notes and acknowledgements (aka: the boring bits), see the end of the story please.
THE ROAD TO HELL
1. I Knew him when
The further from the main road, the dustier the track. Battle born, they called this state. Battle born Nevada.
The morning desert was breathtakingly beautiful, painted in soft oranges, retreating purples and awaking yellows and greens. In the distance a mountain range protected the desert plain with its reddish brown and grey guardians, withered away with time and grim with all they had seen.
The desert floor itself was teaming with life. Snakes and lizards came out to doze on flat stones and warm their coldblooded bodies. Sage bushes scented the air and the fuzzy looking but prickly cacti carefully opened their red and gold flowers to the sun. The gophers, nocturnal creatures that they were, had already fled underground to spare themselves from the fast warming day. Sparse, irregular Joshua trees reached out their branches as if in prayer to ward off the evils brought here by man.
This part of the road was painfully straight, easy to traverse and a clear invitation to speed if only to reach shadow. The desert stretched away from the mountains to the far horizon, flat and calm and split by the tarmac in a left and a right because man had to make opposites out of everything.
Humans have always been silly creatures. They build things in remote sanctuaries like this to keep secrets from each other in the hope distance and fences and guns will keep those secrets hidden. But people have made cars and planes to cross distance. They have guile and money to open the gates in the fences- and just bigger guns against the guns.
In this desert they had played with the really big guns until about ten years ago. Big enough to call the bullets bombs, actually. Big enough to make the people who were in the know weary of radiation still. Visitors were discouraged.
At the end of the road battered grey warehouses rose up. Cavernous places of corrugated steel with humongous doors guarded with coded keypads. People had to be able to push other people around and out of the way to get here and push those buttons. Cash in favors and place bribes to acquire the right kind of passes that opened the gates and have uniformed guards with permission to kill stand down and salute. Would be visitors were of a special sort. A tiny elite that knew the warehouses existed in the first place. For that these warehouses -did- exist, was perhaps the biggest secret of them all.
Two of those elite had come today. One knew of the place because of his work during the war, or 'The Good War' as the men of his day would come to call it. He was the one with the leverage and the money needed to get in almost legally. The other man had been here before, but not in the best of circumstances, and he lost a friend that day. He was the one with enough knowledge of the things inside the warehouses to never have come back here willingly.
They were part of a small caravan hurrying towards the buildings. An open military jeep up front with the brass, a truck filled with young soldiers at the back. A totally out of place sleek burgundy Rolls Royce Phantom in the middle. At the wheel sat one of those professional men in grey uniform with gleaming silver buttons, a black rimmed military looking hat and white gloves on his broad hands. He drove silently, hiding the strength the more obvious bodyguard beside him displayed in abundance. The buff man stat stiffly, uncomfortably dressed in a crisp blue suit that did nothing to hide the bulk of his bulletproof vest, or his gun. The dark little screen between the compartments allowed their employer and his guest their privacy in the back of the Phantom. Their employer had come here in hope to find the means to save the life of a brother who was born both from and for battle. The second man had been forced to come. But only because his wife lost a bet.
"You are a bastard, Stark."
The two men sprawled in various states of disarray over the backseat of the car, both nursing a hangover. At the sound of the raspy voice, the younger man straightened from his slouch in the corner against the car door and looked out over the desert through the tinted glass, trying to shake it, massaging his left temple but it was not working for him. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to wake some more, and messed up his expensive haircut. Only in his mid-forties and already almost completely grey.
"Your wife holds her liquor better then you do, Jones," Stark gave in lieu of an answer. The scruffy man besides him chuckled and pushed a battered old mud colored fedora even further over his eyes, long legs stretched out as much as the Rolls allowed, squinting against the light filter by the tinted windows.
"And I think she did not enjoy the thought of us coming here. I think she does not like me very much."
Opposites, these two. Cultured elegance set against scruffy indifference. Howard Stark, MSc, liked to call himself an engineer of the future. Dr. Henry 'Indiana' Jones studied and explored the past. With a grunt, Jones sat up, tipped up his fedora and chuckled.
"What gave that away? The colorful language or the bottles she threw at you?"
"You two make married life look so interesting."
"Nice reflexes by the way."
"Yeah- well- Sorry about the mirror."
"Was bought by her for the new house. Never liked the damn thing."
