The Hammer

Nick Fury was a burly, though understanding man. He had a sarcastic smile and the ability to put most renaissance artists to shame when he picked up his hammer. He was a blacksmith, an honest worker, and his rough hands held all the skill in the world as he crafted new things. The people in town treated him with begrudged respect and he was mostly left alone as he and his family walked through the town.

A man named Alexander Pierce was the only person that refused to give him the respect he'd earned. Pierce was a known criminal, but he was white and so didn't have to work too hard to get what he wanted.

One day, after Nick left the Pierce estate, Alexander decided he didn't like the way Nick had sneered when he'd refused to pay him. Everyone knew not to cross Pierce, none had ever been brave enough to do so, but Nick was angry and now Pierce was out for blood.

He went straight to the sheriff, a cowardly man but loyal, and told him he'd seen Nick sneaking some of Pierce's good silverware into his pocket before he left. The sheriff gathered a posse and headed straight for Nick's home, tearing it apart in an attempt to find the missing silverware. They didn't find it, of course, but the accusation lingered all the same.

The sheriff told Nick that he and his family could leave town voluntarily or be driven out. Nick ignored the warning, continuing his work until he came home one night to find his wife and daughter missing. He searched through the town and found them hanging from a tree near dusk. Nick wasn't a violent man by nature, but seeing his family suspended on the limb sent him into a rage.

He took up his blacksmith's hammer and marched straight to Pierce's home, bludgeoning him and the sheriff into bloody messes. The staff ran off, some for safety and others to gather a few men in town and tell them what happened. Nick didn't get far before the group caught up with him, three of them holding him down while the others drove railroad spikes through his body before cutting off his right hand. As a last measure of frontier justice, they strapped his precious hammer to the bloodied stump.

It took Nick Fury three days to fully bleed out, but his rage never dimmed.

The House

Bucky didn't know what he was expecting when his distant uncle gifted him a house, but it certainly isn't the glass and iron monstrosity looming out of the fog. Bucky puts his car into park, then he and Darcy are leaning over the dash to get a better look, headlights reflecting off the glass and highlighting white words etched into the panes.

"Holy shit," Steve shouts. Bucky can feel Clint's chin on his shoulder as he and Steve scoot up, the soft warmth of his breath on Bucky's cheek. God, I really need to get laid.

"Stevie, don't curse," Bucky admonishes without any real warning behind his words.

"Who's that dude?" He follows Steve's finger and spots a man near the house, his orange jumpsuit practically glowing. Bucky's first thought is that the man escaped from some prison or another and wants to butcher them, then he spots the hardhat and his imagination shifts more towards an electrician that wants to butcher them. Bucky has probably watched one too many horror movies this year.

"Let's go find out."

"What if he's here to butcher us," Darcy asks.

"That's ridiculous, Darcy." He makes a mental note to ban any movie over a PG rating for the next month. The scariest thing his kids will be allowed to watch is that Scooby-Doo movie with the zombies. "Come on, let's find out what's going on." The kids are out of the car before Bucky can get his seatbelt undone and Clint is right behind them, every bit a child at heart.

Rumlow clears his throat as they head up a slope toward the house, getting the attention of the Jumpsuit. The man turns, the beam of his flashlight focused directly in Rumlow's eyes without the slightest bit of sympathy. Jumpsuit actually seems amused at the way Rumlow brings his hand up to shield his eyes.

"About time you all showed up," Jumpsuit says. "This place belong to you?" Rumlow shoves the flashlight away with an irritated noise.

"Who the hell are you?"

"The power guy." Jumpsuit uses the flashlight to highlight a plastic name tag clipped to a breast pocket, Rumlow reaching out to grab it only to have Jumpsuit smack his hand away with the flashlight. Bucky's pretty sure Jumpsuit could do some damage with that thing. "No touching."

"Why are you here?" Rumlow isn't very good at acting pleasant with strangers, his tone drips contempt and Bucky wants to kick at his ankle. He resists the urge, his gaze switching between the adults and the way his kids have their noses pressed against the glass panes closer to the ground. They're gonna need a lot of Windex to keep this place clean.

"I'm here because whoever wired this place was an idiot. This McMansion is knocking out the power of the whole tri-quad area." Jumpsuit's dark hair pokes out from under the hardhat, reflecting lighter brown highlights in the moonlight. "I need to get inside and check the breakers."

