Title: Circle You, Circle You
Rating: T: Teen
Characters: Loki – Tony Stark – Bruce Banner – Thor – Natasha Romanov – Clint Barton – Steve Rogers
Relationship: Gen, Avengers – family, Avengers
Genre: Angst, Friendship
Additional Tags (Ao3 only): Kid!Fic, morbid, ghosts, AU, Character Death - sort of, sad fic, sort of cute though, angst, Avenger feels, all sorts of sad/dark things, character death
Summary:
Loki slowly turned around, horrified by the thought of what could have happened.
Thor was lying on the floor. He wasn't moving.
At the same time in a wholly different place, Natasha heard her parents discussing something that would change her life forever.
They say death is the end. For them, it is only the beginning.
A/N: This is a heavy story with a lot of depressing things, mention of suicide and self/harm, bullying and much more. If you don't like that sort of sad, morbid-ish stories: run. Disclaimer: Based on the Avengers which are not mine, but belong to Marvel.
'Don't worry brother. They will make amends, I promise.'
Thor was seated on his bed in the room that he and Loki shared. He looked at his brother with sadness in his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists for there was nothing he could do to relieve his brother's pain.
His little brother was sitting on his bed too, at Thor's side, wrapped in a blanket and hugging his pillow. Loki clutched his blanket around him tighter and took a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and tried to think of his happy place, a place where he and Thor were playing with all sort of cool toys and nobody bothered them ever.
And books. Lots of books.
Normally, Loki felt better when he thought of his happy place. This time, it didn't work.
'But they have never fought like this, Thor… Never like this.' the dark-haired boy said to his brother with a tremble in his voice. He opened his eyes and looked at Thor, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes.
Another angry yell sounded from downstairs. Their parents were screaming at each other, but Loki couldn't make out the words. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.
A loud noise: something had shattered. Another old and expensive vase, probably. Loki never understood why they had those vases in the first place. The only thing they were used for was being thrown.
'Do not fret, brother! Whatever happens, I will be here to protect you. Always.' Thor looked at him with a smile, though the bravery in his voice was faked. He told himself he had to stay strong for his brother and tried to ignore the curl of fear that settled in his stomach.
Loki snorted and wiped his eyes. 'Oh, suddenly I feel so safe.' he told Thor sarcastically. But he could see from Thor's smile that his brother knew the promise helped. Loki had always found confidence in the fact that Thor had his back. No matter how much his parents hated him and he knew they did, Thor would always love him.
Their father's loud voice was heard from downstairs, so loud that Loki could even make out the words this time. 'YOU REALLY THINK THAT?! HOW DARE YOU, YOU-' his mother interrupted him with another angry scream, but Loki just put his hands on his ears. He didn't want to hear them anymore.
Loki shivered. He would never admit it, but he would always be afraid of his father. He was known and feared for his temper, even within their family. Though Odin tried to contain his anger, too often that didn't work and their parents fought like this. He never hit his mother, though. Even at his angriest he loved her too much to do that. Neither Loki nor Thor had ever understood their parents' complicated relationship.
But Loki was a curious child by nature. He wanted to know what made this fight so bad, worse than any fight they had before. Why they screamed louder than ever. He knew it wasn't what a good son would do, but he couldn't help it. He had always thirsted for knowledge, even with dangerous situations like this. His curiosity got him into trouble more often than not. This was one of the times it did.
He ignored the warning from his brother and wiped the last remains of the tears from his eyes. He gathered all his courage, threw his mini-blanket fort off and rose from the bed. Ignoring the questioning look Thor gave him, Loki opened the door of their room and sneaked downstairs.
He could hear Thor following him, his footsteps almost too loud on their wooden stairs. He smiled and felt a bit better knowing Thor had his back. Like always.
He flashed Thor a quick 'be silent!' sign – a finger on his lips – and turned his face to the door to the living room. He opened the door, just slightly, just enough to see his mother and father facing each other. His mother's face was flushed and he almost did not recognize his father. He had another one of those damned vases in his hand: two were lying shattered opposite him, just next to his mother.
Loki thought only one thing: why hadn't their father just left them alone yet? Or even better, why didn't he just get a new set of parents?
Real, nice, loving parents?
A noise behind him. Thor had tripped and a lamp had fallen. The clumsy fool. Loki held his breath and when he looked back to his parents again, he looked right into his father's eye.
'AND YOU, YOU BRAT, WHAT DO YOU WANT?! YOU DON'T BELONG HERE AND WE DON'T WANT YOU, SO FUCK OFF!'
Loki took a step back, the words being thrown at him like knives. Each one of them hit home and when his father cursed at him (Odin never swore but Loki seemed to be an exception to these kinds of rules quite often) he was hurt. More hurt than he would ever admit. He had learned to keep quiet about everything that bothered him but that didn't make the pain go away. He wanted to share his troubles, but nobody cared. Nobody cared… except Thor.
'Odin, don't.'
His mother's quiet voice shook him out of his thoughts and shock and he discovered he was looking at his feet and playing with his clothes, feeling insecure and unimportant. When he looked up at his father, he saw him clutch another vase in his hands. This time, it was aimed at him.
He saw the rage in his so-called father's eyes and wasn't surprised when his father threw.
He closed his eyes. He felt nothing. He knew he was going to die: He knew how hard these vases were and how hard his father threw when he was angry. Would his father be sorry for what he did? Probably not. He hoped he would cause his father to feel guilt, though. Maybe he would even be a good father to Thor after Loki died. Yes, that would be good. His brother deserved to live a good, long, happy life.
Loki smiled.
Well, whatever. He wasn't afraid to die, nor was he saddened now that he knew he was going to die. The only thing he regretted was not saying goodbye to Thor.
'BROTHER!' he heard Thor scream behind him. What was Thor doing? Just let the vase do its job, Loki thought.
Thor, just forget about me. Live.
Please.
He felt himself being pushed forward and a little to the left.
A resounding 'crack' was heard and then the 'thump' of a body hitting the floor.
The young boy opened his eyes and was met with the face of his father, the madness seeping out of his eye and being replaced with something else. No.
Loki slowly turned around, horrified by the thought of what could have happened.
Thor was lying on the floor. He wasn't moving.
The spot where the vase had hit his head was drenched with blood. A large piece of vase, which had broken into pieces, was still stuck in it. Thor's eyes were glassed over and gazed into nothingness. His lips were still parted from his last scream.
Loki did not cry. He did not feel sad. He wasn't even feeling rage towards his father, nor any hatred. He only felt empty.
The only good thing in his life was lying at his feet. Dead.
He stared at his father, his eyes hollow. He felt no pleasure when he saw that his father looked just the same as he did and when he looked back to Thor again, his mother was sitting next to Thor and clutching his body to her side.