Howard gave a light chuckle and turned away from the landscape. "She does not like me using my private plane to steal you away from her either, does she?"
Jones shook his head, rolled his shoulders, rubbed his neck and flinched. "She does not like you because you buy people to get things your way. She does not like it that you´ve earned a fortune in the arms business, only using that big brain of yours to make your guns even bigger and better. She does not enjoy the thought that you've subsidized some of my expeditions and that her new house for a large part comes from your money. "
"She does not like me period."
"She does not like you period. And she wants me to stop going out there, stay at home. Retire from the field."
"Enjoy your cushy university job?"
Jones grunted at that. He loved teaching but hated university politics. "Cushy my ass. Just let´s say your money is not exactly speeding my retirement. Marian hates that. Don't blame her, she is right at some level. I -am- getting too old for this shit."
"You're not that old."
"Ah shut up, you young whipper snapper. I could be your dad.'
Howard shrugged and gave a bratty smile that showed teeth. "She hated me winning our little drinking contest."
"So you are a –smug- bastard. You surprised her with that. Both of us, actually." Jones' tone betrayed that he was not totally pleased with that. Howard frowned but decided to let it go.
"Had to- she would not have let me drag you out here if I had not."
Jones made a face, took off his hat and inspected the inside and worried the lining a bit before flopping it back on his head. "Where did you learn how to drink like that anyways?"
"Where did she?!" Howard exclaimed and both men frowned, pained with the loudness of his voice.
"In a tavern in the Himalayas. During the war."
Howard grinned and slumped in on himself, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He rubbed his face tiredly.
"I had to ask..."
Jones yawned and stretched. "And you?"
Howard paused a bit, trying to make sense of the almost moaned question. Without looking up, he answered. "Steve."
Eyes wide and sparkling with mirth the doctor relaxed against the backrest "No kidding? Captain bloody goody-two-shoes America drank?"
"No he did not, not really. He had no use for it. And that was the point, actually. Because of the serum and the treatment his body cured itself from poisons and flushed the alcohol almost as fast from his system as he could take it in. It had also something to do with his altered metabolism that worked a lot faster- and cell regeneration- I seem to remember he was always hungry. But his men, The Howling Commando's?"
Jones nodded, he remembered those.
"Well, they never stopped trying to get him drunk- and I got mixed up in some of those parties while they were on leave."
"Ah- the good and olden days."
"Of yore."
"Yeah."
The men fell silent, both remembering those olden days of yore too vividly still- and much of it had not been so good.
Stark sat up and leaned back again, legs crossed at the knee, stiff now. He stared into the far away distance of the desert without seeing it, fist in front of his mouth. "But perhaps- with the help of the stone-" He hesitated- the words halted, his mind far away and somewhere long ago. His face drawn tight.
Jones looked sideways, thoughtfully, and he spoke his next words slowly, carefully- Picking at his clothing as if he suddenly discovered some lint.
"You should let the Captain go, Howard."
Almost angry Stark turned to his companion.
"The serum might have preserved him- if he was flash-frozen he -might- still be alive!"
Jones remained silent.
"Goddamnit, Indy! I -know- it's almost been twenty years- God -how- I know! But I also just- know-, beyond logic or reason, that he lives. Out there- as if asleep. And if I'm right- and if that Soulstone of yours works as you suspect, it will tell us!"
Howard looked quite miserable and beaten from more than last evenings binge or the too little sleep both men have had on their hurried flight here. For as long as Jones has known him, there had been something not quite right with the superb engineer. But A piece of the puzzle remained missing and Jones just could not shake the feeling that the piece was not Captain America shaped. There was this nagging feeling that both the lost Captain and he himself were but means to an end. Because why on earth would a man of the gleaming technology of the future be so interested in the moldy remains of the past? Marian had more than once warned him his love of puzzles would be his undoing some day.
"The stone might- mind you, -might-, be able to find his soul on Earth and show you he's alive. If he's alive. And if he is, it should glow stronger the closer you get to him- But it cannot show you exactly where he is- or how deep that damned plane of his has sunk."
"Alive and in the neighborhood is enough. It's all I need. I'll do the rest. Hell- I have already created a sub for ridiculous depths."