"Then come back tomorrow."

"Sure, I can come back tomorrow with about a thousand people in town who are missing the new episode of Kitchen Disasters. I'm sure they'll be happy to talk to you as long as you don't mind them going to town on your fancy car with a few bats." The flashlight is aimed at Rumlow's face again and he's seemed to have learned his lesson about smacking it away.

"I'm insured."

"Shut up, Rumlow," Darcy says, kicking at his ankle. Apparently she inherited more than just her nose from Bucky. He's so proud. "I'm sure it'll be okay if he looks at the breaker box."

"Kid's got better manners than you do," Jumpsuit says.

"The kid has a name. I'm Darcy." She doesn't hold out her hand to shake for which Bucky is grateful. He doesn't like the thought of her shaking hands with strange people in the woods.

"I'm Anthony." He nods at Rumlow, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Darcy. "Is this guy always an asshole or am I just lucky?" Darcy's returning smile is full-on scathing and Bucky's surprised when the lawyer doesn't go up in smoke.

"I'm pretty sure he was born that way." Bucky clears his throat pointedly and all eyes turn to him. He doesn't shrink away from the sudden attention, used to it from lecturing all day to bored college kids. At least no one here is stoned or drinking a Nos-laced cup of coffee. "What? You always tell me to be friendlier."

"I was thinking we could continue with the friendliness inside," Bucky says, holding up the key. He's had it in his coat pocket for the entire drive, so the metal is warm between his fingers. "Then you can make fun of Rumlow and our new friend here can check the breaker box." There are no arguments, his family and the two spares gathering behind him as he heads up to the front door.

Just like the rest of the house, the doors are glass with writing etched into them, a diamond-shaped lock holding them closed at an angle. The lock itself is made of steel, a gold circle inlaid at each corner and a larger one around the lock, each with strange symbols etched into the gold. Bucky slides the key into the lock and turns it, letting out a gasp of surprise when it slides out of his grasp.

"Dad, you broke it," Steve whines. Bucky barely hears him, too focused on the sound of mechanisms coming to life, the four circles in the lock's corners turning clockwise. The lights flicker on inside, showing off the furniture Bucky intends to sell the first chance he gets. "Wow, you can see right through it!"

"What, you guys couldn't afford any walls," Tony asks sarcastically.

"Guess Uncle Obie wasn't too keen on privacy," Bucky adds, with a sideways glance in Rumlow's direction. With a whirring click the two glass doors in front of them part, allowing the group inside the initial entryway. It's more like an airlock than anything, a place to wipe your feet before entering the main house. Rumlow closes the doors behind them, triggering the front doors to hiss open and allow everyone inside.

The room beyond the doors is nearly the size of their apartment, the floor designed to look like dark metal with little squares of glass arranged into arrowheads every few feet. There are antiques—manuscripts, swords, old telescopes—showcased on podiums, everything reflected in the glass walls.

"It's like a funhouse," Steve says, gazing around in wonder. Even Clint, normally stoic and deadpan, lights up at all the things to be seen. If this is just the living room, Bucky wonders what Obie might have stored down in the basement. With that thought in mind, Bucky wanders over to a wall and runs his hand over it.

"It's Latin." Clint wanders over to him, slipping his arm through Bucky's. Despite being stoic, he's incredibly tactile. He blames it on Steve's constant need to be hugged.

"Just so we're all clear," Clint says, loud enough for the whole house to hear him. "I don't clean windows." Bucky snorts and looks over at him, taking in the gentle slope of his nose and the curve of his lips.

"Do you clean anything? I think we're keeping you on at this point just to have an extra adult in case of an emergency."

"I don't deal with emergencies either." He winks and walks away, Rumlow and Bucky eyeing the way his hips sway. Bucky feels a flush of shame and glances away quickly, following after Steve instead of his nanny. The wheels of Steve's scooter make soft sounds as they glide over the floor, Steve steering one-handed while holding his tape recorder. Bucky pauses beside a glass case, taking in manuscripts that must be at least a hundred years old, one of them made up of papyrus.

"What an incredible wealth of knowledge," Bucky sighs. He bets a museum would pay top dollar for some of this.

