Hi everyone. I'm back. I know its been a while. I still don't have a computer and my spouse has finally started letting me use his. The updates might take a while because I'm pregnant with twins, due in February. This story is now on WordPad, so there might be mistakes like two capital letters when only the first one is supposed to be. Their and with and the and and might also be misspelled.
This chapter is during the Meeting the Avengers story but during Chapter 5, it goes off a whole different way. Hopefully you like this story too.
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CHAPTER 1:
Once the men leave the room, locking the door, I sit up, wincing. It's a little difficult with my wrists handcuffed behind my back, but I succeed. Also my ankles are manacled together, with a six inch chain between them.
My heartbeats are sped up in fear. The heart is threatening to pop out of my chest, through the ribcage. Its pounding so loudly that I think everyone can hear it. My mouth dries, no volume for screaming or begging for no pain.
Instantly I know my life is going to drastically change. The crossroads coming up is going to decide which side of the road that the change will fall too; either good or bad. Though I know that if its bad, there will be lots of pain.
I don't know why the men kidnapped me. Only that they took me from my high school. They punched my left temple, dazing me. Before I could struggle, they had tied me up. Then I was put in a van and brought here.
Maneuvering around, I slide my wrists past my feet, bringing them in front of me. Easily I pull a bobby pin out of my hair, twisting the end about. My right hand shakes as I use the bobby pin to easily unlock my left handcuff.
When I was younger, my siblings and I used to tie each other up. We got very good at getting out of bonds. When my sister dated a police officer, she gave my brother and me a pair of handcuffs. It became easy to get out of them.
Soon, I have my left wrist unlocked. Setting the handcuffs down, I think about how to escape as I unlock my ankles. Done, I put the bobby pin back in my hair. My sky-blue eyes look around the room, hoping for a weapon, a phone, or something.
Oh my gosh! Laying on the ground, also beaten, is a light brown-haired man. He is either dead, unconscious, or faking. I would probably fake too if someone kept beating me up. He is in the shadows so its hard to see him.
Slowly I crawl over to him. He seems to notice that I'm not a bad guy, dark gray eyes hesitantly opening. I smile, not as big as usual, at him, wondering why he is here. All I know is that I have to make sure he's ok and take him out of here, safely.
That's my downfall. Whenever I see anyone hurt or injured, it tends to trigger an over-developed nurturing streak. One that my older sister said would get me hurt one day. Strangely it works on animals and people who make fun of me.
But there is something strange about this man, that goes further than my usual downfall. I want to make sure this man stays safe, keep him close to me, like an older brother. Nobody has made me feel this strongly since my family died.
Usually I hide from people. I don't like them looking at me for any length of time, touching me, or being behind me. Also I don't like being the center of attention. I've had these problems since I was a toddler but they've gotten worse since Them.
"If you unlock my cuffs, I will help you get out of here." He whispers in a deep growl-like voice that is more animal-like than human.
Strangely, I trust him completely. Usually it takes me months to trust anyone a little bit. I haven't trusted anyone this quickly or much since my family died. Usually I stay away from people, afraid of getting hurt or anything.
Getting the bobby pin out of my hair, I unlock his handcuffs. Doing the left one, I realize that his left hand seems to have some metallic coating or something. I plan on asking about it but his guarded expression stealing into my eyes stop me.
Something triggers in the back of my mind about the arm but I can't remember anything right now. I just shrug off the memory, getting back to his wrists. His eyes look at me, like I should know something but he doesn't say anything.
Once he's free, he stands up. His piercing eyes look down at me, since he's six foot five and muscular and not too slender. My cheeks redden, not usually liking anyone looking at me for any length of time or having anyone close to me.
"We are going to have to be quick, can you handle that?" He asks me, looking me up and down, with an older brother-like look.
"Um, I can't run very long. My body is still recovering." I admit, hanging my head in fear of what he'll do to me.
