A/N: I SUCK A LOT. I KNOW. SORRY. I had to dig myself out of a plot hole(s) that essentially stretched to the center of the earth. [Thanks to tumblr user la-estrella-del-norte for grabbing a shovel and helping].
And because I don't want to take up three pages capslock-spazzing about Civil War, suffice to say that it was everything I hoped for and more, and I will probably never enjoy another movie again because tbh that work of cinematic art was the peak of all films ever.
Read and review, my dears. Expect more frequent updates over the summer :).
"Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?"
~Abraham Lincoln
With one violent clap of thunder, the floor exploded into a shimmering storm of wind and glass.
Avery smacked her hands over her ears and shut her eyes, shielding her head as she recoiled into a ball on the floor. The windows shattered with such force, the room became a vacuum; a freezing blast of cool air hit like a wall, a deafening whoosh competing aggressively with the crashing thunder. An immediate flash of white light almost blinded her through her closed lids, forbidding her from opening them—even when the smell of ozone gave way to the scent of burning flesh.
As quickly as it had come, the light extinguished, and the rumbling thunder grew distant, the angry winds dying down.
She dared to crack an eye open, craning her head apprehensively toward the gaping holes where the windows used to be.
The sight that greeted her was an unexpected one.
Every last inch of the white marble floors was covered in a substantial layer of broken glass—a direct result of the imploding window, no doubt—save for a perfect circle around her, a sphere that the tornado of glass had been unable to penetrate. Her eyes drifted beyond her immediate surroundings, resting on the bodies of the four Avengers—each one unconscious where he had fallen. Bruce's green mantle had melted away, leaving his human form face down in the corner. Sam was half-strewn across an overturned loveseat, and Tony's torso was twisted at an unnatural angle, his armor cracked and fuming in a few places. A handful of conspicuous blood stains decorated Steve's gray t-shirt, his hands balled in fists as he lay spread-eagle beside a lamp.
Every hero was enclosed in the same perfect circle, untouched by the glass debris.
The grinning skull masks and white leather gloves of the intruders, however, were now black, charred, and smoking—like their owners had been cooked from the inside out.
Avery's eyes flitted over the litter of bodies before settling on the caped figure standing silhouetted against the black sky. His right hand secured a hefty-looking hammer, and his opalescent eyes flashed as he strode forward.
The scarlet cape swished behind him as he neared Bruce, the Avenger closest to the window. Blonde, broad-shouldered, and shining, the man took a knee and placed a hand on the oblivious hero's head.
Silently, he stood. His eyes found Avery immediately.
"What happened?" he inquired in a deep, powerful voice.
It was exactly the voice she would have expected from the God of Thunder.
She pushed herself off the ground, clutching her wounded shoulder and wincing as she stood. She made her way toward the gigantic man, picking her way carefully around the smoldering bodies of the enemies—which she could now surmise had been thoroughly electrocuted by the Asgardian prince's lightning.
She also surmised that she was probably suffering the after-effects of shock, as she couldn't quite feel her feet.
Gathering her thoughts, she answered him, "I have…literally…no idea. They climbed out from the elevator shaft and just started attacking."
Bucky's words came back to her—he had been the decoy, a body to place a security scrambler on. That explained JARVIS' supposed 'virus'—had the AI system been up and running, there was no way a threat so huge could have snuck into Avengers Tower undetected.
She shuddered involuntarily as her mind replayed the attackers perfectly mimicking the heroes' every move.
The powerful blonde warrior loomed over her as her thoughts raced, his commanding royal presence both a comfort and a source of intimidation. He observed her with intelligent, alert eyes, framed by an eon's worth of laughter lines. As she came closer, she balked; his features were marred by a fresh, jagged scar that stretched from one temple to the opposite cheekbone. It was a mark that she had never seen before in news images. By no means did it diminish his impressive appearance, but it was a shocking addition to his features nonetheless.
His absence from earth, apparently, had not been one of respite from battle.
"You have great timing," she remarked after another breath. Friendly bemusement bled into his expression, filling his noble face with warmth.
"It's Steven who has good timing," he responded. "Had he not sent out a distress signal with one of Stark's machines, our gatekeeper never would have turned his eyes to this tower." His eyebrows knit together. "Although…If this attack was as random as you say, how did he know ahead of time to send the message?"
"He didn't," she said, feeling hope stir in her chest. "We were calling you for something else."
Thor raised an eyebrow. She halted in mid-thought.
"Wait. Should we…um…?" she began, gesturing at the passed out superheroes.
Thor regarded her blankly, looked around, and finally caught her meaning.
"No need," he waved a large, dismissive hand. "They've sustained much greater injuries in battle and been just fine. They should awaken shortly."
"Ah," she replied, eyeing Tony's smoking armor dubiously.
The prince fixed his attention on her once more.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting," he said, twirling his hammer, setting it down with a singing clank, and stepping forward with outstretched palm. "Thor, of Asgard."
She met his hand reflexively, smiling softly. "Oh, I know who you are. I'm Avery. Of Midgard. Thanks for the rescue."
He nodded, returning the smile. When he wasn't decimating enemies in battle, she decided, he was like a giant golden teddy bear.
He released her hand. "And which one of my brothers is responsible for dragging a Midgardian such as yourself into business such as this?" he asked, indicating the nearest pile of steaming corpses with a tip of the head.
He spoke with a jesting lilt, but she could sense a degree of seriousness behind the question. The Avengers had, in fact, been very close to losing everything—and a civilian like her most certainly would have been a casualty when all was said and done.
