The Avengers, associated characters, and Stark Tower are properties of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Disney Co. This work does not reflect the views, opinions or cannons of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Disney Co.

Chapter 2

Manahawkin, New Jersey sits at the intersection of two freeways. The town in its naissance seemed to appear out of happenstance beckoned by the roads to New York and Atlantic City. It's possible that wasn't the case, that the people were rather drawn by the tranquil pond just off Route 9 in the little hamlet of Stafford. Though most of the buildings had become uninhabitable, enough remained for a settlement to have followed the same beck and call as the town in which it was now housed.

Directly at the intersection was a two-storey house with baby blue, alloy siding, falling apart the least. It sat in a parking lot set down a small ridge next to the highway with a small concrete lot attached. Its windows were boarded, but it retained its original cottage door. Guarav took to it immediately for his medical practice. Pete had told him it was once an insurance firm; Guarav found the offices perfect for patient rooms. He had to rip up the carpet as it was beginning to rot and collect mould, gumming up the interior with a heavy odor that hung in the air like moisture.

Steve had been set up in a bed on the upper floor. He was upright surveying the bare brick walls and bare concrete floor. Guarav had given him extra blankets to protect against the cold air conducted by the concrete. Steve's face was spotty with medical tape and bandages. He could feel the weight of the makeshift splint around his core to keep him straight while his ribs healed. Breathing was easier now than it had been at first, having tuned his mind to ignore the pain of his lungs touching his ribs.

Guarav tapped on the door frame, leaning at the threshold with a notepad up under his arm.

Steve smiled graciously. "Hey, doc."

Guarav grinned and gingerly stepped in. "How are you feeling?"

"Good as I'm gonna be, I think." Steve chuckled to himself.

"Alright," Guarav said.

He walked over to Steve's bedside and performed a few basic tests of mobility and pain. He lifted Steve's blanket to check the cast. He felt a small swell of pride seeing it holding firm in place. He reset the blanket and looked to Steve. "You seem to have made great improvement. I can't see any reason to keep you here."

Steve took a grateful breath and for a moment a younger, stronger Steve shined through as he looked to Guarav. "That's great."

Guarav's face slowly wound back into concern despite himself.

"What is it?" Steve said.

"You know you are low on meds, yes?" he said, gesturing to a pill bottle on a nightstand at the wall.

Steve sighed and nodded.

Guarav tilted his brow down, looking deeply at Steve. "I would advise you take it easy."

Steve flashed a small smile, like some old loose change he found in the corner of a lint-filled pocket.

Guarav's face unwound and relaxed. "Ari's waiting downstairs to take you and Thor back to Ship Bottom."

Steve nodded and gently sat up, Guarav at the ready like a spotter. Steve gave Guarav a look at his ostensible concern. Made aware of himself, Guarav relaxed and let Steve get up. Steve sat at the edge of the bed, giving Guarav an expectant look. Guarav stared blankly back. Steve's face settled and he shifted his eyes to the door.

Guarav glanced over his shoulder and then the queue dawned on him. "Right, sorry, I'll let you get dressed."

"Thanks," Steve said graciously.

Guarav nodded and showed himself out, closing the door behind him.

Steve rose to his feet, letting his toes and pads gradually acclimatize to the cold and tested his weight on himself as he stood up in stages. He hobbled to get his shirt and jacket off a metal chest at the foot of the bed. In the corner of the room was a section of mirror clumsily hung on the wall, hanging lopsided. Steve grabbed the pill bottle off the nightstand and went over to the mirror. He paused before his reflection. It was familiar, but still jarring. He still appeared fit with his broad shoulders, vast chest, a sturdy core, all with the same gentle but unmissable definition. But there wasn't the same perkiness. Much of the muscle tone was showing stretch marks – across his chest and about his arms. There was mustard discoloration in other places of bruises that still hadn't fully healed. In other places, the skin had coarse ridges of scars from wounds that never fully or properly closed. Overall, he was sore: his muscles were stiff and ached. He realized his chest heaving and was suddenly aware of his own winded breaths. He looked down at the reflection of the pill bottle in his hand. His shoulders made a small rise and fall. He deftly twisted the top off and popped a pair of capsules down his throat.

He cautiously navigated the pain as he got his shirt and jacket on, then slipped the bottle into his inside pocket. With a bit of a limp from his legs being stiff and his core still tender, he made his way downstairs to the front room of the house, the de facto waiting room.

"How ya feeling, buddy?" Thor said, watching Steve descend the stairs trying to hide the difficulty he was having.