Before anyone (including himself) recovered from the shock, Loki did the only thing that seemed sensible. He ran.
Far, far away, he ran.
~ exit Thor ~
Loki fled until his feet could not carry him anymore.
When he reached the bridge on the other side of the town, near the abandoned warehouse, his legs gave out. He crept into a small hole under the bridge and curled up. Nobody would bother him here. This was his and Thor's secret hiding place. They had often hid here when they wanted to escape everything.
Loki closed his eyes, his brothers lifeless body flashing before his eyes.
He was so cold.
~ exit Loki ~
Circle you, circle you
Please don't try to run from us
Circle you, circle you
What games will we play, can I guess?
One day, Natasha woke up in a place that was definitely not her bedroom.
Well, what one could call a bedroom anyway. Natasha and her parents were very poor and her bedroom consisted of a hole behind one of the thin walls of their cottage, but it was hers. It was home.
The cold stone ceiling that greeted her, however, definitely was not.
Natasha was a smart child and she remembered the conversation she had overheard between her parents just a few days past. It had haunted her ever since and now she knew her fear was justified. She remembered their conversation clearly.
Her parents spoke of selling her.
Their voices were laced with hurt and pain, but they also said that this was the only chance for them to lead a better life. They still hadn't decided if their only child was worth the price for a better life, especially since her mother was pregnant again.
Apparently, they decided it was worth it.
And now Natasha was lying on a hard mattress, tracing the material with the back of her left hand. Her eyes were still closed as she listened to her surroundings, trying to pick up any signs of life –danger – around her. She heard none.
Her mind started to race and she opened her eyes. The biggest doubt her parents had about the now made deal was that they didn't know what the 'doctors' would do to her, only that the people she was sold to worked for the government.
She was sure that wasn't true. The government didn't allow experiments on children.
Or did they?
The door to her cell – she was sure it was a cell, what else could it be when the small room smelled as weird and lifeless as it did – opened and a man in a long, white coat entered. Natasha's eyes narrowed. Really? White lab coats? That's just stupid.
'Hello, little one, are you okay? You slept for quite a long time.' His voice was friendly but his cold eyes told a different story. Natasha suppressed a shiver.
'I'm sleepy sometimes, mister. That's why I sleep long.' Natasha giggled and widened her eyes. Playing innocent seemed like the best thing to do, just like she always played innocent when she was hungry and had to steal some food. After all, she had no idea where she was and what her chances of survival were. Best to act like she didn't know what kind of possible danger she was in.
The man smiled and Natasha could see that is was fake. That was a good thing. It meant that they didn't consider her dangerous. A lot of people made that mistake, but she was a child of the streets. She grew up fighting for her life. She knew how to play a game: it was the only way to stay alive.
'Your parents had to leave for a while, but we will take care of you, okay? Don't be afraid. Do you want a small snack, girl, perhaps a cookie?'
No. She didn't. She didn't want to eat anything. She didn't know her food wasn't poisoned or drugged.
'My parents are gone?' Natasha let her lip quiver and a tear spring into her eye. Fake-crying had always been one of her strongest abilities. And acting, for that matter. 'How long?'
'I don't know, sweetie. But I'm sure it won't be long, okay? Are you sure you don't want to eat something?'
Natasha shook her head. She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the panic that was starting to rise within her. This wasn't looking good, but she knew that panicking would not help her.
'Well, you better rest again, okay? Tomorrow is going to be a big day for you!'
His grin unnerved her. The man waved once, smiled again and left her alone.
She now wished she had taken the offer of a cookie.
She had a feeling that it would be her last.
The next morning – or Natasha assumed it was morning since there were no windows in her cell, but she had fallen asleep and at some point woken up again – the man returned. He carried a tray of food with him. The food looked good and of better quality than she usually ate.
Natasha decided to eat it. She was hungry, had barely slept and if she wanted to escape she had to be at her best.
The man tried to strike up a conversation but Natasha just nodded and smiled shyly, ignoring the lies he was trying to feed her. When he was gone her mouth set into a grim line and she hid her face in her bed in case someone was watching her.
An hour later, they came for her.
'Come, child, we want to show you something. Come with us, it'll be fun!' This time there were two strange men in white coats.
She nodded as if enthusiastic and obediently jumped of her bed.
She knew this was her only chance to escape. She didn't want to know what would happen to her if the scientists took her.
When the two man led her out of the cell, one of them turned around to close the door while the other one had decided to walk in front of her. A mistake.
When the one who was closing the door turned around again, Natasha was ready. She aimed and kicked him as hard as she could. His groin, every man's weak spot. The man wasn't prepared for any kind of struggle so Natasha had a clean hit. The man let out a grunt and cringed. When he bowed forwards, she poked him in the eyes with two fingers. He screamed and tried to get away from her.
The other man grabbed her arm, so Natasha threw her elbow backwards and in his stomach. The two man were obviously no fighters, so this man also let out a grunt of pain and took a step away from her. Natasha stepped towards him and kicked his head as hard as she could. He was floored, maybe even knocked out. She saw that the other man was still clutching his groin and ran.
She had no idea which way was out, so she tried to smell any fresh air. She was sure she was being watched and followed, but she knew she had no other chance than this one.
She made it to the end of the third corridor and saw a door. She heard footsteps appear behind her and knew that her only chance was to hide.
She dashed to the door and opened it, relieved that it was unlocked. She slipped in and closed the door, leaning against it in relief.
When she turned around, at least ten faces stared at her in disbelief.
Damn.
'…only works on children who deserve a second chance. So we think that the formula will only work on children who have led a horrible life: hence why we brought her.'
The first thing Natasha heard when she woke up, her head buzzing, was this. The last thing she remembered was being knocked-out when entering the room. So much for escaping, she thought sadly.
She still wouldn't give up. Natasha had recognized the man's voice. It was the man had visited her in her room earlier, the one with the cold eyes.
She tried to get up but something stopped her. She opened her eyes, signalling the scientists that she was awake and saw her worst nightmare come true.
She was lying on some kind of table. Her feet were bound at the corners of the table and her hands were bound together above her.
'Ahh… she's awake. Nice try, child, but you should've known you can't escape us.'
A woman's voice, next to her ear. She tried to turn her head to see the woman but she couldn't. Her head was held still by some kind of device.
Natasha felt sincerely scared now. She shut her eyes, felling panic overtake her. She was just a kid! Why did this have to happen to her? She'd been good!
A sob escaped Natasha's lips as the panic took over. A single a tear slipped down her cheek.
Mommy? Daddy? Please come save me.
A calloused hand wiped away the lone tear. 'Don't cry, girl. This is for your own good, my child. If this works, you'll live forever!'
Those were the last words Natasha heard before the pain began.
