Sometime when it was all over-although I don't remember much except the pain and the swearwords echoing in my mind- I found myself back in the cell, with no recollection of how I had gotten back.

I blinked furiously. There was something fascinating about how my body hurt when it shouldn't, when my ribs hadn't been broken and my wrist hadn't been stomped on and my face hadn't been bloodied. Fascinating, but of course also infuriating. I was fine. I should have been fine. But I wasn't.

I wanted to close my eyes and go back to that familiar feeling of Nothingness, but the throbs and the aches of my body refused to let me go, like bloody idiots. I was an idiot. I was a bloody idiot, for getting captured and getting tortured and not saying something. Who cares if Thanos realizes he's a movie character? Certainly not me. Well, he might find a way to get to my world and try to kill everybody in both universes, but who cares? I wouldn't be kicked to death again.

I blinked again and found blue eyes staring into mine, and faintly remembered that I hadn't been alone. I felt stupid for lying there on the ground and tried to sit up, but my stupid body didn't care much about my dignity, unlike my stupid mind. I bit back a groan, and barely managed to lean against the wall.

Rogers thrusted a cup of water into my hands and I took it, drinking and feeling much better.

"Thanks," I muttered gratefully. His eyes were still wearing that sad worried look that better suited a kicked puppy. I hated him looking at me with pity. "I'm fine." I said, when he didn't stop. He frowned.

"You can barely move."

"I can move." I held up a hand, careful not to jostle my body. "See? Movement. I didn't get hurt. Not literally."

"But you still feel it, can't you?" Roger's murmured, and I shrugged slightly.

"Not much," I lied, and scowled. "This is depressing. Let's talk about something else."

"What did he mean? What truth?"

"Uh, I just said let's talk about something else."

"I need to know," Rogers set his lips in a line. "So I can stop him from...you." It was obvious he hated the thought of someone else being hurt rather than him. The Avengers were a bunch of self-sacrificing bastards.

"You can never know," I told him truthfully, after a moment of hesitation. I figured I could give him this much. "It's not just about him. It's about...this universe, and, I guess you can call it the answer. The answer to the question that is this universe."

The lines in his forehead deepened, and he looked wary. "And how do you know it?"

I pursed my lips. "Because I'm not from here."

His face morphed from stunned to realization and I hoped he wouldn't ask anymore questions. I really didn't know how I would answer.

I scoured my brain for ways to change the subject and found one, and tried to stand. My body disagreed with that decision. My legs buckled and I almost toppled on top of Cap, him wrinkling his eyebrows as he grabbed my arms, holding me firmly.

"Stay still," He ordered, lowering me down to the ground again and I made a face.

"I was-" I pointed at the dish of prison food. "Gonna get that."

"I can do that for you," He reminded me like I was a toddler, and I rolled my eyes.

"Well, I'm an independent person and can walk."

"You can't. You almost fell on me." He pointed out.

"I can." I argued. "Give or take ten minutes."

"I'm not watching you sit there for ten minutes when I can get it in three seconds." As if to prove the point, he did. I didn't know whether I should thank him or be mad.

So I did neither, and glared down at the piece of bread and a bowl of soup. This wasn't what I had expected when I had first made the decision to help the heroes, that first day in Stark Tower. I thought it would be easy. Tell them Thanos was coming, get to meet some famous people, and have a few laughs and someday end up back in my world.

Not...this. Not pain and depression. I hadn't thought those characters would become...real, in some sense, to me. I hadn't thought I would risk everything for these people.

It hurt. It felt like something in my chest had became bigger and bigger until it was so fragile, so easy to burst. And right now, I was exploding, air knocked out of my body. A weight was on me, a weight I had no idea how to deal with.

"Regis?" Rogers prodded, face uncertain and I realized my eyes had welled up with tears. I felt pathetic, swiping them away with a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry," He muttered and I shrugged away the apology, tucking strands of loose hair behind my ear.

I tore the bread in half absentmindedly, and handed one piece to Rogers who looked like he was going to refuse until I tilted my head at him, and he took it with a sheepish look. It tasted like paper. But nice paper.

I munched, wondering if that was all we were gonna get until tomorrow, then tried to think of something else because the word tomorrow brought back so many things I did not want to re-experience.

"We have to escape," He said. I raised my eyebrows at him like no duh, and he seemed vaguely embarrassed, flushing.

"How?"

He paused. "I don't know, yet."

"We could try before they put the handcuffs on us," I suggested because that was the first thing that came to my mind, but he didn't look impressed.

"We tried that."

"I'll get out of your way faster."

"It's too risky."

"They won't kill me," I protested. "They want something from me."

"They can still seriously hurt you. For real, this time."

"So we're hopeless?"

