Disclaimer: Not my characters. Not my world.
Content warning: talk of child abuse. Also, minor suicidal themes with Bruce's parts. As always, please PM me for an edited chapter if you need one. Mental health comes first!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Bruce became aware again, the blackness around him was omnipresent. It burned into his soul, and made him feel like he was floating in the universe. He felt peaceful, adrift in his own mind. Bruce was not afraid of the dark.
The dark had always been something of a safe space for him, to hide away from the world and the pressures of constant stimulus. In the dark, nothing could scare him; nothing could make him angry; nothing could excite him. In the dark, he was seven years old again, hiding from his father believing that the act of turning off the light would put a physical barrier between him and the monster.
The monster that became more internalized as he grew.
However, there was a certain peace in this darkness that was not natural for Bruce. For a moment, he didn't recognize it. The feeling of pulling deep breaths and not being weighed down seemed so natural. Like he should have always felt.
But it wasn't like it always was. There was something wrong about this darkness.
The monster wasn't inside of him. The rage was gone. Instead of heavy pressure at the base of his throat ready to burst out, all he felt was the swallows of his saliva. Bruce felt stunned and trilled in tandem.
It was gone. He was free. Truly, completely, and utterly free for the first time that he could ever remember. Elation bubbled up within him. Bruce felt a genuine smile span his face.
Then, a powerful rumbling roar emanated from the darkness that peace he felt. It was familiar.
It was the Hulk.
Him. Him.
It was wrong. He shouldn't be able to hear that sound because he was the one who usually made it. It erupted again, thrashing his ear drums, making him feel small. That sound spoke of destruction and bad memories that Bruce could only grasp at through hazy filters.
His heart beat in his chest. Bruce expected the pressure to bubble inside of him, trying to escape. He expected the rage and anger to ball in his stomach with mounting potential energy ready to spring forward into kinetic motion. He expected the inevitable feeling of turning into the Monster.
But Bruce didn't feel that. Instead he felt his own fear. He felt his own heartbeat.
Lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub.
Bruce breathing started to pick up.
The sound of a lumbering body moving closer radiated through the darkness.
Lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub.
Then the Hulk appeared: enormous, sickly green, and unstoppably angry. It stood less than twenty feet away from him. Black beady eyes trained on Bruce. Yellow-stained teeth unruled behind an unnatural grin. The creature panted before opening its mouth and displaying his dominance with a thunderous roar.
Lub-dub… lub-dub… lub-dub… lubdub… lubdub … lubdublubdublubdub…
Bruce stood face to face with the Hulk, his heart racing far past the turning point. The beast didn't emerge from within because it wasn't inside of him anymore. For the first time, he felt real unadulterated fear.
Bruce was exposed and vulnerable, alone in the dark. There was no monster inside of him to battle the monster in front of him.
He was six-years-old again. Bruce cowered.
….
Harry leapt forward automatically towards Peter. His heart pounded, and he felt a sense of dread. He had known that something was off about this corporation. Osborn seemed like not only a slimy man, but someone who walked the line of ethical science, if not broadly crossed it.
Harry was not an innocent in the field of pushing too far in the name of innovation, but his experiments had never hurt anyone.
May cried out, "Peter!"
Harry's two body guards leaped into action. The one with curly blonde hair checked for a pulse and after a couple of tense seconds announced, "Around hundred ten BPM. Pulse steady. No obvious sign of reaction. He seems mostly normal."
The other nodded to his partner and stood up, almost protecting Peter and Harry who had come down to the floor next to Peter, but hadn't touched him, almost unsure of what to do.
When the men had announced Peter's state, Harry sucked in a deep breath he didn't even know he was holding. Ben had come to the other side of Peter, double checking vital with the efficiency of someone who had done something of the sort before.
Osborn looked uncomfortable and caged. A few scientists starred at Peter as if he was a foreign object, but something had reacted to press a large button on the wall that put the lab into lockdown. The fire alarms started to go off, and an older scientist started to bark orders.
"Emergency responders have been notified. No one else touch–"
"Peter Parker," Harry supplied.
"Mr. Parker until the emergency responders are here. We don't know what sort of contaminates or biotoxins he could have touched. No one is allowed to leave until we clear the area. Does Mr. Parker have any allergies?"
Everyone looked to May and Ben.
May shook her head adamantly, "Not that we know of."
Harry caught Ben scanning the room from the corner of his eye, as if he was searching for causes of what happened to his nephew.
Suddenly, Peter moved slightly, and everyone's eyes were transfixed on the teenager. Peter groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He met Harry's eyes. He mumbled out, "You have really green eyes."
Harry blinked, and felt himself flush. He was usually pretty in control of his actions, as yes, unfortunately, it was not unusual for random people in the Wizarding world to make lude and rude comments to him. That being said, this was Peter. He wasn't expecting it.
