A/N: This fic is a crossover between the Marvel Cinematic Universe, focusing on the Avengers and Gundam 00, though, since it's entirely from the perspective of Avengers team members, you don't necessarily need to know Gundam 00 to read it-I wrote the Gundam cast as though they were OCs I didn't expect the reader to know, and while there are definitely in-jokes and references for the Gundam fans, nothing important requires canon knowledge that isn't eventually given in the fic. If you're managing to come in from the other direction...you probably should have watched The Avengers, but you don't need any of the other Marvel movies. It's a little AU for both sides anyway, so, don't worry over this sort of thing too much. For example, the Gundam characters have discernible accents instead of all sounding either Japanese or Canadian. Hey, I have to give the spies something to deduce with, right?
Timeline-wise, this is set between The Avengers and the individual Phase 2 Marvel movies (CA:TWS, IM2, etc.) for the MCU, with the idea that the team actually moved into Avengers Tower and lived together like The Avengers kind of implied would happen, instead of going off in separate directions the way Phase 2 showed things happening. For Gundam 00, this fic replaces A Wakening of the Trailblazer. The villains of that movie never came, the Chitauri came instead, surprise!
Partially beta'ed by miladyRanger, though she did not get to read the whole thing-so all errors are definitely mine, and she continues to be wonderful.
Warnings: Surprisingly little graphic violence, given the canons, but Tony's PTSD, and that of other characters, is going to come up a lot (and while I've done research, I'm not an expert, so fair warning). One of the Gundam 00 characters has another personality which is kind of psychotic, and that's a warning too. A lot of general discussion of past war-crime-type-atrocities, both committed against, and, in one case, by, characters-message me if you are extremely concerned but remember that this thing is rated T before you panic. These warnings are for the entire fic and not all of them show up in the first chapter. I will add extra warnings if I feel they are needed.
Team Dynamics
It's about three months after the Battle of New York and Tony Stark is really not enjoying the sequel.
The good news is that the Chitauri are really freakin' stupid without Reindeer Games—or whoever else was giving him the orders last time, because Clint's pretty sure that Loki was working for someone and since he's good enough at what he does for "Ms. Rushman" to like him, he's probably right about that. Also, there aren't that many of them, probably because of the whole nuclear bomb thing. The bad news is that they're really mad, probably for the same reason, and to make things better, Thor's still in Asgard, so the Avengers are down a man.
So there are, like, fifteen Chitauri buzzing around the city, and at least they aren't getting near the civilians because as soon as they saw the alien flying motorcycles they were proceding—okay, more stampeding—to the shelters as fast as they could. But cities are still crappy places for fights—too much that's breakable, and too many things that obstruct your vision.
At least the team's got Clint on top of the Tower, calling out positions so the rest of them don't have to worry about being ambushed.
"Okay, Tony, you've got another incoming down Fifth Avenue…hey, wait, what is that?" Clint trails off, sounding baffled.
Tony decides to look at the thing. It's, y'know, Chitauri-shaped for the most part except that it looks like there's something stuck to its back…if Tony didn't know better, he'd think…
"How did a civilian get on that thing?" Clint breathes, because Tony apparently doesn't know better, and that thing on the Chitauri's back is a brown-haired man wearing a half-destroyed varsity jacket and ripped-up khakis.
Well, crap, he can't just blow it up if there's a person on there, but he's not really sure how else to deal with it…
Fortunately, Civilian at least seems calm under fire.
"Ne, otoko-no-hito-san, boku wo testudatte kudasai?"
Japanese, okay, Tony can work with Japanese. Learned it five years ago after he found this awesome robotics paper on Tokyo University's site. But, really, is "Hey, Mister, please lend me a hand" the thing to be saying when you're riding on an alien hovercraft, with said alien and without weapons?
So, the guy's crazy, but it's at least Tony's kind of crazy. And if he's Tony's kind of crazy…
He takes a risk, rushes the thing, and is rewarded when JARVIS reports an additional 150-pound-weight on the suit. He can't see anything, of course, but Steve's yelling over the com and that probably means he did something risky enough to make Spangles worry but brave enough that he's still kinda proud. Saving Civilian probably counts, so, mission accomplished.