He gave me a look. The determined we-can-do-this-shit Steve Rogers look.

"We can have hope, even if we don't have a plan yet. We are going to get out of here, and all we need is time."

"And a plan," I muttered under my breath and felt bad for being so cynical. But what could I say, when I did not like-no wait, hated the idea of having to wait. I didn't want to wait. I didn't think I could wait.

I was pretty sure I wasn't traumatized or something, because I had once been obsessed with psychology and I had known to dissociate myself when I was getting beaten up. I went into that little room in my head I used in boring math classes or when mom was scolding me or for this memorable occasion, torture. I was somewhat bemused to think that from now on, math classes wouldn't be so painful. It was simply not comparable.

There were three types of trauma. Acute trauma, that results from a single incident. Chronic trauma, which is repeated and prolonged trauma such as domestic violence or abuse. And finally, complex trauma, exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events. Which meant right now if I was traumatized or something, I probably had the first type.

But as the shock wore off slowly, I was realizing I was better than I had thought I was.

I knew I was a very self-aware person. I was confident of how the environment and the other people's actions effected my thoughts and actions. I recognized what I felt, what I thought. And right now, I was not broken like Rogers worried and Thanos hoped. I wasn't going to crumble that simply.

I tried out a shaky smile at myself, and felt good when it came easily. I stretched my arms and legs, kneading my muscles when it felt stiff. And when I tried to stand up, under Roger's wary watch, I could. I smiled.

"Ta-dah."

"Take it easy," He remarked, and I rolled my eyes.

"There isn't even any room to run." I answered, and Rogers looked alarmed at that, like he hadn't thought I would be trying to run. I had to smile. He was so easy to make fun of. I could understand why he and Tony didn't get along. Stark would have seen too many opportunities for a joke, and Rogers would've felt uncomfortable. (And, oh yeah, his best friend murdered Tony's parents.)

Which was totally why I was going to make fun of him.

"Remind me to get a selfie with you after we're out of here."

"Selfie?" He frowned. "Why?"

"Because you're famous and you're hot." I shrugged casually.

"I'm not-" He paused, then seemed to reconsider. I grinned. "I was talking about fame," He hastily added.

"Of course you were," I replied smoothly, and he scowled and made a sad face at the same time, which resulted in some sort of a pout. It was cute.

"Are all modern teenagers like you?" He muttered, and I shrugged.

"I like to think I'm fabulously weird," Rogers smiled slightly. "But yeah. Basically."

I yawned, sitting back down because I was a physically weak person who also did not like standing when unnecessary.

"Life used to be so boring," I murmured slowly. "I used to get so excited when I had a free day to sleep in. And eat bacons for breakfast."

"Bacons?"

"Koreans don't eat bacons. And I don't really eat breakfast." I tilted my head. "And I will strangle you if you say breakfasts are the most important meal of the day."

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "I wasn't going to."

"Well, good." I yawned again. "Life was boring in Korea. All I ever did was study and read. And listen to music. I kept thinking there must be more to life, something adventurous waiting for me, and then...I ended up here."

"You got the adventure you wanted," Rogers said softly, and I shook my head faintly.

"I should've been careful what I wished for, I guess. My life is painted with extremes. Extremely boring, or extremely painful." I let out a huff of breath. "I should've been here before all this dangerous shit. I would've been awesome at resolving the issues you idiots have."

"I think you would have been," He agreed, and I blinked, caught off guard.

"Thanks...?" I replied, and he peered at me with a particular fondness that's usually reserved for small puppies. I felt simultaneously appreciative and insulted.

"You have a certain...air around you. You're accepting. Of everything. You seem like you know me well."

"I do know you well. You're a national figure," I lied easily, but Rogers shook his head quickly, eyes filled with what seemed uncomfortably too much like trust.

"Not like that. In a...personal way," He insisted, tone unwavering.

I looked at him, confused and tired and amused and worried, and nodded, because that was all I could do.

"I know things," I said, because that was all I could say.

And some part of me hated that.

I woke under Thanos's throne.

My heart rate went from 70 to 110 in a blink, the blood rushing to my head as I scrambled to stand. I swayed slightly, lightheaded and unbalanced, and whipped my head around, trying to see if anyone was with me.

Rogers was on the ground next to me. Thanos and the aliens were not present.

I bent over, nudged him in the arm gently. "Hey. Wake up."

My voice sounded way more panicky than I intended it to be and Rogers shot up, asleep one second and alert the next. He surveyed the surroundings, super-soldier mode on, and tugged me behind.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just don't know what's going on."

He glanced down at his hands, and the lines in his forehead deepened.

"They didn't even put the handcuffs on." He noted, incredulous.