May in the background barked out a laugh, both startled and happy. Ben sagged in relief.
"Mr. Parker," the scientist who had stepped up earlier asked, "are you okay?"
Peter pushed himself up into a sitting position despite the obvious protest of one of Harry's bodyguards, and said, "I think so." Ben tensed up, as if ready to catch the boy.
Norman Osborn, who had pushed himself against the wall throughout the affair, announced, "I need you to sign a release."
Harry narrowed his eyes and told him, "Peter isn't signing anything," at the same time that Ben Parker announced, "Absolutely not."
Harry and Ben's eyes met. Peter looked clueless, but wild-eyed between them. The bodyguard that had stood with his gun out, moved discreetly between Harry and the Parkers and Norman Osborn.
"Mr. Stark, Mr. Parker is clearly fine and whatever happened is most certainly of his own design. Did you have lunch son?" Norman addressed Peter.
Peter nodded. "Yes."
The scientist from earlier glared at Norman Osborn behind the man's back. Harry raised his eyebrows and the scientist nodded back at him. Harry had multiple allies in the room with the Parkers, his bodyguards, and now Norman's own scientist.
The man addressed Peter, "Do you have any idea what caused you to faint, Mr. Parker?"
Peter's eyes grew wide, and he hesitated, before he finally replied, "No."
Harry frowned at that. Peter's body language said otherwise. He would grill Peter about it later, but right now, Harry wanted them out of the building.
"Do you still need emergency services?" Norman asked.
Peter shook his head.
One of the underling scientists told Norman, "Everything in the lab has been checked. There are no chemical spills and none of the experiments seem to be compromised.
"I want everyone to sign NDAs."
"No."
"Mr. Stark," Norman Osborn intoned, "I really insist that you all sign the NDA."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, and the room held in a silent staring contest.
….
If Steve hadn't been a super soldier, his head slamming against the wall would have surely killed him. As it was, the world spun around him as he struggled to focus. Yellow flooded his field of vision. All he could hear was a loud ringing. The world continued to spin, and the darkness closed in.
He wanted to give into it. Sleep. The ringing would then stop.
No. No.
This thing would not best him. He was Captain America – no – he was Brooklyn bred Steve Rogers. A fall from thousands of feet into ice didn't best him; an army of aliens hasn't gotten them. They could take on one ridiculous looking yellow creature.
Steve closed his eyes, centered his mind, and pushed away the urge to fall asleep. He sprung into action. Throwing his shield and smacking the thing on the side of the head.
The red eyes seemed to widen in shock. Steve didn't give it time to recover. He tackled the creature like a football player into the ground. If this was a machine, then there had to be an off button.
It shrieked at him, "How dare you touch MODOK. I am the finest human creation…"
Steve tuned the thing out, his mind telling him that he had to make a split-second decision.
Steve couldn't see and off button, and he wasn't Tony who could look at a machine and just know everything about. Well, when all else fails breaking it must turn it off right? It was like when his smoke alarm at the small apartment he has lived in for some time when he defrosted had broken. It beeped, and beeped, and beeped, and he couldn't figure how to turn the damn thing off, so he smashed it.
He got someone to fix it later.
It seemed like the right plan here.
Steve punched the glass of the creature. It spider-webbed underneath his knuckles. Its voice became scratched, like a broken record.
"I-I-I aaa-mm-am MO-MO-DDD…"
Steve decided that this was the best course of action. He punched it again.
Crack. Steve's breath knocked out of his chest as he felt a snap in his hand. He got a boxer's break. No unusual for him, but painful nonetheless. He switched to the other hand, and punched the glass again.
Finally, it cracked through and he could see the wires underneath. He figured they were important, so he yanked as much out of the thing as he could.
Steve's breathing caught up to him, and his tunnel vision left, as he became aware of the room again. Natasha stood to his right fighting off about fifteen of the villain's underlings. Some had run away. Clint was sitting against the wall, slumped slightly to the side, firing off arrows around the room.
He was hurt. Steve leapt up off MODOCK and sprinted over to help the two.
…
Fit it.
Dr. Strange's hands shook violently. His whole body shook. He hadn't picked up medical equipment since right after his accident and he was trying to fix it, fix himself. Strange tried not to think about it.
Eventually, Stephen had gone to the MacDuff Medical Center for Magical Mishaps and Maladies when he has discovered that his type of magic wasn't the only type of magic. The Ancient One hadn't informed him of that fact when he came desperate to fix his hands.
Now they were, in theory, healed.
But they weren't. They shook as he stared down at the Colonial. Fix it. Fix it. Fix. It. FIX. IT.
Strange balled his hands into fists. Tony Stark was tense and wild-looking besides him. Stephen took a deep breath.
He gritted his teeth. He could do this. He couldn't fix himself after his accident, but Stephen could fix the Colonial.
Probably.
….