~ exit Natasha ~
Circle you, circle you
Children, you just lost the game
Circle you, circle you
Don't run away, you're the same
Brother, look! That girl… She's looking at us strangely. She seems nice, though. Around our age… And she even holds my stare! It is almost as if she can see us!
Who?
The girl over there, the redhead!
Oh, I see her now. She seems interesting.
She's nearing us. How exiting, brother! Maybe we can follow her for a while?
… Did you see that?
What?
The big, ugly guy over there. He walked through her, Thor. Through.
Does that mean…
Yes, brother. I think she's one of us.
'You're such a loser, Rodgers.'
'Dumbass.'
'Your birth certificate is an apology from the condom factory.'
'You must have been born on a highway, because that's where most accidents happen.'
'If you were twice as smart, you'd still be stupid. How you even manage to complete a test is a mystery to all of us.'
Steve clutched his schoolbag and tried to ignore the shouts of the bullies. Every day, every single day, he was laughed at and slapped and bullied and humiliated and nobody ever did anything about it.
His teachers said he was just exaggerating. His parents didn't know and he wasn't sure if they cared either.
His life had lost its worth: he a shell of his former self, the happy child without a care in the world. How much he longed for those days long gone.
He blinked away a tear when he saw another post-it note on his locker: not even reading the note and not removing it either for it was of no use anyway – there would be a new one within no time - he stuffed his books in his bag and walked to his class, head held low.
School used to be so easy, but nowadays he just couldn't concentrate anymore. He feared that the bullies would pick on him even more if he had good grades, so he tried to keep everything around the C+ or C-.
Steve currently had economics: his favourite class. This was because he liked the teacher (the teacher mostly ignored the class but if you asked for his help he gave it and with a smile too) and none of his bullies were in his class. A few of their "followers", as always, but they didn't dare to do anything when their "leaders" weren't there.
Steve sighed. That sounded stupid, even in his own head. Still, there was nobody who would do something about it.
He spent the class quietly making his homework, the only thing in his head numbers and letters and no feelings, thank the lord. Steve liked working, just concentrating and enjoying the peace and quiet. He almost felt safe here. Almost.
When he was finished with his homework he saw there were just a few minutes left. He sighed, mentally preparing himself for lunch and looked at the kid sitting next to him. His name was Brock- Barn- Bucky, yes, that was it. He was a loud fellow, from what Steve had seen, but his heart was in the right place.
Bucky had never bullied him.
Bucky turned his head and caught his eyes and Steve quickly lowered his eyes and focused on his work again, even though it was finished.
Shortly after, the bell rang and Steve gathered his belongings and prepared to leave the classroom. He accidently dropped his pen, however.. and he sighed when he turned around to pick it up, hoping no one had decided to kick it away.
Instead, Bucky was standing in front of him, holding the pen up, smiling at him.
'Here you go.' Bucky said as he handled him the pen.
'Thank you.' Steve muttered and fled.
Now it was time for lunch, which went as well as always – just people calling him names – and three other lessons and then Steve was done for the day. He knew he should feel happy, going home, but he didn't. Not anymore. He used to find his joy in running and exercising, but he just couldn't find the energy to do those things anymore.
Even at home, the bullies haunted him, plagued his dreams. And with every single thing they said he believed them more and more. It wasn't like anyone ever complimented him, so it must be true what they said. Right? Believe the masses.
Before he went to sleep that night, the blond boy stared at a spot just under his nightstand. Only he knew of the knife he had hidden there.
And just as he did each night, he contemplated using it. Tonight only a little longer than usual, his face only a little darker. Maybe it was time for him to just let go of everything. It is not as if anyone would care.
He weighed the pros and cons in his head, just like each night.
And just like each night, he finally shook his head and went to sleep.
Two days later, when the bell for lunch had just rang, Steve was sauntering towards his locker. This time, he made the mistake of reading the post-it note on his locker.
Face it, loser, nobody cares.
He couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes. He ripped the note from his locker and put it between one of his books. He switched his books and closed his locker again.
He leaned against the locker and closed his eyes.
'NO! Please… don't.'
The cry was faint but Steve's eyes shot open. His natural instinct to help, to protect, urged him to walk, fast, towards the cry even though he knew he'll probably wouldn't be able to do a thing.
'You're so ugly, it looks like your face caught on fire and someone tried to put it out with a fork.'
Steve cringed, even though the insult wasn't aimed at him. It's probably aimed at the boy whose cry he had heard before, faint but familiar.
'With a face like yours, I wish I was blind. Another option is that I rearrange it for you. I like that option. What do you think guys?'
A chorus of 'Yeah!' was heard and after that a scream.
Steve turned around the corner and stilled at the sight that greeted him.
It was Bucky.
His nose was bleeding and three bullies were surrounding him. Steve recognized all three.
'Look, he's already crying… what a crybaby!'
'Trying to be strong… psh. You'll never be half the man your mother is.'
'SHUT UP!' Bucky cried out and lunged for the bully who was holding him. He managed to land a punch on his left shoulder and arm, but he didn't get any further. The two other bullies pressed him against the wall and the third one, obviously their self-appointed leader, punched him in the face again.
'You dare to even touch me? You asshole, you don't even deserve looking at me.' the bully spat.
'I am worth a hundred of you.' Bucky gritted trough his teeth.
The bully raised his arm again.
'Stop!' Steve cried out. He couldn't take it anymore – his anger at the bullies overcoming his fear of them.
The bullies turned around and Steve could see the flash of fear in their eyes at being discovered.
It disappears when they see it's him. Just him.
'Oh, look who has decided to join us!' The bully who was holding Bucky turns a little towards Steve and sneers.
Steve wants to take a step back, but he doesn't. He scrapes all his courage together and says it again.
'Stop hurting him. Let him go!'
The bullies started to laugh, but Bucky looked at Steve with a mixture of fear and hope on his face and it awakened something in Steve that he hadn't felt in a long time.
Steve felt hope.
And then the bullies started hitting Bucky again, apparently deciding him unworthy of their attention.
'Stop! STOP!' Steve screamed and ran towards Bucky.
The bully who had sneered at him earlier just pushes him away. And again. And again.
Steve started crying, angry tears streaming down his cheek.
Bucky's cries were full of pain and Steve couldn't bear hearing them. But there was nothing he could do.
The tears wouldn't stop falling down his face.
Bucky's whole face was red with blood, the anger of the bullies multiplied by Steve's interference.
When the bullies felt satisfied they let Bucky go and he slumped to the ground. Steve was still trying to stop them and this time actually landed a hit on the shoulder of the main bully.
The bully just sneered and pushed him against the wall, next to Bucky.
'Don't worry Stevie, we'll give you some attention later.' one of the bullies said before letting him go.
The bullies left, as if this was an everyday occurrence for them. It probably was.