Howard seemed weary, bone tired. Of late he had lost a lot, personally. A close associate had been outed as a Russian spy, and the government was now deeply involved in the compromised Stark Industries what left its owner very little moving space with his inventions and developments. There had been some family trouble with an already estranged brother that drove the two even further apart. Except for his work there is not much the man truly seemed to care about- and even if he could buy himself some company in the evening, his bed would still be empty come morning. Jones got it. He really did- he'd been there. Not every man was lucky enough to have the love of their youth step back into the autumn of life, complete with an adult son he never even had to change the nappies of. Jones' life had been one hell of an adventure, one grand thrilling exploration of the past. Howard shared that passion for the next step, that little bit further, even if he was looking the other way, to the future. Looking back was easier, for you did not see the emptiness in front of you glaring back.
During The War there was a terrible yet great sense of purpose, shared by absolutely everyone. The enemy usually dressed in clear colors and came from one side only. People shared their last bit of food with a neighbor or comrade, huddled together under ground when the bombs fell. Olden times.
When the war had been lost and won, countries- no continents had to be rebuild. For a little while, comrade truly meant friend- until the people frosted over and fear started to divide and poverty again became redistributed by theft.
The cold war had brought Stark a fortune. He had allowed it to take away almost anything else. Then politicians took from him the freedom to explore the arctic at his leisure. Somehow it seemed the frozen soldier held the key to Howard's future, of him being able to live it to the full instead of just waiting out the days. After his mother's death Indiana's father had become like that. The elder Jones had substituted life with the search for the Holy Grail- the Cup of Life, and had only truly begun to live again, when he had been touched by the cup- and had lost it in favor of saving Indiana. Jones wondered what Howard had left to lose, what he had to sacrifice before learning the lesson that nothing could replace just living your life. The man looked miserable.
The small caravan came to a halt. Before the driver could help him, Stark hopped out, all smiles and polished efficiency, zooming in on the colonel accompanying them. The fat necked bodyguard hurried to keep up with his employer. Jones fumbled for the car door, but he was let out before he could catch it. He nodded at the driver while climbing out, adjusted his jacket and his hat and stared up at the buildings against their backdrop of cloudless blue. They were still painted airbase grey, still marked with white rising numbers.
The young soldiers jumped out of their truck energetically- probably happy to have been assigned the light duty of accompanying some stupid VIPs trudging around base. Jones remembered the circle of rifles he had faced the last time he had been here. A group of Russian agents had collected him all the way from Mexico to help them find an alien corpse hidden in the maze of innumerable wooden crates he knew the building held. These boys would live out the day, probably. Their past colleagues had not been that lucky- the Russians had killed every American soldier in sight, on sight.
"Indy!" Stark was calling out impatiently at the entrance to the candy store. Colonel What-was-your-name-again? had used a code to open the electronic lock and two soldiers were sliding the double doors to the sides. It looked like the opening of a large flight hangar. The Colonel's aid, mister green clad Very-annoyed-with-pesky-civilians, tried to explain to Stark that he was not allowed to go inside without military escort and, charming brat that the man was, Stark just smiled and told them it was alright, because Dr. Jones also held the rank of colonel and would they please step aside? Now? He waved some papers under the military men's noses, reminded them (again) of his total clearance (bought) and asked them with large puppydog eyes and a viper's smile to stand back.
Stark ordered his bodyguard to hang back also, to Thick-neck's obvious displeasure, and strutted into the dark maw. Lights audibly clicked and flickered and came to life as Jones followed. Stark called him again, without looking, impatient, and his voiced sounded hollow in the almost echoing space.
Jones felt like standing at the bottom of a canyon looking up at irregular mountains of crates upon crates in the dusty lamplight. There were windows installed, high at the sides of the building- but they were far and caked with dust so the natural state of this place was gloom. Stark went in far enough for his voice not to carry outside, stopped and turned to Jones with a question on his face, surrendering control of their little expedition.
"I hate this place, " Jones grouched, " And we could have used the help of those boys outside, you know."
"Perhaps- but I hate people snooping around in my business- And I've paid enough to make sure nobody will find out what we'll be taking away."
"In money or contracts?"
"Both. The senators need to feed their campaigns and the generals need their flying toys- don't worry, I can afford it."
Jones smile turned wry, Stark really knew everybody's price. "I bet you can."
"That one you would win."
"Don't remind me" It was cooler inside which helped some with the headache.
"So how do we do this? You got a map of this place or something? A locator?"
"We're the locator".
