Beginning Note From Raith: This story was inspired by a friend of mine on tumblr, you can find her on here as Ridea, and the basic idea was the "someone from this universe dropped into x universe" trope. (Which she is a master at writing, so you should go check out her stories.) I took that idea in a slightly different direction, so the main characters are not from our universe. All of that will be explained in the story, but I thought it'd be fun to say how this story came to be. That being said, there will be some jumping around and references. I'll always explain at the end, for people who are curious. Also, updates might be slow because I have other stories I'm working on. I do enjoy writing this story though, so it will definitely be updated.
Chapter One: When The World Falls Apart
Earth: 1203
Date: 27 April 2023
Perspective: Mac Rowe
"From a cinematic perspective, it totally makes sense. It started with him and it ended with him, a perfect circle." Mac paused her words as she used her teeth to rip off a strip of meat from the rabbit she'd been roasting, and she continued speaking as she gnawed on the tough meat. Overcooked, again. "The only problem is, it didn't end with him. There was that Spiderman movie, and there were plans for another entire phase. If this whole mess hadn't happened, I bet they would have kept going for at least another five years. Maybe longer. Which brings me right back to my original point, that it didn't end with him."
On the other side of the little fire she had going, teeth snapped in a sluggish mimic of the way that she was chewing on her dinner. She knew that when she got done eating, she'd have to get up and go stab the poor thing in the head. Straight through what remained of the brain after years of decay. For now though, it felt nice to talk out loud and know that she was being heard. As she continued to talk, she watched the way that the zombie tried to crawl closer to her despite missing its major limbs. If it kept moving forward like that, it was going to crawl right through her fire. That wouldn't be good for either of them, so she ripped off the last of the meat and pushed up to her feet. Her machete was already in her hand, it was rare for her to not be holding the weapon, and she kept talking as she chewed on her last bite and slowly started to walk around the fire. On the ground, the zombie twisted its neck to follow the sound of her movements.
"I'm just saying, they could have kept him alive and just had him pop in on occasion. I understand if Downey wanted to be free of the role, but Tony Stark really did deserve better." Mac knelt on the ground, out of snapping range of the zombie's teeth, and she ignored the casual sting of tears in her eyes as the skeletal creature tried to turn towards her. "You deserved better too, huh?"
All it took was some careful positioning and downward strength, and the blade pushed right through bone and brain. This zombie must have been one of the first infected, to be this starved and decayed. Once the remains of the body were still, she cleaned the fluids from her blade and got to her feet again. She pulled the bones caged by thin skin away from her campsite, behind and a tree and out of sight, and she stretched her arms over her head to get her spine to pop as she walked around the perimeter of her campsite. It was warm, a beautiful spring afternoon, and she wished that she could strip out of her leather jacket and thick pants to feel the cool breeze against more than just her face. No point in taking risks though. Especially not on such a beautiful day. With the breeze sweeping through the trees and the soft blue sky above her, it was practically a perfect day.
"Maybe they would have found a way to bring him back, or maybe that would have cheapened his death. I'm still torn on my opinions when it comes to bringing back the dead." Her voice filled the air around her even though there was no one around to hear her, and she started to kick dirt into her fire to kill the flames as she hummed. "At least I still have my comics. No one ever really dies in those."
Her pack was behind the log she had been using as a bench, and it was mostly filled with essentials. The things that she needed to survive, but she did count the comics she had scrounged among her survival essentials. The world fell apart three years ago, and she had already ran across her share of people who couldn't cope with the chaos. Reading kept her distracted, brought her joy in this desolate world. What more could she ask for at this point? She had her machete, words and pictures of worlds where things always worked out in the end, and she still had herself. All in all, things could be worse.
As if brought on by the thought, the ground under her feet started to shake. Soft tremors that she felt through her thick boots that grew stronger until she had to drop low to keep from falling over, and her fingers dug into the hard dirt as she looked up at the sky. The blue was growing darker, and it felt like the air was becoming thicker. Sticking in her throat and clogging her lungs. Hot tears slipped from her burning eyes as she flattened herself against the quaking ground, and she pushed herself forward. Slid across dirt and grass as trees started to uproot, and she still had her machete clenched in her left hand. Her right hand clawed at the log to reach the other side, and she screamed as the ground under her started to break apart. She forced herself to her knees and dove over the side of the log, and her right arm snapped out.
The sky was dark, an endless inky black without the stars, as she pulled her pack against her chest. She was curled on her side, her pack clenched between her body and her machete, and everything was shaking now. The ground was splitting, awful cracking sounds like the snapping of teeth, and the air was shivering around her. The forest where she had made herself safe was collapsing. She could hear the groaning of the trees as they fell, and she pulled her knees up closer to her body. When the air became too thick for her to pull a breath in, she pressed her face against the rough material of her pack and closed her eyes. As the world crawled towards death, Mac drifted off to sleep.
Earth: 7085
Date: 27 April 2007
Perspective: Mac Rowe
It was a howl that caused her to wake. Her eyes opened to darkness, and she greedily sucked in clean air as she rolled onto her back. The ground under her felt different, harder than dirt, and the sky was a normal shade of darkness. She could see stars. Her pack was still in her arms, pressing painfully against her chest, and she could feel the familiar handle of her machete inside her cramping left hand. Somewhere in the distance, she heard more howls. Answering the first one? Years of survival instincts kicked in, and she hurriedly rolled to her knees and then pushed up to her feet. One strap of her pack went onto her shoulder, her machete switched hands, and she slipped the other strap onto her shoulder. As her hands fumbled with locking the thick strap across her chest, she looked around her but didn't see anything familiar. With the strap across her chest locked in, she carefully held the blade of her machete between her knees. She stretched out her left hand, willing the cramps to ease, and then went to work on tying the machete to her right wrist. She had to bend over and use her teeth to pull at the leather cords, but she kept her eyes up as she tied the strings tightly around her wrist. Not tight enough to cut off circulation or limit movement, but tight enough that if she dropped the machete then she wouldn't actually lose it. Once the machete cords were secure, she gripped the handle in her right hand and straightened up as she turned in a slow circle to take in her surroundings.