'Bucky… Bucky! Answer me!'
Steve's head hurt and his hands were red and his face was wet, but he still turned his attention to Bucky.
Bucky was still sobbing, but when he saw Steve trying to comfort him, he shouted: 'Go away!'
Steve blinked. 'What? Why?'
'Just go away! I know you mean well but you can't do shit! So LEAVE ME ALONE!'
Steve obeyed.
He's useless.
He couldn't help Bucky, couldn't aid him, could do nothing more than cry and shout.
It was true, after all, everything the bullies said.
Why did he just see it now? He could have done so much better, could have been so much more, but he had wasted his life on being a loser. And he didn't even realize it until today.
When Steve walks home he sees the world in shades of grey.
Dinner tastes awful. The few words of his parents directed at him, he doesn't even hear. Not even the concerned note in their voices registers to him.
He knows why he didn't tell his parents about the bullying, he knows now. Because they would only have laughed at him and told him that it's true, that the bullies – not bullies even, just the kids – only have been trying to make him see the truth.
The other kids had known all this time. What happened today was the world's way of making him open his eyes.
He wonders if Bucky already knows. Or maybe there is still hope for Bucky, for Bucky to become better.
The whole evening he sits on the corning of his bed, staring at the wall.
His motions while preparing for bed are automatic. When he is done, he sits at the end of the bed again and stares at that spot.
This time, things don't exactly go as usual.
~ exit Steve ~
Before the moon sets aside
Cut their neck off as they cried
Circle you, circle you
Who surrounds you everywhere?
'Thief! Thief! Get the thief!'
Clint ignored the shouts of the angry man and ran as fast as he could. He had stolen no more than three apples and a banana, all the food that he needed to get through the day.
He always tried to steal little, firstly because he didn't want to steal so much that he could truly ruin someone's business – and in this neighbourhood losing your business meant losing your money and thus your life – and secondly because that way they were less eager to catch him.
The cries of the shop owner lessened and the people around him weren't looking at him that suspiciously anymore. Good. That meant he was safe for now. Clint fled into an ally and further into the darkness. He found the street he was looking for, a narrow ally with no more than two meters between the two walls. He stopped running and looked around him: no one in sight. Good.
He took a breath and jumped and jumped and jumped until he was standing on the roof of one of the buildings. The buildings of the city he lived in stood very close to each other, so it wasn't hard to move between the roofs of the buildings if you knew where to jump. Clint had travelled this way for most of his life and running over the rooftops had become second nature.
He started running, keeping an eye on the streets below him to navigate. The small boy had always felt safest up high, where nobody could touch him. All the other people seemed so small from here, Clint thought as he jumped past another building.
He turned left, knowing that if he kept running the height difference between two buildings would be too large to safely jump down and that meant he was almost at his hideout.
Not long after Clint turned left he arrived at his destination. Between two houses (well… more like cottages) there was a small gap which looked empty but wasn't. This was Clint's safe place, his home. When you let yourself fall into it, you fell no more than a few seconds before reaching the floor.
Clint quickly looked around, saw that he was alone, took a deep breath and let himself fall down the small hole. When he landed on the floor of his small room, the only room he had, he flicked the light on and sat down on his bed.
His bed consisted of a broken matrass he had found on a nearby dump one day and had hauled into his home one night. It was a hellish amount of trouble, but now he had a matrass to sleep on instead of the floor.
Clint put the three apples he had taken in the left corner of the room, where he kept his food and drink supplies. He still had enough water and he even got his hands on a loaf of bread yesterday, but fruit was always good for him. He needed to keep in shape if he wanted to stay alive. He had learned that the hard way.
Well, not him, but his brother. That was a road he didn't want to go down though, not today and Clint bit down on the apple with a little more force than necessary.
Sometimes Clint wondered why he even bothered. His life was nothing more than a battle to stay alive and for what? Since the day that the cops got his brother he had nothing left to live for anymore. Every day he woke up, exercised a bit and then picked a target to steal some food from and filled his water bottles at a fountain nearby.
Then he stole a few pieces of food, got home, ate and drank and… waited. There was nothing he could do. Sometimes Clint liked to climb on top of really tall buildings and watch the sky. It made him feel free, like he was a bird and did nothing more than fly all day. But the child knew in his heart he wasn't really free. He was a slave to his own survival.
Other days he walked around the city, trying to see the good sides of his city. He had found some really nice places, though. Where there was grass, where he could climb in the trees and smell the flowers and feel at peace. He used to come there often.
But the last few weeks he found he just… lacked the energy and motivation to go out there in the afternoon. Why should he? It's not like it mattered anyway.
This afternoon was another one where Clint knew he wouldn't get anything done. He looked around his home. His water bottles were full and he took a sip as he completated what to do.
His sleep last night had been plagued by nightmares (his brother calling out – he couldn't move – why couldn't he move damnit – "CLINT! HELP!" – pain and fire and darkness – the letter his brother left him – I'm sorry) and he had slept little.
Rubbing his eyes, Clint decided he would try to catch up on his lost sleep now. He did a few push-ups, stretched a bit, ate another apple and turned the light off.
His mind was empty as he closed his eyes.
'A superhero? Really?'
Clint turned around, surprised. He was clad in a purple-and-black skin-tight suit, one that he had imagined spies always wore. He looked down at the red-haired girl standing next to him on the rooftop.
'Who are you and how did you get in my dream?' Clint asked her suspiciously. It had been such a nice dream, too. He had been a real superhero, one that he had fantasised about becoming when he was a child. The Hawkman, saving the world every day.
It was childish, really, but whatever. They were nothing but dreams. And now this girl had appeared out of nowhere. Clint didn't know why, but he was certain this girl wasn't a figment of his imagination.
Clint aimed his gun on the girl – he was a real superhero and real superheros killed bad people – and stared her straight in the eyes, his cowl making him look even awesomer.
The girl just crocked her head at him.
Clint made the coolest pose he could think of. 'Don't play games with me, woman. I asked: who are you?'
The girl moved so fast Clint was on the ground before he could even think of making a countermove. The girl was sitting on top of him.
'Just because we're in your dreams doesn't mean you get to call the shots, boy.'
'Lady Natasha! I see you have already shown your skills in hand-to-hand combat to our new friend!' a booming voice announced from behind the girl, who was apparently named Natasha.
Before Clint could quite squash the glimpse of hope that has appeared in his chest at the word ' friend' another voice interrupted the first, louder voice.
'You know, Thor, I am actually planning on not becoming deaf in the next few months and it would really help if you could keep your voice down.'
The owner of the newest voice appeared in his vision and Clint grinned at the small boy. He liked his sass.
'You can't even get deaf, brother, so what are you-' Thor asked his brother as he walked towards him and got slapped on the head for that comment.
