All These Voices
Hi! Back with another story. I actually started writing this story in October and it was called In Her Head. You might know it. I deleted the story a little while later because I had absolutely no inspiration but now seven months later, I have inspiration again! Yay! Because I wrote this in October, there's not going to be any Endgame spoilers in here, but if you guys like this story I might write a sequel that takes place during Infinity War (this takes place after Spiderman: Homecoming by the way) and then after that one during Endgame. Anyways, enough of my rambling; on with the story!
Chapter One
It's been fifteen years since my dad's girlfriend for a grand total of four months gave birth to me and promptly left me with my father to raise.
Nine years since my dad stood up and told the press that he was Iron Man.
If I had already gotten enough people clamoring over me because my dad being the playboy millionaire genius Tony Stark he was, that crowd had essentially doubled since he was now flying amazing superhero playboy millionaire genius Tony Stark.
Even though nine years had passed, I got that same jolt when he goes out in that suit.
It's like a sixth sense I have, not much used for anything else. It doesn't tell me when he's in danger or anything. Just when he goes out, alarming me to turn on the ringer on my phone and keep it on me.
The sense has woken me up in the middle of the night before and that's what I assumed this one was.
I sat bolt up-right in my bed. Something had woken me up and it was an unsolved mystery as to what it was.
I'd come to the shaky conclusion that Dad had gone out, but something still didn't feel the same as it normally did.
Slightly put at rest, I'm about to settle back down into my pillows when a wave of pain suddenly hits me directly in the head.
I gasp, the pain in my head almost blinding. In a feeble attempt to pull myself out of bed, I swing my legs off the mattress only to collapse on the floor in a heap.
Shuddering breaths escape my mouth as I curl up in a ball, the pain growing more and more intense as it strikes my head in a quick fashion.
It dulls down enough so that I'm able to stand up and stumble to my door and down the two flights of stairs to the floor with the kitchen.
Trying my best to steady my hands, I reach out and grab a cup from the cabinet, gently tugging on the faucet to turn on the water.
A few seconds after, the pain in my head returns full force sending waves of pain through my body.
The cup falls through my shaky fingers onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces.
A voice floats through my head, faint words whispering their way quietly into my head. "Ava Stark. I've seen you before. Nice to finally speak with you."
"Who are you?" I stammer out, my fingers wrapping tightly around the top of the granite countertops, trying my best to keep my balance.
"Ah, young Stark, so young, so insolent. No idea what her future may hold for her and everyone close to her."
"Y-you stay away from them," I hiss, my voice growing slightly stronger as words flow out.
The voice chuckles, sending a shiver up my spine. "We'll see, Stark. We will see."
"Get out of my head," I growl, slapping my hand a little on the counter.
The chuckling continues. "You're going to play a key part in my plan, young Stark. Just wait."
With a sudden rush, the voice suddenly leaves my head, the pain remaining.
Still letting out huge gasps, my head slaps down on the kitchen floor and I pass out right there, surrounded by broken glass.
…
"Ava?" A voice startles me back to the real world and I begrudgingly open my eyes to see my father crouched over me.
"Oh! Hi Dad!" I say, my voice coming out a little too high-pitched to be normal.
"Are you okay? You're lying on the floor with the remnants of one of your grandmother's favorite glasses around you," he says, eyes sweeping the scene. "I hated that glass, good work on that one by the way," he smirks.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just came downstairs to get a drink of water in the middle of the night and I guess I was just so tired I fell asleep on the floor," I reply. It's not a total lie.
I don't tell him about the pain still slightly splitting my head open or the mysterious creepy voice. I probably should have. But a sinking feeling in my gut warns me not to.
Dad checks his watch. "It's seven thirty. If you want to make Happy angry, you're definitely succeeding."
With a groan, I peel myself off the floor, deciding to try to ignore the pain in my head for the day.