"Oh, cool," Steve says. "A Samurai sword!"

"Don't even think about it, mister. Put it down." There's a faint thump and then the sound of Steve scootering away to find mischief. Much like Clint had earlier, Darcy comes over to Bucky and taps his shoulder to get him away from an old octant plated with gold. He thinks everything in this house had been bought because it was shiny.

"This stuff must be worth a fortune," Darcy says, whispering so that Rumlow doesn't overhear.

"I was just thinking the same thing." The next room they wander into is perfectly square with the floor painted a rustic red with golden shapes. Set in the center of the floor are fifteen gold-plated circles that get increasingly smaller towards the center, little symbols etched into them with painstaking precision.

"It's like a cathedral."

"Anyone who so much as throws a stuffed animal in this house is going to be disowned."

"It really is beautiful, isn't it," Rumlow asks, gazing around in reverence. It's like he's seeing a castle instead of a glass house, dark eyes practically glowing. Maybe that's why Obie hired Rumlow, he seems to like shiny things. Tony, on the other hand, seems entirely nonplussed as he sidles up next to Rumlow.

"You wanna show me where the basement is hidden, so I can get the hell out of here?"

"Down the hall, two doors on the right." Tony sweeps out of the room, Rumlow's distasteful glare trying to burn holes in the back of his head. Bucky's a petty man that gets offended easily, but Rumlow seems to type to judge people by how they dress. Bucky kind of wants to break his nose. Instead of doing that, he scoops his son up before Steve can step on the middle circle that's spinning slowly on the floor.

"Don't touch anything, Stevie," Bucky says, stern. He drops Steve near the edge of the room and pats his head until he's smiling again. Bucky can't stand the thought of his kids not being happy, not after what they've all gone through. "Once we get some property insurance, it's fair game."

"Bucky, we've got some papers to sign in the library. After that, I'd be happy to show you and your family the rest of the house."

"That sounds great." Bucky turns back to the other three, giving them all pointed looks that warn of consequences. "I want you three to stay in this spot, understand? No moving."

"You're being paranoid and overprotective," Darcy says.

"Yeah, of all this stuff. I know you guys too well. You stay right here until I get back or you're all grounded." He follows Rumlow out into the hall and turns in time to spot Darcy and Clint attempting to leave the room, too. "Ah! Stay!" He'll feel bad about treating them like puppies later, right now he's more worried about them breaking something that he can sell on eBay.

"Bucky," Rumlow starts.

"Yeah, I'm coming."


Tony is starting to regret all his life choices as he starts down the basement stairs, the chilled air making goosebumps spread over his arms even through the jumpsuit. When he shuts the door behind him, the only sounds are the slapping of shoes on the steps and a faint rustling in the darkness, illuminated only by the shaky beam of his flashlight. As he reaches ground level Tony can hear a low, angry muttering in all directions that makes him feel like he's surrounded.

"Oh my God," he breathes out, recognizing the familiar cubes. "This is so not gonna end well for me." He knows what Obie keeps trapped in these cages like feral animals, angry spirits with nothing but murder on their minds. Angry in life and angry in death, he thinks. What the hell had Obie been thinking? "Where'd you hide your money, old man?"

Tony makes it past the first two cubes with only a faint throbbing in his temples, but then he's lurching forward in front of the Pilgrimess' cell, clutching at his head in pain. He'd like to say the ghost causes visions of sugarcanes to dance in his head, but it's more like blood staining a straight razor.

"Goddammit." He makes it another few feet before the assault comes again, stumbling under the force and distantly aware of his hardhat tumbling to the floor. He rushes over to the cubes, taking in the signs etched into the glass with nothing short of panic. They all have heavy cords plugged into them that remind Tony of snakes in tall grass, the coils leading up to the ceiling and then farther down the hall.

Tony jerks violently, one of his hands shooting up to cover his face before his legs give out. He can see all of them, each unhinged spirit pacing their cage and aching for violence. The blue-toned visions show each of their faces; railroad spikes driven deep into a skull, bloody gashes bisecting a gorgeous face, angry burns that never got the chance to heal.

He pulls on the spectral viewers, able to see the ghosts in full technicolor, all together like some kind of grisly family reunion. The cubes run the length of the short hall, six on either side, with each ghost glaring over at him like he's the reason they're stuck here. He supposes it is partly his fault, he'd helped Obie find them after all.