She most definitely wasn't in a forest anymore. There was pavement under her feet, hard solid concrete, and there were buildings. Tall, brick, old. No structures that she could readily identify, so not a place that she had been to recently. She'd been avoiding cities for the past few years, because getting surrounded was far too easy when all angles couldn't be seen. If she needed supplies, she found small towns. How'd she find her way into a city? Better question, how was she still alive? She could admit that she wasn't the smartest person alive, but she'd been sure that the world was actually ending that time. Not just a little zombie apocalypse, but the actual full destruction of the entire world. It had been like someone took the sun from the sky and had used it to blow up the world, because there'd been heat and suffocation.
Mac tipped her head back, saw the glittering stars overhead, and took in a slow breath. Pennies. It was faint, but the air smelled different. No fresh leaves or sap from the trees. No rotting flesh. Something metallic but soft. Laced through the air like it belonged there, was just part of the natural scent and not something that had been added. More howls, both closer and farther away. She tightened her hold on her machete, took comfort in the familiar grip and leather wrapped around her wrist as she dropped into a low stance to better defend from, and tried to look around her. The buildings obscured her view, and the only real light came from the moon overhead. There were shadows everywhere, too thick for her to see properly, and her mouth went dry as her heartrate kicked up. Something was out there, watching her from the shadows, and she locked her body in place as she waited.
Heat and pain ripped through her arm, flesh muscle bone, and she went down hard against the ground with a heavy weight on top of her chest. Her throat burned with a scream as she was dragged across the ground, quick jerks side to side, originating from whatever was clamped around her left bicep. She raised her right arm, and she was able to twist her body enough to swing the machete. She felt the blade connect, heard an agonized yelp against her ear, and then she could breathe again as the weight leapt from her chest. Her arm was throbbing in time with her heart, hot angry pulses that turned her stomach, but she still kipped up to her feet. She stayed low to the ground, machete held out in front of her with her body angled in a way to keep her injured arm a little behind, and she looked straight in front of her.
She saw the star first, shining white against the center of darkness, and she blinked against the dizziness she could feel. That star was classic, especially against the dark blue fabric, and she slowly looked upwards. Her eyes got stuck on the teeth at first, the very sharp teeth that still seemed to shine despite being stained with her blood, and her gaze was knocked away as the very sharp teeth parted with a snarl. That metallic scent was stronger in the air now, from the dripping blood caused by the deep cut her machete had made through light-colored fur. As her eyes darted across the creature, from the claw-tipped toes and past the luminescent blue eyes to the pointed ears, she had to admit to herself that she was standing in front of a werewolf. That she had just used her zombie-killing machete to cut a werewolf. Then her eyes dropped back to the star, now being slowly streaked with blood from the werewolf's damaged shoulder.
"Cap?"
The werewolf snarled again and prepared to charge, she could tell by the way he rocked on his feet to push himself forward, and she raised the machete directly in front of her. Before claws or teeth could tear into her again, the ground started to shake. Small tremors at first, shaking her boots and moving up her legs, and the werewolf froze mid-attack and looked upwards. She followed his gaze but could only see the same dark sky, but the werewolf was howling now. Loudly, desperately. Her hands covered her ears, the machete handle pressed painfully against her right ear but she didn't care because the sound was digging into her soul, and the air was getting thick. Too thick to breathe. She dropped to her knees and curled forwards, pressed her face tight against the trembling concrete, and screamed as another world tore itself apart.
Earth: 199963
Date: 27 April 1944
Perspective: Mac Rowe
At the end, she hadn't been able to hear herself screaming or the werewolf howling. Not over the sounds of the buildings collapsing or the world falling into itself. Now, she could hear her own hoarse screaming against the dirt. Dirt? She dropped her hands from her ears, without letting go of her machete, but she kept her eyes closed as her teeth locked to hold in sound. All around her, she could hear movement. Feet pounding the ground, the pop of gunfire, and it was like the community cleansing all over again. Were the zombies back? She forced herself to straighten up, to stop curling forwards, and she had to use the hand holding the machete to wipe at her face. Dirt and blood slipped from her skin, she must have cracked her face against the ground when the werewolf attacked her, and her eyes widened as she took in the scene around her. Her body was mostly hidden by a smoking piece of crumbled metal that somewhat vaguely resembled a motorcycle, and there was a large firefight going on somewhere nearby. She hoped the zombies were back. Zombies were preferable to werewolves. Not that it mattered. Either way, she needed to be prepared for whatever came her way next.
Her knees shook against the loose dirt, and her left arm was throbbing. That werewolf had bitten into her and given her a good shake like she was some kind of favorite chew toy, and she could feel the strain of ripped skin and torn muscles. That wasn't good. An injury like this would definitely slow her down. (It wouldn't kill her. She hadn't survived this long to get killed by an overgrown dog in a Captain America costume. Assuming she hadn't just imagined that last part.) As the gunfire got closer and louder, she ducked down behind the twisted metal and listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. In front of her current hiding place, she could see trees grouped together. She was in a forest, could smell flowers blooming and the acrid smell of burned metal. The footsteps were louder now, quick bursts of yelling, and bodies ran through the treeline. Mac pushed up to her feet as she raised her machete and got into position for another fight, and two people ran straight for her. The first thing she noticed was the star, shining bright white in the afternoon sun against the dark fabric, and she couldn't tell if the sound building in her throat was a laugh or a sob.
"Cap?"