General Ross had the monster in a room designed to withstand nuclear testing, being pumped full of the strongest sedation medicine possible. He wanted the thing to pass out in its green from so he could send people in to test it.
Unfortunately, the monster was not cooperating. Banner would shrink between his human façade before shaking violently and expanding to become the thing. The way that the monster was convulsing was almost like he was trying to tear himself apart.
He wanted to sent men into the room, but even with gas masks, it wasn't safe. Not that that usually would deter Ross, but he didn't want to many casualties on his side. He had all the time in the world. The Avengers – ridiculous name – were occupied. Ross hated the idea of superheroes. They were a paramilitary force connected to no government. They could turn on America or the world at large at any second. Weapons should be in control.
When he had first started his crusade to recreate the super soldier serum, he had thought he wanted a Captain America, a good solider, but now that he had met the man he realized how wrong he was. Steve Rogers had too much slack.
He was not a point-able weapon, but a loose cannon.
But the beast… that had potential. A mindless creature he creature under his control that he could point at the enemy and unleash, was something that Ross salivated over. The monster couldn't question his commands. It would be a force to be reckoned with.
However, first he had to break the creature. Force it to become a pawn for Ross. Then, the monster would be an American monster. Dangerous still, but just to his enemies.
.…
"Scalpel."
"What?"
Stephan gave Tony a flat angry look. The type that Tony was used to giving.
He replied, "If you want me to fix him, then you volunteered to be my assistant. Now, hand me the fucking scalpel."
Strange's hand had balled up into fists and had a slight shake to them. To say that Tony was not a medical doctor was an understatement, but he was no stranger to stitching himself up after battles. He picked up the silver pick looking thing and handed it to Strange.
The man muttered to himself, "He needs antibiotics the second we get him to a real hospital." Tony took a deep breath, his eyes glued to Strange's hands that gently sliced through the stiches on the back of Rhodey's neck.
Over the com he heard, "Stark?"
It was Natasha.
"We found Rhodes. Strange is preforming emergency surgery," Tony told her.
"Clamps," Strange motioned to Tony. Tony looked around and handed him what looked like the scissors.
Natasha held silence for a second. She replied, "Clint has a gash in his back-"
"-it's not going to fucking kill me-"
She talked right over her partner, "It's not bad, but goes need attention. The – uh – MODOCK is down. Steve smashed it."
Steve was silent on the com. Tony got a vivid image of what that smashing entailed. "Bruce?"
"We don't know."
Tony's heart almost stopped. Bruce didn't show? That could mean a number of things, none of which were good. For Bruce or for the people in the region. They needed to address that as soon as they could.
Finally, the star-spangled-man decided to add the input, "We need to get Clint medical attention and look for Bruce. You and Strange good to take Rhodey out. Do you have an ETA?"
Strange who was intent on his patient, didn't even glance up at Tony as he said, "Five more minutes. Quicker if you would all shut the fuck up."
Clint slightly slurred his sarcastic reply as he remarked, "Nice guy."
"Sounds like the man has a plan," Tony said to his team.
"Stark I need you," Strange said, beckoning him over. Stephan Strange looked intent on Rhodey as he pushed the scalpel against the device that Rhodey had lodged in his spine. It was tiny, about the size of a penny, and just as thin. It seemed to be almost grabbing against the spine.
Strange's eyes became intent as he finally pushed the device away from the spine.
"Hand me a forcep," Strange said demandingly. Tony looked at the equipment, and tried to figure out which ones were the forceps.
"The tweezers," Strange snapped, clarifying.
Tony immediately handed the tool to the surgeon. If Strange wasn't operating on his best friend, Tony would have replied with something snarky, but it wasn't worth it here.
Gently, Strange gabbed the device between the forcep and pulled it out of Rhodey's necked. When he finally had removed the device, Tony let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Tony watched Strange stich up Rhodey's neck, who hadn't even so much as moved while they had been in the room.
"Is he going to be okay?" Tony asked.
Strange continued intently to stich as he replied, "I don't know Stark. I'm a Sorcerer, not a miracle worker."
Tony gulped. He reached out and grabbed the device that had been in Rhodey's neck. It would be better to have it if something was wrong with Rhodey.
Finally, Strange finished stitching. He looked up, and they knew that they needed to get out of the compound and get Rhodey to a real hospital. They barley spoke as Tony grabbed Rhodey bridal style and they hurried out of the room.
…
Bruce cowered trying to slink into the darkness away from the beast. It roared at him, opening its mouth wide showing off two rows of sharp teeth. It could eat him. Not that the Hulk ever had as far as Bruce was aware – and goddamn did he have nightmares over what he couldn't remember when he was the creature – as it was far more interested in smashing.
Now, Bruce was human and breakable. Maybe this would be okay. If he died, would the Hulk die? It would be better for the rest of the world.