"Screw this," he gasps, forcing himself back to his feet.


The library is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, books lining the shelves against three walls while other knickknacks have been arranged on low pedestals. Bucky runs his fingers along the barrel of an old-fashioned rifle, no sign of corrosion to be found on the metal scope attached to it.

"Was Obie a hunter?"

"Of a kind," Rumlow nods. "Your uncle was quite the collector." Bucky takes this to mean that his uncle was a hoarder. Gazing around at all the things stuffed in this room alone, he pegs Obie as a magpie. "I've marked where you're supposed to sign." Rumlow sets the papers out on a long table, colorful tabs stuck to them.

"That's great, but…." Bucky sighs as exhaustion weighs on him, shrugging off his jacket and setting it on the back of a chair. "This place is beyond amazing, but I'm just a history professor. I mean, the taxes alone—"

"Bucky, you don't need to worry. Obie was a genius when it came to finances. Basically, you and your family don't ever have to worry about money again." Bucky doesn't like the way Rumlow said that, the dark undertone that colored the words. It's like he doesn't expect Bucky to make it out of here alive. "All you have to do is sign."

Bucky's got the pen in hand when Tony comes sliding into the room, the soles of his shoes leaving a black streak on the glass floor. He looks horrified, his eyes wide and his cheeks drained of color as he bends over in an attempt to get his breath back.

"Don't sign shit," he says, breathless. "Don't— Jesus, I need to start working out again." It's another minute before Tony can straighten up again, a fine tremor in his hands as he squeezes the back of a chair. "We gotta talk about this house."

"What is the deal with the breakers," Bucky asks in annoyance, looking to Rumlow for the answer. Rumlow shrugs his shoulders, as confused and irritated as Bucky with some anger mixed in.

"There's nothing wrong with the breakers. I'm not the power guy. My name is Tony Stark."

"You're Tony Stark," Rumlow interrupts, taking a step forward.

"Who's Tony Stark," Bucky asks.

"My office warned me about him." Tony rounds the table so that he's standing closer to Bucky than Rumlow, wisps of his hair sticking to the perspiration at his temples. Bucky turns so he can follow Tony as he heads back to his original position at the head of the table. He paces anxiously like he'd get dragged to hell if he stopped.

"This is going to sound completely whacked, so just stay with me," Tony warns. "Obie and I have been working together for the past year or so. We used to hunt displaced spiritual energies." At Bucky's uncomprehending look, he attempts to dumb it down a little. "You know, P.K. Agents, wraiths…." Tony sighs when Bucky still doesn't get it, giving him the same flat look that Clint gives him whenever he forgets to wash his socks. "Ghosts, man, we hunted ghosts." There's a tense silence as Bucky tries to process this, deciding he must have heard wrong because ghosts don't exist.

"You hunted goats?"

"Ghosts! Ghosts, goddammit!"

"Right, ghosts…." Bucky lets out a nervous chuckle, sharing a look with Rumlow. "I get it, I'm scared." This has to be some sort of prank because it's genuinely terrifying otherwise. If this isn't a prank then this crazy guy might actually be here to murder them all. Rumlow joins him in laughing, but Tony's hurt expression makes Bucky's trail off.

"I would love to fill you in on the nitty-gritty of the situation, let you both know what kind of fucking monsters are lounging in the basement, but I won't do it in this house!" Rumlow turns his attention to Bucky, pointing an accusing finger in Tony's direction.

"This guy has been harassing my office since your uncle died," he says. "I see this all the time; some rich guy passes away and all the nuts come out! Next thing you know, he'll be claiming Obie owed him money."

"He did owe me money," Tony yells, straightening up from where he'd doubled over. "He owed me a shitload of money! But, you know what? I'd rather be alive than rich, so I'm getting my ass out of the big glass house! Grab your children, do the same!" Tony's just turning to leave when he goes rigid, back straightening so fast that Bucky swears he hears something pop.

"Are you okay," Bucky asks worriedly. Tony doubles over, one hand against a chair to keep him upright as he lets out a punched-out grunt. After having kids around for eighteen years, it's second nature for Bucky to stride over and check on Tony. He puts a hand on his shoulder and Tony tumbles to the ground, seizing. "Call an ambulance!" Bucky stays hunched over him, a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Don't touch me." The words come out slurred and barely heard, but Bucky draws his hand back all the same. Tony goes still, the seizure over and leaving him a shaking mess.

