A/N: (The AU ending to Deadly Class's S1 Finale that no one asked for. Marcus meet the Marvel Universe.)I am highly addicted to superfamily fics and, more specifically, Iron!Dad Spider!Son fics, but whilst watching Marcus fall further and further down the rabbit hole, traumatized by his parent's death, Chester's abuse, and finding his somewhat unhealthy 'family' of misfits at King's Dominion, I kept imagining The Avenger's finding him. Daddy issues - check. Assassin - Kind of.
This is AU from the scene with Marcus and Chester in the basement. Set in present Day/Marvel timeline and a few years post Endgame.
Chapter 1
Now
For most The Snap was the worst thing to ever happen.
For him, it was Barbara Salinger.
Most might not agree, but he thinks it might have been better to just watch his parents disintegrate and drift away. Hell, most of the ones taken, eventually came back anyway.
Instead, for him, his worst memories consisted of a crazed woman plunging to her death with a knitting needle that shish-kebabed his mother's body.
His memories included the twisted bodies of Crazy Barbara, his mother and Father, and a blood splattered sidewalk.
He always remembers the looks on other's faces when he tells them he had wished that they had all just turned to ash and drifted away.
He never actually got to see Barbara's face, doesn't really know what she would have looked like alive. Instead he pictures crazily wide painted and smudged lips on a white powdered face.
Of course, Barbara Salinger doesn't explain why he's in this shit-ball of a situation.
Well, if you went back far enough then, technically yes, Barbara and her Knitting Needles of doom caused his parents to die that lead him orphaned and in a string of abusive kids homes.
And Chester Fucking Wilson.
And without Chester he would never have been brought to the attention of Kings Dominion Atelier of the Deadly Arts.
Now?
Right now he's shackled to a table in an interrogation room with a black dude and an eye patch glaring across at him while Captain Freaking America leans against the wall.
Fuck Shit Balls.
Then
Chester is choking him out.
He can't breathe.
He can't fucking breathe.
Blood's in his eyes. They sting, blinding tears, which blur his eyes further.
He goes from trying to hit Chester, to pushing him, to grabbing at his throat, desperately trying to pry the tightening fingers off.
Nothing moves, not even an inch, and he knows, somewhere in his rapidly muffling head, that the high pitched keening sound and gurgling breaths are coming from his own very mouth.
He should know this. Some type of defensive move, some technique, that would miraculously let him break away. Surely they had taught him this. Some fancy Kung Fu move. Even if they hadn't, he was a street rat for fucks sake. He should know this!
Through his muffled ears he's distantly aware of barking and growling.
He abandons his attempt at stopping the tightening hold and reaches back with a hand, one remaining clamped to Chester's own at his throat as he garbles out incoherent pleas to breathe, and tries to grapple at the lever that keeps the cage door closed with outstretched fingers.
Just. Get. It. Open.
Roll. Away.
Let Chester get eaten by the dog he'd most likely been fucking.
But he can't reach.
And Chester's still choking him out, grunting and grinding on top of him.
Fuck No. He doesn't want Chester's leering and scarred face to be what he finally winks out to. He's there, right in front of him – on top of him - breathing obscenities over him, even as his focus darkens – red mingled with a darkening shadow.
Chester's face blinks in and out.
Barbara Salinger fills the gaps.
Face close as she coos at him. Red lips, smudged and wide, on a white powdered face.
Barbara. Chester. Red and White. Sweaty and Scarred. Wide smile, teeth stained with red. Leering Face and a grunting body.
And then Nothing.
Until Chester – and Barbara – are gone and someone else fills the space instead.
"-eathe, kid…" he hears, scrambled in his still muffled ears. "Breathe."
A gurgled gasp erupts from him, choked, as he grabs at his own throat.
"Take it easy."
A hand grabs at his own and tries to pull it away. It's cold against his heated skin. It jolts him enough to anchor him back to the here and now, and although the coldness feels kinda nice on his flushed body, it does nothing for the realization that there's someone there who he doesn't know and they're touching him.
He pulls away quickly, backing up, and hits the cage hard against his shoulders.
The cage comes alive with feral growls as a body crashes against it and he throws himself away blindly again.
His eyes dart around the room, trying to find an escape. Away from the cage. Away from the man backed up from him, hands up in a placating manner, and settle on the stairs.
