Chapter One
Scott Lange had a wonderful house, filled with wonderful memories of his daughter. But now he was an Avenger, and one of the perks of being an Avenger was to get your own floor in the Avengers Tower. How many times could he use the word 'Avenger' before he stopped grinning? Probably a lot. Probably forever.
Okay, he maybe wasn't officially an Avenger. But he did fight some of them in an airport in Germany, and he had just as many superpowers as half of the 'real' Avengers, anyway.
With this in mind, he walked into a room filled with Earth's greatest defenders. Thor and Captain America were on the sofa. Hawkeye could be heard rummaging around the vents. Nat and Bruce were off somewhere else. But today, Scott only wanted to speak to one person.
"Er, Mr. Stark?" Scott said hesitantly.
Tony turned around with rolling eyes.
"Please just call me…"
"Iron Man, right, sorry," Scott said quickly.
Tony's face fell.
"I was just wondering...have you finished designing my floor yet?"
Tony's lips quirked into a devilish smile. He hid it just as quickly as it had come.
"Actually, er, 'Ant Man', I made something special for you."
Scott's eyes lit up.
"You did? Wait, for me? Seriously?"
He breathed in the moment. Iron Man. Tony-freaking-Stark had designed something for him. What? How had his life gotten to be this…
Scott's smile was dashed away at the sight of the object in Tony's hand. A thin glass rectangle, filled with sand.
An ant farm. Not even one of the cool ones.
Tony patted his shoulder just a little too hard.
"Little payback from Germany," Tony said, with that same smirk on his face.
On the sofa, Steve rolled his eyes.
"Tony, leave him alone. We said we were over all that."
Tony spun around to face Steve, but Pepper walked in front of him to block his view, shifting her purse onto her shoulder.
"Is he giving you guys trouble?" She asked over her shoulder. "Come on, we're on coffee duty today."
She put her arm around Tony and guided him away from the others, touching a hand on Scott's shoulder as she passed.
"Don't take him too seriously. Teasing is his way of saying he likes you."
"I don't tease."
"Yes! You do!"
The other Avengers chuckled to themselves as the couple walked off in their playful squabble. Scott was still staring at the children's ant farm in his hands.
"You can come sit with us," Steve suggested, shifting over on the couch. "Thor made poptarts."
"The s'mores tart is my favorite," Thor said, with half of a poptart in his mouth.
Scott smiled softly, but shook his head.
"Nah, thanks guys. I'm just gonna, er, find somewhere to put my present."
Scott trailed after Pepper and Tony, letting the ant farm fall to his side as he walked.
. . . . . . . . . .
When Scott reached the front of the building, a horde of people were blocking the pathway. Cameras were flashing, microphones held high in the air.
Ah. Right. They were all shouting for Tony, who at least seemed to be trying to push his way through them.
Scott craned his neck, but he couldn't see above or around the crowd. They were blocking literally the entire sidewalk in both directions. And they didn't look like they were moving any time soon.
Scott groaned. And then his eye caught that of a young reporter standing near the back of the crowd, closer to the Avengers Tower entrance. He waved with an awkward smile, and the reporter came closer.
"Did you just exit the Avengers Tower?" The eager young man asked excitedly.
Scott nodded.
"Yes. Yes I did. I'm sort of an Avenger."
The man looked puzzled.
"Er, what's your alias?" The reporter asked anxiously, holding out a recording device.
"I'm Ant Man," Scott said proudly.
The reporter looked as lost as ever.
"I got big in Germany?"
The reporter shrugged.
"I don't really follow German media."
"No, I mean," Scott sighed. "Literally big. And in San Francisco last year? You had to see that."
"Oh, right! Ant Man! Germany!" The reporter smiled, excited again. "But didn't you fight against Iron Man in Germany? What was that about? He's one of our biggest heroes here, man."
Scott rolled his eyes, wanting to disappear. Then he remembered something.
"Sorry to cut this interview short…"
He pulled out the remote with the Pym Particles from his pocket, clicked it toward himself, and...didn't shrink. He searched around himself and found a tiny ant farm in his hand.
The reporter apparently lost interest, shaking his head and walking off with the crowd now trailing after Tony and Pepper down the sidewalk. Scott frowned, wishing to be in San Francisco. Wishing to be anyway else, really.
As he stood, he fiddled with the remote in his hand, missing home. Missing Hope. Missing Cassie. Even missing Dr. Pym. Feeling angry. A bit hurt.
Suddenly a shadow lifted, literally, and the sun was glaring at him from behind. Scott turned around, not sure what to expect.
But certainly not this.
The Avengers Tower had shrunk. The tiny structure, once part of the New York skyline, stood in the center of a vast square block of dirt. It looked like a toy. A trick, or a joke.
Scott's heart dropped. But he could fix this. Before this leaked out, before anyone noticed, he could fix this. He looked down at the remote in his hand, changing the settings.
And just then, a voice from above called out. Or, more, started shouting.
"Miiiiisteeer Staaaark!"
Scott's head shot up just in time to see a string - web? - dangling in the air. And then something slammed into him from above, knocking him back onto the sidewalk.
The remote flew out of his hand, bouncing along the concrete. In a flash, Scott was scrambling to his feet. But the remote was in the street and...oh no.
A taxi ran right over it. Then a bus. Then another bus, just because today was the worst day ever.
Scott closed his eyes, took a breath. This could all be fixed. He was sure of it. But it was definitely getting out now. Tony would never let him set foot in the tower again.
"Oops," a voice said above him. A kid in a backpack. The kid from Germany.
"Wait, you're the guy who got really big in Germany, aren't you?" Peter asked excitedly.
Scott stayed on his knees with his head in his hands for a long moment.
