Chapter 1
8:03 am Los Angles, US: Marriot Hotel
Alfred F. Jones, famous actor, self dubbed 'hero', and millionaire. Alfred F. Jones also the lazy, irresponsible, former S.H.E.I.L.D agent. Former, mind you. The blonde man had never been a morning person. He preferred late mornings and nights, to the opposite, and required about twelve hours of sleep. Theoretically at least. It was a habit not even the rigorous S.H.E.I.L.D training could break. Now twenty years later Alfred's tendencies preserved.
Normally the blue-eyed man would wake around eleven at the earliest, and his day would begin. He'd eat, leave the hotel, do what his manager had been planned for the day and return later, to another hotel. Today at only eight he sprung into the waking world, flying out of a nightmare and into a dimly lit standard hotel suite.
"MATTIE! NO MATTIE! LET HIM GO YOU-" Alfred thrashed against the restraints binding him to the metal chair.
"MATVEW!"
"MATHIEU!"
"MAT-" The screams blurred together. Accents and voices became gibberish.
Alfred held his head in his hands gasping. "Mattie." He rasped.
"MATTIE!" The scream was heartbroken and lost. 'It's all my fault, all my fault.'
"My fault…" A pause, voices. A phantom of a British tone filled with worry.
"My fault…" He pulled himself into the fetal position and began rocking back and forth taking deep haggard breaths. Mattie, Mattie, Mattie. What type of hero can't save his own brother?Time passed, just as it had before. He stopped rocking and fell back on the bed shaking slightly. "Why now?" The blonde muttered, turning on his side.
'The mission, the last one, the finale, it happened seventeen years ago.'
"The hero's final battle." He spat bitterly. "I haven't had that dream since-" 'Since before Iggy moved back to England sixteen years ago. How long has it been since I thought about him, or the others?' Alfred sat up rubbing a hand through his hair.
"Breakfast!" He declared with an all too cheery smile, forcing the damper thoughts away. He stood up, dressed only in his boxers, and opened the blinds. Wincing, and squinting he searched for his glasses. "Can't see, can't see." He fitted them over his eyes. "There we go! The hero can see!" He laughed, forgetting his nightmare. Grinning, he walked into the mini kitchen looking for food.
Sitting on the counter from the previous night was a McDonalds bag with a half full, flat coke. The blue-eyed man zipped over to it and ripped it open. Burger! There were two super sized burgers, one was half eaten, but breakfast was breakfast no matter its appearance. He was just about to stuff the first burger into his mouth when his personal phone rang.
Usually his manager would call around ten to see if he was awake. Anyone else who had the number knew better than to call earlier than noon. He briefly entertained the idea of ignoring it, but the paranoid side of him decided that it had to be serious. After all no one calls me when I'm usually asleep… They must really need the hero!
With that in mind he snatched the phone of the counter. "Hey! This is the hero! What's sup?"
8:05 pm Beijing, China: Private Airport
Wang Yao considered himself to be a good businessman. He enjoyed his job; people rarely realized how he was using them too. It was rather fun, almost like a game. The traveling was interesting, as it allowed him to create 'allies'. Besides he got to try other people's food! Food had always been his hobby.
Yao rarely fell asleep on planes, or at all during these trips.
If any sleeping was done it was brief and at a hotel. The Chinese man supposed it was his childish nature showing itself. He didn't want to miss anything.
The past few days he'd been pulling all-nighters gathering information on Stark Enterprises. The multi-billion company he was traveling all the way to the states to meet with. The few breaks he took were for meetings, so naturally Yao was exhausted beyond that of the norm. Generally, he'd wait it out. He'd forcefully stay awake and wait until the reached the US to crash. It wasn't healthy, but it made the most sense to him. Maybe it was his instincts from being an agent for such a long time reappearing.
When the plane took off he tried to stay awake like usual. Seconds before the plane left the ground however, he was out. No one bothered him, though the staff was somewhat amused by their boss' behavior. If they'd known what would happen next, they would have woken him quickly.
Although he wasn't asleep long, an old nightmare came back to plague his vulnerable mind.
The Chinese man stood frozen and restrained by fear. His dark eyes were wide, and his long hair was loose and knotted as of being torn from its usual ponytail. Dirt was smudged on his face, and his standard issue S.H.E.I.L.D uniform was tattered.
Guards and the like were actively restraining the others around him. But he was ignored, and free to do as he wished. Matthew stood as proudly as he could next to the,monster. He held his head high, hiding the fear that was evident in his violet eyes.