"Tony, what are you doing—wait, is there someone riding the suit? Get back here! He needs medical attention!"
"We've got this under control," Natasha adds.
"Right-o," Tony says, turning in midair, a little more carefully than he would if no one was riding the suit. He tells JARVIS to activate external speakers and adds, "Anzen na basho ni itteimasu, We're going to a safe place."
Apparently, this is not what Civilian wants. He's shouting in Japanese and it's testing the limits of Tony's spoken comprehension.
"Iie! Maganaide! Watashi no nakama wo taskukeranakya ikenai kara, tobira ni ikenakya ikenai!"
"No! Don't turn!" Tony mentally translates, ignoring the kid until he continues, "We have to rescue my friends, and so…"
And then Tony stops translating because that word can mean "door," it can mean "gate," and it can mean "portal."
And Tony knows how the Chitauri travel, knows it better than he ever wants to, especially the desperate empty blackness of the space on the other side…
He only realizes that he never turned off the external speakers when he hears his own panicked hyperventilation in stereo, mixed in with JARVIS's worried questioning and Civilian's careful, soft reassurances.
"You're okay, you're fine, please just breathe," he says, and his accent is thick but still comprehensible.
So he's used to people having panic attacks in the middle of a battle. Huh.
Then, Steve, joining the noise, says, "Tony, come back, we'll handle it, okay?"
Right. Back. Away from portals. That, Tony can handle.
"Anzen na basho ni itteimasu," he repeats.
Without waiting for Civilian to reply, he heads back to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s emergency base of operations.
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Clint is not psyched about being tapped for the "go through the portal and rescue potential friendlies" team, but it's better than staying here and jumping at shadows, expecting each one to be a hiding place for Loki and what Tony has dubbed "the mind-control stick." The invasion brings back memories he doesn't want any more. Chitauri-land may be relatively uncharted and probably oxygen-less, but at least it's not as much of a gigantic PTSD trigger as New York is right now.
Besides, this time, S.H.I.E.L.D. is ready, and Clint gets a space suit. So do Nat and Cap, Clint's companions on this little sojourn into the heart of weirdness. Besides, arrows work just as well without air or gravity as with—maybe even a little better without. Times like this, Clint is glad he passed up sniper rifles for crossbows.
The portal's in Central Park—of course it is, these things are always at Stark Tower, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, or Central Park, like the aliens and monsters coming out of them are here for tourism instead of attack—and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel have already secured it. They already know how to close it, too. All he, Nat and Cap have to do is sneak through, grab the friendlies, and go.
Suited up and feeling puffier than the Michelin Man, he follows Nat through the freaky circle of glowy blue juju, trying not to let that particular shade of Mind-Control-Flashback-Trigger-Blue get to him. He doesn't think it's working.
Cap notices, and smacks him in the back of the head. It's not the most modern or scientific way of dealing with the problem, but it works, and that's Cap all over for you, right there.
The other side of the portal isn't empty space, like S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be, but there isn't any oxygen outside their suits, so Clint's still grateful overall. They're in a featureless steel corridor, the walls studded with protrusions that have to be dents when you look at them from the outside. This place isn't Chitauri, it's stolen. From who, Clint wonders.
Cap pulls him from his thoughts by motioning him forward down the corridor. It looks like his super-senses are picking up something useful—hopefully, chatter from still-alive friendlies and not something unpleasant, like bombs being built or weapons being handed out.
The tight, focused expression on Cap's face doesn't offer any clues, but Clint follows regardless. You didn't question Cap in the field unless it was a big deal. You had a moral question, he'd hear you out; if you wanted to know what the next part of the plan was, you shut up and waited for him to tell you in his own time.
They finally reach a small room with a metallic smell about it, and it's pretty clear where that's coming from when Clint sees the room's occupants. Because, the beat-up kid Tony started calling Civilian? He apparently got handled with kid gloves compared to his friends.