Bruce closed his eyes expecting it to strike him. He felt sorry that he hadn't been able to say goodbye to his new family. He would have liked to tell Tony that the man had made him feel human again; tell Steve that his optimism reminded him that there was good in the world; tell Natasha that her strength at overcoming her inner demons reminded him that he wasn't alone; tell Clint that his clam made Bruce feel calm for once. And Thor, well, he was more existential. He reminded Bruce that there was a whole universe out there and Bruce's purpose was now to protect it a little part of it.
Bruce wasn't religious, but he liked to think that the universe had some meaning to it. Now, his death would mean that no one would suffer under the hands of the green monster.
Bruce waited for the blow. The darkness that would probably never end. It would be comforting.
Bruce waited.
…
"Mr. Osborn," Harry said in a flat tone, "You forget who I am. We are under no legal obligation to sign NDAs, and if you continue to press this, I will sue you for – what is the American term? – false imprisonment."
Harry wasn't really sure if there was a law like that or if it only applied to the police, but the way Norman Osborn's face went pale, he was quite sure that the threat landed.
"If you continue to hold us against our will, it's kidnapping. If you force us to sign anything at this point, it will be under duress and extortion, and I'm sure that Mr. Stark's lawyers will have a field day with that." Ben stood up to face Norman Osborn, and pulled up to his full height. Ben was in his late forties, athletically inclined, with an angry look on his face. That, paired with the larger bodyguard that had stepped between Peter and Norman, made it explicitly clear that there would be no papers signed.
For the first time, the bulky bodyguard opened his mouth. He had a deep booming voice. "Mr. Osborn, I suggest you leave my clients alone. My team has a very good lawyer on my side too which I assure you, would enjoy talking you on for fun."
He made Norman Osborn look like a child in his own tower. Norman's face contorted in anger.
"Get out," the man barked.
The scientist that had took charge earlier protested, "Mr. Osborn, we really should wait and decontaminate everyone before leaving. And emergency services are coming and should look over the child."
The bodyguard who had checked Peter's vitals earlier said, "As far as I can tell, he's okay. That being said, I insist that Peter doesn't move until paramedics come. I'm EMT trained, but I would prefer someone with more experience to look over Peter."
Peter huffed and muttered under his breath, "I'm okay."
Norman ignored all of them. He snapped, "I want you gone."
Ben asked gently to Peter, "Are you okay to leave?"
Peter climbed to his feet with Harry's help.
One of the bodyguard's protested with a strong, "Sir."
"It's okay," Harry nodded to the man.
Peter stumbled a bit on the way up, and Harry caught him. Peter looked woozy. In Harry's hypocritical opinion, Peter really should go to the hospital or wait as the EMT trained professional had insisted. Then again, Harry was not one to talk.
Peter told his Uncle, "Yeah, I'm okay."
May protested, "Ben, we really should wait."
Ben came next to Peter, and asked frankly, "Are you okay to walk?"
Peter swallowed hard, then nodded determined. "Yes."
Ben grunted, and told his wife, "May we really need to leave."
Norman who had clenched his jaw together throughout the affair commanded, "Open the lab elevator." Someone turned off the emergency system, and Ben and Harry helped Peter to the elevator. They stumbled out. Both of the bodyguards tensed up besides them. Harry did in fact feel safe with the two men. There was something about the duo.
When they reached the front door, the paramedics had arrived. Ben looked to Peter as if to ask if he needed to be looked over.
Peter gave the largest puppy-dog eyes, and told them, "Can I just go home? I feel fine."
May said softly, "If you're sure honey."
"If you promise the second you are feeling a little off, you will tell us. There is zero shame in getting help Peter. You understand me?" Ben told him commandingly.
Peter grinned weekly said, "Yes Sir."
Harry felt awkward and very out of place in the very family moment. He wanted to shrink in onto himself. He pulled away from the family, both of black suited men flanking him. The EMT trained one came besides Harry and asked, "Sir, are you okay?"
Harry nodded. "I'm fine. I'm not the one who passed out."
The other man, a larger African-American man in his mid-thirties who looked like he didn't believe an ounce of Harry's bullshit, told him, "It's okay to feel shaken after a tense situation. There's nothing weak about it."
Harry hummed, and uncharacteristically offered, "Someone passing out is hardly a tense situation. I've faced far worse." Like basilisks, dragons, Cruciatus curses through by megalomaniacs, Cedric and Sirius dying in front of him, his guardians beating him, his dearest desire being offered by a man who had taken it away in the first place, and everything in between. Harry was a veteran of so-called tense situations.
The body-guard didn't know that. He just gave Harry a flat look as if he didn't believe that the type of child who was rich enough to hire bodyguards had faced much in his life. It wasn't a mean look, just one misplaced.
Harry licked his lips, "Let's just say that my last guardians were far from nice."
Suddenly, the man seemed to reevaluate Harry. He narrowed his eyes. Thankfully, there was no pity, but there was more of a sense of equality or kinship. The man seemed to understand that Harry was far from just a fifteen-year-old heir.