"Right." Stark's eyebrows rose and he crossed his arms. Jones grinned more evilly.
"The stone is a magical artifact. Apart from showing if man is alive or not it can, under the right circumstances, apparently tear your soul from your body, capture and contain you. That is the -real- purpose of the stone, to be a container of souls and their power, for storage, if you will."
Howard hesitated. "Sounds a bit diabolical."
Jones nodded. "Yeah. Just a tad. And people instinctively get scared when they get close. So we need to use ourselves as a kinda, compass. Just- walk around, and if you feel you -don't- wanna walk where you are going, just try to feel why. So get in touch with your feelings, chief."
"Oh wonderful." Howard deadpanned.
Jones rubbed his hands and looked up and around. "Just don't open anything- especially not if the crate smokes, looks cold or looks back."
"Right." Howard drawled, and stayed in the middle of the pathway even as he felt his fingers twitch to satisfy his natural curiosity. He felt himself drawn to something on his right, so choose to go left. It took Jones a little longer to 'feel' around- but then he turned left, seemingly deep in thought and unconsciously following the engineer.
The shadows looked a bit deeper at Howard's far right now, and he did not like it. Stubbornly, he set out to go just there. Jones walked past the turn Stark made, started when he noticed it and retraced his steps, a little irritated that he had lost his concentration. With a few long strides he caught up with the engineer.
"Are you on to something?"
Howard shook his head, puzzled. "I don't know. Does it look darker to you over there? As if some of the light bulbs have blown?"
Jones regarded his friend carefully, frowning. "No. But you might be better at this then I am. Did not expect that. Ever done magic tricks as a kid?"
Howard gave Jones a real smile, not the one he used on the men outside. "Not after I put one of my cousins in a box and tried to saw her in half. I never knew my aunt could -screech- like that. Before working with the Tesseract I did not even believe in magic, let alone try to make it work for me. They told me they had their best people working on it, which is rubbish because that would have been me."
Jones had heard of that device of course. A thing left either by aliens or Norse gods, presuming those entities where not one and the same. During the war it had been uncovered by special German forces calling themselves ´Hydra´. It had been used to fuel fantastic weapons capable of disintegrating any material, including the flesh of soldiers. And it had.
Some of those weapons had made it into Allied hands and into Stark's laboratory, thanks to the efforts of Captain America and his crew. The scientist had tried to reverse-engineer the weapons and therefore had first-hand experience with the Tesseract- or at least small particles of it. Stark himself had found the thing in the first weeks after Captain America went down in the Arctic, and had promptly been forced to hand it over to the US government.
"Well, if that is true that thing might be around here somewhere."
Stark looked up sharply at that, back straight, eyes wide. Jones could swear he saw the man's ears twitching as if he were a cat sniffing the air, whiskers trembling. He seemed to scan the enormity of the warehouse, then dropped his shoulders and shook his head.
"No- no it is not here."
Jones looked at Stark's profile, frowning at the performance. "Ya think you would have felt it or something?"
Stark nodded, slowly. "All of us who worked with the tiny bits we had of it, were- changed. Not much. But is showed us things. Showed us- truths. We became aware of where the bits and piece were."
"And what it showed you kept you looking for the Captain?"
Stark turned, head up, shoulders straight. Changed in a flicker of the overhead lights from dreamlike to sharp, all angles and artificial smiles. His eyes grown cold.
"Remind me to tell you about it sometime."
"No." Jones planted himself firmly in front of his friend. "I rather know now what I'm in for."
Howard deflated, posture gone, weariness back.
"You will think me mad. Besides it is personal."
"Chief- In my life I've met with a man over six hundred years old and I've seen more than one temple cave in simply because its main artifact was taken out. I've seen wounds heal by magic, I've seen men's faces melt away by magic and I've seen the mind of an old friend taken over and made the messenger of a people literally not of this world! There are very few things you can tell me that would make me think less of you than I do now- " Jones frowned and shook his head while Stark grinned at him- "And that really sounded bad-"
"Not to mention corny. "
"Not to mention corny. So take it as I mean it and not as it sounds. What did it do to you and what is bugging you."
Stark stepped back, pulled a hand through his hair and flopped down on one of the crates. He looked up at the Doctor who gave him an excessively kind and fatherly smile, and a nod to encourage him. Stark laughed and threw up his hands.