There are four of them there, all male and in their twenties, all dressed in very badly ripped uniforms that might have been military—if not from any country Clint knows of—and all covered in injuries. There could have been some torture, too, but most of the bad stuff looks more like they got it resisting capture. Either way, they're all fitted with some sort of breathing apparatus—which at least means the Chitauri wanted them alive. Whether that's a good thing or not is kind of up in the air, in Clint's opinion. There are restraints along the walls, stained with blood, but also open and unoccupied. These guys aren't exactly helpless, then.
The tallest of them, a man with long brown hair and green eyes, stands when he sees them.
"Hello, we come in peace," Cap tries.
"What's with all the weapons, then?" is the reply, and Clint's not sure whether he's more surprised that the man speaks Irish-accented English, or impressed that he's actually able to stand up with those injuries.
"We don't wish you harm," Nat explains. "The Chitauri, on the other hand…" she trails off suggestively. Well, more suggestively than usual, because half of what comes out of her mouth sounds kind of suggestive and Clint's pretty sure it's intentional.
"Is that what the reptilian freaks are called?" the man asks. "Good to know. You got medical supplies?"
"Not with us, no," Cap says. "But we can take you to a place with doctors."
"Why should we trust you?" asks another of the men, shorter than his companion and sporting a truly impressive dye job. It looks like he dipped his hair in grape Kool-Aid. His eyes are obscured by badly cracked glasses.
Cap, despite being a freakin' global icon who should probably be at least a little thrown off by a question like that, answers calmly.
"We have weapons, but we aren't threatening you with them," he says.
"Which makes us a whole lot nicer than the Chitauri," Clint adds.
"Fair enough," the brown-haired man says. "Seiei, can you stand?"
"Yes," the shortest of the four answers, his voice clearly accented. It sounds to Clint like it might be Middle Eastern, but Nat's always been better at accents than he is. His skin is clay-brown and his hair is black, but his most noticeable feature is the gigantic bloodstain spread over his left pants leg. "Haptism is still out."
Cap glances towards the last of the four, a skinny man dressed in black, whose skin tone is at the unpleasant juncture between a deep tan and the sickly yellow of someone near the point of bleeding out. Add to that hair the unpleasant deep green-brown of that hamburger Tony and Bruce gamma-radiated last week when they were bored, and a wide range of multicolored bruises, and Clint is willing to bet that Cap is itching for a set of colored pencils. It's kind of amazing how much artistic inspiration the man gets from beating people up for a living, but Clint's never been one to judge other people's hobbies, not when his are sitting on high places and watching stupid comedies.
Fortunately for "Haptism," Cap's American Hero side is clearly overwhelming the artist side at the moment. He walks over, picks the man up without much effort, and heads back up the corridor, gesturing to the others to follow him.
The other three are a bit wide-eyed over what is, for Cap, a relatively modest show of strength, but they follow nonetheless. "Seiei" is still limping, and Clint hangs back to offer him a shoulder to lean on. He shakes his head, takes another step, winces, and then slings his arm over Clint's shoulders as he inclines his head in a quick show of thanks.
They make it to the portal like that, Clint and Seiei the last to stumble through, blinking rapidly, into a Central Park filled with mid-day light.
Seiei looks around for a few seconds, seemingly overwhelmed, before Clint feels him lean even more heavily than before and looks over to see his eyes falling shut.
Time to head to medical, then.
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Bruce is in S.H.I.E.L.D's hastily-erected infirmary, in the midst of bandaging "Civilian," when Steve, Clint and Natasha bring the others in.
There are two walking on their own, a third being carried by Clint and a fourth slung over Steve's shoulder. All are pretty badly injured, but a lot of it's superficial, though the one Clint's got has a pretty bad leg wound and Bruce doesn't like the coloring on the one slung over Steve's shoulder.
Tony, who is sitting in one of the chairs and trying to get ahold of himself—ignoring Bruce's suggestion that he get away from the medical supplies that they both know are among his triggers—eyes them with some interest, but Civilian's reaction is enough to distract him from the newcomers.
"You're okay," he breathes, his voice as strained as Cap's is any time he ends up at the bedside of an injured teammate after a fight goes wrong.
"Good to see you too, kid," says one of the new arrivals, a tall, brown-haired man with a light Irish accent. The man's eyes light on Bruce.
"You're a doctor, right?" he asks.
