Earth 4

Day 14 of Invasion

Fay's hand slapped the pavement with raw energy, the skin scraping off in seemingly slow motion as the rest of her body came cascading down. It had momentarily been one of the most painful things she had ever experienced until time sped up and her head cracked against the cement. A loud gasp emitted from her mouth as she lay motionless, the ringing in her ears vibrating through her skull and making her vision go dark. Her eyes closed and opened blindly while her mouth hung open in silent agony. Though blood gushed from many wounds, she only faintly tasted it staining her lips.

It took her a while to realize what had happened and then a while more to figure out that she wasn't getting up - that she couldn't. The pain in her head was too much to bear and made everything around her disorientated. All of her senses were muted and her body was filled with an odd rage of quiet, dampened only by the constant drone vibrating her entire body and setting it ablaze in white hot pain, her eyes rolling and unrolling into her head. As she lay there all contorted, even her thoughts didn't seem to be working. She couldn't focus and she couldn't touch or feel which was a heartbreaking relief amongst all the pent up emotions. To be so empty inside, filled so much with one thing that you could only let it take over and control you, was something Fay hated to admit felt freeing.

The last few days hadn't been without grief for anyone; Fay had thought it selfish to think her losing somebody was more significant than anyone else's loss. So she had tossed it aside, pushed through the hurt and misery like everyone else and continued to fight. After a while she even stopped crying, not because her eyes were dry, but because it was a luxury she couldn't afford anymore. To simply feel numb inside was much easier, much safer, and much needed.

Minutes passed like hours as she lay broken and twisted on the ground, her ears eventually giving way and clearing, opening her body to a slew of new experiences. Her breathing became surround sound, filling her entire body until she thought she would go crazy. Her bloodied and skinless hands felt the sharp rubble beneath her body, though she couldn't find the energy to lift them, or feel her legs. Her eyes popped open again to the blurred devastation in front of her - to the broken people and to the burning sky.

Their screams were that of a tortured melody; the way they ran like a beating drum. She could hear the harmony within the life of the flames, dancing and swaying and living in the chaos. It was horribly beautiful music.

Tears mixed with blood in her pale blue eyes and made crimson paths down her dusty cheeks. She had tried so hard, but now all she felt was the exhaustion seeping through her veins like ice that quickly turned into the same concrete below her. Reality was slowly slipping away, her will to hang on growing wings of beauty and gently dancing away. She could see it clearly, hear the sharp noise of each flap, see the beautiful colors it took with it. She smiled after it, eagerly wishing she could chase it through a meadow of flowers. But there were no more flowers, and no more meadows of anything except destruction and corpses. All remembrance of happiness had vanished the moment the invasion had started, from the first life they took to the millionth and the billionth. And now hers.

It was almost a beautiful thought, in a sort of sort of depressing way. Dying like this was poetic; she had broken her oath to protect the people and now she would suffer for it. Was there really any other way to go? This was fair – it was horrible and terrifying and her truest nightmare come to life, but she easily came to terms with it. Surely this would count as a noble death? Dying as a soldier in humanities last battle…now all she had to do was close her eyes…

But something was running towards her; a blurry motion of limbs and spinning colors as she cried harder. This was no butterfly, no this was a monster sent straight from the deepest depths of Hell. Maybe it was Satan himself coming to finish his minion's job.

"No, no, no, not them. God, please! Not them!" Her scrambled words quickly turned into screeches of agony as her body desperately writhed. Every movement caused waves of anguish to wash over her but she couldn't stop. She was okay with dying alone; she couldn't take any more of the torture. "God, let me go peacefully I beg of you! No!" Pleads to her father above changed yet again into simple wails as it grabbed her shoulder. It was trying to say something to her, trying to communicate but she couldn't hear it over her own vocalizations of terror. They did that sometimes, made clattering noises and buzzed to her as if trying to say something. Of course she could never make sense of it, but this one sure was trying hard. It was saying one word, over and over again – a word so familiar to her if only she could stop crying.

"Fay!" It was her name, over and over and over again, spoken from a voice so familiar she could recognize it in her sleep. She thought that's what it was for a moment, a hallucination or her body finally giving up and slipping away into the eternal home.

"D-dad?" Blood trickled up from her raw throat only to trace a new path down her chin, her breaths coming in panicked gasps. "Daddy?"