The question slipped out again, completely without permission, but there was no answering snarl this time. Startling clear blue eyes widened and then quickly looked away, but Mac's gaze was stuck on the closest figure to her. She definitely recognized the outfit. Dark blue, thick material that looked like it would be coarse to the touch, and that bright white star. The blonde hair that swayed in the breeze made her think of wheat fields, and the sound she had been holding in slipped out. The laugh quickly transitioned into a sob, and she pressed the back of her right hand against her dry lips. The machete was too close to her face, she could clearly smell blood and fur, and those blue eyes were looking her over again as the two figures approached her at a slower pace.
"You were ordered to retreat." The sound came from the second figure, now separating from the form that she was locked on as if they were moving to flank her, and her boots dug against the ground as she tensed up.
"I think she's a civilian," the first figure said. Quietly. Like Mac was a startled animal that would spook at a too loud noise. "Ma'am? Can you tell me what happened?"
Mac hiccoughed a sob against her hand and slowly shook her head, because how could she explain what was happening? She'd been in a world mostly populated by zombies, and then that world had ended. Only for her to wake up in a world of darkness that apparently had werewolves roaming around freely, and then that world had ended. Now she was standing, somewhere, with someone who looked a lot like Captain America but was also most definitely Rebekah Mikaelson from The Vampire Diaries. (From The Originals, which was the show that Mac had preferred, but that was completely besides the point.) The blonde took a step closer, again like Mac was some kind of horse that would spook at a too-fast movement, and there was a quick dart of movement from Mac's other side like the second figure was prepared to step in front of the blonde. At the movement, Mac glanced over and finally took the second person in. Another woman, with short dark brown hair, that looked vaguely familiar.
"Don't know, Steph. Could be a trap," the brunette said quietly. She was dressed in loose clothes, dark greens, and sunlight glinted off the thin chain around her neck. A soldier. The outfit was all wrong though. Looked more like a soldier's costume from the '40s.
"Doesn't look like Hydra to me," the blonde responded after a moment. Behind them, in front of Mac, there was faint yelling. People coming closer. Hydra. "Quit giving me that look, Jamie. Look at her, she's hurt."
Steph. Hydra. Jamie. Okay, she could figure this out. Obviously, the person in the Captain America getup was Captain America, and Steph was generally short for Stephanie. There was only one brunette with a name like Jamie that would be running around with Captain America. Approaching her slowly, in the woods in the 1940s, were Stephanie Rogers and Jamie Barnes. That was the only thing that made sense, except that didn't make any sense at all! At the thought and approaching figures, Mac tensed even more and took a sliding step backwards. The movement jarred her arm, reminding her of the werewolf that had bitten through her arm. For the past three years, she'd been living in the woods and killing zombies. The world hadn't made sense in a long time, and it looked like the weirdness had just went up a notch. That was all.
"I don't know what's going on," Mac admitted slowly. Her voice sounded hoarse, from screaming and inhaling dying worlds, and two sets of eyes scrutinized her. Captain Steph smiled at her, a soft it's-going-to-be-okay smile, and a harsh sound scraped the back of Mac's throat. Because that? That had been a Captain America smile.
Before either of them could say anything else, several people spilled out of the treeline. Dark uniforms and raised weapons. Mac screamed and rushed forward, both hands held out despite the pain in her left arm, and whatever was fired at Cap hit her square in the chest. She went flying backwards as a sickly green light hit her in the chest, feet lifted from the ground, and something pulled in her center. She screamed again as it felt like her spine was being ripped out, and everything around her whited out. White with tinges of that awful green, and she was still flying. Moving through the air with no anchor. Lost. She thought she could hear gunfire, that quiet pop of sound that seemed to fade away, and she clenched her eyes shut as everything turned to darkness.
Earth: 61311
Date: 27 April 1944
Perspective: Mac Rowe
A twig snapped nearby, causing her eyes to fly open. Above her, she could see the green of leaves and the blue sky. There were low voices, muffled by the trees, and everything looked the same. Mac slowly sat up, senses straining as she tried to make sense of what had happened, because this looked like the same forest she had been in. (Didn't all forests look the same, after a while?) The only difference was that there was no twisted metal nearby, smoldering and ruined into somewhat decent cover, and there weren't any Hydra agents shooting at her. There were voices though, getting farther away as she staggered to her feet. She stumbled towards the voices, hopeful that she'd find something familiar. As she got closer, the voices became more distinct. Two, masculine, moving slowly through the trees. Too low for to tell if the voices were familiar, and then one of them laughed. Still quiet but loud enough for her to hear, now that she could actually see them, and one of them had a shield strapped to their back. Taller than Captain Steph had been, broader in the shoulders. She was still clenching her machete in her right fist, so she locked her teeth together and reached out with her damaged left arm. Almost touched the shield, until she realized that something wasn't right. There was no star.
"Cap?" The single word, even whispered, sounded horrified. Making the sound had been a mistake. Following the voices had been a mistake. As soon as the name left her lips, the man in front of her spun around and caught her by the throat.
Mac's left hand scrambled against the arm holding her effortlessly in the air, and her aching body was slammed back into a tree as a face filled her vision. Blue eyes, not all that dissimilar from the werewolf she'd faced earlier, blazed as he pressed in close and cut off her airway. Like Captain Steph, this wasn't a Captain America that she recognized. Most of his face was hidden by a dark cowl, but she'd know Channing Tatum anywhere. This evil Captain America wasn't the same one she'd watched in theaters and later during Marvel marathons, the face was wrong, and she desperately tried to pull in air. Her right fist tightened as she raised her machete, prepared to strike, but another hand caught her wrist. Squeezed and twisted until she lost her grip on the machete, but the leather cords kept her weapon from falling to the ground. The second man. Who? An evil Bucky?
"She came from behind us," the second man hissed. The voice was somewhat familiar, but her head was starting to swim from the lack of air.
"Who are you?" Instead of answering him, Mac looked pointedly down at the hand still wrapped around her throat. When she did, she saw the dark red symbol splashed across his too dark uniform.