Harry had to make a decision. The three Parkers were fusing over each other, and Harry knew that they would continue until they reached their home. As much as Harry was concerned about Peter, he didn't want to insert himself in that family dynamic. He wanted to give them some space.
"Can one of you escort the Parkers home, and the other take me to the pent house that Pepper rented?"
The blonde-curly haired one nodded as if he agreed with the proposal. He turned to the other man and asked, "I'll take the Parkers. You have Mr. Potter?"
…
The whole team was huddled in a military tent. Clint sat backwards on a chair, slumped over to relieve the stitching on his back. Steve's hands were both wrapped, and he aggressively read the book in front of him. Rhodey had been passed off to military medical, and they were sending him back to New York on a plane as soon as it was safe to be treated a hospital stateside.
"Fuck this. What's taking them so long?" Clint asked.
Steve glanced up from his book, but made no comment over Clint's language.
"There is a lot of land to canvas," Natasha pointed out the obvious.
"He couldn't have gone that far," Clint argued.
Natasha agreed. It shouldn't be taking that long.
She reached up and turned on her com and asked, "Stark, you see anything."
"Negative. No sign of the Hulk or Bruce," Tony said.
Strange added, "No signs of rampage either. The Hulk hasn't been anywhere we have checked."
Steve bit his lip on the ground. He and Clint had turned on their coms when Natasha did.
Steve commanded, "Come back and regroup. If he's not around as the Hulk, then something else happened."
Stark commented, "That something else is what I'm afraid of."
Natasha agreed. If someone had taken Bruce, then they were in a world of trouble.
….
The blow never came, and Bruce squeezed his eyes tighter. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He could hear the sound of the beast breathing in front of him. It's body heat radiated, encompassing Bruce.
Bruce finally opened his eyes. The Hulk stood in front of him, crouched over slightly, like an ape. It stared at him, face contorted in anger.
Bruce looked wildly at it, unsure of what he should do. Should he run? Was there anywhere to run in this darkness?
"Do it," Bruce commanded. He was tired of waiting. Growing up, the anxiety and fear of his father beating him was almost worse than the actual violence. The intense constant reminding that Bruce was at the mercy of his father's mood made him an anxiety terrified child.
"Do it," Bruce repeated, "Hulk smash."
The Hulk tilted its head at Bruce. "Smash?" it asked.
Bruce's breathing caught. He had never heard the creature speak. Others, of course, had told him that it could, but he almost didn't believe it.
A deep part of Bruce wished that the Hulk was totally mindless and therefore that the deeps that the creature committed would be less culpable.
"Yes. Smash! Smash me."
"Smash me?" the creature repeated.
Bruce closed his eyes. He started to laugh suddenly and violently. This situation was absurd.
The Hulk bowed forward more putting its face right up to Bruce's and asked, "Me okay?"
The rancid smell of the Hulk's breath perforated Bruce's nose, and Bruce struggled not to cough in the creature's face.
"Yes, me okay," Bruce answered before the perfectionist in him realized the atrocious grammar. He corrected, "I – uh, yes. I'm okay."
The Hulk shook his head, "No. Me not okay. Hulk scare me. Hulk no smash me. Hulk protect me."
Bruce swallowed heavily. The Hulk was still right in his face. He swayed slightly and looked Bruce on as curiously as Bruce could ever imagine.
Suddenly Bruce needed to know. "Why?" he asked breathlessly. "Why do you protect me?"
The Hulk grinned and replied, "Bruce need protection."
That… was not an answer. They stared at each other.
….
Angela Yasui was tired of waiting. The Avengers were off across the world, and Harry Potter had left the tower. That left them, somehow, in charge of the alien Wizard that had attacked New York the year prior. To say that she was unhappy, would be an understatement.
"You will soon be obsolete," Loki's voice came from behind. Angela spun around to see the Wizard sitting on the couch reading a book.
"Where are your guards?" Angela asked.
Loki gave her a smirk.
JARVIS, Tony Stark's creepy electronic butler, answered her, "They are passed out on the third floor. One has just regained conscience and I have informed them of Loki's whereabouts."
"How did you…" she trailed off.
Loki rolled his eyes. "My father may have made he appear to be human, but I haven't lost my Asgardian training. I was raised to be a warrior and not depend on my magic which is more than I can say for your society."
Angela kept silent. After all, it would hardly be appropriate to agree with the mass murder.
"The world has accepted aliens. Keeping magic a secret depends on a severe amount of human ability to block out what doesn't fit in their box. You know this, don't you. Why not get ahead. Use the Avengers as a way to beat the curve," Loki then started to cough violently, and leaned over. His face was red and his eyes burned a bright green.
Something was wrong with the alien.
"Magic is going to stay secret. You underestimate human willingness to turn a blind eye. The majority of the British wizarding world thinks that the Battle of New York was a hoax created by Muggles."