Because of Them, all the torture, and the burial, my body is slowly healing. It doesn't like a lot of physical activity, going unconscious if I do anything too much. I know that I can't run more than fifteen minutes at a time.
His left hand grabs my right wrist, easily lifting me up into a standing position. Firmly but gently he drags me along, heading for the door. Even though he isn't holding me tightly, I know that he could snap my wrist at any time.
I never really want to remember the details of the next half hour. He led me through the compound, trying to avoid detection and dealing with patrols when necessary. It had been fast and brutal, nothing pretty about it, but in the end, it saved me.
When we got outside, he stole a big pickup. Easily and quickly he got me into the middle of the front seat, with him driving. I laid down on the seat, resting my head on his lap, trusting him to keep us safe. His right hand brushes my hair, soothing me.
CHAPTER 2:
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, he has turned off the pickup's engine. Slowly I sit up, stretching my back. We are in a small town, next to a one story building that is very long and L shaped.
"Where are we?" I ask, looking around, noticing that this place seems familiar but I don't know why, getting a scary feeling.
"In North Powder, Oregon." The man replies, looking at me worriedly as I gasp, tensing in fear of getting hurt or something.
I haven't been back to this town since They buried me when I was in eighth grade. After three months in a coma, I woke up in Klamath Falls, Oregon. That is when I found out that my family was killed by Them, on accident.
A month after I woke up, They found me again. I tried to get away but my body was too weak. They grabbed me, tying me up. Then They shoved me into an open grave, laughing as I landed on a coffin. Deven hit my left temple with a shovel.
I woke up in this dimension, where the Marvel Universe is real. Before the doctors talked to me, I saw Iron Man on the news. So when the doctors asked about my life, I lied and said I couldn't remember. Which is why I am in a foster home.
"Um." I pause, looking at the man, wondering if he is giving me to Them, before hesitantly asking. "Why are we here?"
"It's a good place to stay the night." He replies, looking at me, puzzled. "It will only be tonight. Tomorrow, we will leave and never look back."
"Promise." I hesitantly ask, hating how fragile my voice sounds, almost child-like, not wanting him to make fun of me.
"Oh, Doll. I promise that I won't let anyone hurt you." He vows, arms wrapping around me and pulling me onto his lap.
Hesitantly and with breaks, I tell him about my childhood. Though I don't remember most of it, due to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I remember Them calling me names and being scared most of the time. I don't tell him about being from a different dimension.
During my story, he keeps me in his arms, holding me securely. His body tenses as I talk about being buried alive and when They drowned me. He hasn't talked the entire time, though he does growl out a few times, dangerously.
At the end of my story, his arms just stay around my form. He holds me close, offering me comfort and reassurance. I rest my head on his left shoulder, relax in his embrace, trusting that he won't or let anyone harm me.
"Do you want us to keep going? I can drive a couple more hours." He offers, though I can tell that he is tired, from the shadows under his eyes.
"If you think we will be fine, I can handle it." I whisper, trusting him but still scared of what might happen when we're here.
"Come on. We will get some sleep and be out of here early in the morning." He whispers, before looking all around, searching for something.
Climbing out of the driver's door, he looks all around. I scoot to the edge of the seat. He turns to me, hands grabbing my waist. My hands grab his biceps, firmly. Gently he lifts me out of the pickup, setting my feet on the ground.
"Do you want to stay in the pickup while I get us a room?" He asks me, eyes looking around again, protecting me from everyone.
"No. Not without you." I quickly reply, shaking my head, not wanting him to be out of my sight incase They get me again.
His left arm wraps over my shoulders, hugging me close to his side. I wrap my right arm around his waist, keeping him close. He leads me into the Office, keeping his eyes on the surrounding area and his ears on all the sounds.
Inside the office, I see Heather Tittle sitting behind the desk. Her eyes widen, seeing me. I cringe closer to the man, who growls angrily at Heather. She jerks backwards, before smiling at him, trying to act all sexual, batting her eye-lashes.
"Hello, Handsome. What may I do for you?" She asks, not paying any attention to me. "You could ditch the slut and hang out with me."