"It's me, Fay, I'm here." Fay let out a strangled sound of relief as her fears instantly melted away, leaning into the touch as best she could as another strong hand came down to wipe the blood from her eyes and a forlorn Steve Rogers came into view above her. He was rugged and clearly upset, his red white and blue suit ripped and more grey than anything. His hair lay disheveled and stuck to his forehead in clumps, his face red and blotchy with sweat and effort.

"I'm here, baby doll, I'm here," he was crying his own tears, his classically strong voice wavering as he tried to hold it together. His trademark blue eyes watered like she had never seen, desperately scanning over her body as he shifted her and she wailed again in anguish.

"Fay!" He cried so desperately, steadying her immediately. His voice was so strained that it sounded hoarse, and where a raging blue sea usually looked down at her form his eyes was now a cloudy night starting to rain. She had never seen him so broken. "It's okay, darling, everything is okay." Though cracked, his words still calmed her and she managed to swallow through the pain. She wanted to just close her eyes and fade away to the sound of his voice but she knew he would want her to keep them open because he was the type of person who would wish her to stay alive, to keep fighting. How much was she truly like her father? The coming moments would surely determine this.

"Fay, please," he was actually begging her. She stared up blankly at him, lacking the energy to do anything else. She could hear his voice but it was like the words were far away, growing fainter and fainter the longer he pleaded to her. This was it, this was the moment. Fay began to panic. It was now or never, chose to fight or accept defeat. Certainly there wouldn't be dishonor either way?

The threat hung in the air like a feather – all too eager to be blown away. And something weird happened when Fay tempted that feather; every blink of her eyes transported her to a dark place. It felt vaguely cold, maybe even damp, but defiantly lonely. Fay knew instantly that it wasn't Hell, but on the other hand, it definitely wasn't Heaven. Purgatory. It was a realization that stuck itself into her head without any prompting. It was a thought that stung at her heart and disappointed her greatly. So if she was to die, she was to go to Purgatory? What started out as heartache quickly turned into acceptance with every slow blink that left her eyes closed longer and longer. Her father's voice seemed all but silent now, a cool breeze sweeping stray hairs across her forehead, a calm voice humming off into the distance. It was enticing, intriguing, and then there was movement.

She began to panic, her breaths catching and getting stuck in her throat, her eyes widening as she struggled with the weight of the world. His voice was an echo now, his grasp upon her shoulder a distant touch. The longer she kept her eyes open the more her surroundings came back to her, so she held them open until they stung and then she kept them open longer. Blood stung her eyes as she urgently cried it out, beginning to understand that what she needed to do was not what she so desperately wanted. She cried harder; she just craved the sweet feeling of nothing. The cool breeze on her face and the humming voice. All she had to do was close her eyes.

But she couldn't.

God had to send her father of all people? It wasn't fair. All her life Fay put her faith into heaven; chose the path of God above only to be let down day after day, minute after minute after he does nothing to save his creation during the apocalypse. Yet here he was in her final moment, sending her the one person who would make her stay. Fay knew that if he had sent anyone else she would have let go by now. She would be dead. He could have sent Ty and I still would have let go.

But God had sent her father; Steven Grant Rogers and Fay couldn't disappoint him. Not again. Fuck you, she thought with all her might, her thoughts venom within her broken self. This is either a joke or I'm still needed somewhere but fuck you for making anybody endure this. This is worse than Hell. Shame on you. She wasn't mad that she was there, fragmented on the ground, but rather that all of humanity was simultaneously suffering and there wasn't a smiling face in the entire planet that wasn't an attempt at hiding pain.

She fought.

Fay fought so hard against dying that she thought the effort would kill her. She fought to keep her eyes open, fought to concentrate on her father who was still talking to her, longing to cradle her into his chest but too scared to move her. And as she focused and as she fought, she realized he was praying to God, too. How long had they been there – her dying and him praying over her? It was a rather biblical scene, but at least she got her answer: Fay Rogers was very much like her father. That only propelled her to fight harder.

"Daddy?" she managed to call weakly, immediately drawing his attention to her. His careful thumb caressed her cheek, his tears splashing against her forehead causing jolting pain with every drop. He answered to her, spoke soft words and looked just like him, but he wasn't Steve Rogers. This imposter in front of her was too frail, too ruined, and too vulnerable. Her father was a resilient, courageous man. He wasn't without hope. She longed to see him smile, longed for the days not long gone but seemingly extinct when his soulful blue eyes and perfect smile would teach her the rules of the world, put a hand on her shoulder and help her steer – anything was better than watching him cry.