Loki, who was still bent over from coughing, looked up at her.
He had a frown on his face. "If the humans even have the slightest chance against the Thanos, it would be with the human sorcerers fighting. You might not have a choose of secrecy. That is, unless you are willing to give your world over to the Dark Lord."
Angela swallowed hard. Loki's guards rushed into the room frantic.
"Ma'am, ma'am," they said, "Are you okay? Has he harmed you."
Angela shook her head, her eyes still pinned on Loki. She replied to them, "No, he hasn't touched me."
Loki smirked, as if he knew that he had gotten to her. The world had faced many Dark Lords, even in her lifetime. Britain had its fair share. However, never had there been ones that threatened the entire planet. If Britain couldn't get it together to defeat Lord Voldemort, how were they going to fair against a force far worse?
….
Harry tapped his hand against his leg right where his wand was. He has decided to sit in the passenger seat with the guard on the way back. He had almost taken it out back in the lab which would have been very bad. It was one thing to tell the Avengers about his magic. It would have been far worse to tell the heard of a for-profit science – well, besides his father – about magic. It would be a disaster.
The body guard seemed to pick up on Harry's energy. The man glanced over to him.
"You sure you okay, kid?" the man asked.
Harry nodded.
"Everything is going to be okay," the man said, "that's what we are here for."
In reality, Harry tended to think of the men as just for show. Harry could take care of himself, as he has proven time and time again. However, he realized that he couldn't use magic in situations that could reveal his magic. Now, not all of the threats against him would be just magical.
"First time with bodyguards?" the man asked, as if he was trying to put him at ease with the chatter.
Harry finally replied verbally, "Yeah. That's new."
The man hummed. "You know, my partner reminds me a bit of you. Rich family and something happened where he wasn't in contact with the world for quite some time. When he came back, I think he wasn't quite accumulated to his new life. Didn't know how to deal with having been thrust into a world that was alien to him. Maybe you should try and talk to him."
Harry raised his eyebrows, trying to think back to the man's partner. The blonde curly haired guy that looked like he was still uncomfortable in an adult body.
Harry commented, "He must not have adjusted well if he decided to go into personal security."
The other man licked his lips as if he was trying to stop from laughing.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right kid." They pulled up to building that Harry assumed he and Pepper were staying at.
Harry turned to his bodyguard, and said, "I'm sorry, I never caught your name."
The man shrugged, as if it didn't concern him. He said, "Name's Luke." Harry nodded. Alight, maybe he could deal with a bodyguard. His father wanted him to have one, and Luke wasn't awful. The man came around and grabbed Harry's door, and they made their way into the building.
…
Peter felt violently sick, but pushed it down. He was sure that if he threw up now, that his Uncle would end up dragging him to the emergency room. There was an intense uncomfortable tingling that entered his body whenever that prospect came up, as if going to the hospital represented some sort of danger.
All of Peter screamed that it would be a bad idea.
Peter hadn't been kidding when he said that he wanted to crawl right into bed the second that he got home. He felt bad that he hadn't been able to say goodbye to Harry. Harry had taken off after everything that had happened.
Peter flushed thinking about his comment to Harry about his eyes being really green. He hoped that he could pass it off as being discombobulated from passing out.
Dear lord, Peter had made a fool out of himself in front of Harry.
His phone buzzed, and Peter looked down to see a text from Harry. It read: Sorry I left so suddenly. I hope you are okay. Please tell your Aunt and Uncle how grateful I am for having me over last night.
Peter announced, "Harry told me to tell you guys thank you for letting him come over."
Peter's Aunt smiled, "I like Harry. He's always welcome. You feeling a bit better?"
No. Not really. Peter's head pounded and he was sure that he had a fever. Peter lied, "A little bit."
Ben gave him a sharp look. His Uncle always knew when Peter was lying.
Peter quickly typed: I'm… okay. Feeling kind of queasy. They said you are welcome anytime.
Seconds later, Harry's reply came: I would think that you wouldn't be so keen to repeat today's experience.
Harry had the tendency to type like he was writing a letter in the 18th century. His words caused Peter flushed more than he already was. He bit the inside of his lip. He typed: Well, no, but I had fun last night.
No, Peter deleted that. Fun wasn't the right word. They had talked about Harry's having been abused. He tried again: I always want you over.
No, he deleted that. That sounded creepy. Too much. He thought about it as they pulled up the apartment.
Finally, he tired again: Nah, I'll be fine. I'm going to sleep. Ttyl?
Harry's response came quickly. It said: Get some good rest. I'll talk to you later, Peter.
For some reason that made Peter feel warm inside and it wasn't from the fever.
….
There was a silence in the Quinjet as they flew. Bruce wasn't with them.
"I can't believe we are leaving him," Clint said.