She hadn't found Captain America. She'd managed to sneak up on Captain Hydra. The hand eased, enough for her to suck in a deep breath, and the tree she was pressed against started to shake. Both men looked away from her as everything started to shake, as the sky above them started to crack, and Mac started to laugh even as the hand tightened again. The man holding her wrist released her and took a step away, looking at the sky in confusion, and she would have said it was Zemo if the timeline of it all made sense. (Unless this wasn't the '40s again? Looked liked the '40s uniform, except for the Hydra bits.) She was pulled away from the tree, slammed into it again, and then allowed to take in some air as the evil Captain pushed in close to her face. She could feel his body pressing against hers, compressing her lungs and diaphragm while also trapping her legs to keep her from kicking out. He was getting ready to ask her something, but she didn't give him a chance. She pushed even closer and locked her teeth against flesh, right under the line of his cowl and into the soft give of his cheek, and she ripped away as she flipped her machete back up into her grip. As he yelled and yanked his face out of range of her teeth, she plunged the machete upwards. Under his ribs, up into his abdomen and twisted the long blade, and he tossed her through the air as the ground started to split apart.
The last thing Mac saw was the gaping bloody wound in his cheek, and she screamed as the air ignited around her airborne body.
Earth: 199936
Date: 27 April 1944
Perspective: Mac Rowe
Solid ground was underneath her again, soft dirt and thick grass, and she coughed as she turned her head to the side. She managed to rock up onto her right elbow before vomiting, blood and bile and maybe even bits of rabbit, and her body was shaking. Shock? Adrenaline? Pain? She couldn't tell. Her throat was burning, from screaming and that squeezing grip, and she sobbed into a clean patch of grass. Nothing was making sense. It kept happening, again and again and again. The world kept ending, and was this Hell? Had she fallen asleep, thinking she was safe, and had been killed? Had some zombie gotten her in the night? Maybe even another living person, killing her for her supplies and then making sure that she wouldn't come back? Was that why the world kept ending? Because she was actually dead? No, that couldn't be right. If Hell did exist, why would she be there? If Hell did exist, why torture her like this?
Mac crawled across the ground, crookedly because of the machete that she refused to let go of and the mess that had been made of her left arm, and she eventually stopped moving forward. Pushed up so that her spine was straight, knees pressed into the dirt and hands at her sides, and she looked up at the sky. Clear blue. Beautiful and perfect. How long before it started to fall? Would the ground break and crumble beneath her? Was the air going to become thin and like fire against her skin? She wanted, she needed, something. Felt a scream trapped in her throat, but her throat was too wrecked to release the sound. What was she supposed to do? Get up? Look for signs of life? So far, she'd been found by a werewolf and had reached out to the personification of evil. Maybe Captain Steph had been alright, but she had thrown herself in front of that version and been hurtled straight into another dying world. Was this world about to die?
Her thoughts were circling, fear starting to pump through her veins and causing her to shake violently enough to hurt, and there. Knees hit the dirt right in front of hers, putting that bright white star in her direct line of sight. (Beautiful white, nothing like that dark red stain on the werewolf's star or that red smear of pure evil on that black uniform.) Mac was starting to think of it as her lucky charm, that shining white star on a field of dark blue, and she thought she could hear voices but everything was sort of muted. Like there was cotton in her ears. That was okay. Because the star was still in front of her, close enough to touch. Her fingers reached out just as the star began to pull back, and she felt a burst of panic. A very strong burst, because her arm snapped out as her fingers grasped at whatever she could. Coarseness, stitched edges, warm metal. She latched onto the metal chain and pulled, and she looked up as he looked down. His eyes were wide, close enough for her to see the dark blue that matched his suit threaded through the lighter blues, and she unconsciously pulled on the chain around his neck to get him closer. This little bit of familiarity that she kept finding.
"Cap?" The name came out as a croak, her vocal cords had been shredded from screaming and bruised from being compressed, but he didn't try to pull away. She recognized him, now. Not just as Captain America, the suit gave that away, but she recognized his face. The same face that had been partially hidden by a cowl in the last world, that jawline was unmistakable, and how did Johnny Storm become Captain America?
"Steve, we can't stay here. We told the others we'd be right behind them," a second voice whispered slowly. She knew who she was going to see before she even looked from the corner of her eye. Not because of who was meant to be at Cap's side, but because she knew that voice. Finally, the right actor playing the right role.
"He's right," she forced out. She could hear distant yells, and she could smell burning metal. She just knew that if she looked to her right, she'd see the smoking remains of a motorcycle. This was just like with Captain Steph and Jamie; any moment now, Hydra was going to storm out of the treeline and start firing.
"We have to take her with us, Buck. She's injured," Cap said in the same quiet tone. Mac moved just her eyes to look over at Bucky, who was squatted down next to where Cap was kneeling, and his hands tightened around the rifle he was carrying. Bucky nodded, and Mac met Cap's eyes as he returned his full focus onto her. He didn't try to remove her grip from his dog tags, because that was what she was clutching, but his hands did raise up. She pulled back instinctively, groaning as her bruised throat was stretched and exposed, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as fingers gently touched the side of her throat. Could he tell that his fingers matched the forming bruises? He clearly recognized what the marks meant because his voice was a little stronger when he asked, "What happened to you?"
"Your evil twin tried to choke me out against a tree," she answered honestly. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead, she dropped her chin again and dragged her thumb across the bumps of the chain she was holding.
"Brain's scrambled," Bucky muttered. Mac barked out a harsh laugh, because he had no idea. Cap pulled back at the sudden sound but didn't make it far, because she still hadn't released his tags. He moved so suddenly that her machete swayed, still dangling from her wrist, and her left arm awkwardly reached out. Her fingers were bloody, she wasn't sure why or even whose blood it was, as she touched her fingers to Cap's cheek. Right where she had ripped a hole in the evil version of him. As she registered the warmth and slight scratch of a growing beard, her left arm throbbed where it was still gaping open from Captain Werewolf's teeth.