"Like I would go anywhere with you? This is my wife. We would like a room for tonight only, please." The man says, adding the please like its been programmed.
"Of course." Heather says, looking down at her computer. "We have a couple rooms available. I just need your signature and the money. Its thirty-five dollars per room."
"We only need one room." The man says, softly moving me forward so that he can set some dollar bills on the counter.
"Are you sure? I can show you what a real woman is like?" Heather tries to act sexy but she acts like a cat in heat.
"On second thought, I don't want my wife around a slut like you." The man says, before grabbing the money and leading me out of the building.
Outside, we head back to the pickup. He keeps his arm snug around my shoulders, not letting me move very far from his side. His other hand puts the money back in his pocket. He looks all around, before opening the driver's door.
His hands grab my hips, lifting me up again. I smile down at him as he sets me on the seat. Easily I move backwards, letting him climb into the pickup. He starts the engine, before peeling out and driving away from the parking lot.
I sit close to his right side, scared of the strange feeling I have. Easily his right arm wraps around my waist, hugging me close. My heartbeats are still loud in my ears, scaring me. His arm is snug, not letting me go, body shaking a bit.
It takes about an hour for his body to calm down. His arm finally loosens, allowing me to move. I move, only so that I can stretch out my legs along the seat, leaning against his side. My head leans on his right shoulder, feeling safe.
CHAPTER 3:
"Who was she? Does she know you?" He asks, after a few hours on the road. "Is she one of those that hurt you?"
"Yes. Her name is Heather Tittle. She was the meanest girl in the class. Just as mean was Deven Thompson, her boyfriend." I explain.
He pulls into the parking lot of a motel in a small town outside Boise, Idaho. Putting the pickup in park, he just sits there. I turn around, looking at him, puzzled. His eyes turn to me, lips quirking up in a half smile, that is sad.
"We have been together for hours and I still don't know your name. My name is Bucky." He softly tells me, sad about the words.
I just smile as the memory tries to come forward, but stops. He smiles back at me. Quickly I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him in a snug hug. It takes about a minute for his arms to wrap around me, returning my hug.
"My name is Audrey." I reply, pulling my head back a little bit to add. "Thank you for taking us away from Them."
He smiles, arms loosening a little. I set my head on his shoulder, facing his neck. Turning his head, he gently kisses my forehead. I smile, closing my eyes. He maneuvers us about, opening the door and climbing out, keeping me in his arms.
Easily we get a room. The man at the front desk keeps looking at me funny. I step backwards, hiding behind Bucky. He growls at the man, who backs up, hands rising in fear. Bucky seems to sense something, nodding his head.
Once he has the key, Bucky leads me out of the office. I stay close to his side, right hand tightly holding onto the bottom of his shirt. He doesn't seem to mind, liking it when I'm close to him, knowing that I'm safe with him.
In the hotel room, he leads me into the room, looking all around. Closing the door, he locks it, putting the chain on. Letting me go, he walks around the room, looking at everything. He checks the bathroom, before coming back into the main room.
"There is nothing here. Its safe." He says, smiling gently at me. "Tomorrow, we will figure out where to go next." He plans.
"Kay." I reply, looking all around. "You're tired. Why don't you try to get some sleep?" I tell him, gesturing to the only bed.
"Come on." His left hand takes my right hand gently. "You can sleep too." He leads me to the bed, smiling at me, gently. "I will be on the end facing the door."
Easily he firmly but gently gets me into the bed. I tense as he spoons around me from behind. Soon my body relaxes, knowing that he isn't going to hurt me or take my virginity. I allow sleep to take over, trusting him to keep us safe.
CHAPTER 4:
Angry shouts jerk me awake. I gasp, sitting up. Bucky is standing by the window with a handgun in one hand. He is looking through the crack between the curtain and the wall. His eyes briefly look at me, before looking back outside.