When Clint could really see the two boys he had to admit to himself he wouldn't have pegged them for brothers if he saw them. Thor was big and blond and build like a brick shithouse, while the other boy was black-haired and petite. Well, Clint decided, it wasn't his business.
'Natasha, please get off him.' A new voice lets itself be head and Clint can't help but wonder with how many the children are – children, for they were all the same age as he.
'Don't worry, Steve, I was already planning on letting him get up all by himself and try to recover his wounded pride.' Natasha smirked and Clint felt the weight on his back lift off.
Quickly, he jumped up and tackled Natasha while she was turned to a blond, friendly looking boy. They both fell on the ground, but this time he was on top.
'What did you say?' he asked her.
Natasha just smirked and used her thighs and upper body strength to flip them over again. This time, she pressed his wrists to the ground and pinned his legs beneath hers. Clint struggled but found he couldn't move at all.
'I said I would let you recover your pride, but apparently you wanted another lesson.'
Clint winked at her.
He liked these people. The word ' friends' came to mind again.
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
He had taken from the wrong stall owner this time and his friends had decided to pursuit him. Apparently he had made a name for himself and as soon as he grabbed the orange from the stall the men had started running.
He had noticed in time and sprinted away before they could catch him.
He ran without looking back and hid in an ally. He was out of breath, having sprinted at top speed for over ten minutes. All this for just one little orange… a pity. But at least he'd lost his pursuers.
Or so he'd thought.
'I must say, you have quite the condition… You're good, just not good enough. If you hadn't made such a reputation for yourself we would've given up the chase a long time ago.
Unfortunately, you've become too much of a bother to ignore.'
There were five of them. He recognized two of them as killers for hire, people who you ran from on sight. The other three looked as dangerous as the first two.
The man who had spoken to him took a step forward and Clint pressed himself up against the wall. He couldn't jump up either for the ally was too broad.
His only option was to fight.
Clint stands next to his own body. It doesn't even occur to him marvel at the weirdness of the situation. His eyes are plastered to the backs of the retreating man, one of them weeping blood from his fist.
His blood.
The out-of-body sensation is the weirdest thing the child has ever experienced. He can barely look at himself, at his body, without throwing up. There is blood on his head and his left arm is not connected to his body anymore.
He looks away.
Right into the eyes of the redhead from his dreams. Natasha.
'Hey, birdboy!' she greets him with a smile.
~ exit Clint ~
Even when your head is crushed in
And even when your arm is taken
The children who can never die
Will laugh at you sweetly
The first time he loses control, he wakes up with a headache and no memory. He wonders what has happened, but no one knows, especially not him.
The second time, the first and only time his mother slaps him, he remembers only flashes. Two hands, looking suspiciously like his own, tearing the door apart. A scream from behind the door, a figure in the corner of the room.
His parents shy away from him now.
The third time is the first time he truly remembers. He is in the corridor of his elementary school and another kid bumps into him. He mutters a soft 'sorry' and the kid laughs at him.
Bruce bites his lip.
The kid starts calling him 'that loser, always running away like a coward' and he isn't sure if he minds the rage coming over him.
The kid escapes with a broken leg, a broken arm, two fractured ribs and a trauma.
Bruce cries when he goes to sleep that night.
He wakes up with a memory about a strange dream. In his dream, he is surrounded by five children. One of them has bright blue eyes and engulfs him in a hug. The first hug he has gotten since the first incident.
He always smiles when he thinks of that dream.
The next time it happens if after they moved to another town. He has gotten a lid on it by now and he no longer feels irrationally angry all the time like before.
But this time, it's personal. His mother is hitting his father, like she doesn't dare to do with him, not anymore and his father takes it. That isn't supposed to happen! Why doesn't daddy do anything?
'LEAVE DADDY ALONE' it screams and he only sees red.
His mother tries to flee, but to no avail.
His father is crying in a corner, begging for him to stop.
He has come to his senses by now.
When he looks at his living room, all the furniture has been smashed. When he looks at his father, once so brave and strong, he sees nothing but a shell of the man he had once been.
When he looks in the mirror, he doesn't even recognize himself.
He hates it.
Bruce puts his jacket on to cover his slightly torn clothes and exits the house.
He walks for a long time, through the dark streets and alleys of the town he doesn't even remember the name of. He almost feels peaceful, just walking, free of expectations and fear.
His dream is shattered when he hears someone scream.
Of course. It's not like his life was ever quiet, anyway.
The scream is high and female and he thinks he knows the voice whom it belongs to.
He decides 'to hell with it' and runs.
When he turns around the corner and runs through yet another street, he hears the girl scream again. This time it is close and he runs faster.
The alley the scream came from is dark, but he enters it nonetheless. He isn't afraid anymore, because he has got nothing to lose.
He is met with the sight of three boys, barley eighteen, maybe twenty and one of them is pushing a girl up against the wall. Her jacket lays next to her and her shirt is already half-torn.
This time is the first time he encourages it.
Little does he know that this will also be the last time it will ever happen.
The first boy he meets halfway. The three boys have, of course, seen him already and the one boy thinks he can handle him alone.
He is out cold within seconds, a trail of blood running down his head.
He – it – he runs towards the second boy holding the girl. Now that he has come closer he recognizes the girl: Her name is Maria and she is in his class. She is one of the few who acts normal towards him. Not friendly, but not quite hateful or ignorant too. That was more than he could say for most.
He grabs the boy and spins him against the wall like he has done with Maria and kicks him in the nuts. The boy howls in pain.
He grins as he delivers a blow to the boy's head, sending him flying a few feet to the left.
He turns around at the same moment he hears the gunshot.
And another one.
And another one.
He roars one last time.
~ exit Bruce ~
Circle you, circle you
Don't run away, you'll be missed
Circle you, circle you
Please drink with us, we insist
'Daddy! Dad, look!'
The small child ran to his father and stopped just right behind his back. The four-year-old Tony Stark had a big smile on his face while he gently nudged his father's backside.
'Not now, Tony. I'm busy.'
Tony sighed. He was used to the rejection by now, but he wouldn't give up so easily this time. He had built his own circuit board! Surely his daddy must be very proud of him, now!
'But Dad! You really have to see this! I made-'
'Tony, go to your room.'
'But-'
'Now. This is a very important project to me, okay?'
Tony bowed his head. His whole body slumped in defeat and he blinked away a tear. 'Yes, Dad.'
He left his father's lab as fast as he could and ran to his mother. Not before putting away his circuit board, of course. He didn't want to ruin it!
He knocked on his mother's door. He heard a deep sigh from the other side of the door. Why does no one ever seems happy to see me? He asked himself. Surely I can't be that unnice.
His mother opened the door and her bored expression changed to annoyance when she saw that Tony was on the verge of crying.