"I think I might hate you," she told Cap. His eyes widened in obvious surprise, and that was when she heard it. That combination that spelled the ending of whatever this was. Heavy footsteps, yells, guns cocking. Hydra. She pulled back enough to see both of them, the Bucky that she knew and the Cap that she couldn't seem to escape, and her body went tense in preparation. "On your left. Get ready. They're here."
She didn't really give them time to process the words before she lunged to her feet, and she forgot to unclench her right fist. There was resistance at first, as the chain pulled tight around Cap's throat, and then she stumbled forward as the pressure disappeared. The chain had snapped, and she kept her fist clenched as she put herself in front of the place where the two men were still low to the ground. Just like before, a line of black uniforms emerged from the treeline and immediately started firing. She could hear shots coming from behind her, carefully shooting around her, but she waited for the right moment. Waited for, that. One of the uniforms raised a larger gun and aimed at a point to her left, and she dove to the side as sickly green shot through the air. She was hit in the center of her chest again, thrown off her feet to sail through the air, and she found the energy to scream as she was pulled apart from the inside.
Earth: 1216
Date: 27 April 2023
Perspective: Mac Rowe
As brightly lit green drifted into darkening blue and the thick scent of burning metal gave way to purified air, Mac sucked in a breath and looked down. She promptly started screaming despite her strained vocal cords as she realized that she was falling straight down, out of the sky, and everything below her was candy-colored. A soft and bright world was getting ever closer, and she held onto her machete with both hands. The familiar handle caused the chain she was still holding to press painfully into the curve of her palm, and the sharp blade cut into her left palm even as fur tickled against her skin. She thought of blue eyes and shining stars as she fell, and she closed her eyes as she got closer to the end. As her body crashed through wood and plaster, she held on with everything she had and let herself go. At this point, the darkness of unconsciousness was a blessing.
"Please, no more zombies or werewolves or pretty soldiers from the past."
Perspective: Kenzie Rowe
Today had been grueling, and Kenzie propped her elbows on the kitchen counter and lifted up onto her toes to give her heels some relief as she stared longingly at the microwave. She could already smell the burritos cooking, and her stomach growled quietly as she waited for her dinner to finish cooking. This was her punishment for being fiscally responsible and only hiring one employee. Whenever Andrea called out sick, Kenzie was left alone in the bookstore. That wasn't a hardship, she loved the bookstore, but the people. With their questions and horrible taste. She'd also spent most of the day on her feet, both behind the checkout counter and helping people find the sections they were looking for despite all of the genres being very clearly labeled. Honestly, sometimes she got the urge to just – ding!
"Finally," she groaned and dropped onto her heels. Her feet throbbed as she shuffled over to the microwave, and she poked one finger against the center of a burrito. Burning hot. The next two got the same treatment, checking for cold spots, and she smiled as she realized they were cooked all the way through. Something was starting to go right. She snagged a bottle of powergrade from the fridge and carried everything into the living room, and she let out a sigh after collapsing onto her couch.
As she wiggled into a more comfortable position, she flipped on the television. She kept her drink within reach on a close-by table, propped her feet up on a different table, and settled a pillow in her lap to balance her plated burritos on. She flipped quickly through a couple of screens and titles, because she knew exactly what she wanted to watch. The right letters finally popped up, and she pressed play immediately. She blew on the burritos as the opening credits started, and she could literally feel the stress of the day already starting to melt away. By the time Skarsgard came on screen, she was happily munching halfway through a burrito and still trying to mouth along to the dialogue. Yeah, there was nothing like watching Thor after a long day.
Once her dinner was demolished, she waited a bit before getting up. She didn't grab her bare plate or empty bottle until Loki started to confront Odin about his true parentage; as soon as the speech started, she gathered everything up and hurried out of the living room. Hiddleston could make her cry on a good day, and it had not been a good day. So while his incredible performance played out, she fixed herself up a giant mug of hot chocolate. She even used her Hulk mug, the biggest one she had that showed Hulk's grinning face on the front, and tossed in some extra marshmallows because she deserved them. She was still in the kitchen, stirring her hot chocolate, when she heard the crash. Felt like her entire house shook with the sound, and she rushed out of the kitchen while still holding her mug. Hot chocolate splashed onto the tiles in her hurry and then dripped onto the carpet of her living room as she froze in shock, because there was something on the floor behind the couch.
"What the—" She trailed off as she looked up, and she was still surprised to see the giant hole in the ceiling. Whatever was on the floor had crashed through the roof, her second floor office, and then landed on her living room floor. She could see the darkening evening sky, through the hole in her house, and she took a step forward while looking down again. Whatever it was, it was buried under the ruins of her roof and office.
She was at the edge of the debris when she heard the sound, a low groaning, and had some kind of animal crashed through her house? The debris shifted, slipped and slid and pulsed, and a figure emerged from the wreckage. Plaster dust didn't manage to completely conceal the dark red hair, or the alarming amount of blood that she could see across the person's upper body. Looked like a woman, possibly, under all the blood on their face. Kenzie could only see the person from the waist up, the rest of the body was still buried in rubble, and they shook their shoulders to dislodge the clinging bits of house. Then they looked up, eyes locked with hers, and Kenzie's shock at the situation kicked right into fear. Because she was looking at her own face, topped with the wrong hair color and covered in way too much blood, but that was definitely her face. The soft curve of her chin, the rounded button of her nose, and she thought she could even see the familiar arch of her eyebrow under the blood.
"What—who—" The person started to speak, the person with her face started to speak, and Kenzie screamed as she wound up. She didn't realize that she was throwing her mug until it was flying through the air, and she winced at the sound of solid ceramic connecting with bone. The woman looked stunned as the mug dropped into her lap, and then her eyes rolled back before she fell backwards. Into the rubble. Knocked out cold by Kenzie's Hulk mug.
