So very sorry to all those who were kind enough to comment. I had half of the story plotted from the start; but something was missing to continue and I never had the challenge to complete it. So I thought it best to let it quietly retire gracefully…
BUT THEN 'CAPTAIN AMERICA: WINTER SOLDIER' CAME TO BE, AND NOW MY PLOT BUNNIES WON'T SHUT UP!
So thus, not all that sadly, the rebooted overhaul of this story begins.
It was originally a Thor/Batman crossover, but since there are so many more elements I have changed Thor for Avengers to sort of create a general blanket for all the characters.
Prologue
Jotunheim-
The Allfather could not recall a time he'd ever felt more conflicted.
The tiny bundle of wriggling limbs looked up and smiled.
The child was too young to understand what was happening. As one of Frost Giant blood, the frigid air should feel like the warming breezes of spring. It would not understand the ill twist of feelings that had left it out here to fend for itself.
Odin could honestly say many would be right to accuse him of being harsh at times; often more militant soldier than diplomatic king. But none could ever deny the heart of a father beat strong and fierce in his breast.
Could it be? Laufey had abandoned his own child?
Or was it something more?
He really couldn't tell with his restricted command of the Jotunheim tongue.
All he knew from the priestess's vicious ranting before she was thankfully relieve of her head, was that Laufey was leaving his son here. Alone. To the elements.
True, the boy was of the same frozen blood as his parents. But there was no way, sacred offering to entreat victory or simply abandoning because of a lack of meeting personal standards, was he leaving this child here.
The general waiting outside looked on in surprise, but said nothing, as his king mounted the eight-legged horse in preparations to return to Asgard's royal palace. The bundle of no-longer-blue limbs cradled gently the king's arms.
Earth (Midgard) -
Bruce clenched his fists and loosened them several times. A habit he'd picked up from his father for when something was worrying him.
The service was a quite one.
After his parent's death he'd had no need of servants or helpers beyond Alfred's impeccable care and the once-a-month cleaning service.
With their ties to the dark city now gone, the Dawes had fulfilled their dream of moving their family to the south for their retirement. It was here that Rachael had spent the second half of her maturing years training in the guidelines and restraints of the law, even as she sought a way to remove those who, like him, existed in the shadows that haunted their city.
Except, he was a good shadow- he liked to think- that had tried to help her cause along the way.
First to remove the dense fog that was the man he'd considered the answer to his own demons. Then again with the horror show that thought to bring its own brand of what had called humor to their bleak, miserable little city.
In the end it all amounted to the number eternally laughing in his head.
Zero!
Indeed, he saved hundreds…no, thousands, of lives.
And his reward?
A cold pine box that contained absolutely nothing.
Because the same number applied to the amount that the cops he paid had been able to recover of the person they were all gathered to honor.
Zero.
A blank.
Nothing.
The only reason he'd been able to believe it had been Rachael was because of that madman's laughter that made your ears want to bleed. Echoing sinisterly in the Batman's ears, swirling darker his cape, as the Dark Knight hauled the ranting Harvey Dent from the place the DA's assistant should have been instead of the man himself.
It had taken the authorities a bit longer to be satisfied with that answer.
DNA samples scrapped off of painstakingly collected cement blocks in a desperate attempt to find something to confirm or deny their city's last visible defender was gone.
The days and weeks after had been a blur.
But finally, they could lay her to rest.
He did not deserve this.
This right to stand besides those others she loved, who still stood in what they called the light, and bid farewell to the one woman who ever been able to see beyond the mask to the heart beneath. The right to say goodbye as a normal human being with…
The feather-light touch to the back of his rough, callused hands stilled the raging demons in his mind.
"You're the one she always talked about." The small, youngish voice startled the man out of his brooding. "The knight who would defend the people of his kingdom when they needed him most. Even if he seemed to be a big, scary monster at times."
Pain lanced through his chest.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?!"
"You're him. The Dark Knight. She said you had something to do to make sure your people were safe; and that you would come back one day."