Wang Yao was a reasonable man, but he cared about his comrades more than he cared for himself. It was something of a weakness. He wasn't about to leave Matthew to his fate though–aru. But he, Wang Yao, stood by and did nothing.
The opportunity to shoot was presented.
The opportunity to lunge at that bastard was presented.
Everything was offered, but Yao chose nothing he stood by and watched.
The others screamed at the monster. They thrashed against their captors, yelling for Matthew.
Then, just like that, the poor maple syrup lover was dead. The monsters hand came down and blood poured everywhere. Yao unfroze. He raced forward, but he didn't move. He opened his mouth to scream, but he made no sound. Then he heard no sound.
The others faded from sight, the guards, his comrades, Matthew's limp body, and that monster. "Matthew, I'm so sorry –aru" He whispered. He felt his hair clean itself and pull its self back. He felt his clothes change; suddenly he was in a high quality suit with finely tailored shoes. He felt as though he was betraying them all.
'I'm so sorry Matthew –aru.' He thought. 'Sorry.' A phone appeared in his hand.
The ringing could be felt in his bones.
Wha-?
"I'm sorry Matthew –aru," He whispered, groggily sitting up from his brief nap and long nightmare. In his back pocket he felt his private phone ringing. Next to no one had that number, and a secretary at the back of the plane manned his work phone. Deciding to think over the return of his old nightmare later, Wang Yao picked up his phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
"Yes?"
2:05 pm Marseille, France: on the beach
Francis Bonnefoy, recently voted the best director in France, was on a half hour lunch break. The movie's cast and crew were out in the city, enjoying a break of their own. The weather was perfect and they were surprisingly ahead of schedule.
"Maybe I'll just give everyone the rest of the day off." He mused, laughing quietly. The blonde Frenchman continued down the beach barefoot humming and closing his eyes in contentment. He neared the water and sat, his toes just barely in the surf.
He laid back for a moment, intent on catching up on a little sleep before giving everyone the day off. He stretched and put his hands behind his head. A smile graced his lips, but it was whipped away in seconds once sleep claimed his relaxed fool mind.
Their target held a bloody Mathieu by his hair, dangling over a drop that under normal circumstances wouldn't hurt Mathieu. But normal circumstances weren't exactly something that described their current situation.
"A normal mission, it was supposed to be a normal mission."
The team was split up. They were running about the building searching for 'mon petit Mathieu.' The blonde Frenchman could feel them coming up behind him, but they were far too late.
"MATHIEU!" He screamed. "MATHIEU!" He heard the others screaming behind him, they'd caught up. Their target released his grip on Mathieu's golden hair. And slowly Mathieu fell.
Mathieu opened his violet eyes, and a few stray tears spilled out. Francis dove forward, stretching out his arms out as if to catch him. Everyone knew he was too slow. Mathieu hit the ground. His eyes widened and a soft whimper escaped his lips, the most S.H.E.I.L.D's cruel training would allow. For lack of better words, Mathieu broke. His body shattered.
Francis let out the most pained cry he'd ever had the displeasure of uttering. The little boy, the little boy who's been a practical little brother to him. The one he'd all but raised.
Mathieu.
Tears spilled out of his eyes, rushing down his cheeks in an uncontrolled torrent of salt water.
Alfred rushed past him, clutching his twin's body and shooting a tearful glare at Francis. Mathieu…
"Je suis désolé Mathieu, c'est de ma faute."
"Je suis désolé Mathieu, c'est de ma faute." Francis woke gasping, reaching out for son petit Mathieu. The nightmare was familiar, but old. He hadn't had it in years. What had brought it on? Perhaps an omen? No, probably not, it's just close to the anniversary is all. He sat up, backing away from the water and clutching his head. He took a deep breath and frowned. Though maybe not…
Before he could give it anymore thought his phone conveniently chose to ring. "Of course." He chuckled allowing a small smile to flicker to life on his face. He leaned back and reached for his shoes, where he'd left his phone.
"Bonjour? C'est Francis à qui je parle?" He smile faded all to quickly.
10:03 am New York City: Abandoned Warehouse
"Boss! Boss!" A voice called him out of his nap.
"Vat?" He cracked open one eye, and casually rested a hand on his beloved lead pipe. The lackey nervously eyed the pipe, and stuttered.
"T-t-there's someone here to- t-to"
"Speet eet out" He grumbled, the fool must be new.
"T-there's a M-mr. Coulson who wantstotalktoyou." The young lackey looked down and tensed, waiting for the blow. Surprisingly it never came. But he cringed when he heard his boss laugh.