"What the fuck?" she whispered as she crept closer. The woman was breathing but unmoving, and Kenzie jumped at the knock on her front door. Jumped and would have screamed if she hadn't nearly bitten through her tongue, and she narrowed her eyes down at the unconscious doppelganger on her living room floor. She really hoped the woman wasn't faking the unconsciousness; there was a new trickle of blood coming from her right temple, where the mug had connected, but the woman had woken up after crashing through Kenzie's house. She wasn't going to trust that a ceramic mug could keep her down. The knocking at the front door was starting to become insistent though, and she cursed under her breath as she turned her back on the living room.
Thankfully, her front door was down a short hallway and far enough away that someone standing outside couldn't really see into her house. Wouldn't be able to see the mess in her living room, or the woman that had her face lying unconscious in her living room. She paused at the door and pulled in a slow breath, carefully blanked her features and then pasted on her usual smile, and her hand was actually steady as she reached to unlock the door. The knocking had started again as she pulled the door open, even though whoever was on the other side had to have heard her unlocking the door, and her smile tightened at the edges as she casually opened the door. It was absolutely no surprise that it was Patrick standing on her doorstep, he was nosier than everyone else on her block put together, and he kept his hand raised like he was going to knock on the empty air.
"Mackenzie! We heard an awful sound, and I told Tanya that I just had to make sure you were okay," Patrick said in a rush. Even as he was talking, he rocked up onto his toes like if he looked over the top of her head he'd be able to see into the house. Fat chance of that, the absolute fucking idiot. He'd been in her house before, unfortunately for a dinner party she'd somehow been coerced into hosting, so he knew the layout. When he realized that he couldn't see anything amiss, he returned his gaze to hers and pulled his expression into something that looked almost comically concerned. "So, are you? Okay?"
"Yeah! Perfectly fine, as you can see," she said and waved a hand over herself. Despite the current insanity inside her home, she looked perfectly fine. She was even wearing loose pajama pants and an oversized tee shirt, her socked feet twitched as Patrick looked her over, and she smiled again as he looked at her.
"What was that sound?" He could barely conceal his curiosity with the concerned tone, and she wished that she was still holding her Hulk mug. She could use it to smash in the line of his teeth as he bit his bottom lip. Probably trying to stop himself from asking another question and seeming too eager for some new gossip.
"I was just, uh, rearranging my office. Had a little accident. It's no big deal," she said and waved her arm around. Really? Rearranging furniture? Wait, actually, she could maybe work with that. It definitely sounded more realistic than the truth, which was that her clone had crashed through her home and was now possibly in a coma on her living room floor. She just put in new carpet last summer.
"Really? Because it sounded like it. Like a big deal. It was very loud," Patrick said and leaned closer towards her. One kick, in just the right place with the right amount of pressure, would get his knee to bend the wrong way. Bet he wouldn't try to lean into her space if he had backwards knees.
"I'm sorry if the noise bothered you. I won't be doing anything else tonight, or without some professionals," she said as lightly as possible. Even threw in a quick laugh that sounded self-conscious, possibly self-deprecating, and she went completely still as Patrick placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You know, if you ever need anything, me and Tanya are right next door," he said as he invaded her personal space. She could grab his wrist, one sharp twist should do some damage, and then she could yank him in for a headbutt that would break his nose. The ensuing headache would be worth it.
"I know, but everything really is okay," she reassured and patted his hand. Curl her nails in and dig until she found blood, and she could leave him scarred. Let everyone know that he'd touched someone without explicit permission. Luckily for him, he pulled his hand back before she could give into her baser instincts. He sighed a little as he pulled back out of her space, quietly like he was trying to hide his obvious disappointment, and then he smiled brightly at her. He'd had his teeth bleached again recently.
"Well, you know where we are if you need us," he said and hooked his thumb in the direction of his house. If she pressed her thumb at the base of his and pushed his hand up at an angle, there was a good chance that she could use his own thumb to gouge out his eye. She laughed at the joke like it wasn't something she'd heard a hundred times before, and they said their goodbyes. Patrick still took his sweet time crossing from her yard to his, he even stopped to fully turn around and wave to her, and she could taste blood as she bit the inside of her cheek and waved back. Once he was back inside his own home, she hurriedly closed her front door and locked it before slumping against the solid wood face first.
"Holy shitting fuck. What am I supposed to do?" she thought as she pressed her forehead against the door. When the answer didn't magically come to her, she pushed off from the door and turned around. Calling for help was out of the question, until she figured who was in her home. (Until she found out what was in her home. She knew for a fact that she didn't have a twin, so what was that thing? Doppelganger? Clone? Since when was she in some tv drama?)
Kenzie was still muttering under her breath about vampires and bloodlines and weird science as she walked back into the living room. The pile of rubble was still there, but the solid lump had moved and let the debris scatter across more of her floor. Kenzie slowly looked up, sounded like her neck was creaking from how tense she was as she slowly looked to the side, and the woman was leaning against the back of her couch. Probably getting plaster and shingles and blood all over the pale pink fabric. Her face was still covered in blood, darkly dried and brightly slick, and Kenzie could see more of her now. The black leather jacket that was ripped in several places, gaping, and looking at her was so bizarre. It was like seeing a version of herself from Mad Max or possibly The Walking Dead. Her white shirt showed blood and ripped skin, and her thick jeans were tucked into thick leather boots coated in dirt. Next to her knee, dangling from a strap around her wrist, there was a bloodied machete. Okay, yeah, she was leaning towards The Walking Dead. Zombie shows didn't have clones though.
"We need to talk." The voice was like hers but different, rough, and she reached up with her right hand to massage the front of her throat. It raised the machete higher, causing Kenzie's living room lights to glint off the messy blade, and she could only use two fingers to press against her throat because she was holding something else in her fist.