The man's eyes follow his own, glancing at the stairs, before returning to him.
"I'd rethink that idea, kid." The man says, body still, nonthreatening, despite the black combat outfit and amour he wore. "There's only one way out of here and there's about a dozen agents upstairs. No way you're getting past them."
He takes his chances anyway. Eyes hardening, his inherent stubbornness emerging, he darts past the man, stumbling over what he realizes is Chester's body, and tries for the stairs.
He needs to get to the others.
They need to get the fuck out of here.
Get away and back to King's Dominion.
Instead he's plucked mid-step as he reaches the second step.
"- Or me," the guy says calmly.
"Fuck you," he growls. It sounds weird in his ears. Splintered between a crackling cough and an abused throat. "And fuck this shit."
He comes alive in the guy's hold, kicking and thrashing at him.
The only response he get is to be flipped upside down.
A hand comes down to ruffle his head.
Holy freakin' hell. Was the guy holding him upside down with just one hand?
"Listen, punk…" long, brown, shoulder length hair brushes his face as the man leans down and talks quietly in his ear. "I'd stow this shit if I was you. You're not gonna win."
He tries to twist out of the hold. Tries to reach out and scrabble for the banister of the stairs.
Was Chester dead?
Who was this guy?
Where were the others?
He needed to get out here.
Needed to get back.
Fuck. Shit. Balls.
Master Lin was going to kill him for sure.
Mouth snarling, the room filled with F-Bombs and other vocabulary that he didn't even realize he knew, as the man easily dragged him away.
"Quite the mouth you got there, kid. Didn't anyone teach you any manners?"
He's dumped the right way back up so abruptly that his traitorous legs threaten to buckle underneath him. The man rights him with steady hands on both shoulders and his eyes to drift to the very metal looking arm and hand that rested on his left shoulder.
"Now can we do something about that breathing of yours?" the man prompts, hands still gently squeezing him.
It's only now that he realizes he's still breathing fast with small panicked breaths.
Huh.
"Slow it down," the man says. "Breathe in. Breathe out."
"I can't…" he says, panic flaring.
"Breathe in…" the man says, ignoring him. Voice calm. Commanding. The metal hand moves to his chest, tapping gently. "And out".
More gentle tapping.
He latches on to the metal hand and squeezes.
It's cold. Refreshing. Calming.
"That's it, kid. Just like that."
After a little while the hands move from his chest and shoulder to his neck and face.
He flinches. Just enough that the man hesitates before continuing.
"How does it feel? Can you breathe okay now?"
"Hurts," he shrugs. "But I think I can breathe okay."
The man doesn't look convinced, frowning as he tips his chin up and lightly touches at his throat.
Wincing, he pulls away from the touch and glances wearily down at Chester's downed body, before turning wide eyes back to the uniformed man.
"He dead?"
"No. Just out."
"You don't seem like… a bad guy," he tries. There's no way he's escaping this half-man, half machine hybrid, so he'll try and talk his way out instead. "And I don't think you want me dead either?"
The man snorts.
"Questionable on the first part," the man shrugs. "And no on the second."
"Okay, good…" he fumbles for something to say. Nice arm you got here. Love the hair, dude. What products do you use? "So, do you think-"
"And no, I'm not letting you go. Not know I've located you."
He kicks at the cage with the back of his heel in frustration, momentarily forgetting about the rabied dog, and flinches away when it crashes and snarls against the cage.
Master Lin's voice fills his ears.
"You disappoint me, Marcus…"
"And Saya. She fought for you. She pledged you. Now I have two failures to deal with."
Saya. Shit. This will fuck her up to.
Where was she?
And Maria?
The last he'd seen of her she had Chico's head in her hands before Chester had barreled him down, full on body tackling him down the stairs to the basement.
"- what?" Marcus mumbles, brain sluggishly catching up with what the guy is saying.
"You got a name, kid…" the man asks, touching at his earpiece.
"Fuck. You…" he says, small smile tightening on his lips. "And you, good Sir?"
The man simply grins and laughs.
"Cap will love you," he snorts." Don't actually need it though."
"Why the fuck ask then?" he hisses out.
The man shrugs. "Protocol."
Protocol can go fuck itself.
"Cap?" the man says, tapping at his earpiece and wincing when static emerges. "I have Target A secured," A pause as he listened to the reply. "Yeah, got a filthy mouth on him. Banged up a little. He'll need to get checked out. Anyone else located yet?"