"Alright- alright. I'm supposed to have a son. One day- at least. He- he's supposed to outsmart even me. He's supposed- " Stark had to move now. He could not stay sat down, stood again and paced around Jones, who slowly turned with him.
"I've worked on the Manhattan Project. What happened in Japan and the nuclear threat the world lives with today is for a large part my responsibility- mine."
"Yeah I know that. You've been called a hero for that. The Bomb ended the war. But you did not exactly work on alone. And you definitely did not gave the order to drop it."
"Yeah- thanks. But that kind of thinking does not absolve me from my responsibility. I helped, contributed. A lot." Stark let out what seemed a long held heavy sigh. "In the first days after they had been dropped over three hundred thousand people died. And to this day we have no idea how many have been inflicted with radiation poisoning and got cancer from that. How many innocent children have been stillborn, or born deformed- And you know what the worst thing about that is?"
Jones silently shook his head. Stark wrapped his arms around himself as if cold.
"The worst thing is that God only knows how many people-good American people, were saved because of this horror- And I'm not sorry. I was not. But since the war- Since working with the Tesseract particles, I've been having these dreams. And I did not understand them- Not for a long time- not until I had seen the footage of ground zero Hiroshima. You see- this unborn son of mine, like Steve, is supposed to save America, our good old US-of-A, from that exact same fate. And every time when I see this happen in my dreams, Steve is there. Captain America in all his glory, is standing right there. And I know, I just know, that my boy will never make it to that day, will never be able to prevent that day, without the Captain."
Jones swallowed, rubbed his face and nodded, taking Stark absolutely seriously.
"How old is that kid of yours when all this is supposed to happen."
Absorbed by his own vision it took Stark a moment to come back. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"You have no kids, not as far as you know at least- and don't look at me like that, it happens, okay? I met my boy the first time when he was almost an adult already. So whatever vision of apocalypse you have had, it won't happen just yet."
"He was- thirtyish. But I got the sense he had seen some mileage- He looked older."
"And the Captain?"
"Unchanged."
"Did the serum make him age slowly?"
"The effects were never that documented- The inventor of the process was murdered the day we made Steve, he was the only subject we've ever had and could have examined- But he was sent off almost immediately to help raise money for the war effort."
"Then it seems to me you've got some time. If these visions of yours are true, then this will not happen until what, thirty, forty years or so? And it will probably be –him-, or his contemporaries to find the Captain, not you."
Stark let go off himself an balled his fist, composed himself. "So what are you saying? Do nothing! I can't! And I can't tell anybody except somebody like you, who has seen things. My government contacts would laugh me out of the room, my army contracts would be nullified, my stocks vanish- Because poor Howard went off his rocker. Because he is arrogant enough to believe some unborn messiah kid of his will save the world with the resurrected prophet America at his side. How's that for come on line to his future mother, let alone a marriage proposal. God I need a drink."
Howard reached for his inside pocket, drew out a flat flask, unscrewed it and threw back a hefty swallow. He offered the flask to Jones but the Doctor waved it away and so he pocketed it again.
"I cannot do nothing, Indy. So I delay any relation that could lead to that boy, and I search. And I keep myself deeply embedded in the arms-race, I know a lot, but I keep out of politics as much as I can and I'll even resort to magical thingemewhatsy stones if they give me, or perhaps only my boy, the chance to retrieve Rogers."
Stark sat down on his crate again, hands in his pockets and legs thrown out, staring at his feet. Jones hesitated a moment, shrugged, settled down besides the engineer, took of his hat and played with a bit of thread that had come loose at the seam. A quiet settled down over them, in which they could hear the persistent buzz of the electrical lights overhead.
Stark looked sideways a moment, and nudged Jones's shoulder with his own. "You are going to ruin it, you know."
"Ruin what?" Jones pulled a bit at the dark lining inside and yanked at the thread. It came off with a snap. The doctor held the battered fedora close to his face and peered in.
"Your hat. You should not pull at the threads. Or snap them off."
"I'm thinking of leaving it to Mutt. As a kinda sorta- passing of the stick- Something like that."
"You are not leaving him much if you ruin it. And Marion will hate you for passing on that particular stick."
"Marion does not get to decide Mutt's future. If my son wants to go off and live his life like I did mine, than that is none of her business. On the other hand, If he wants to stay at home and pursue a purely academic career, or god help him, become a mechanic, that still would be none of her business. Or mine for that matter. He can always use a hat though."