Steve stopped at the bottom, a steadying hand on the bannister post. He noticed Thor's look was troubling: it was ostensibly blank, but there was something a little more unsettling threatening to betray his façade.

"I'm fine, let's go," Steve said.

The two men piled into a pickup truck with Ari behind the wheel. They turned the ignition and the truck groggily rumbled to life. They got their hand on the gearshift but stopped and looked to their passengers. "Didn't you guys take a truck to AC?"

Steve and Thor looked to each other sheepishly, their mouths floundering to form words. They settled on looking away out their windows instead.

"Did you at least find the heart medication?" Ari said, their voice a little more strained with concern.

Still, Thor and Steve kept their wall up, Steve's eyes falling to the sill.

"That's great, guys," Ari said, putting the truck in gear.

Ari drove them down Highway 72 out to the coast to the bones of Long Beach. Much of the resort town had been reclaimed by the ocean in the decades its spent encroaching upon the land. In with it, it had brought a number of old ships and boats joining the rusted shells of the warships already beached. The hulls of great Destroyers had rusted and eroded away, exposing their insides creating nesting grounds for local wildlife. Among the shipwrecks were the remains of aircraft that had gone down: a small handful of Cessnas scattered up the beach, a cargo craft and a private jet. The inlets filled out and many of the roads had washed away. 72 was under a shallow sheen coming past the conservation area, and the increased moisture in the earth below had compromised the road ensnaring anything smaller than a pickup truck. Steve and Thor had made a home in one of the many seaside inns. There's, the Drifting Sands, still had some of its original signage, though it had mostly flaked and rotted. It received some protection from the catwalk overhang above. Steve always had Ari drop him and Thor in the township of Ship Bottom in a plaza just north of 72 up the main road. They'd share an abridged goodbye as they got their gear out of the bucket and then they'd fight the wind gusts back down to E 9th, the end of 72 on the coastal side of the main road. Their building was just before where the water's edge was this year, having remained fairly constant for the last few years.

Thor scaled the stairs up from the foyer with his things over his shoulder and turned around with a puffed chest at the top. He turned to see Steve climbing steadily, but at a bit of a stagger under his weight and his bag. Thor thought about asking if his friend wanted assistance, but Steve's noticeable effort to not meet Thor's gaze as he climbed made him reconsider.

Their door, 203, was immediately atop the stairs. Their room had what they needed – a closet at the front door, an open living room and kitchen, two beds and a balcony. There wasn't any colour to the room, the innards of the building exposed, but they had hung up animal hides and fabrics found over window openings, and used any extra fabrics and blankets found to drape the furniture. There still wasn't much in the way of colour, but it made the building seem alive still.

Thor tossed the loot bag on his bed with a lackadaisical swing of his arm. Steve stood at the wall behind folded arms as Thor skimmed through the items, tossing things aside as he went grumbling under his breath.

"Well, it's something," Steve said quietly. "Winter's coming soon and we could use the layers."

Thor punched the last fabric into the bed, leaning forward on the pillows. "I know, but like…" he gestured to scattered fabrics and rags. "We're Avengers. We can do better than this."

Steve shook his head to himself, looking into his arms. "There's nothing left to avenge, Thor."

Steve met Thor's gaze. Steve adjusted his stance and Thor could see more clearly the spots in Steve's skin and how his hair seemed limp.

Thor shook the thought out of his head then got a glint in his eye. "Guess you're not feeling like a hunt, huh."

Steve remained stern. "I'm gonna go to bed."

Thor concealed a frown as Steve hauled himself onto his bed.

"Well, I am," Thor grumbled.

Steve crinkled his forehead as he got his boots off and began undressing.

Thor sighed then went over to the closet by the door. He slid the wood panel door to one side, its age creaks like screams.

"Hey," Steve said.

Thor rose to look at his friend eagerly.

"When you come back I'll be asleep," Steve said, "so for the love of God just leave it open."

A bit deflated, Thor nodded compliantly. Steve squared his mouth then retired to his room.

Thor stooped again. In the closet was Stormbreaker, a cardboard box that smelled of dust, and probably mildew and dead bugs, and behind that a rifle. Thor heaved the box to one side out of the way of the rifle: a Bushmaster Predator with an adjustable zoom scope he had found on a hunt many years back. His eyes caught Stormbreaker set against the wall next to the rifle. He lovingly brushed a hand over the blade, clearing it of any dust or dirt. He smiled forlornly at it. He reached out his hand, his muscles twitching toward the axe. The axe rattled on the wall, the two seeming to resist their silent calls out to each other. Thor breathed and settled in himself. He grabbed the rifle off the wall and left.