And then, I felt it. The tingling sensation of something not quite right. Reality was distorted, and we were in Thanos's playground.

"He used the reality stone," I quietly said, and Rogers looked at me, face hardening. "We have to be careful. Anything can happen."

"Yes. Anything."

I whirled around, trying to pinpoint where Thanos's voice was coming from, but it was everywhere; his words surrounded us, echoed in the mind like a broken record.

"Show yourself," I yelled, scared enough to not think some ridiculous thoughts about Frozen 2. Thanos chuckled, a deep sound that made me want to wish I did say something ridiculous, because I hated being intimidated, and that was exactly what Thanos was making me feel right now.

"I wondered why you didn't break yesterday," He hummed noncommittally, and the echo made it feel like he was right behind me, breathing on my neck. I scowled.

"Because you're an idiot."

"No, I think it's because I lacked some creativity." His voice was amused, I could feel it, and I hated it. "I think I'll enjoy today. I hope you do, too."

I made a face, my hands becoming sweaty very quickly, and gave the room the finger. I wasn't sure where he was, so I might have flipped off nothing but the air, to be honest. It didn't matter much, though. Because when I turned around, Rogers was staring at me.

It was a bad stare. It was the kind of stare that made my lizard brain think something was very very wrong and made my survival instincts scream run you idiot, but all I could think was I had to get that look off of his face.

"Cap?" I asked, my throat dry, and there was no preemptive, no nothing. He lunged forward and we went down, my ankle twisting under our combined weight.

He threw a punch and I blocked with magic, throwing him to the side with a grunt. White hot pain shot up from my ankle, but I ignored that and struggled to stand, looking at him with panicked caution. That was not Rogers. It was wearing his face, wearing his body, but it was not him.

I opened my mouth and he lashed out a kick that I barely saw coming, and I twisted my body and it caught the edge of my waist instead of my stomach and I stumbled back, raising my hands. I tried to think of some way to subdue him with magic but all I could think of was how to snap his neck and I didn't want to do that and-

He aimed a fist at my face and I dodged awkwardly, but he lead it with a kick to my twisted ankle and there was an audible crack, and I cried out, fell. He kicked again, a strike I caught with my hands in front of my face and pulled, but it wasn't enough to make him lose balance and I snapped my palm outwards, the air slamming into him.

He skidded a couple steps back. Not enough. Not enough for me to stand.

I crawled back desperately, trying to put some distance between the two of us and realized I was going to fall into the water if I got any further, and he strode towards me with a cruel arrogant look on his face that really shouldn't fit that well. I tried pushing at the air again but he was ready for that, planting his feet onto the ground and not budging.

I couldn't stand. My ankle was definitely shattered. The pain clouded my sight, clouded my brain and I decided falling into whatever liquid that was would be definitely better than facing the brainwashed super-soldier in front of me. Was he brainwashed? Or was he aware of what he was doing? I hoped he wasn't. He would be all sad about it later.

I gave the dark waters one last skeptical look and steeled myself for the drop but Rogers grabbed my leg, fortunately the good side, and pulled back. I grasped the ledge but he was too strong and he struck my head with his foot, and knocked my jaw back and everything went black for a moment. After that, the pain was enough to make me black out for real this time.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't. Sad Rogers was uncomfortable Rogers and I did not want that at all.

I gritted my teeth, immediately regretted it because my jaw hurt like hell, and twisted my hand and pried open his grip on me with magic. I then delivered a firm kick with my okay foot to his shin and he lurched, and I kicked again, using the air to re-enforce the strike, and he staggered.

I wobbled back, back, back, until my back hit air and I fell for a brief moment that felt like eternity, and hit the liquid.

I instantly knew it had been the wrong choice.

The liquid wasn't water at all, but some kind of tar-like substance that felt sticky to the touch. I raised my hand to see it was black, and felt seriously stupid for my stupid decision to fall into an alien pool of evil liquid.

My ankle sent me sharp daggers of pain and I had a migraine that felt like it could swallow me whole, and I was encased in alien black goo. This was not a good situation.

At least Rogers wouldn't follow me down-

He did. Fuck.

The splash of his descend sent drops of goo into my eyes and I wiped at them furiously while trying to backtrack, and Rogers grabbed the hand in front of my face and twisted it to the side, breaking the arm and I couldn't scream, because my chest felt tight inside this water-but-not-quite and I was pretty sure I was dying.

I blinked furiously but my vision was tainted, and I barely blocked a fist with my unbroken arm. But then he pushed, and I almost tripped and he caught me, to throw another punch and with the last bout of my magic I slammed everything I had-air, magic, thoughts- at him.

I had forgotten he had a grip on me.

We went underwater.

A/N : Wow almost 300 followers, thank you!

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