Twin oaken doors were pushed open gently. Only the soft breeze of urban New York city could be heard. Sam Wilson shrugged the cold air of the night from his shoulders and continued walking forward. His footsteps clambered down the hard stone steps into the basement of New York's very own Alcoholics Anonymous.
"Ah, Samuel, please, come join us, we've only just begun." sounded the voice of Charles Xavier from the middle of the group circle. Around the wheelchair-bound Professor, twelve other disheartened souls sat. Sam took a look around before sitting his rump down into a cheap plastic chair.
"Well, now that we're all here, I think it high time to begin!" announced Xavier. Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this garbage. The only reason he'd come here was because Fury had made him. His drinking wasn't even bad, according to Sam's view, anyways. Though, after you single-handedly shit on the floor of every single one of the Avenger's bedrooms because of some "drinking problems", Fury had decided that enough was enough. Not to mention his three suicide attempts over the past two days.
"Samuel, since you're new here, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?" Xavier asked kindly.
Sam took a breath and glanced nervously about.
"Well, uh, I suppose I'm here because a-"
"Friend made you." Xavier finished for him. Sam looked at him open-mouthed. How in the heavens did he do that?
"I'm a telepath, Samuel. I can read the minds of everyone in this room. I know all your deepest, darkest, sexiest thoughts. Everything that you are, and will be. I know of the suicide attempts, Samuel."
Sam felt embarrassed. His methods of suicide weren't the most effective. Three times he had attempted to jump off the Stark Tower, only to realize he was wearing his wings.
The Professor leaned forward conspiratorially and looked deep into Sam's eyes.
Make one fucking sound and I'll pop your ass, cuck.
Sam blinked confusedly. Had he heard right?
"Sir, I think you just-"
"No mistake, Samuel. None at all."
Xavier looked politely at Sam, who remained dumbfounded. What was this place, anyways?
"So, on with business," continued Xavier. "Samuel, why don't you tell us the problems you've been having?"
Sam was taken aback, but cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but, once again, heard Xavier's voice inside his head.
What did I tell your dirty unused Avengers ass, motherfucker?"
Now Sam was getting angry. He turned to Xavier in raising a hand.
"What's going on, man? Why don't you just let me talk?"
Xavier put on the most unconvincing look of offendedness. He gasped and sputtered, holding a withered hand to his chest.
"Did...did you just verbally assault a man in a wheelchair?" the Professor demanded in an affronted British tone.
Sam was getting real worked up by this point. This time he stood up, ready for a fight. He took a fulfilling breath and, on the tip of uttering a word, heard Xavier's words in a soft whisper inside his mind.
Drink me. Eat me.
Sam stood frozen. He finally knew why he was brought here. He finally knew why Fury had sent him.
For the first time, Sam looked fully at the other guests.
Yes. He was right.
The twelve painted faces of the disciples of Jesus Christ sat in perfect recreation of The Last Supper. From Peter, to John, even to old Judas Iscariot. All were here.
In a startling realization, Sam noticed that his clothes had changed. Where were once grubby city threads were now pure white, soft and silken robes, clearly untained by sin. Sam felt his hair, now luscious and brown, and a bushy beard to match.
His eyes finally fell upon a vacant chair in the middle of the group, amidst the newly formed table groaning under the weight of food. Samuel Christ stepped forward to fulfill the vacant seat.
The space where Xavier's wheelchair had been was now the body and blood of...you know. Samuel took the bread, and the wine, and passed it along the table, so that all could taste his Glory.
Sam smiled. His smile then turned into a chuckle. It only grew louder when he looked directly past the table through the window where he could see Fury and Stark looking concernedly inside.
"You sure he'll be alright, Nicky?" Stark asked with a twinkle.
"Ohhh yes. This therapy has worked many times before. Plus, you won't be weighed down by his pointless character anymore!" Stark gritted his teeth and poured the duo a cold hard glass of Orange Fanta to share.
Stark and Fury laughed as they locked arms, skipping off into the halls of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Sam just continued to smile, knowing that now, his life was complete.