"We're gonna get you some help."

"Just don't touch me." After a couple of deep breaths, Tony can sit up by himself, using the sleeve of his jumpsuit to wipe the drool off his chin.

"How's your head?"

"Not good," Tony answers, rubbing at it. "Where's the suit?" Bucky follows his gaze around the room, but Rumlow has disappeared. Maybe he went outside to call for an ambulance like Bucky had told him or maybe he ran off to steal some shit while Bucky was distracted. At this point, Bucky just wants to get Tony to a hospital and be done with the house.

"Who gives a shit? Let's get you out of here."


Rumlow has been to Obie's house enough times to be comfortable walking around on his own, practically skipping down a basement hallway. With the spectral viewers on, he can see each and every ghost trapped behind the glass walls. The Latin etchings glow white on the walls and under his feet, brought into stark relief thanks to the glasses.

"Power guy," Rumlow mutters, shaking his head. "Idiot." On his left, the Torn Prince is giving him a bloody smile with a baseball bat clutched in his hand. He brings it back over his shoulder and swings at the glass. "Think you're a little badass?"

"I think I'm a bigger badass than you are," the Prince says, teeth stained red. Rumlow scoffs and continues down the hall. Next to the Prince's cell is the Firstborn Son, a little boy with an arrow between his eyes, thin streams of blood rolling down his cheeks like tears. Near the first curve in a cell on Rumlow's right is the Angry Princess, bare to the world with her perfect body carved up.

"Nice tits." She lunges at the glass, slashing her nails over it with a scream that sends Rumlow lurching backward. "Don't act like that, honey. You'd be prettier if you smiled." She snarls at him, grabbing the knife her boyfriend had used to butcher her.

He continues down the hall until he reaches a dead-end, pressing a small button near the bottom of the glass panel that has it sliding out of the way. Directly ahead of him and taking up a large portion of the room is an hourglass-shaped mishmash of gears and rings that powers the house, the gears turning like clockwork. Near that, against one wall, a pendulum swings back and forth over twelve thin sections of glass, the symbols of the Black Zodiac carved beneath each section. Thirteen is missing, but they'll have that soon enough.

Rumlow's grin is a vicious thing when he spots the suitcase Obie had promised him. He strides through the room and plucks it from the ground, too busy looking over the stacks of cash inside it to notice that the peddle it had been set on has popped up and the rings of the hourglass have started to move. Why should he care to notice any of that when this cash means he'll never have to work again?

"Not bad for an hourly wage." Satisfied, he steps out into the hall again and pauses to watch the panels shift. He's never seen this happen before and Obie had never told him about it, but maybe it's normal. Maybe the panels shift at a certain time to fuck with the ghosts. All the same, he has a sudden urge to get the fuck out while he still can. Rumlow manages to get halfway down the hall when the Angry Princess steps out in front of him, that knife still clutched in a bloody fist.

"Still want me to smile," she asks. Rumlow takes a step back with every step she takes toward him, holding up his free hand in surrender.

"I'm sorry."

"You're going to be." He wants to run, but his legs have turned to jelly. This isn't how he's supposed to die, this isn't where he's supposed to die. He doesn't want to be stuck down here for all eternity with these animals and those stupid spells. "Boo!" Rumlow jumps backward and would have stumbled had two panels of glass not caught him.

He's gone before the two halves of him slide to the floor, cash fluttering around him.

The Bound Woman

Gamora Zen was the daughter of the richest couple in town, making her the most popular girl in high school. She was also in the cheerleading squad, possibly, and presumably the leader. But her most defining feature was her infidelity, seducing many men and simply tossing them away, her friends always warning her she would regret it someday.

During her school prom, she was dating the captain of the football team, Magus Warlock, but once again she cheated on him with another boy, only this time Magus had his revenge.

The following day, the other boy was found clubbed to death, and Gamora went missing. She was later found buried under the 50-yard line in the local football field, bound with ropes and strangled to death.

Arrested and getting the death penalty, Magus' last words were "That bitch broke my heart, so I broke her neck."