Thor especially liked the Predator as he found killing animals by hand unpleasant, and often his own strength would too severely damage his kill. The Predator was accurate and responsive; its semi automatic firing system made it a forgiving weapon if he missed.

He strolled up Long Beach Boulevard a couple blocks. The waterline now being just about the end of the roads had allowed the ships hulls to drift closer in through beating after beating by storms. Thor found an old miniature golf course at the corner of Long Beach and West Fifth and hunkered down. He set the bipod up and got in a comfortable position on his stomach. He trained the scope down West Fifth towards a Destroyer with a gap in its hull the size of some of the houses. The rusty erosion had made the edges around it jagged, almost like teeth. He waited for anything to poke its head out or scurry in.

About half an hour went by with nothing of note. It was mainly smaller creatures, like raccoons or skunks that waddled past; nothing big enough. His peripherals caught something writhing across the small green next to him. He lowered his rifle and slowly turned to the squiggle in the turf approaching. His eyes lit up seeing the little, colourful snake tasting out its path. He shouldered his rifle and leaped up towards the snake. It recoiled like an excited heartbeat.

"Brother?" Thor whispered.

He extended an unsteady hand out towards the creature. It slipped its tongue out in the air, wriggling it about. It tentatively approached Thor's hand. His eyes became glassy and a smile sunk into his face as he felt the tiny snake's tongue dance across Thor's fingertips.

"Brother!" Thor excitedly cried, scooping the snake up around its neck. Realizing where he had grasped the creature, he fretfully recoiled and the snake dropped to the ground with a little clap. "Ah, shit, sorry! I realize the neck might be – erm – a sensitive spot–"

Almost as soon as it hit the ground, the snake scrambled back the way it came, finding a hiding spot in a knot in the wood base of another course. Thor stood, frozen in place. He felt dim and heavy, with a swirling pit in his stomach. He felt trapped on the farthest horizon from a setting sun. He shook off the shadow he felt crawling over his insides and resumed his position behind the rifle.

A half an hour passed before a black bear lumbered out from between some homes. It stopped in the middle of the street and stuck its nose in the air. Its nostrils flexed and flared as it sniffed. Thor tried to focus the lens, the bear becoming increasingly difficult to spot in the settling dusk. Thor watched it swivel its head about in the air and lined up the shot, identifying something close to a pattern in its movements. His finger coiled around the trigger and he squeezed. The gun popped and the ships hull sparked from the impact with a resonant ding. The bear froze and swiveled its head between the pop and the ding. Thor shot to his feet as did the bear. He snapped the gun up to his shoulder and aligned the sight in one motion. In a second, he fired again. Blood and other fragments popped off the bear's head. It roared in agony and irritation. It planted its feet, though with a sway, seeming dazed. It caught its footing then charged, full force up the street. Thor took a breath as it closed in, waiting, still. Halfway up the street Thor could hear the rumble of the charge. Three quarters of the way he could see its face. Its feet touched the crosswalk at the intersection and the gun blasted again. Blood, bone and brain splattered into the air as the bear went limp and crashed to the ground, its momentum sliding it part way through the intersection to a halt. Thor lowered the gun and shouldered it. He marched over to the bear and knelt at its head. He set a solemn hand between its eyes and bowed his head.

Steve awoke some time after midnight. The night was still pitch black and flooded the apartment as though they were submerged in oil. He turned over in his bed and looked to Thor. He was lost deep in sleep, sprawled on his bed emanating snores deep from his chest. Steve grabbed a small flashlight off his night table and flicked it on. The light stream was milky and the was the only thing within which the known world was contained. He lifted his pillow and shined the light on a scrap piece of paper he grabbed.

Steve treaded out of bed and lightly, a hand cupping the side of his light so as to not disturb Thor. He slid the balcony door to one side, wincing as it scraped along its track. He glanced back at Thor as he tenderly dragged the door along. Steve paused in a start as Thor shifted in his bed. Steve looked back at him, then sighed in relief seeing Thor had rolled over away from the door.

Steve killed his light as he stepped onto the balcony and felt his way to the railing. He scanned the northern horizon where small, weak lights twinkled like the old light of long dead stars. Soon enough, it caught his eye. High above the small lights, a brighter, stronger light blinked against the night. Steve stared on at it, tapping his finger on the balcony railing as it blinked. It would conclude its speech and then go silent for a few seconds. Then, it would restart its call into the wild and repeat. Steve didn't know how long this went on; for all he knew it was all night. He would just stay up for about an hour of the light's company. Before retiring for the night, he unfolded his piece of paper for one last cycle. The light's pattern never changed from the pattern of dots and dashes he'd jotted down.