too late to change your story. What did it matter?
But the more you told yourself that you didn't miss him anymore, the more you told yourself that you weren't guilty for the events that day, the more you told yourself that you needn't bother trying to prove a point anymore, the more you felt like you did, were and needed to.
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.
Steve Rogers sure was special.
Around us sat everyone else:
The Black Widow aka Natasha Romanoff, history and background practically unknown but she was so cool so honestly, who cared?
The Hulk aka Bruce Banner, who didn't like to get angry but always was just, not the same level all the time. (Also, not as green or like, muscular.)
Hawkeye aka Clint Barton, the guy with the arrows, sharp vision and more arrows. Unless of course he ran out and then duh he would go get more arrows.
Iron-Man aka Tony Stark (you liked to call him Stark the Snark but wasn't ever sure if he could hear you so you slowly said it quieter and quieter every time you whispered it to your buddy), the man with lots of money, sass, and a damn cool metal suit.
And the man with the most power if not the most strong-willed person in the room, Fury aka . . . Fury. Director Fury sure was a mystery but come on, it isn't fun without a little missing knowledge, right? He was the leader of leaders, though, for sure. Without him, you were sure those Chitauri would've gotten the two of you and had you for a mid-afternoon snack with no questions asked. See Fury was asking a lot of questions but at least he wasn't eating you for lunch. At least, not yet.
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
Their eyes. Out of everything that they had that was different, one single thing brought them together; maybe, then, they weren't so different after all. And it was their eyes: burning, thoughtful, intense. Brimming with the weight of the situation and yet there was something else . . . not excitement . . . but - ah, yes. Thrill. A strange, uncalled for, underlining thrill that you would remember the rest of your life and that, to this day, was the reason you refused to join. If they got thrill of out a dangerous situation, they weren't suited to protect the world even if they were the last resort.
This time he spoke. His small, slightly vicious voice was quiet, but carried around the room and silenced all other conversations. "Why are they here?" He asked.
More silence.
No one wanted to answer the 10 year old who had dried blood crusting on his hands and under his broken nose. His eyes were dim, only bright with a sadness that had turned into venom. No one wanted to reply to the broken spirit whose soul was hanging on a thread, kept in balance by yet another unstable emotional mess. His eyes were furious, only darkened with an anger than had turned into murderous intent. No one wanted to speak the wrong words and either end up with their dead, bleeding body on the floor or react to his sudden motion when he snapped and shatter his existence into pieces instead. His eyes were dead, only alive because his hope was a future, and the future was now.
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
It was a simple question, yes, but when tragedy has befallen the innocent and the innocent are thrown the burden of death, more often times than not, the innocent would always find a way to divert the damage done to them back onto the people who failed to protect them.
And that was the situation now.
Bated breaths sat and you didn't realize you were holding your own until you let it escape and you turned toward him. You had to fix this. He was always fixing you; now it was your turn. "Theyel," you said, watching his wounded gaze shift towards your voice, "They had nothing to do with this. Yes, everything, but no, nothing. What's in their possession-" you paused, knowing the information you were about to say was secret, confidential. Neither of you were supposed to know . . . Another reason to be held inside the hellicarrier? No doubt. "The tesseract is dangerous. It's in the right hands. What's ensuing is a result of a trade off in which-" he stopped you this time.
"In which we refuse to trade." He grit his teeth, the emotion drained away and a single, confused tear slipped down his cheek. And somehow, in that moment, as you quietly stared at the tear dripping off his chin, you knew you'd made everything worse. His grief shattered into something called anger, revenge and possibly even insanity. His eyes shifted and hardened, rage flashing, threatening. "Give it to them." His voice was as quiet as before but laced with malice. "Now."
Tony turned his head and calmly stared down Theyel, keeping his voice level. "Young man, that's not your decision to make."
Bruce joined in, adjusting his glasses and nodding. "This isn't something we can give up, Theyel. If we give it up . . . If we exchange it for our freedom . . . How much more damage will the universe suffer because of our actions?"
Theyel stood up at this. Pieces of dried blood fell softly to the floor like leaves in a light Autumn breeze. He said it again. "I said, give it to them."
No one else stood up. He was 10, after all. Steve was the only one to reply with a raised eyebrow. Tony spoke once more. He was joking but you knew that Theyel wasn't in the mood for jokes or otherwise. "Make us."
That's when everything went upside down.
Theyel had no powers, or so you thought, but the second he smiled you did a double take; had he been hiding it from you, all these years?
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed. The Avengers made brief eye contact, nodded, and split up, dashing different directions to assess the threat. And that left you and Theyel alone.
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed.
He turned on you.
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
"You betrayed me, (your name)."
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed.
You frowned.
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
"I-? No. Theyel, what are you taking about? I- never! When?"
"You took their side when you promised me you were never going to leave! Physically, you exist here. But your heart left me a long time ago, didnt it? Behind in the dust for me to fend for myself? Liar! You said you'd never leave! Liar!" He shouted, each word more desperate than the last. Each word a stabbing knife, cutting through your chest and into your treacherously vulnerable heart.
You didn't know what else to do. Fearing the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes and your trembling hands, you ran.
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed.
You turned a corner, only to find him feet in front you. How-? He grabbed your shirt and jerked you forward. You choked. His eyes met yours again. He seethed, spitting at you. "Watch your back. If you don't I might murder you in your sleep."
He was taking this way to seriously. He was 10 for crying out loud.
There was something else he wasn't telling you. "Theyel, what aren't you telling me? This isn't you. I swear it, you're not yourself!"
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
He was silent. Hair fell over his eyes and his upper face darkened in shadow. The anger drained briefly. He didn't say anything at first and then he said what you least expected. "He's sorry." A chuckle, then all out rancorous laughter.