Bruce nods.
The man jerks a thumb towards the one being carried by Steve. "He needs help, now. He wasn't built to take this kind of punishment."
The word choice is odd—presumably, being a naturally-created human being, he wasn't built for anything in particular—but Bruce listens to the request anyway, directing Steve to lay the man on a bed and grabbing a kit full of equipment from his desk before beginning to examine him.
He is in his mid-twenties and in decent health save the injuries that should have been enough to kill him. Bruce quickly disinfects and bandages the multiple stab wounds on his torso, as well as a particularly deep cut on his left shoulder. As he works, he takes note of old scars, some clearly the result of some sort of military service, but others looking like very old surgical scars. His right arm is dislocated, which Bruce quickly fixes, noting that he should find a sling somewhere before the man wakes. There are also an impressive number of bruises on the man's body, but none of them seem to be signs of internal injuries severe enough to require immediate attention—though the one on his left hip may need to be monitored.
Bruce then moves on to a few smaller injuries on the man's arms, only to suddenly find the tip of the small pair of scissors from the medical kit resting on the skin covering his Adam's apple.
The tent immediately falls silent, its occupants freezing simultaneously. Bruce tries not to let the flare of annoyance at the fact that this man's actions could have easily killed everyone in the tent become the reason that everyone in the tent actually does die in a Hulk rampage. Across from him, the man's eyes—one yellow and the other brown, he notes, surprised to see such a rare genetic trait—are narrowed in anger.
"Okay, just calm down," Cap says, his voice deliberately soft and just a bit sing-song.
Bruce sees green hovering around the edges of his vision.
"Allelujah, daijoubuda," says the brown-haired man. Hearing a word of praise in these circumstances is not helping Bruce's control. "Alle to hanashite mo ii da?"
Hesitantly, the man backs up, still clutching the scissors. "Hakase wo kuroshitai," he says, his tone almost plaintive, but with an insane edge to it that dispels rage in favor of primal fear. Bruce is pretty sure that there was some sort of threat in that sentence, though he doesn't know enough Japanese to puzzle it out.
The Other Guy is no longer interested in coming out. In fact, he is currently filling Bruce's head with images of him, and Bruce himself, running. Bruce isn't much of an expert on animal behavior, but he thinks this is the same instinct that keeps uninfected animals away from rabid ones.
To his surprise, it's Tony who speaks next. "Kuroshite ha ikenaiyo. Ore no hakase."
Bruce is still not fluent in Japanese, but that sounds a lot like the "My Hulk, you can't have him," tone he used to tell off General Ross last week.
The man makes a sound of dissatisfaction, then suddenly slumps forward, scissors still open in his hand. Bruce catches him, careful to avoid the blades.
The man blinks up at him, bleary-eyed, the threatening aura he'd had only seconds ago entirely vanished.
"Ian?" he asks, voice slightly slurred.
"Allelujah!" Tony's "Civilian" says, and Bruce is really starting to wonder about all of this religious praise, when the man's head turns towards "Civilian." Almost like Allelujah is a name.
"Saji?" the man asks, eyes lighting up. "Doko wa koko?"
"We are in an infirmary," Civilian, whose real name is apparently Saji, answers, in understandable but accented English. "Away from the ones who captured us."
"Thank God," the man says, his words clearer than Saji's. More religion. Maybe they're some kind of cult?
"And these people," Saji adds. "They rescued us."
"Thank you," the man says.
"Giving me the scissors would be thanks enough," Bruce says carefully.
The man's eyes widen, confused, then lose focus for a second. When they clear, he looks mortified. "I am so sorry!" he exclaims, frantic, thrusting the scissors handles-first into Bruce's hands. "You were probably the one who took care of me and I—"
"Calm down, Haptism," the violet-haired man says. His accent is a slightly higher-class version of that of an American newscaster—faintly Midwestern, easily understood and probably deliberately acquired. "I'm sure this isn't the first time that Dr.—erm, what is your name?"
"Banner," Bruce says, suspicious.
"Dr. Banner has had to deal with a difficult patient," the man finishes. "My name is Erde. He is Haptism. The one your friend is carrying is Seiei, and the tall one over there is Stratos."