'What is it, Tony?'
He swallowed his complaints about his father: he was strong, he told himself. A true man shows no weakness, that is what Dad always said.
'Uhh… I build my own circuit board mommy!' he decided to tell her, swallowing the tears that previously threatened to stream down his face: even though his mother was no engineer he was sure she knew at least something about it. She was married to dad, after all.
His mother smiled and actually looked proud for a moment, but that quickly changed into concern.
'Tony! You should watch out when you're playing with you father's stuff, you might get yourself hurt! You understand that young man?'
Tony gaped at her for a short moment.
Dad's stuff?
Playing?
He nodded curtly and turned around. Ignoring his mother's call he raced up to his bedroom and threw himself on the bed.
Why didn't mommy understand?
Why didn't daddy love him like he should do?
Tony tried his bestest to be the prefect son, but it was never good enough! Why didn't he have somebody to tell him that he was worth it? Was it because they wanted him to not be smart enough to actually think about and want these things?
But he was smart enough, he was. He was a genius, everybody said it. His parents with pride, sometimes, – it still made him smile – the other grown-ups with amazement and slight jealousy and the other kids…
The other kids at school didn't get it. They didn't understand why he aced every mathematical test because it was just so easy, or why he laughed at learning English or writing because it wasn't so hard, right?
They weren't even doing the fun stuff yet. No explosions, no real science.
But they didn't get him and didn't speak to him and didn't play with him. The only time these kids ever talked to him was when they needed something from him or because their parents told them so. He was Tony Stark, after all. He had never hated his namesake more than in those moments.
Tears were streaming down his face and his pillow was soaked by now. He sobbed silently about everything he was and everything he wanted to be, until mental exhaustion carried him into a deep sleep.
But not a dreamless one.
He was on the roof of a very big building. He was standing on the edge, the big, scary city laid out before him.
He felt so small.
He looked over the edge and could see figures smaller than his thumbnail walking beneath him.
He felt so sad.
Maybe, if he just walked a little further… He would fall, see if he could fly – he wanted to fly so badly and even though he knew it was impossible, you never knew – and otherwise he would die. And all this would be over. Who would miss him?
The figures continued to walk beneath him, not even noticing the small boy on top of the building.
He felt so useless.
'Hey, you!'
He shrieked, almost fell over the edge and took a step back just in time. He turned around as soon as he had caught his breath.
'You weren't going to jump, were you? Please, I know this sound stupid, but I've been there. Suicide doesn't make it any better, believe me.'
The boy – just a boy, who seemed to be about twelve years old– with blond hair and blue eyes looked at him. Tony blinked. He hadn't dreamt of imaginary friends before… but hey, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. They were probably nicer than all the kids he met in real life.
Tony shrugged. 'I just wanted to see if I could fly.'
Another voice spoke up, sharp and pretty deep. The boy whom it belonged to looked much too young for his voice and for his eyes. He crocked his head and let his long, black hair fall into his face as he spoke: 'Sure. Because you seem just like the kind of person who believes in magic or the power of flight. '
He sounded like he already was making fun of Tony. Tony didn't show it, he had learned to hide his feelings by now (just smile and wave Tony, smile and wave) but he felt really bad. Even his imaginary friends didn't like him.
The boy with the hair like a raven chuckled and shivered. The boy next to him, almost as tall but twice as broad, put an arm around him.
'Be nice, brother. I am sure Tony Stark had no wrong intentions. Don't judge him; it is not your place to.'
'As if any of us can do that.' Another boy was suddenly standing next to him, looking shy but friendly.
'Oh, cut it with all that mysterious, deep talk. I am sure nobody here can be bothered by that, however smart you lot may be.' This voice belonged to a boy who jumped down from another roof next to and above them.
'Who are you?' Tony asked with a small voice. These people seemed friendly and most of them were just a little older than he was: but they seemed to know each other, almost as if they were friends and Tony felt so small. But unlike most kids, they didn't make his feel like he didn't belong. Yet.
'I'm Natasha.'
Tony suppressed a yelp and turned around. On the edge of the building where he had stood just minutes ago, sat a young girl with bright red hair and eyes not unlike that one boy's.
'That Hawk-boy over there is Clint. The big and blond over there is named Thor and his brother next to him is Loki. The guy next to you is Bruce and the other blond is Steve.
Nice to meet you!'
The smile she gave him seemed sincere and Tony felt himself smiling back. Maybe his imaginary friends would like him! That was how they knew his name and stuff. They seemed like nice people.
'Nice to meet you too!' Tony replied, beaming.
When he looked around the group he saw all the children smiling back, even the raven-haired boy whom had made fun of him earlier.
'Where is this place?' he asked the girl. She shrugged. 'We're in your dreams, kiddo, so it's you who decided where we are. I have no idea where this rooftop is, but I think it's somewhere in New York judging from the infrastructure.'
Inrafstructure? What did that word mean? Tony was about to ask the girl but decided against it at the last moment. He didn't want them to think he was stupid, after all.
Instead, Tony pointed at himself and grinned. 'So I decide where we are?'
He closed his eyes and imagined his bedroom. After a few seconds he felt the world shift around him and when he opened his eyes, he prayed that the other children hadn't disappeared.
He smiled again when he saw Natasha sitting on his bed, next to Clint. Bruce was sitting at his desk, reading one of his books on mechanics and the others were standing behind him. He could see them in his mirror.
He addressed Natasha. 'You seem really smart! Are you a genius too?'
The girl shook her head. 'No. I'm smart, but I'm not as smart as you are, Tony. However, Bruce and Loki are much smarter than I am, right guys?'
'Of course I'm a genius. I can already read the really complicated adult books and I didn't even went to university!' Loki told Tony proudly. His brother gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. 'Ignore him, Tony, he likes to brag.' A voice said from his left. Tony turned around and found himself face-to-face with Bruce, who stood in front of Tony's desk now.
He smiled. Bruce was smart like him too, right? 'Do you know how to build robots too?'
Bruce chuckled quietly. 'I'm more interested in psychics and radiation than mechanics.' He said in a kind voice. When he saw Tony's face fall, he said: 'But that's okay! Everybody is good in something and together we can do anything.'
'That's true! Friends always stick together and nobody can bring you down if you stand with your friends.' The blond boy – what was his name again? Stewie… Steward… Steve! That was it – piped up from his right.
'Yep, he's right. Even if your life sucks dick, your friends can make it better.' Clint told Tony from his place next to Natasha. Tony stared at him like he had grown a second head while Thor said 'Clint! Don't swear, he's four!'
'Four? That young? But, if he's already talking to us now, that means-' Natasha clasps her hand over Clint's mouth and cuts him off.
'Ignore birdbrain over there. He rambles sometimes and it's nothing interesting, really.'