"Pheel Coulson?" The lackey nodded feverishly, what now? "Eenteresteing, da?" He smiled stroking his pipe. The lackey went pale and nodded more. "Go get heem." The lackey scurried off in terror leaving Ivan to brood over the nightmare that had plagued his nap.
It was an old one, one he hadn't had since his little sunflower had died. "Vhy vould eet return after so long?" He frowned, trying to come up with an acceptable response.
His sunflower was limp. That little bastard was holding him up. The bastard had a gun; it wasn't loaded and looked like a toy, yet Ivan felt it fill him with fear. 'Where had he gotten that, thing?'
Around the barrel a leather collar was tied securely.
"S.H.E.I.L.D couldn't make you forget could it?" The bastard asked cockily. Ivan yelled something in a Russian at the thing, but it had no response. It just grinned.
"I wonder… what would you do if your little sunflower felt its wrath?" Ivan blanched.
"Vhat's vrong vith you?" He growled out. It laughed.
"Absolutely nothing,"
"That's a lie." His English was quite and perfect, just like Mattie had him prefect.
"The one who has the problem is you, Mr. Braginski." Ivan shot. His aim was perfect, right at that bastards head.
"How was he so fast?"
The bastard wasn't smiling anymore. The Russian man lowered his gun. "Matvew…" Ivan uttered. "Matvew."
Ivan had never understood, he only knew that those nightmares had always left him feeling hollow. Now was no exception.
That bastard discarded Matvew. His sunflower fell to the ground dead by his hand. His glasses were shattered and his violet eyes wide in pain.
"Matvew…" The dreams had stopped years ago. So what had brought it back? He glanced at the calendar in the corner. April 11… Eet's been seventeen years.He sighed and looked up. Phil Coulson entered a moment later, dressed in his as per usual suit and tie.
"It's been a long time Mr. Braginski." He smiled.
"Too long, da?" He smiled falsely. Matvew always hated when I smiled like this.
Coulson nodded. "So I assume you know why I'm here." It wasn't a question.
"Of course, da." The false smile vanished.
10:05 am Lichfield, UK: Small Local teashop.
Arthur Kirkland sipped his tea and glanced out the window. Rain pattered against the old panes, and editing his latest project wasn't going to happen with this kind of weather. It was just too dreary. He put down his tea and sighed running a hand through his messy blonde hair. The Brit tried not to let his thoughts stray to his nightmare, and to Matthew.
It was a futile effort.
Matthew lay bleeding on the ground. The others had pried the bloody wanker off his body, and Arthur had moved over to examine the wounds. Trying not to make the bleeding worse, the thick browed man clumsily unbuttoned Matthew's shirt and pulled his first aid kit next to them. The team set to work immediately.
Mechanically they stitched him up, something that they'd done for each other time and time again. But it was clear they were losing him. Alfred proposed something, a reckless idea, but their last hope. The others had been skeptical, but they'd been willing to try. After all what else is there?
Arthur leaned over the table, trying not to succumb to tears.
He hadn't let them. He'd yelled at the American boy, telling him how even if Matthew survived, he wouldn't ever be quite the same. He proposed a safer idea, one that under normal circumstances would save him.
"But those were anything, but normal circumstances." A few tears rolled down his cheeks. But as the bloody frog said, these were anything but normal circumstances.
Arthur and the other allies did everything they could, but in the end, they lost. Their first lose in a long, long time. Alfred, that stupid boy, blamed him. He was furious. He screamed at him as tears ran down his face. "YOUR FAULT! THAT'S WHAT I SAID! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Arthur felt the sobs come.
"My fault…."
"My fault…"
His phone rung, yanking him out of the black cloud in a way almost painful. He watched it for a moment; it wasn't a number he recognized. Finally he picked up, if only for the distraction.
"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland, to whom am I speaking?" He stood and walked outside to stand under the awning.
"This is Maria Hill, and on behalf of S.H.E.I.L.D I would like to request that you get on the next flight to New York." Hill?
Arthur froze. God bloody damn it! Forcing himself to remain polite, he strained. "Excuse me?"
"S.H.E.I.L.D is calling back the team."
Ok so I probably shouldn't be posting another story, but I've planned this one out. Besides my friend Keeb is helping me, so it should take less time. Chapters for this story will be longer then I usually do, which isn't saying much but... THis story will not have lemon, I have nothing against it, but it's not something I can write comfortably. The pairings won't be too important till much later on and even then the only really apparent ones in most chapters will be USUK. Ruscan and others will only be hinted at. If anyone thinks the rating should change in later chapters PM me about it...
Pairings: USUK, Ruscan, possibly others.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas:3
Review please!