Unimpressed, Tony asks, "Are those code names?"
"Of course," Erde says, unbothered.
Stratos shrugs. "You're not getting our real names, so they'll have to do."
"Except Saji," Erde huffs.
"Gomen," Saji says automatically. Remembering himself, he translates, "Sorry."
Preoccupied, Bruce only vaguely pays attention as Natasha tells the visitors their aliases, only to be interrupted by snickering from Saji and Stratos, followed by Tony speaking over her in order to give their real names.
None of the rescued prisoners seem particularly interested in, much less alarmed by, Haptism's personality shift now that it has passed, which indicates that this has happened before. But, why would they be willing to work on the same team as such a person?
Then again, why would anyone be willing to work with the man who turns into the Hulk? Perhaps this man's psychopathic side is also a useful weapon.
"None of you seemed too freaked out by the fact that I threatened you with a pair of scissors a few minutes ago," Haptism observes, straightening. Apparently, he's been thinking along some of the same lines.
Bruce takes a risk. "Well, that wasn't precisely you, was it?"
Haptism's eyes fall to the bed as he sits down on its edge. "No," he answers at length. "And I think maybe I wasn't dealing with just you the whole time, either. Your eyes were green a little while ago."
Bruce stiffens. He's underestimated Haptism. "I was in control, the whole time," he says, and lets Haptism finish the thought.
"But you're not the only one in there," Haptism says.
Bruce nods.
"You seem a little old to be a failed super-soldier," Haptism observes, and Bruce stiffens again because there's no possible way this man could know about the attempt to replicate Erskine's formula that created the Other Guy. The people that knew enough about the research into the serum are all known to Bruce, and none of them are Haptism.
"Or maybe not," Haptism says, sounding just as surprised. "I didn't think the Institute was that old."
"Institute?" Tony asks. "You mean Xavier's pet project? Bruce isn't a mutant."
"I was not implying that he was, and I have no idea who Xavier is," Haptism says. "I'm talking about the Super Soldier Institute in the HRL."
"HRL?" Bruce repeats.
"You've never heard of it?" Stratos asks, alarmed. He's standing over Seiei, who Steve has laid down on a bed.
Bruce and the other Avengers shake their heads. Their visitors seem discomforted by this information.
"Where exactly are we?" Saji asked.
"New York, New York," Natasha says. "The United States of America."
"Not the Union, the United States?" Saji asks, as if trying to clarify.
"What's a Union?" is Clint's question.
"What year is it?" Erde counters, and Bruce is pretty sure there's an undercurrent of panic in his tone.
"It's 2014," Steve says proudly. Bruce is a bit proud, too—just last week, he would have answered 2004 with equal confidence.
"Wha—" Stratos breathes.
"No way!" Saji adds, in undisguised astonishment.
"When were you expecting it to be?" Steve asks, and Bruce is pretty sure the super-soldier has come to the same conclusion he has.
"It should be 2314," says Erde, sounding very overwhelmed.
"Time travel?" Clint asks. "You gotta be kidding."
"They could just be from a different dimension, where time is farther along than it is here," Tony says. "Hopefully, that's what's going on."
"Hopefully?" Steve asks sharply.
"Because otherwise, the Chitauri are capable of time travel," Tony replies, his tone equally sharp.
That sobering thought ends the conversation quickly, and Bruce takes advantage of the lull to go looking for a sling for Haptism.
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A/N: Untranslated Japanese is left untranslated deliberately, but if you really feel it important to know more than the characters:
Iie! Maganaide! Watashi no nakama wo taskukeranakya ikenai kara, tobira ni ikenakya ikenai!: No! Don't turn! Because we have to help my friends we have to go through the portal!
Daijoubuda: It's okay.
Alle to hanashite mo ii da?: Is it all right for me to speak with Alle?
Hakase wo kuroshitai: I want to kill the doctor.
Kuroshite ha ikenaiyo. Ore no hakase: You can't kill the doctor. (He's) my doctor. (The form of "I" used here, ore, is very masculine, ladies; don't use it!)
Doko wa koko? Where is here? (Where am I, basically)