The innocence with which those words were spoken brought a choking lump to his throat and he fought the vicious urge to gag.
"Although," the bright words faltered, along with the shy smile that was sincere, but under-woven with fears and pain of loss, "she always was afraid she wouldn't be here to welcome you home."
"So that's why I'm here," the smile was more brilliant than the sun, piercing his dark, shadow shrouded heart like a dagger of pure… something he couldn't put to words. "To welcome you back.
"Even if it is to say goodbye."
During the course of their rather one-sided conversation the little girl had been steering him closer to the open hole in the ground.
Upon realizing this, he attempted to break the gentle-yet-firm hold the child had on his hand.
However, he found himself unable to not avoid approaching the pile of wood and floral bits that was to be Rachael Dawes final resting place.
Except he knew this to be the most blatant lie in all his years.
Desperately, he tried to run. To escape the warmth and understanding that echoed the normalcy of the first and, he was sure, the last woman he would ever love.
Strong arms arrested his move to flee.
"It's Ok Son," The hands gripped his arms tighter, the closest he'd been to a hug in years.
Besides her.
"We know." How could they? "When our Rachael went back to see you, we knew in our hearts there was no way she was coming back until she had found a way to… bring you back"
The dark-haired man jerked back at that statement.
"Whatever the hell she meant by that."
So his…. OF COURSE! How could he ever distrust her?
She would never betray the faith he had in her. Just as she believed in the faith she had for him.
"Thank you." He wasn't sure if his words were decipherable under all the cotton layering his tongue and throat, but he hoped they got the idea.
"Though, there is one thing I think she always meant to tell you." The sharp glance was met by a slightly more awkward and just-plain-tired one. "Later, after everyone's gone I think."
Undisclosed location in Siberia-
The Captain was still not sure what he was thinking at the time. He'd been dispatched to ascertain whether the American bastards had succeeded in capturing Herr Zola.
He had been forced to return to report the devastating loss of one of Hydra's finest minds.
However, he had not returned empty-handed.
Although he still had no idea what had possessed him to bring back the half-dead body. He'd been ready to shoot the corpse upon discovery; if just to let out steam at the appalling situation he would no doubt be still receiving fallout for, even though his mission had been nowhere near that valley at the time of the assault.
But something had stopped him.
He wasn't sure what. The body had been missing the majority of its arm and surrounded by blood. Even without those two factors, anyone out in this eternal place of snow and ice would have frozen to death in mere hours just from lying there like that. It would have been a mercy to put the creature out of its misery.
But something had held back the finger on the trigger of his gun.
Perhaps it was just luck. He did not believe in miracles or a god to perform them. But now he was willing to believe in those democratic dogs' stories about an egg decorating rabbit or sprite who - for some reason- traded teeth for money. Because what he had found beneath that snow was worth far more than a cauldron of gold.
The subject had sustained heavy injuries from what must have been a fall during the kidnapping attempt. An attempt that succeeded, he reminded himself; but no matter. He did not care for some fat, pompous brainiac whose only concern was his textbooks and lab results.
What they had gained in the good doctor's place was something far more valuable that would change the fate of the world exponentially.
Hail Hydra!
Asgard-
The Grand Hall shone like a million suns.
He loved it more than words could describe. It meant another wonderful celebration to speak of glorious deeds done in valor in the name of justice. A time when the rights of the world were held to the light to be a beacon to all who had the strength and will to follow with pure minds and souls.
He quirked a dark eyebrow as his contrastingly fair sibling whined with irritation.
The two could not be more dislike.
The one was thin, pale skinned, dark of hair, and solemn in the deep contemplations that oft wrangled his mind.
The other was light of hair and of skin, but the complex was slightly darker from hours spent in the sun training instead his body with the other warriors of their realm. His face was often set in the laughter ready to sing forth with the many companions that too sought the glory of their might and deeds waiting to be sung before many a hearth.