'That's not true! I say plenty of interesting things!'
'If that's what helps you sleep at night…' the raven-haired boy said to Clint.
'Don't be mean to your friends, brother!' the blonde giant next to – Loki, that was his name – next to Loki said. So they were brothers and they were friends with the other children.
They were friends. Suddenly, Tony felt jealous. Real friends was all he ever wanted and these kids had found each other. He, Tony, had no one.
Hold on, Tony told himself. In his short life he had learned a few things and one of those things that if you wanted something you had to ask for it.
He was big. He was four already! He could do this.
Tony swallowed and looked at his feet, hands clasped behind his back.
'Do you wanna be my friends?' he asked quietly when the bickering of Clint and Loki had stopped.
He didn't dare look up and thus missed the looks the children gave each other.
'Of course we want to.'
Tony turned around with a beaming smile and gleaming eyes.
'Really? I mean like… like real friends, right?'
'Of course, Tony! We'll be friends forever.'
Tony woke up.
He blinked his eyes against the morning light. He noticed with surprise that he had actually slept the whole night without nightmares.
Then his dream came back to him and he smiled. He felt good after sleeping lots and now something even better had happened.
He had made friends! Real friends, like the kind of friends you read about in books.
Tony knew that the kids in his dream were probably not real and something he made up – a creation of his own imagination, he thought it was called. But that didn't matter… they were still his friends.
He had friends!
Tony smiled again and decided that he would never, ever forget that dream.
When Tony builds a V8 engine two years later, his father is proud of him and tells him so. Tony feels all warm and tingly inside and can't stop smiling, especially when his father checks it over with him and doesn't see anything wrong.
For a few hours Tony feels like the happiest kid on earth. His father does love him! But then he has to go to four interviews and they all revolve around the same thing. His dad keeps smiling, but Tony knows it is fake now.
After the third interview Tony wants to go home. He's told the same story three times and his father keeps saying the same things. Even though they are good things, which is exceptional in itself, it doesn't feel real any more.
Why does he has to go to all the interviews? He's tired… he just wants to go home.
The feeling of happiness has faded now. The brown-haired boy just wants to sleep. They don't get home until 11 o'clock because they also had to do a last-minute photo shoot. That's really late, Tony knows that. Mother used to tell him he had to be asleep at ten, but she hasn't really been paying attention to him the last few months. She's sleeping more and more and Tony has discovered white bottles in the bathroom that weren't there before.
They smell funny. Tony doesn't touch them.
Before the photo-shoot Tony almost couldn't stay awake any more. He hadn't even eaten yet! His dad told him to keep going (he's six now so he's a big boy and big boys don't cry) but after Tony almost faints he gets them a ten-minute break and Tony wolfs a burger down. They finish the photo shoot and Tony's asleep at half past eleven, feeling miserable. He can't remember the nice feeling he had that morning.
That night, in his dreams, his friends are there to congratulate him on his work. They laugh and smile and joke and it doesn't feel fake at all. He feels better when he wakes up.
The dreams have become semi-regular. Whenever he felt bad, his friends always appeared in his dreams. Sometimes they even came when he didn't feel sad and they played all night. They went to all sorts of places. Because it was his dream, there were no limitations and they had gone to lots of places. Some realistic, some imaginary. They always had enough of everything, but never of each other.
Tony didn't have any other friends because of his… awesomeness (yeah, let's call it that) and his family's fame. He only had some fake friends who were befriending him because their parents told them so. He knew this. He was smart and he knew people wanted him to like them because his family had money and not because they liked Tony himself.
But that didn't matter.
He had Natasha, who claimed to dislike being called Nat but they all knew she was lying so they still did it. Nat with her sharp smile, attentive eyes and caring side. She was very strong and agile. She always said everything was going to be okay and he loved it when she said that. She never let him touch her scars, though. She taught him how to fight and even though she always beats him, he gets better.
He had Thor, who hugged him as soon as he saw him. Tony always laughed because Thor's hair was a little longer every time he saw him and Loki sometimes braided it when Thor wasn't paying attention. Thor was really strong, but Tony knew his greatest power were his puppy-eyes. Thor could eat a mountain of food and Tony always tried to give him even more.
He had Clint, who taught everyone archery (Tony could shoot very far but his aim was always a little off) and who always bickered with Tony about everything. Tony loved it. He learned that when Clint insulted someone, he wasn't angry. In contrary, he liked you when you insulted him back. Tony knew words like 'hell' and 'damn' now but he didn't use them often because Steve said swearing was bad. He also knew Clint dreamt of flying.
He had Bruce, who was as smart as him an taught him about psychics and nuclear stuff while Tony taught him how to build a computer. He knew Bruce didn't like fights, so when he and Natasha practised Bruce always listened to music. He knew Bruce loved and hated the colour green, for reasons yet unknown. Bruce never got angry and had a good sense of humour.
He had Loki, who had taken his sweet time with opening up to Tony. But now they always shared ice cream and laughed about a lot of things together. Loki was smart, quick and always bitched (another word he learned from Clint) back at Tony. Loki could keep up with him and they pranked everyone very often. They loved the same books and had lengthy discussions over every character and ending imaginable.
He had Steve, who painted and loved poetry. He painted a lot and Tony and the others posed for him from time to time. Steve was a really good artist. He knew a lot about history and always told them stories which he'd read in books. He cooked for them, even though they didn't need to eat. Steve didn't like didn't like people raising their voices so nobody screamed. Ever. Everybody was happy with that unspoken agreement.
Because they understood each other. Because they were friends.
Tony had a family, even though his mother got quieter every day and he saw his father less than once a week. He didn't need them. He had his dream-family now.
And it was enough.
Tony just wanted to make his dad smile at him again.
After he build the V8 three years ago he hadn't made any other big discovery and his parents had begun to ignore him more often. His mother became more distant, a faraway look in her eyes and sometimes it seemed as if she was in another place in her mind.
Just like Tony in his dreams, only than in real life. So Tony couldn't really be mad at her. He knew he would prefer his dream world over his real life, too.
So when the young boy saw his mother and she was doing nothing but staring into blank space, he sat next to her and lay his head on her shoulder. Tony always left within a few minutes, because he didn't want to disturb his mother in her happy place.
Sometimes he was jealous of her, that she could go visit her happy place without being asleep.
The nine-year old ate alone now, except when there was a big party. He never knew if he liked those parties or not. On one hand, there were lots of grownups who wanted to talk to him and Tony never wanted to talk to them. On the other hand, his parents paid some attention to him on those parties, so that was nice. His mother always seemed there in a way that Tony knew was forced, but real. His father smiled at him, fake as it may be and introduced him to other important people.
Tony had long since learned the art of pretending. The parties weren't even a challenge any more.