Howard stared at his shoes again, a couple of shiny black and white wingtips. Expensive- stylish. "And what kernel of wisdom are you throwing my way here exactly?"
"We do not get to decide what our kids grow up to be. Especially not the ones that are not even born yet. We do not get to plan their role in history, regardless of what visions we may have for them, magically induced or otherwise. The moment I knew I had become Henry Sr. I was stupid enough to start yelling at new young master Henry Jones Jr. about what he had to do and be. Just like my old man did to me. He meant well and it was his way of telling me he loved me, but I did not want to become like that. I missed too damn much of Mutt's life already to waste what we have now by telling him what to do or what to be. You are so worried about this kid of yours to get hurt he might not even ever come about. Or get a chance to breathe if he ever does. You can't live like that. You should not. The past is gone. The future does not exist. You've only got the now to act with."
"Who said that?"
"Some Buddhist." Jones peered down the passageway. "I think. So were you any good with it?"
"Tesseract bits blew up in my face a couple of times."
"No- the magic tricks."
"Got some sleight of hand. And I still think it's darker here."
"Actually- it's really not."
"What are you trying to not tell me, Jones."
"Some people have a natural talent for magic. I think your work with the device might have triggered or enhanced yours. You seem to feel a hell of a lot more then for instance, me."
"I'm an engineer- not a clairvoyant. To the left and the back, I think. It's getting cold here."
"I don't feel it. Must be nice to be you."
"Fuck off, Jones"
Jones dropped his fedora on his head again and stood. "Ready to move?"
Stark nodded. "Yeah. Let's mosey."
The men walked in silence for a while. Howard shivered. The more he thought of the stone, the more he really wanted not to be here. Jones stopped trying to find anything for himself and was now focused on Stark. He caught the man by the elbow when he stumbled.
"Watch it- treacherously flat floors here."
"I'm getting scared here, Indy. Ready to bolt from this place scared. And you don't feel a thing, don't you?"
"You wanna continue?"
"Absolutely."
Apparently Stark needed to be distracted a bit. "Have I ever told you I met the Captain? Once?"
"You met Cap? Steve never told me that- YOU never told me that."
Jones grimaced. "The one time I met him face to face did not end so well. I was not exactly one of his most favorite people, you know. And it was not the best day of my life, actually- I - I don't talk about that, mostly."
Howard glanced at the doctor expectantly. Jones nodded, that wry, self depreciating look back on his face again.
"I've never met your friend Steve. Not the shy guy that liked to draw. I only met Captain America in all his righteous glory."
"You guys fought about something."
"Something- yeah. And I saved his life- I think I might have even have saved the world that day. But it was not pretty, and I - I had to do something I'm not very proud of. I was digging around in the Balkan, Latvernia to be precise. There is this mountain the locals say is cursed, as in such bad luck that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. I was looking for some magical key that was supposed to open the gates of hell for either Hydra or the SS or both. The Allies wanted those gates to be kept shut so I was sent to destroy that key."
Howard held his head a bit to the side to indicate he was listening and nodded. "What happened?"
"Got myself caught by Red Scull's cronies right of the bat, who already had found that mystical 'key'. Turned out to be a little gypsy kid some weirdo monks had conjured up. Literally, conjured up. Some of the gypsies had magic- and I mean -real- magic. There was this little old lady that could freeze and burn you at the same time. I've seen some weird things in my time- but this was- exceptional. That is why the monks left the kid with these people. In hindsight, not smart.
The bad guys tried to kill the kid because his blood would open the gate. With magic it always seems about killing people, the blood and snakes. Don't ask about the snakes. Anyway, I got the boy out, but I covered his escape and they got me again. So they decided to cut -my- throat in their ritual, as a substitute. It would not have worked with me, that ritual, but I would be dead and the Hydra commander apparently could not care less.
The kid was smart though. The Gypsies were supplying Cap and his commandoes and hiding them. They were taking out all the Hydra bases in Europe and I was just very lucky it was the Latvernian base they were after then. So the kid goes to warn the Commando's who were almost ready to attack. Cap decided that me playing sacrificial lamb was just the distraction they needed, and they barged in.
"Sounds dire."