Natasha frowned, "We need to get back to New York where we can regroup and figure out what happened to him. We are no help to him there."
Clint muttered, "It still feels wrong."
Steve flinched at Clint's word. Steve had been military. He didn't leave soldiers behind either.
Tony sat in the cockpit of the Jet avoiding them. He was the most upset of them. They hadn't received news of whether the Colonel had woken up yet, and with Bruce gone, Tony was all out of sorts. In a bit, Natasha would send Steve up to check on the man.
….
Jasper had the Minster knocking on his door far too early in the morning. Rachel rolled over in bed, and said to him, "You get it."
He lumbered out of bed, spelled on some clothes, and walked to the door. He opened it, and was half temped to shut it back in the man's face.
"Harry Potter is not James Potter's son."
Jasper rubbed his forehead. "You're point?"
"The Potter lordship seats shouldn't be the child's. You knew this. You told me you didn't know where Potter was."
Jasper said nothing.
"I want you to bring the child back. I'm going to put him before Wizengamot. If you think that he gets to keep the Potter name and inheritance when he isn't even James Potter's real son, then you are delusional." Fudge spitting out the word delusional at him at six in the morning felt deeply ironic to Jasper.
Well, it seemed that Jasper had litigation to file and a trip America to make.
And he had told that damn boy to keep his head down.
Well, Jasper could and would adapt. There was a reason why he had sent Harry to Tony after all.
Jasper smiled politely at the Minster and replied, "Then I guess I'm delusional Minster. I will see you in court. Now, if you excuse me, I would like to go back to bed…"
….
Hermione loved her parents dearly, but sometimes she struggled to connect with them. As a child, it would be an understatement to say she had few friends. As a consequence, her parents had done their best to supplement that in other ways.
They had signed her up for art classes, gymnastics, and other non-school oriented activities. Her mother had also been something akin to a best friend. They went shopping on weekends, got their fingernails painted, and ran errands.
She had been a bright eleven-year-old with a stable happy home, few friends, and a thirst for knowledge as a replacement for socialization. If Hermione could be the best, brightest, smartest in her class than it wouldn't matter that the other students – not hate, hate would be the wrong word – strongly disliked her. Some of it was, in fact, Hermione's fault. Socialization was awkward for her. Some of it wasn't. Her mother said she was intimidating and she should never dumb herself down for the comfort of others.
She was different; very different it seemed. A witch in fact.
So the precarious eleven year old had gone off to Hogwarts, leaving her parents waving and heartbroken at a train stop. Hermione knew for a fact that her parents didn't want to her go back to Hogwarts. Every Christmas break, her mother cried that she had missed Hermione growing and changing; there would be no first date send off, first heartbreak ice-cream and movie, weekend grocery shopping, or family dinners. Every year she grew further and further apart from their world.
It filled Hermione with such a sense of shame that it ate at her every moment she lived in her home. Her mother had fussed over her when she arrived back, claimed her clothes threadbare, and dragged her shopping. It had been an enjoyable afternoon.
Hermione sat in an armchair reading an Agatha Christie book she had read a million times while her mother made dinner, and her father watched the news.
Suddenly, her father interrupted her concentration.
"Hermione darling," he said.
Hermione pulled the headphones from her ears. She missed music dearly at school. She looked at him expectantly.
"Isn't that your friend Harry?" he said, motioning to the TV. Hermione glanced up to the TV and sure enough, Harry was standing behind a podium next to Tony Stark of all people. The battle of New York had been a stunning event last summer that the Wizarding World seemed to ignore.
Aliens existed, and the majority of Wizarding Britain brushed off the reality, claiming that Muggle news was ridiculous and false. Ron, even, didn't seem to believe it. It showed the pitfalls of an almost completely closed society.
"Yes," she answered, "although I'm not sure why…"
Harry had already told her that he wasn't planning to have Hedwig during the summer, so they had agreed that writing really wouldn't be possible. Hermione had been hesitant to agree with Harry on that point as he had just lost Sirius and she was worried for him.
The ultimate questions were, what was he doing in New York, and what was he doing with Tony Stark?
That was quickly answered.
"Oh," her mother exclaimed. She turned to Hermione, "Did you know?"
Did she know that Harry was the son of Tony Stark? No. As far as Harry had ever said, James Potter was and had always been Harry's father.
Hermione hesitated. She finally answered, "He never said anything."
Her father hummed, "I'm sure he had his reasons."
Harry always had reasons. With him, it was like pulling teeth, especially in the last two years. When they were younger, Harry had been like her in that he had been desperate for friends and connections but unsure how to communicate with his peers. Something changed in third year. Harry became more withdrawn and independent.
That was fine of course; personality changes happened, and didn't stop Hermione from loving Harry like a little brother. However, it made it harder for her help him through it all. Harry teetered on the edge of depression, Hermione suppressed all of her social anxiety through a veneer of a put-together bookworm, and Ron tried his best to hold them all together with positivity.