"Yeah, no shit," slipped out as Kenzie looked the woman over. There was so much blood. It couldn't all be hers, or she'd be dead. She should be dead anyway, after crashing through the house.
"First, why does your house look like an Easter egg?" When the woman turned to look at Kenzie's pale pink walls, she could see the dark bruises that ringed the woman's throat. Like she'd been strangled. When the woman shifted more of her weight against the couch, Kenzie realized that her left arm was hanging almost uselessly by her side. Made sense, going by the rips in the leather jacket that she could see.
"You want to discuss my décor?" Kenzie liked her house, with its soft colors, and she didn't need her bizarro-twin judging her home. The woman smiled, and it actually looked genuine. Kenzie was good at reading people, knew when they were lying or faking, and that was an actual honest smile. Who the fuck was this woman? "I want to know who you are, and why you're here."
"My name is Mac, and I don't know why I'm here. Don't know how I got here. What I want to know is, have you run into any fictional characters lately?" The woman's voice was so rough, low and hoarse, and Kenzie's eyes snapped to the tv. The movie was still playing, and the woman looked over her shoulder. She seemed to freeze for a moment, staring at the screen as Thor confronted Loki on the Bifrost, and she looked utterly confused as she turned to look at Kenzie again.
"Why is the Viking vampire dressed up like Thor?" There was another question that Kenzie hadn't been expecting, and she could feel frustration starting to curl in her fists as her confusion increased.
"His name is Alexander Skarsgard, and he isn't dressed up like Thor. He is Thor." Why were they discussing this? She needed to know who this woman was. More importantly, she needed to know how to make the woman leave. Not just the house, but existence.
"No, that's not right. Chris Hemsworth is Thor." The woman groaned and slumped against the couch, and she raised her right arm to press her hand and whatever was clenched inside of it over the front of her face. It was something that Kenzie did whenever she was trying to work through a very difficult situation. "It's like seeing Johnny Storm as Cap. It isn't right. Like the wires got crossed. Just like with the werewolves and Hydra Cap. Different versions."
"The hell're you going on about?" she finally decided to ask. The woman's arm dropped, her bloody machete bounced against the back of the couch, and Kenzie took a single step forward as the woman leaned forward.
"What's your name?" the woman asked.
"Kenzie," she answered automatically. She never went by her full name, and she wasn't going to give her full name to this stranger (with her face). The woman's eyes widened, Kenzie's look of dawning realization, and Kenzie took another step closer as the woman took her weight and stood up fully.
"Mac." The woman pointed to herself with her closed fist and then twisted her wrist to point her fist in her direction as she continued, "Kenzie. Get it? Mac. Kenzie. Mackenzie. Different versions."
"I was wrong, I should have called the police," she muttered even as she took another step closer. The woman shuffled forward, smaller steps because of her injured state, and Kenzie took the next step that put them in reaching range. Close enough to touch now. When the woman straightened her spine, they were the exact same height.
"I don't know how to explain it. It was a normal day, and then the world ended. The world ended, and I woke up. It kept happening, but it hasn't happened here. Not yet," the woman said and looked up. Kenzie wasn't going to use the woman's name, because that was insane. Under the rips of leather, she could see torn skin. Possibly a flash of muscle in the exposed air. The woman was looking through the hole in Kenzie's house, up at the sky.
"How are you still alive?" Kenzie asked. Between the blood and the crash landing, the woman should be dead. Dead or in critical condition, but she was standing. Close enough to touch. The woman looked back down, and their eyes met.
"I don't know. Between the werewolf and Hydra and evil Captain America, I should probably be dead. I felt worlds die, but I'm still here," the woman said slowly. She looked down at her hands, coated in blood, but didn't unclench her right fist. Whatever she was holding, it must be important. She looked up after a moment, and Kenzie realized that she had taken another step closer while the woman was looking away. She was close enough to see the woman's eyes now. The same shade of hazel, same green-to-brown ratio, light green on the outside and light brown ringed around the pupils. Eyes were supposed to be the window to the soul. "You don't believe me at all, do you?"
"You're talking about werewolves and comic book characters," Kenzie pointed out. She could see something in the woman's eyes, something that she recognized in her own gaze in reflections and something else entirely. Could see the woman's soul as they each took one more step towards each other. If either of them moved forward again, they'd step on toes.
"Yeah, but your name is Mackenzie." Kenzie's jaw tightened, because she hated when people said her full name. Full names were for government officials and scoldings. "I hate it too, I've always just been Mac, unless I was in trouble. Your name is Mackenzie Elise Rowe."
"You can't know that," Kenzie rushed out. No one knew her middle name! She didn't even know her middle name until she was about eight.
"Your parents were Hank and Laurel Rowe. Died five years ago, killed by a drunk driver," the woman said slowly. Grief. Kenzie could easily recognize the grief in the woman's eyes.
"You are not suggesting that we are the same person," Kenzie said after taking a moment to compose herself. The woman had a stubborn tilt to her chin, Kenzie's stubborn tilt to her chin, and her heart was starting to beat a furious pace in her throat.
"I just saw four different versions of Captain America. I'm going with the multiverse theory at this point, which means we are not the same person. We're alternate selves." The woman was talking faster now, excited as her thoughts coalesced, and Kenzie was good at reading people but not this good. She only knew herself this well. "How much do you think is the same? We have the same name, the same parents, and the same physical appearance. Except for the, you know, blondeness."
Kenzie reached up to tug at the end of her hair as the woman rolled her left wrist, indicating Kenzie's admittedly dyed blonde hair, but she'd gotten the permanent dye! This color was as good as being the color she was born with for how much she had spent on making sure that it would never fade, and the woman really shouldn't be moving her left arm at all. Even the simple motion of rolling her wrist caused fresh blood to ooze out of the rips in her sleeve, and Kenzie's eyes narrowed at the fresh blood dripping onto her carpet. The woman, however, didn't seem to care about Kenzie's mounting anger. At the ruination of her home and at the extremely odd situation.