He never begrudged his brother's popularity; for it in turn afforded him the silence to seriously contemplate the things of the mind that a prince should also be required to gain affirmation in. He might never equal his sibling on the field of battle. But on the floor where the mind and tongue came to play… ah, that was a different matter entirely.
They were as opposite as sun and moon, summer and winter, light and dark. But still, though they did not realize it, the one could not exist without the other.
Earth: Gotham City-
The manor was always dark. But she liked it that way. In a manner it almost provided a suitable match for the overcast skies of this city.
Although a stark contrast to the sunny home of her childhood, she'd loved it from the first moment she'd stepped through the doors into this life.
It was quiet too, her father preferring to isolate himself for the majority of his time. Alfred and her respected this decision out of reverence for the empty spot in all their hearts and lives that had been so painfully and abruptly evicted.
It wasn't hard anyways. Even before coming to the newly restored Wane manor, she'd been quiet. Preferring instead to spend her time with the tributary home of books and all the wonders found in the pages of its inhabitants.
On a subconscious level, she wondered if, by chance, this helped ease the abrupt change from parentless child to parent. Her father seemed not one much for words, but he did respect knowledge. And the odd occasions that he ventured from the solitude of his room were spent mostly in the room filled with words not spoken but loud in the voice they were given.
Perhaps in that way they were not so unalike; both with their preference for solitude and the dark, where they were left to their own thoughts. The world could crow all it wanted. She hadn't needed a degree in psychiatry to know it was the glittery playboy that was the real mask presented to the masses.
The other mask… the other mask was one only two other living human beings on this planet knew about. Even though one of them wasn't supposed to.
That added another word to the list of adjectives to describe the two of them.
Secrets.
Something that really did run in the family.
A Dark Knight and a secret child. Both masks to hide from this world of fools and liars. They were a perfect match.
Unknown location at an unknown time-
He never remembered his assignments, no matter how many his handlers seemed to be very conscious of the number he'd accomplished so far.
All he knew is he had a mission, a simple one really. Even if he couldn't consciously bring up any memories of them, he was sure on some level that he'd seen more complicated situations than this.
But it wasn't his place to ask questions. He was a soldier. He had his orders. That was all he needed, a place and purpose in life to keep moving forward. Was anything else really necessary?
Without another thought, he gazed down the sight attached to the top of his gun and gently squeezed the trigger.
Asgard-
Home was a beautiful place, so full of life and color; and also a number of quite spots if one was searching for them.
But it wasn't the appearance that was the problem. He'd learned so very long ago that sight was such an undependable thing. The surface was always the lie that one needed to penetrate to gain the truth beneath. With few exceptions.
Like the loud oaf beside him now.
No, most would have pointed to another, red-bearded individual of their group as being the lout of gluttony and ill manners.
Actually he found Volstagg to be an almost charming ruffian in comparison to the golden-haired fool loudly recounting the tale of their latest adventure and subsequent triumph.
A triumph, may he be allowed to point out, that would have ended in the bottom of an over-grown squid's belly had it not been for him and his quick thinking. Again.
Not that he minded his brother being the one at the center of the wonder and glory. Personally, he preferred to stay out of the spotlight, he was never found of large amounts of attention for extended periods of time.
The problem was his stupid brother and those four idiotic friends.
Thor was perfectly happy to take the credit of the achievement to polish up his glowing image, always had since they were young. The three men who boisterously attached themselves to the hero aiding with the shining of said ego, since it meant they were more than welcome to bask in its glory.
Naturally though, this glow also cast shadows, which always inevitably made their way to one individual in particular.
He didn't mind the shadows, the same way he did not care for the light, mostly. But more and more recently, his brother had become bloated on that imagined image of glowing infallibility. Even now barely passing him mention in the tales, unless the only other option became outright lying; which his most noble brother would never do to even save his own neck.
But those passing mentions had also fallen to shadow. Now it seemed almost his expected duty to keep this bumbling hothead he called a sibling, alive and relatively unscathed.
No more was he seen as a warrior in his own right. Rather, a shadow given being by hiding behind the light of the kingdom's golden promise.