"Are they gone?" She whispered, not being able to manage much else. Fay wanted more than anything to get up off the ruined ground but knew that it could kill her, that it probably would. Steve nodded solemnly, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Surely they'd been gone for longer than anticipated. Surely the others thought they were dead.

They were all probably grieving right now, not allowing themselves to shed tears but giving a silent and mutual nod while adding their names to the list right next to all the others. That's what she would be doing right now, if she were at base and someone else was gone. You come to get accustomed to the knowledge that whoever doesn't return right away doesn't return at all.

"Yes, sweetheart, the wave is over. But they'll be back in a few hours so we have to get you back to the base, okay? You have to help me here, baby – I need—" then his eyes focused on her face and he sobbed, wiping away his tears furiously and desperately pulling himself together.

"How bad is it?" Fay coughed, and she saw her father shudder. Maybe it was worth closing her eyes, if it meant she didn't have to see this. This was worse than any injury. This was something that should have never been seen by anybody because Steve Rogers knows when to fall apart and when to cry. Now wasn't the time for either and yet there he was.

"It's bad, Fay, its bad." He could never lie to his baby girl, but she wished he had. "I don't know what's broken but," he paused to catch his breath. "Darling your head." Then fresh tears began to fall. He reached out again and hesitated, his hand hovering over her face. He drew it back with guilt. "I'm going to pick you up."

"Okay, daddy." She knew she was in for her share of pain but she also knew that she had to be strong. For him. That was God's plan. She wasn't alive because she was important or special, she was alive because Steve Rogers was needed and the world needed Captain America and Captain America needed his daughter. There would never be a moment when that wasn't true.

"I'm sorry, Fay." Steve looked down at her, wiping at his tears again and smearing her blood onto his face. Fay knew there was little reason for him to apologize. In fact, there was none at all but yet here he was, despairing at the sight of his child dying in front of him. It was a weird thing, but she somehow understood it and was oddly thankful for his apology. She tried to lift her head and sit up, but in her attempts to make him feel better she forgot about herself. She gasped and her head went slamming back down only to be caught by her father's gentle hands.

"Fay, don't!" But it needed to be done. And Steve knew it, too. It was one of those unspoken things but he could see it and she could feel it; the amount of blood she was losing should have already killed her. The day was just filled with miracles.

There was another cry from her body as his arms tucked under her, and on a count of three her body was lifted up and she momentarily lost consciousness. Her eyes rolled back into her head which bobbed down violently as all her limbs went slack and Steve paused, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to get her to safety before she died. But then her eyes sparked open again, lifeless and grey, but they were open and so he pushed on, slowly limping through the rubble because he knew if he ran or jostled her again she would be gone.

Still, with every step her head pounded, and in that moment Fay knew her brain had slammed into her skull. Her whole body felt warm to the touch and was a raging inferno inside. There was something seriously not right and both Fay and Steve knew it.

She could feel the limp in his walk, causing her to become more and more disheartened. If she was dying, and he was injured, who was left in New York? Her brother, Spiderman, Black Widow, Clint, Bucky. Doctor Strange and his son were with Tony and his children fighting the attacks in Asia, and of course T'Challa was fighting from the remains of Wakanda. Vision took Wanda to fight in South America, and Bruce and Scott Lang were doing what they could in Europe while the rest of the kids and B list heroes were fighting with their lives all across the world, but their numbers were simply too small and the list of the dead outweighed the list of the living tenfold. Five billion lives lost and counting; Hope Pym, Bobbi Morse, Luke Cage, Thor, Loki, Matt and Scott Murdock, Danny Rand, Carol Danvers, Jessica Jones, Sam Wilson, James Rhodes, Howard II and Jay Stark, Dante and Clara Barton, not to mention the entirety of the Guardians of the Galaxy and Sharon Carter…the list was simply too extensive to recall. The amount of people out there defining and redefining what it meant to be a hero; laying down their lives for a cause they knew would never succeed. Fay wondered if today would be the day her name was added, and if not, then when – when would be the day when humanity's last hero stood against the malevolent, beaten down and abused but somehow remaining defiant and determined.