Hermione got up and got parchment to pen a letter to Ron. Then, she needed to figure out how to get a hold of Harry. The three of them had been together for so long. She wasn't going to allow Harry to cut himself off from them.
Ron and her should have known about Harry's true parentage and helped him through it. Sometimes she felt like he kept them in the dark because he was afraid that they wouldn't understand.
Maybe her and Ron wouldn't, not really, because they were blessed with both parents who loved them. But Harry wasn't the only person with difficulties in his life. And he surely, even more now, wasn't alone.
Hermione was going to make sure that he knew that.
….
Harry stared down at the papers that Victor von Doom had given him. His hands shook.
Souls.
The man wanted to use magic to return souls. It wasn't quite necromancy since the suggestion wasn't bringing a soul back from the dead, but rather at the moment of death, pulling the leaving soul through time. It was brilliant, but completely and utterly horrific.
Harry's mind raced.
It wasn't the only magic in the paper that he had been given, but it was by far the most insidious.
Harry entire body shivered. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped. Harry heart pounded in his chest. He should take the work to someone. Tell them about the magic. Doom experimenting with necromancy would get him landed in Azkaban.
At the same time, a dark part of Harry's brain protested that. This wasn't really necromancy. They weren't sacrificing babies. They were simply pulling the soul through time so that it could exist in the future. It was kind of like saving the person's life at that moment, but then freezing them only for them to wake up much later.
He could save his parents. He could save Sirius. It was so tempting to continue to work on what Doom had started; finishing the equations wouldn't be that hard. It might be morally dubious, but he wasn't hurting anyone, and he could save so many more.
No. No. No no no. Harry shoved the papers into his bag. Not tonight. Harry had to think on this. Just because he could do something didn't mean he should do something. The creators of the nuclear bomb hadn't thought like that.
Harry laid on the bed and closed his eyes trying to sleep. However, the moment his eyes snapped shut all he could see where Sirius, Lily, and James' deaths on a loop. Sirius falling into the veil. James turning to face Voldemort to try and give time for his wife and son. Lily refusing to move aside to protect Harry. To protect him.
And here he was refusing to try and save her.
Harry shot up in bed, grabbed the papers and stared down at the magical equations.
No. He shoved them back into the bag. He laid back and closed his eyes again.
That night he dreamed of the dead.
….
Tony stared forward at the night sky unable to see the line between the sea and the infinite expanse of space. He fiddled with the device that had been surgically implanted in Rhodey's neck.
He knew that he should probably call Pepper or his son, but Tony didn't want to. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be alone.
Bruce was gone and Rhodey was hurt. The last couple weeks of his life had been some of the most exhausting he had ever experienced. Tony was trying to hard to be a good father, teammate, and friend and at that moment he felt the weight and stress of it all.
He stared down at the small device.
"JARVIS?" he prompted.
"Sir," his AI replied.
"Can you open a new folder for me and put the schematics of this device on it."
"Doing it right now Sir. What do you want to label the folder?"
Tony frowned and flipped it around in his hand. Finally, he settled on, "Lets call it… extremis."
…
It's my birthday and getting this chapter up is a present to myself! As such, however, I posted it without really editing it for spelling and grammar which I'm sorry about!
I do, however, feel like I owe you all an explanation for why this chapter took so long. I had something… happen to me that threw my life into an emotional upheaval. I promise that it was not my intent to leave you hanging with so many cliff hangers, but my emotional health was, and still is, all over the place. On top of that, I am trying to keep the rest of my life from falling apart as a consequence. I don't know how regular updates will be like they were this summer, but I can promise you now that I am committed to this fic and I am committed to you guys. This story is completely plotted out, so I know where its going and I know what I want to do.
Thank everyone for all their love and support, and my sincerest apologies for not replying to recent reviewers. All of your comments were loved and apricated, and I will strive to do better this chapter with replying to every one of you guys.
Now, enough of that and onto the fun stuff.
So many exciting things happened in this chapter.
Questions!
1) Are you guys worried for any of the characters? Rhodey? Bruce?
2) What do you think of everything happening with Bruce?
3) Should Harry work on Doom's project? Should Tony look into extremis?
4) And the Wizarding world is back in play! Are you guys excited for all of that?
5) And in general, thoughts on the chapter. What stood out? (What grammar/spelling errors did I make that I should edit?)
Also OUTTAKE:
If Lily the living ward was a human child, she would be pouting. JARVIS knew that much.
"Why didn't my Harry stay in the tower? I can protect him in the tower."
"Sir didn't want to leave young Sir alone with Loki," JARVIS tried to explain to the young ward.
"He wouldn't be alone. He would have us," she protested.
"True," JARVIS acknowledged, "But Sir forgets that sometimes."
"He shouldn't. I want my Harry back. I don't like not being able to protect him."
"Soon little one, soon."