Glaring at the man he strains to hear anything but, as expected, he hears nothing.
The man raises an eyebrow at him before glancing down at Chester's body.
"Target B is down," he says into the radio," and needs to be secured. I need to get the kid out." He nods as a confirmation is given.
The man nods at him.
"Okay, kid. We're out of here."
Before he knows it he's back in the secured metal arm's hold and being dragged away towards the stairs.
Hands cuffed.
Protocol, he says, although he's sure there's no way he's breaking out of the metal clasp on his arm.
Adrenalin fading, exhaustion settling in, brain sluggishly chugging along, he lets himself be dragged.
"What about him?" he asks, twisting to look back at Chester's still unconscious body.
"Don't worry, kid. He's out for the count. And reinforcements are here," the man nods above him.
His eyes widen as a red-headed woman in leather appears and elegantly makes her way down the stairs. He can't help his eyes as they're drawn up and down her catsuit and back up again.
"Well, glad to see the kid's blood is getting to all his organs," she smirks.
An uncomfortable cough slips from his lips before slipping into a full on choke-fest.
The man laughs loudly next to him, slapping him on his back.
"Yowzer," the red-head says, slender fingers reaching out and dancing across his throat. "Make sure the kid gets seen by a medic."
"Not my fist rodeo, Romanoff…" the man mutters. "Just see to the target."
"Hmm," she says, lips turning up into a snarl. "My pleasure."
He's still choking up half a lung when they emerge back upstairs.
It's carnage.
There's bodies strewn everywhere. Some of which, he's sure, were not there before.
"What the fuck?" he mutters, breaths still catching on splutters. "In my defence I'm not responsible for all of these."
"No," the man nods, surveying the scene with amusement. "Some of them are mine."
He's dragged past some milling people. All in uniforms. Agents. All armed.
They share nods and acknowledgements before he's pushed out through the door.
"Marcus!"
A familiar figure darts out of a bush on the other side of the road.
Two familiar figures.
"Marcus"
Maria.
She darts blindly towards him and for a second it was like seeing his version of Crazy Barbara all over again.
Painted face. Red lips on a painted white face.
Darting across the street with Chico's decapitated head in her hands.
Fuck, No…
He can't help the flinch that runs through him as he stumbles back into the door and the agent's hands.
"Holy shit, Marcus!' he hears Lex shrill cry. "What the bloody hell happened."
Lex stumbles to a stop when his eyes zero in on Marcus, his cuffed hands and the man emerging behind from the door.
"Bloody hell," he hears Lex mutter.
"Get her outta here," he manages to yell in a broken voice, ripping his throat into even more shreds.
But that's where the fuck shit ball situation gets even more fucked.
A car engine revs, lights flicker on, and Lex is clearly blinded.
Maria cries out in alarm, dropping Chico's head to floor.
She doesn't reach Lex in time as the car passes in a hail of bullets.
The man – the agent – throws him down to the floor with an easy shove.
"Stay down, kid…" he says, stepping over him as there's more bullets exchanged and his captor – rescuer? – barks out commands into his radio, asking for back up and a medic.
When it's over and he's able to peel himself off the floor and remove his hands from where he had clamped them to his ears, his eyes move from Chico's unmoving head, to Maria's crying and painted mess and settle on Lex, bleeding out on the sidewalk.
The red-head is with them and a Mohawk guy is putting pressure on his wounds.
And then his agent – when did he become his? – is dragging him away again.
"Don't look kid. Don't look."
Now
Right now he's shackled to a table in an interrogation room with a black dude and an eye patch glaring across at him while Captain Freaking America leans against the wall.
He's learnt a few things.
Like the black dude is Nick Fury.
Some middle man in the Shield Hierarchy.
He knows about Shield. Remembers hearing about them as a kid.
Knows that there was a major fuck up with the avengers.
Then the Snap happened.
Some people disintegrated.
Then they returned.
All thanks to the Avengers. Or more specifically, according to the press, the joint working of Captain America, Iron Man and some Wizard in a cloak.
Fury summarized this even quicker.
"The snap happened. A lot of us went poof. Cap and the tin can reunited. Strange helped."
If these guys thought he was impressed by any of this…
"Color me impressed," he grumbles with a shrug. "Not."