This had all happened in the last two weeks. One night she was having supper with her family, watching her dad and brother get up for seconds and then thirds, wondering just how much food would finally be enough, and then they came. The invasion had started and for fourteen days, day in and day out they came in waves and wrought havoc against the Earth. No one knew why and no one knew how but they were powerful and infinite. The street lay buried under their dead bodies, but once one wave ended another would start in a few hours. It was like a sick game, the hope of it being over, a few hours to catch your breath before you were flung back into it, figuratively or literally.

And here in New York, Fay was sure that they were in fact just playing games. They would come to you, dressed as your worst nightmare and toy with you, slowly chip away at you until you were as close to death as humanly possible and then, and only then, would they end it. They had come for her like that, transformed into giant spiders and batted her around. She couldn't penetrate their thick hides no matter how hard she tried and then one grabbed her, crushing her ribs until her whole body went black and blue and then threw her up, up, up into the sky.

And then they were gone, back to play again in a few hours' time.

She had been eating dinner when it started. Brats and hamburgers fresh off the grill via dad chef Captain America, fresh salad made by Mom, and all the leftover lasagna and pancakes Fay and James could scavenge. They were outside on the patio- Steve had cooked more than plenty in case anyone decided to show up; for when you're an Avenger, you're part of a family and no one in the Rogers family was ever going to be hungry. It was a warm day, not scalding hot but sunny and fresh -

Steve tripped, landing on his knees with a large thud. Her body jolted, her neck snapping up and down and her blood flowed like lava. It poured out of her mouth and nose until she was choking on it and Steve was forced to set her down and roll her on her side or force drowning her.

"Fay," he wept, angry at himself for tripping and angry at the world for existing. "Fay, I'm sorry," it came out almost like a sigh. He didn't know what to say. He was at a complete loss, and he nearly just dropped his daughter. He was lonely, lonelier than he had ever been, and now he was forced to watch as his daughter spewed out blood, and wait for to finish and either die or somehow stay alive. He wanted to be comforting, to be strong for her, to be the Steve Rogers that she and everyone else needed. But he just couldn't be. He was a broken man, snapped in half like a twig and then shredded like paper. Steve hadn't lost as much as Clint, maybe, or hundreds of millions of people out there, but he had lost enough. Friends, family, Sharon. Her loss weighed on Steve heavier than the impending doom hidden in the fire above him. He had hadn't seen Sharon's demise but he was the one to find her limp body, cold and grey from days gone by searching for it. He was the one to clutch her paper skin to his chest, to weep into her tangled hair. She had looked so fake then, but they all did when the invasion got them. They took something from the people, injected their spiny fingers into the base of the neck and took something right from them – something that makes their body go all grey and cold, something that leaves them looking empty and fake. A lot of people think they take people's souls. Steve didn't believe that at first, but, looking down at his daughter, he was beginning to.

This time around, however, he had been the one to see Fay. Steve had been fighting by himself for a while by then, he and Bucky had been divided by the aliens. He had just gotten done fighting off another small horde when he had noticed something pale in the sky, a drastic contrast from the blazing fire. To his horror and shock, he was soon to realize that it was his daughter. His Peggy Fay.

It would take him until now to realize it was a miracle, and to be grateful that if it had to happen, it happened then. The mid-day wave had ended, not that he could tell the time from the fire surrounding the planet, but rather by count. If it would have lasted just seconds longer they would have taken her life. Steve had stared in horror for moments on end, watching as her body crashed into the ground. It was the single worst moment of his life. Forgetting to check in at base – forgetting everything else—he ran faster than he could ever remember running.

She stopped vomiting and he bent down to kiss her cheek, closing his eyes against her burning skin for a moment before apologizing again and picking her up. A soft whimper left her lips and Steve lost it. He didn't cry, and he didn't speak, in fact, he did nothing. Whatever was left in him in that moment withered away and crumbled in the breeze. Steve Rogers wasn't a man anymore but a simple soldier trying to complete his mission.

Fay became limp in his arms and he had to stop and check her body for a pulse. It was faint and it was slow but it was there and he was grateful. Steve never would have imagined that one of his happiest moments would be during a time like this, something as small and pathetic as his weak daughter's pulse, showing him that she hadn't died just yet.

So he trudged on, knowing his ankle was broken and altogether not caring. For he wasn't a man, and maybe that was a new fact or maybe it had been like this for a while, but it wasn't important because if he didn't get there, if he didn't finish this mission, it would be the end of the line.