"It got worse. The gypsy boy had followed his heroes, got very badly wounded in the scuffle and was apparently close enough to the magical circle or whatever, to have his blood open the damn gate. Worse bad luck I've ever had. But guess what, cursed mountain. Anyway- monsters and demons pour out of the opened seal they had drawn on this wall, the Cap puts up a tremendous and brilliant fight and half of Hydra's goons are dead, a few of Cap's soldiers fall and I-
I knew that the only way to stop the flow of those creatures, to stop the demons- to save the god damned world! was to stop the kid's blood from flowing. So I went to that innocent, brave, twelve year old boy- and I shot him through the head."
Stark halted, startled, fear forgotten. "Jesus Indy!"
"It looked like the boy was too badly wounded to be saved already. The Captain really hated me for making sure. But he saved my life that day and I still owe him one."
Stark stopped suddenly.
"I can't see anymore."
"The hell?"
"No- I'm not blind or something. If I look back I see the lights, the crates, everything. But here, right here- I can't even see my own hands."
Jones nodded. "Okay- we are going to walk a bit further, and when things get better for you we turn back."
"Because where it is worst for me, that is where the stone is."
"Yeah- and when we've found it I want you to let go of it immediately. Your reaction is a lot stronger than I expected and I really do not think it's all that good."
"Okay- but you gotta lead me here- I really can't see."
Jones took Stark by his right hand and elbow and the men shoveled on a few paces. Starks hand was very cold and clammy, as if he had been throwing snowballs without gloves on.
"Hang on, it's getting better here."
"You sure?"
"Oh yeah." Stark swallowed.
"Then we move back."
Stark stopped at that, could not move for a second and visibly forced himself to turn. Jones took his left hand to guide him back, keeping himself between the crates and the engineer. Stark stumbled, kept upright by Jones but only just, who took his weight ungracefully for a moment and the doctor made a face.
"Here?"
"Absolutely."
"Okay now- is it further back, or just at the outside of the pile."
"I think it's on top. Up."
"Okay. I'm going to climb up. See if I can find some small box."
"I better sit down then."
Jones lowered his friend to the filthy ground. Stark really had to feel lousy to endanger his pants like that.
History, Jones had found, too often did repeat itself, with a little variation each time. The pile he climbed was just as high as the first time he did this. But all that was waiting for him at the bottom was a miserable looking guy, huddled in on himself, not a handful Russian goons with guns. He really hoped the box he was looking for was just laying on top somewhere, because otherwise he would have to leave Stark sitting down there as an impromptu beacon, marking the 'spot' as it where, and go get the soldiers to help them.
Jones' back was even less helpful then it had been five years ago, and he grunted as he hoisted himself up another layer of boxes. "Now where are you," he mumbled- and was overcome with a wave of dizziness himself. Contact.
Jones bit back the wave of nausea and the rising bile from his stomach. Nauseating, numbing fear and blindness- the thing was really warning them off. Right in front of him there was a dark spot. A small spot. A box small enough to throw his hat over. Tiny. Black. Deeply black. And within the blackness small pinpricks of light, dancing. Jones crouched down, shook his head. Forced his mind to change gears. He thought of Marian, and the smile she wore on their wedding day, and the puppy she wanted to buy them and that bloody white picket fence she wanted pulled up around the yard.
His head cleared and all Jones saw now was the small box bathed in the lamplight from right above. Carefully, Jones threw his fedora over the box, and picked it up without touching the damned thing.
"I got it!" he shouted down, but was not answered. Jones looked over the edge of the crates, and saw Stark curled up like a shrimp, shivering. "Oh damnit!" he hissed and clambered back as fast as he could, not daring to jump down on the crates for fear of breaking them open and falling. Only one hand to grip with he yelped when he grabbed fully in some splinters. Jones cussed all the way down, leaving bloody handprints on the boxes, two of witch where absorbed immediately and totally by the wood. Jones did not allow himself to be unnerved any further, He wanted out- like right now! He wanted sunshine and gophers an a tequila on the back porch. He wanted his friend up and moving again and wrenched from the influence of this damned thing they had come to collect. If they took it, he knew, things would only get worse. Because history repeated itself.
Finally down, Jones hurried over to Stark and dropped his hat so he could shake the man with his good hand. The engineer moaned softly.
"Howard? Howard! Come on man! You can let go now!"
But Stark was unresponsive.
"Stark! Come on! Let go- think of something nice. Think of a dog- did you ever had a dog? Think of a large floppy dog!"