"But I'm not."
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed.
He swung a fist and the force of it threw you back; you raised yourself from the ground and wiped at your split lip.
He grinned again, maliciously.
Dream, your brain chanted again, shattering your reality with a harsh explosion of words. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
"I'm going to hunt you down. You can't run from me. Liars can't go anywhere but down. Can't go anywhere but hell and burn for all eternity. Run, liar."
You covered your ears.
Alarms blared. Red lights flashed.
He was in your face, now. You turned. You started running. Your jogs turned to a sprint. But you couldn't drown out his words. Who was he? How was doing this? How had everything gone to outright crap in mere seconds?
"Run."
Blood flashed across your vision.
It was over.
Dream, your brain chanted feebly, dying out, withering, taking its last breaths. This is a dream, a dream, a dream.
And for the first time since you could remember, you let out a long, tortured scream.
It lasted a long, long time.
***
His eyes snapped open.
They were cold. Murderous. Full of wrath, envy, greed.
There was an overwhelming sense that he felt . . . the terror . . . the regret . . . it was all there: the emotions that he'd been trying to provoke from the unfeeling machine since day one. It'd been hard, he had to admit, thanks to the good for nothing who called them a friend.
He sat up.
Smoke drifted from his clothes, rising to the ceiling and vanishing. He ruffled his hair and his navy blue almost black eyes became riveted, practically fixed on a single, dawning point on the horizon. His voice broke the deafening silence, rasping, cold and calculating. "Shame, that. John Garett's Death."
He stood.
He tugged on his black trench coat, popped his shoulder, cracked his neck. He could envision his rule, even now. The chess pieces had fallen into place. There wasn't anyone he couldn't reach. Or kill. "Disappointment, that. The Caster boy's resistance after an unfortunate flashback. He ought to learn who the real dominant force is, or he'll suffer."
He cracked his knuckles.
He smiled. "Good, that. Ice box finally feeling the pressure. I'm amazing that they haven't realized why they aren't dead yet. It's quite simple, really, and yet they remain in the darkness. Searching, ever lost." He chuckled. Loki was doing exactly what he said he would. After all, he'd struck a deal and never broke his word. Lying wasn't particularly his thing. The Avengers were out of the loop and here he was, on top of everything. Hydra was trivial. S.H.I.E.L.D. was a side project.
If only they knew.
If only they knew how close Death was to touching the hem of their clothes.
But they didn't.
And, personally, he liked it that way.
***
"Didn't see . . . "
"Swerved. Huge crash . . . "
"Got a call from out of the Queens; way off the interstate. Held up traffic, I heard. Poor soul."
"Other one's dead. Red suit insisted on saying zilch but he's around . . . "
Oh, if only you could strike a proper deal with death. Maybe then you could rest to your heart's content. As of now, you'd had so many brushes with his arm that it was daily routine to wake up confused and bloody.
But enough of that. You weren't here to explain death to anyone, especially not yourself.
As the headlights came back to your memory and the aftermath and everything in between, you opened your eyes. Like an idiot you were blinded the moment you looked around by blazing cream colored lights. You swore, until you realized who was waiting for you to be conscience once more.
Wade quietly waited for you to notice his presence. When you did, you could imagine a huge grin. "I thought I'd lost you for sure, you son of a-"
"You and me both. And it isn't the first time. Or the second."
Quiet.
"Or the third-"
"It wasn't an accident, Ice Box. Whoever you've got angry at you sure is pissed. They're out for blood."
You almost said, 'No duh, thanks for the the bloody tip, my man. Always on top of it.' But you didn't, since it was fourteen words you didn't feel like croaking out. Instead, you just said, "Oh."
"Count me in. I'm no hero, but neither are you. Someone needs to keep you alive for the next big invasion, am I right or am I right?"
"Count you in?"
"War, Ice Box. This is war. The buildup has been evident for ages to you but I also know you're not a killer. You've been avoiding that conclusion for as long as possible.
"It's time to accept it, kid. You won't be getting out of this without wading through blood."
War.
He was right and you knew it. You had been ignoring it. Trying to settle it every other way but through death and destruction. It was the last thing you wanted, after all. You knew what it was like to lose loved ones even as you attempted to be an unfeeling robot who meticulously threaded through cases, adventures, mysteries.
War.
"Guess I'd better call in all my favors, then, eh?" You coughed. Sore, ugh. So sore. "Oh, and Wade?"
A mutual understanding was reached. He didn't have to nod. He knew you knew.
"Do me a huge favor and get Peter fricking Parker on the phone right now. He needs to hear a piece of my mind."
He stood, one foot ready to step out of the ambulance but then you smiled and he hesitated, watching your expression warily. Your smile grew wider. Like lightning out of the blue you arrived at the point you'd been refusing ultimately.
Attempted murder? No, you thought. Oh how they'll hate to hear what they helped me decide. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant
"Also, how mad do you think Director Fury would be if I tackily called to say bonjour?"
___________________
A/N:
My friend, reading my story: Why are you like this? Nothing is made to be broken.
Me: uh, piñatas
Anyways my point is??? Things will start to make sense again like what I know surprise and god bless but thanks to everyone for sticking with my mess of a story I'm honestly 200% having a heart attack because I got 23 notifications just from this book alone and I'm so glad people still want to read it haha oh I love you guys thank you so much I appreciate everything I hope you know that *cue a high five and HAMILTON WROTE THE OTHER FIFTY-ONE*
Right well I'll let you go I don't want to keep you up reading my rambling messages but please do consider the following:
Vote, comment and share!
It'd mean the world to me granted that I'm not well known yet and I love writing; I want to know when people love my writing as much as I enjoy writing it.
my name is Alexander Hamilton and there's a million things I haven't done just you wait just you wait,
Styx