"Did you have a Nana Rowe? Inherit the flower shop from her?" Before Kenzie could answer, that Nana Rowe had decided on a bookstore instead of a flower shop, the woman continued speaking. "I'm guessing your world didn't have a zombie apocalypse, because your house looks normal enough except for the colors and you talked to a neighbor outside like there was nothing to worry about. What about Emmett? Is he—"
Kenzie reacted without thinking. She didn't give the woman a chance to ask her question, she just struck out. Her fist landed squarely against the skin that was already darkening with a bruise from her thrown mug earlier, and she saw the woman's eyes widen before rolling up. She dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, just completely crumbled, and Kenzie hurriedly knelt down at her side. The woman was still breathing, a quiet whistling sound came from her nose, but she was out cold again. Kenzie shouldn't have hit her, despite the situation, because it was very likely that the woman already had a concussion. Being knocked out again couldn't be good for her. Shit! Now she was feeling guilty for hitting the person who basically broke into her home, through the roof, and who had been talking like a crazy person. So they had the exact same name, exact same face. Both had a Nana Rowe, who had mentioned a time or two that she had considered opening a flower shop before deciding on the bookstore. All of that was true, but the rest? Comic characters and zombie apocalypses? (It looked like her Walking Dead theory hadn't been too far off the mark after all.)
After she was sure the woman was alive and definitely unconscious, she dropped down to sit on her ass at the woman's side. Looking at the woman's twisted state made her own body hurt, and she reached out to carefully rearrange her. Straightened her legs out of their bent positions. Fixed her left arm so that it wouldn't bleed directly onto her floor. Realized the machete was attached to her right wrist with leather cords, and the woman's hand had finally opened. She looked at the woman's face, didn't see any flickers of movement, and then reached down. Her fingers touched against warm metal, a string of small bumps, and she eased the chain of a necklace out of the woman's slightly opened fist. At the end of the chain, there were a pair of tags. Like a soldier would wear. She brought the tags closer, and she could just make out the name under the blood that had crusted against the metal. Steven G Rogers
As she sat next to her unconscious and possibly comatose double while holding what could be a fictional character's dog tags or some kind of fanmade necklace bought off the internet, Kenzie could only think of one thing to say. A quiet and heartfelt, "Fuck."
Ending Note From Raith: Dun-dun-dun! The conversation will continue as soon as Mac is conscious again, and I hope you enjoyed reading the beginning of the story! After this, I'm going to talk a lot about the different "Earth" universes and little references. If you're not interested in the behind the scenes stuff, you don't have to read. If you have any questions about anything, I love talking about my stories and fandoms. Leave a review, send me a message on here, or message me on tumblr: raith-way
Earth-1203 is a universe that I created, and it's not listed in the Marvel Earths. (Because I have control issues and looked through all of the Marvel Earths to make sure that I didn't accidentally steal a fictional universe.) This is Mac's universe, which is nearly identical to ours. Up until 2020, when the zombie apocalypse happened. Marvel comics and the MCU both existed in this universe, which is why Mac talked to a zombie about Tony Stark and Robert Downey Jr.
Earth-7085 is a universe that belongs to Marvel. It's an alternate universe to the Marvel Zombies universe (Earth-2149); instead of everyone in the world becoming zombies, everyone became werewolves. Fun fact, I chose the year 2007 because that's the year that the universe was first mentioned. There also isn't much written about it, so I made it an Earth with perpetual darkness.
Earth-199963 is a universe that I created, and it mirrors the MCU (Earth-199999). The only difference, as you can probably guess, is that the universe has the genders of comic characters swapped. In this universe, there is full gender equality. Which means that in the 1940s, men and women were both on the frontlines of war without bias. So, Captain Stephanie Rogers. Mac refers to her as Rebekah Mikaelson, who is a character in the shows The Vampire Diaries and The Originals. The actress is Claire Holt, and that's who Mac recognized. As for Jamie, Mac recognized the actress but couldn't remember the name or what she'd seen her in.
Earth-61311 is a universe that belongs to Marvel. To keep it short, it's the universe where Captain America is loyal to Hydra and has been since childhood. If you want to know all about Hydra Cap, check out Earth-61311. The story is actually interesting, but I hate the idea of an evil Steve Rogers. Just feels wrong. The most important thing to note from this universe is that Mac mentions that he doesn't look anything like the actor Channing Tatum. In Mac's original universe, Channing Tatum played the role of Captain America/Steve Rogers instead of Chris Evans in the MCU.
Earth-199936 is a universe that I created, and it mirrors the MCU (Earth-199999). The differences between this MCU and ours is unknown. The differences between this MCU and Mac's MCU is that Captain America/Steve Rogers is played by Chris Evans. In her universe, the role was played by Channing Tatum. Mac recognizes him as Chris Evans, from his role of Johnny Storm from the Fantastic Four movie of her universe. Something that remains unchanged is that Sebastian Stan played the role of Bucky Barnes in this universe and in Mac's universe.
Earth-1216 is a universe that I created, and I can't list out all of the differences because of spoilers. I can say that this universe also has Marvel comics as well as the MCU, with one noted difference so far. In Kenzie's universe, the role of Thor is played by Alexander Skarsgard instead of Chris Hemsworth. (In Mac's universe, Thor is played by Chris Hemsworth.) Mac recognizes Alexander Skarsgard as an actor from her universe, that played the role of Eric Northman on the show True Blood. In that show, he plays a vampire from the Viking age. That's where Mac's reference comes from. Also in Kenzie's universe, the role of Loki is played by Tom Hiddleston. It's unknown if the same actor plays Loki in Mac's home universe. Kenzie also mentions The Walking Dead and Mad Max, which are unchanged from our universe.
Not every chapter will be this complicated or have this many little explanations. If there are any questions though, I'd be happy to answer them! Thank you for reading!