He wanted to be mad at his father – he never went to a happy place like his mother did, he only went down to his lab and away on business. But he knew it was his own fault his father was too busy for him.
Tony simply needed to do better. Be better.
So he had spent the last few months on his new project. He'd kept it a secret from everyone, so that when he finished it everyone would be amazed. His father would smile him and hug him and love him and his mother wouldn't need to go to her happy place because she had him. Her son.
Tony felt giddy at the prospect and kept ignoring the little voice in his head that told him that vision was unrealistic and not permanent.
He didn't know what permanent meant, now that he thought of it. Hm. Maybe he needed to learn more words, other than the words Steve learned him when talking about poetry.
But there was no time for things as expanding his vocabulary now. Tony was far too busy working in his own lab he'd gotten for his seventh birthday.
Tony was making a computer. But it wasn't a normal computer – no, it was a smart computer. A rather smart computer. You could almost call it… Intelligent. Just a rather very intelligent system.
JARVIS.
His days were spend in his lab, reading books about programming and engineering and advanced mathematics.
His nights were spend in his bed, with his friends, in his happy place. They didn't talk about his project much. Tony knew he didn't need to make them proud of him because they already were.
After a few weeks, each day spend studying and occasionally attending an event his parents wanted him to attend, when Tony felt as if he was an expert on the subject now, he began building his smart computer. Wait, it was called an AI. He'd read the term in one of his books and knew that that was what he wanted to build.
The book had said that nobody had ever been able to build a full-fledged AI. Tony was about to prove them otherwise.
His parents would be so proud!
Tony built and built and built. He created lines upon lines of code, all digital, until he was sure that his program would at least function. It was just a beta version, after all.
One Wednesday evening found Tony sitting in his lab, tinkering with the base program. A few days ago he had started building the physical core of his AI, secure that he'd completed the programming.
The brown-eyed boy had woken early that morning and spent the whole day in his lab, building. It was almost eleven o'clock now and Tony's eyelids were starting to drop.
He was tired. So tried, that he had forgot to put on his safety gloves.
But that didn't matter. He was almost finished! He'd just needed to attach the system board to the main power core. He'd finished the power core a few hours ago and Tony could hear the steady hum of the electricity flowing through the wires – the veins – of the power core.
He was so excited! He only needed to put those wires together and then attach the main input and output to the power core and his AI would work!
It would. It really would.
The wires connected. Tony rose from his seat from behind his desk, system board in hand and walked towards the power core.
He connected the power input and output.
He took a step back and turned around, looking at where he had put the audio output with nervousness.
'Connecting…
System 0014578 online. System JARVIS online.'
A small part of Tony had doubted himself, doubted his ability to create something this complex.
That part of Tony could be blamed for his shock. The nine-year old boy took a step back and tripped over one of the wires that had found its way between his legs.
He fell, hands and legs grabbing air, looking for something to hold on to.
'Hello, Mr Stark.'
Oh. Tony thought as his bare hand grabbed the power input wire of the system board.
It worked. JARVIS was alive.
"Sir, your vital signs-"
~ exit Tony ~
His father's crying.
There are few people there to witness it: His family, consisting of his father's mother and two uncles whom he's never seen before and some friends – or business partners, what's the difference, really – standing around a grave.
His mother is crying openly, loudly, on his father's shoulder but his father is just staring at the grave silently, tears sliding down his cheek.
Tony finds himself watching the grave with the grey tombstone too.
His grave.
Tony doesn't feel cold or angry or crazy or anything remotely ghostly. He's dressed in his favourite pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with the stark industries logo. He also thinks he is emitting some kind of soft, blue-ish glow that is at its brightest in the middle of his chest, right above his heart, but he is not sure.
He still thinks it's weird, that he's still… half-alive. He can walk through walls and trees and other stuff, but he can also choose not to. It's like a switch. He can't move anything, sadly.
He hasn't tried walking through people. That thought scares him a bit.
He also thinks that it is wrong that there are no friends of his at his funeral, even none of the fake-friends he has made. The only people at his funeral that he truly knows are his father and mother. He feels sad.
He is strangely disappointed that his imaginary friends aren't there. As soon as he thinks of them, he stars pondering. Are they even imaginary? They felt more real than most people he met.
And when you're attending your own funeral, nothing seems impossible anymore.
The priest holds a speech and everyone walks back to the house, except his parents. They keep watching his grave, silently crying.
'Do you… even… regret it?' his mother asks his father between sobs.
His father pales, turns around and walks back to the church. His mother follows him obediently.
It starts raining.
Tony walks to his grave until he is facing the tombstone, not even wanting to follow his parents.
He feels small.
He feels sad.
He feels empty.
But not… alone.
For some reason, the hollow feeling in his chest he normally feels when he is lonely is not there. Like his body knows something his brain didn't.
He wasn't alone.
He was not alone.
'I'm not alone.' he said aloud, needing to confirm it. 'So… where are the others?' he asked himself, looking around for any signs of life.
He could find none. He could, however, hear a voice.
'Hey! Tony! You're coming or what?'
Brown eyes widened. Tony knew that voice.
He turned his head to the left, in the opposite direction of the church.
In the distance, just behind a small hill, Tony could see a blue glow. Something was standing atop of the hill.
Someone. Someone he knew.
Tony smiled and started to run.
~ enter all ~
And sometimes, when you visit certain places around midnight, if you are very quiet and if you listen very hard, you can hear children laughing.
And when the moon is full and you look around the corner and squint your eyes, you might even see them.
Two brothers, one with a faint red spot on his head where you can see a gash made by a thing unknown, the other who never stops shivering as if he is doomed to be cold forever.
The duo snuggled close in the corner, easily overlooked. The girl is full of scars which tell the story she never will. The boy who can only sleep safely high above the city in places only they know.
The engineer who sometimes still jerks as if a thousand volt run through him.
The cute, shy kid who can become so angry it is almost as if he has become a whole other person.
The smiling kid with the tender eyes, who can sink into a depression deeper than the pits of hell if not for the support of his friends.
But luckily for him, he has them.
And they have each other.
Forever.
You should come play with us
Play forever with us
Circle you, circle you
Who surrounds you everywhere?
~ enter… you? ~
It only gets better the day Tony wants just hard enough and pushes a cup of coffee from his father's table.
A/N:
I can only seem to write morbid or sad things these days. Yeah.
This is based on a song which is based on a legend:
A group of Nazi scientists went to an orphanage in Japan, where they used the children as test subjects. The experiments preformed were all done to "achieve immortality."
The scientists may have chosen their subjects by playing the game most dear to them: Kagome, Kagome. (Circle you, circle you)
The story goes that ten of these children still play at the remains of the orphanage where they lived. If you are asked to play with them, you are doomed to die.
So, that's it! Hope you liked it.