The effort to speak hurt. His throat stung with each syllable.
Metal arm guy had dragged him around until they found at least one medic who wasn't helping to keep Lex alive and after a quick work over he was transported in a secure van to an even more secure facility where he was subjected to even more physical prodding and poking.
Concussion
Severe bruising to the throat and larynx.
Observation needed.
Didn't stop them from dragging him into an interrogation though.
Wincing, he lightly touches his throat.
"Enough with the silence, " Fury says. "I want your cooperation. Without it, we can't help you."
He hadn't told them anything.
A shrug here.
A shrug there.
Nothing.
Snitches get stitches. And he was sure Lin wouldn't stop there.
"Help me with what?"
"The cops have enough to send you down for life," Fury says. He flings out a file. Pushes rap sheets out, pictures of the home, pictures of the fire, of body bags. "Historical charges. They've been looking for you for a while. They think you're a psychopath."
"They don't know shit," he mutters.
Fury pushes out more pictures. Photos – head-shots from before the fire, and files on some of the kids who had been at the home. He thinks he recognizes a few.
He gulps a few times. Feels bile rise.
"I didn't do that," he says quietly, looking away.
He catches Captain America's eyes and looks away sharply, uncomfortable with the soft look he gives him.
Pity, he thinks.
"No," Fury agrees. "Chester Wilson did, right? That's why he's been following you. That's why he's been on a killing spree. Why he was trying to choke you out."
He looks up sharply.
"He wanted to take back his claim to fame…" Fury continues. "Cops weren't exactly playing ball though. Weren't interested enough. Didn't get any airtime though. Wanted to clear it up once and all."
"I guess," he nods.
"Yes, Wilson was the psychopath. A paedophile. A perverted inbred wannabe Hillbilly."
He snorts at Fury's description and shrugs his indifference.
"But Master Lin didn't know that when he recruited you did he?"
He stiffens at that but refuses to answer. By the way Fury quietly smiles he knows he's given him a tell.
But he stays, stubbornly, silent.
And they continue like that for what seems ages.
Fury makes a statement.
Marcus stays quiet.
Pictures. Photos. He and Willie near the dumpster. Blood splatter on his face.
Don't react. Don't react.
Make Master Lin proud.
He'll come for you. He'll get you out. Somehow.
On and on until Fury throws a curveball.
"I get why they recruited you. I just don't get why you would willingly work with an establishment that associates itself with Hydra."
"Wait – what?"
"Hydra. You know the bad guys," Fury shrugs, moving the photos around, eyes flickering up every now and then, measuring him, gauging his reaction.
"I know who Hydra are," he snaps, "but you're…"
"Wrong?" Fury finishes for him. He waves a hand towards him. "How? How am I wrong?"
"I-"
Shit how does he get out of this.
"Go on-" Fury prompts again.
"I don't-" he tries again.
"Marcus-" Captain America starts from his perch.
"Fuck you," Marcus snaps. He wants nothing more than to get up and beat the shit out of the man but he's still shackled and the guy could probably hold him like a stress ball while he wailed on him.
"These are some of the known Hydra agents who attended Kings Dominion."
"No," he says. He simply refuses to believe it. They – Master Lin – Saya - wouldn't work for Hydra.
"And these are some of their kills."
More photos.
Gory and bloody kills.
Some of them children.
"He wouldn't-"
"Who, Marcus?"
He wasn't part of this.
Tears blind him and he turns away, refusing to look at him or the photos.
"You obviously don't believe me. Steve, do I not have a believable face?" he calls out.
"I believe there's someone outside who Marcus should meet," Captain America says, straitening and nodding towards the door. He shows a message to Fury. "He's here."
"Bring him in then," Fury nods.
He doesn't know what to expect.
Tony Stark with Master Lin sure wasn't it.
"Master Lin!" Marcus exclaims, standing abruptly. The small reach of the cuffs has him stumbling and falling between the chair and table. Stark steps forward when it became obvious Fury wasn't going to help.
"Get me out of here. Please. Help me," he begs at Lin, pulling away from Stark's hands.
"You didn't tell him," Stark seems surprised, turning his attention to Fury with a frown.
Master Lin turns to him and takes a steps towards him.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Marcus. My name is not Lin. It's Wong. Master Lin is my twin brother."
tbc