It certainly didn't help that Sif, the last member of their entourage, was perfectly aware of the discrepancies in this picture. But, of course, given her own glowing perceivance of his brother, it was no contest who's side she would take- despite her common lack of respect when informing her leader of the stupidity of his plan while they were in the middle of executing it.
The younger brother rather suspected it had quite a lot to do with a female's dislike of one of the opposite sex having the same insightfulness as herself.
Feral females, fanatic fans- foppish fools the lot of them!
It was true he did not care for the fame or glory. But when that lack of care left a brand upon everything he had done to aid their darling, was it really worth it?
And if it bothered him so, who or what was he really fighting for?
Gotham-
It was getting harder to get him to speak. Heck, it was becoming a challenge just to get him beyond the walls of his comfort zone.
Over the years he'd grown more withdrawn, if that was even possible. Always staying in his room for weeks on end now, stewing in the ghosts that haunted him.
It wasn't that he was self destructive or any such negative things. Rather, he simply had no interest or desire to connect with the world beyond the confines of his rooms.
On the increasingly rare occasion she managed to convince him to join her outside for a bit, it almost always seemed to end abruptly with a sudden change in demeanor. He really did try to pay attention as much as possible. But it seemed like the ghosts would not leave him even under the blazing summer sun. Always dragging him back to the shadows where they could once more fill his mind with their dark thoughts.
She didn't need a degree in psychiatry to guess their origin.
He may no longer wear the suit, but that didn't mean it wasn't still in inescapable part of him.
She knew for a fact that a large portion of his time was being spent in the caves below, where his personal den was transforming into something that would no doubt make sci-fi writers lose control of their salivary glands should they ever catch the tiniest whiff of. If she didn't, she would have become genuinely worried. Because the excuse for still working on the fusion reactor that annoying slimeball kept coming around to try poking at would not have been near enough reason to convince even an ignorant her.
He needed space and time. He was still healing from wounds deeper than she had any prayer of being able to reach.
Until then she would stubbornly cling to the hope that someday, by some bored-enough –to-care deity's sympathy, she'd finally be able to reach him.
Then, maybe, he'd be able to allow himself a chance to heal and become the man he once was.
Birthday candles are kind of a weak promise she was not sure from whence originated.
Yet they were exponentially better than no hope at all.
Somewhere in a no longer known place-
He was tired. He was beyond caring. He wondered if when he woke up he wouldn't remember any of this either.
He didn't have anything else.
They said he was a great soldier. That was when he woke up. He had barely any memories, just muscle reflex. Occasionally there were snaps and flashes of things he thought might be his past. He was told it was a side effect of the treatments that made him who he was.
An indestructible gift; placed in the hands of those deserving to use his powers to rule this earth and its feeble mess called humanity.
The times he remembered waking up were as being disoriented, with barely any cohesive thought at all. They would have to remind him of who he was and his purpose in this world. He had no reason to disbelieve them. The weapons they placed in his hands felt like old ghosts that he was incomplete without. The orders were the flat tune that wound him up to set him dancing on his way.
He had no idea why he found that last allusion capable of bringing his lips into a tight line that threatened to rise at the corners; much less how he even knew what it meant and how to make it.
He was sure he remembered. He would, given time, his caretakers insisted. But all too often, the treatments left him feeling empty and hollow.
They called him the Winter Soldier. Perhaps that was more than a witty acclamation.
He felt nothing. He remembered nothing. He cared for nothing. He was frozen. The only thing keeping him moving one foot in front of the other was some unconscious drive that told him this is what he was.
A soldier who took orders and did not ask questions.
Just a little more and he would be done. Maybe he'd even be lucky enough not to remember this after he was done and could sleep again.
Without another thought, he gazed down the sight attached to the top of his gun and gently squeezed the trigger.
No shooting please. There is a reason I keep Master-vampire-slaying monster hunters and an undead Lord of the Black as my henchmen.
But I will give you a Bucky plushie strangling a CA bear if you leave some words of love in the box below. XD