I sit on the bed, not wanting to draw his attention. The shouts from outside seem to be coming closer. My body jumps as gunshots go off. Before I'm done moving, Bucky has me over the side of the bed, hidden from the door.
The door bangs open. Four men, in their mid-twenties to late thirties, rush into the room with guns drawn. They aren't focused on me or Bucky as they quickly close the door, locking it and putting the chain up. That is when they look around the room.
The oldest man is scruffy and in a sharp suit. Another man is Spanish-American with a cool cowboy hat on. The third man is muscular, blond, and with a neon green shirt. And the last man is African-American, young, and cute.
Bucky forces me farther down, so that the bed completely hides me. His eyes stay on the new men, along with his gun. The new men lower their guns, though they are ready to use them at a moments notice. The oldest man is staring at where I was.
"Audrey." He whispers, like he can't believe its me. "How? When?" He asks, stepping closer in shock, gun falling from his limp hand.
"How do you know her name?" Bucky quickly demands, before angrily asking. "Who are you? What is going on?"
"I'm her uncle; her mother's brother, Franklin Clay" The man says, sending remembered conversations through my mind.
"But I don't have an Uncle Frank. My mother was an only child." I whisper, looking at Bucky confused, hoping he has the answers.
More gunshots happen, right outside the door. Before I can yelp, the new men are on this side of the bed, guns pointed at the door. Bucky and Clay are on either side of me. I tense, unsure what's happening, scared of everything.
"If you're her Uncle, why doesn't she know you? Why wouldn't you take her in after her family was murdered?" Bucky asks, glaring.
"Killed? What?" Clay demands, turning to Bucky, before looking down at me and gently asking. "Audrey, what does he mean?"
My eyes look from one to the other, unsure how to comprehend what is happening. Its so confusing, until a detail hits me. I'm from a different dimension., but maybe in this dimension, my mother had siblings, including Clay.
"Is there another way out?" I hesitantly ask Bucky and Clay, not liking loud noises, thinking of Them burying me alive.
"The bathroom window. It opens up to the other side of the building." Bucky says, looking down at me before looking at Clay.
"Lets go. Cougar, I want you and Jensen to keep watch of Audrey, no matter what." Clay orders. "Me, Pooch, and him, will take out the enemy." He gestures to Bucky when he says 'him'.
Keeping himself between me and the door, Bucky forces me up and into the bathroom. Behind us are the Clay and the others. In the bathroom, the Spaniard with the hat, opens the window. He looks out, before climbing out, head barely reaching the sill.
The African-American man is next, smiling at me nicely. And then the spiky blond haired man climbs out the window. Bucky firmly but gently forces me to the window. I brace myself before he picks me up in his strong arms.
Easily he eases me through the window and into the Spaniard's arms. That man gently lowers my legs, keeping his left arm loosely around my waist so nothing happens. Soon Clay and Bucky are through the window and around me.
"Well, well. What do we have here." A creepy male voice says from behind me. "Boys, we got us a female. I get to use her first."
At the first word, Bucky forces me behind him as he turns to the man speaking. Clay and the others stand beside Bucky, hiding me from view. All their guns are out and pointed at the speaker, who has a gun pointed at Bucky.
An arm circles my waist, pinning my arms, yanking me backwards. As I yelp, a hand suddenly covers my mouth, the fingers slipping around my jaw, holding it closed. My legs kick as I struggle to get free of his strong grip.
In a flash, the blond man has me in his arms, soothingly. The man who had a hold of me is on the ground, gasping for air with blood running out of his mouth. Clay, Bucky, and the Spaniard are standing around the dying man, expressions angry.
Quickly Bucky grabs me, running down the street. His left arm is around my waist, holding me off the ground, securely pinning me to his chest. Behind us are the others except for Clay. Clay is to the side of Bucky, silently giving directions.
Soon we are back in the pickup. The Spaniard, the blond man, and the African-American man get into the backseat. Bucky sets me in the middle, before driving. Clay is on the passenger seat, gun ready for action as he looks all around.