She sucked in a breath and blew it out. "That's actually what we wanted to talk to you about. You've been gone a while, so I'm not sure what you know—but our friend—" Her voice wavered infinitesimally. She went on, "Our friend is very sick. There's nothing our medicine here can do to help him. We need the Tesseract if we want any hope of seeing him well again."
The words tumbled out of her mouth, hanging in the empty air. Every last hope she'd maintained until now hinged on his response.
With a heavy sigh, Thor's expression darkened. Avery didn't need to hear him speak to know bad news was on his lips. A nauseous feeling gripped her stomach.
"I'm very sorry," he said heavily. "The Tesseract has been lost to us since the beginning of Ragnarok."
She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and tried to stay calm. "I don't understand," she said, looking at him again.
"Asgard plunged into war not long after my return," he responded. "I believed my brother to have died on Svartalfheim, but I soon discovered that he was very much alive." A hard edge crept into his voice. "He killed my father, used magic to disguise himself, and ruled the kingdom until he was exposed. The land has since been almost completely destroyed."
Now his battle-worn appearance, at least, made sense.
"Loki stole everything from Odin's treasure room—including the Tesseract—at the onset of the wars. Only he knows where it is now hidden. I fear there is no feasible way for us to reach it."
Devastation sent her reeling. She took one step backward and plopped weakly onto the couch. Barring a miracle, the Soldier would be in a living hell as long as his heart was beating—and there was nothing she could do about it.
Thor had stepped forward with an outstretched hand, uncertain of whether or not she needed assistance.
"Are you—" he began, but she interrupted him.
"I'm so sorry about your father. And your kingdom," she said, using every ounce of her effort to will away the impending tears. Her hands shook a little as they balled into fists on the seat cushion. She would not give up.
She would not let them win.
After a pause, the thunder god approached the couch and squatted, resting his elbows on his knees. One of his substantial hands came to rest on her shoulder.
She met his sorrowful, kind gaze again. He seemed on the verge of speaking, when, in a flash, his benevolent demeanor vanished. His hardened eyes flew to something behind her, and his torso tensed in apprehension.
"Get down," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.
He didn't have to tell her twice. She flung herself onto the floor, taking cover behind the couch. An arc reactor blast careened through the space where her head had been moments before. Thor jumped up, the hammer cutting through the air and flying into his open palm.
Avery peered around the foot of the couch, glass shards poking at her forearms. Somehow, one of the enemies had escaped electrocution—and was now sprinting toward the open window, a piece of rolled up paper in his left hand.
Without a moment's hesitation, he took a running dive off the ledge. Machinery squealed as the reactors on his hands and feet kicked in, pushing him upward from gravity's clutches and out toward the skyline.
"He grabbed something!" Avery shouted from her point on the floor.
Thor was a step ahead. His hammer was swinging in an impossibly fast circle. With one mighty heave-ho, he threw it forward, the inertia of the weapon ripping him off his feet and catapulting him out of the room at reckless speed.
One final gust of wind swept through the floor before Avery was left in absolute stillness.
Looking around once more at the total destruction of the room, she dropped her forehead on her arm, inhaled once, and groaned loudly. For quite some time, she just lied facedown on the floor. Her episode was interrupted when a small, unobtrusive noise caught her attention.
Pop.
She twitched. Slowly, she lifted her head.
Crack. Pop.
She sprung to her feet. The electrocuted bodies of the attackers were moving, breaking and twitching as wounds healed and limbs snapped. The sounds picked up in frequency and intensity as she looked around wildly.
On all sides, the dark figures were righting themselves. The Avengers were still out cold.
A strange concoction flooded her veins. Reasonably, panic caused her spine to tingle—but a swelling wave of fury hit her so fiercely that it almost knocked her over.
She had been frustrated, and devastated, and pushed within an inch of sanity too many times in one day.
Enough was enough.
She snatched up a thick piece of corrugated pipe from the floor—a remnant of the downed ceiling—and dug her heels into the ground.
One at a time, the inhuman foes were getting to their feet. Each one of them maintained the spot from which he stood.
Thirty sets of dead, emotionless eyes fell on her in unison.
A string of expletives danced through her head.
She gripped the pipe tighter.
And then, without a word, without any further acknowledgement of her or the superheroes lying on the ground, the assailants began filing out of the room. They left the same way they had come, taking hold of the steel cables on the inside of the elevator shaft and sliding down like mute firemen.
Utterly disoriented, she stood and watched them exit, adrenaline still pumping through her veins at a hundred miles an hour.
One solitary figure, his skull mask scorched and his uniform charred, remained, facing her head on, his fists at his sides.
She raised the pipe.
"Who the hell are you, and what the hell was that?" she yelled.
The figure crossed its arms, and, for the first time, spoke.
"Look, sweetheart, you're very intimidating and all with the pipe, but I'm pretty sure you're going to want to put that down," his sinister, derisive voice intoned.
Unnerved by the sound of his voice, she flinched, but the flame of her rage only burned brighter.
"No, I really think I'm good," she spat acerbically back at him.
His answering chuckle made her skin crawl. He clasped his hands behind his back, took a few meandering steps, and faced the other direction.
"I'd expect no other response from you, Avery."
She paled. Her heart stopped.
He turned back to her. "I know a little more about you than I think you know about me. Which is why I know you're going to leave with me. Right now. Of your own free will."
Her jaw worked. Though she managed to ask the next question without trembling, she couldn't control how his response made her slacken her grip and let the pipe fall to the floor.
"And why would I do that?" she demanded.
His head inclined to one side, an owl craning its long neck to look at its prey, its yellow eyes gleaming.
"Because I know how to heal Barnes."