Blearily stark opened his eyes.
"I hate dogs."
"Yeah okay- you are gonne be okay."
"More of a cat person myself."
"Think of cats then- fluffy kittens."
"Mrfgr."
"If that is supposed to be 'mew' you are a lousy cat."
Stark stretched and coughed sat up and shook his head which was a mistake because he became sick immediately, all over Indy's shoes.
"O great," Jones said, digging his pocket for a hankie that could still pretend to be clean.
"Sorry about that- and I don't do imitations."
"Yeah I know- you are a Stark original. You think you can stand?"
"Ha bloody ha. I think so- just gimme a moment."
Stark took the handkerchief Jones offered, wiped his face and fumbled for his whiskey. Jones deftly pulled the flask from his trembling fingers.
"Ah no- I don't think so. You don't need liquor to settle your stomach. Does not really work."
"Got a foul taste in my mouth."
Jones nodded and helped Stark to his feet.
"And I've got splinters and I'm bleeding but I've still gave you my hankie- now do you hear me complaining?"
Stark looked at Jones' hand, turned a bit green and smiled rather jolly.
"Hé- I can see you bleed!" Stark fumbled for his silk breast pocket handkerchief that matched his tie and handed it over to Jones so he could bind his hand.
"You should have that looked at."
"Wonderfull, he can see me bleed. Now let's get the hell out of here."
"No- not until we've opened the box and I've seen the stone. I don't want to walk out of here with the wrong item."
Jones nodded. Turned his hat over carefully, straitened and brought his heel down on the old wood hard so that it snapped with an almighty crack.
"Auch!"
"Idiot."
"I want out." Jones kicked the wood away, and moved the debris and the wood curls that had been used as packing material.
"There!"
In between the two men lay a tiny black stone, small enough to be hidden in a child's fist, a bit too large to be set in a ring. The men crouched down to look at it. Three sides of the stone seemed ribbed as if it had been carved out of a bigger piece. One side looked dangerously pointy and its opposite broken.
"I suppose we are looking at the top of something that was bigger, once," Jones remarked.
"That thing looks sharp. Top of a weapon?"
"Could be."
Stark reached out and Jones caught him at the wrist.
"Don't touch it- not bare handed."
"You don't trust it."
"Obviously. Look better. Inside."
Stark stared at the little black rock, and became a bit nauseous again. Then he saw what Jones meant. In the stone, deep inside the blackness. Pinpricks of light were dancing- moving. Restlessly seeking.
This tiny little thing was indeed the Soulstone, a container of spirits.
And it was not empty.
Notes and acknowledgements, also called: the boring bits. Read at your own risk.
Paramount Pictures, Marvel Entertainment and Marvel studio's own "Captain America, The First Avenger". Paramount Pictures, Lucasfilm ltd and Steven Spielberg own "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull", and the other Indy movies I've pilfered.
Somewhere in Greece is a muse laughing her socks off for sending me this story and causing me al the work to write it down, forcing me to take the blame for it but also graciously allowing me the credit.
In 'Captain America, the First Avenger' the Red Scull made a remark about Hitler seeking treasure in the desert, hitting my Indy-alarm button full force. I just HAD to intertwine the tale of my favorite archeologist with the one about my favorite futurist (Tony, not his dad) after that one.
One of the most wonderful things about Marvel is the way they 'play' with their own continuity and throw in an alternate universe every other year or so. I am aware that Dr. Jones' story was continued well into his old age with the television series "The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles". But in the (video/dvd) release of said series they apparently cut out the old Indy who bookended the stories. Well, I thought, if canon can take that liberty, why not me? So should you find things amiss with how they are 'supposed to be' within the continuity of the movie/television-verses, please be kind and assume I'm not some ill informed crazy fan girl that does not know what she's writing about, but that I'm just another proud flag-bearer of the above mentioned honored tradition of alternate realities.
The 'crazy fan girl' denomination on its own however, is acceptable.
And yes- I did shamelessly pilfer the plot of season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, copyright Twentieth Century Fox. Joss Whedon FTW! If people did not want me to throw some of Whedon/Buffy into the mix, they should not have let this fantastic storyteller direct the Avengers movie. Duh! Complicated you ask? Well- less complicated than coming up with a sub-plot myself actually. I'm a good thief, I am. But thank you for asking.