Author's Note: Sorry! It is not February anymore. I swear my relationship with this fic goes like this: I finish a chapter, am happily content and turn my attention to other matters for what I think is a moment, and then I'm like, y'know, It's been a little bit since I worked on DKWW, I'll do that. Then I look up and-Wham. It's been two months. Sorry. :)
Warnings: Violence.
"Tonight I saw a side of him I've not seen in a long while."
-Unknown
Chapter Seven:
They told me…
They told me.
Told. Not I am.
The words confuse him, even though it's been hours since he traced them out on the floor. The phrasing. It isn't what it should be. It's...it's the conflicted mess of someone who doesn't even know their own identity. But Nova doesn't. This, for some reason, is what sticks out among everything else in the dark, wet cell. As he stared into the awaiting abyss and tried to quell his rolling stomach.
Wanda has fallen back asleep, the wet rattle of her breaths not boding well for her well-being. Distantly, he thinks he should keep her awake for fear that if he doesn't, she won't awaken again, but she needs the rest. He thinks. Her breathing is getting worse. She's curled up on her side beside him, using one elbow as a pillow for her head and the other is tucked up close to her chest as if trying to preserve warmth. She's faced at an angle that she could still see his hand, the only source of light in this cell, until she fell asleep.
It's almost funny, because Nova knows that it wasn't the torture that the Other inflicted on him that broke him. It was the silence. And here he is, teetering on the edge of another collapse and about to drag the Witch along with him.
They told me.
He doesn't even know his name. The name that his mother—whoever she is—spoke upon seeing him for the first time. Or his father. Whoever it was that chose it. The name he was given is a poor replacement for what he had. It's meant to be an honor. Everything with the Black Order is meant to be an honor.
It is a burden.
Weighing him down.
Drowning him.
And Nova doesn't want to die, but if he doesn't kill Wanda, his father will have little use for him. She's so close to succumbing to the illness within her anyway, if he waits a few more days—perhaps a few hours—she will have given up the ghost. But that wasn't his decision, and Father will know that. He would see her dead either way, but how is what's important to him. He's supposed to do anything his father demands without question, but he couldn't do this.
After everything else, he draws the line at what was meant to be his first execution?
There's another hitch of breath and an alarmingly long pause before Wanda intakes again. This breath sounds heavier than the last, and the one after is dragged. Wanda is dying. This isn't some sort of imagined illness, if he doesn't do anything, she's going to die. And for reasons he doesn't understand completely himself, he can't let that happen. Not that he won't. He can't.
What good would it do him if he saved her? She'll recover and have no need of him. Perhaps she'll succeed in her next attempt at killing him. But then it would be over. Even if she does kill you, it's better than being slain in Thanos's name, isn't it?
No. Thanos is…
Nova doesn't know anymore. He's so confused. He can't betray his father, but he can't keep pretending that this is fine. That he doesn't hate every moment in this tangible darkness that won't go away even with the brightest of lights. It's inside him. Tainting his very soul.
He needs to get Wanda back to her people. The only reason she is here is because of him. If he isn't going to kill her, he'll free her and get her to Terra. He has to. If he doesn't, she'll die, and he's already suffered enough to simply let her go now.
But why? A soft part of him cries, why would you risk so much to save her?
Nova hesitates, squeezing his eyes shut. A truth he has refused to admit, but will not stop spinning around in his head begins to break the surface. He looked through her memories, rifling through anything and everything he could to find the Stones. And there was a very distinct, sharp one where a man lept atop the cradle of her lover and Nova remembers stopping because he knew that man.
He'd pulled out quickly.
He wasn't—isn't—allowed to know that man. It hurt.
He'd chased it off as quickly as it had appeared, frightened of the implications. He'd shoved it down, and refused to parse over it, but days in the dark with nothing but the Witch's ragged breathing for company has forced him to think.
He'd dreamt because he found that memory with the man. About the golden room with the woman who nudged him and the scribbling down of thought vs. inner mind in a tight scrawl he's not familiar with. But Pietro kept making his head ache because Wanda so often called him brother in her thoughts.
Brother.
The blond man he's not supposed to know, but does, and the quiet, selfish reason for the Witch's rescue: she knows him. Nova remembers scarce little, but she knows him. This man that Nova...Nova tentatively believes is his brother. His birth brother. Blood brother. Not the sibling-hood the Order share, one of pain and panic, but a different kind. Bond and blood.
Nova needs to find him. He has so many questions. Has to know why he fell among the stars.
Why did you let me go?
He wrings his hands anxiously, picking at his palms and trying to ignore the clicking of the cuffs.
As much as he wants to pretend that his rescue of this woman was because he's some sort of noble hero, he knows deep down that isn't it. He's a wretched monster, and he's beyond any hope of redemption. But that man is his brother, and Wanda knows him. Nova needs to know him, too. And if getting Wanda to Terra for no other reason than the hope that she'll mention him to Nova's brother, than...he has to take that chance.
(And somewhere, somehow, he knows that even if this wasn't the case, he couldn't let her die.)
The Witch's breathing hitches, and it doesn't start again. Nova turns his gaze towards her, a flaring panic rousing in his chest. Flerkin. He shifts so he's closer and lifts up a hand to her face, trying to feel for breath. There's nothing. He can hear the sluggish thrum of her heartbeat, but it's weak and exhausted.
She's going to die. The thought really settles with him properly. If he doesn't do anything, Wanda will be dead within minutes.
When he was still with the Other, Nova did not spare any chance at escape. He nearly succeeded twice before the Other began to leave him in too much pain to think, let alone move. When the agony had begun to subside, Nova was too afraid to try anything else. The binding hold they'd had on his magic hadn't helped, either.
But this time will be different. He knows the Sanctuary and he doesn't care if he survives or not. And he has magic. His father didn't think to take it from him. Or maybe, a quiet, pragmatic voice whispers for the thresholds of his mind, he left it because he trusts you, and you are breaking that with your plans.
He shakes his head to clear the thoughts, trying to think through the haze of panic. What does he do? If she dies, he'll have lost any and all possible connections to the man who might be his brother. If she dies, this will be on his head. He'll have killed this woman inadvertently. He can save her. He will. He just…
Treason, then?
The snide thought is tired.
Nova closes his eyes for a moment. Doing this is a point of no return. He cannot come back here. His father will hunt him to the edge of the universe to slaughter him. No where will be safe. Nova is not Gamora. He does not have the same protections his sister does, simply because he is the failed experiment, and she is the glorified daughter.
But, he...all these days in the dark have made one thing clear. The words he scribbled out to the Witch were a silent promise. He's not going to kill her. He will do all that he can on the contrary. And...
They told me I was Nova.
But the words that had followed are what leave him shaking and vaguely sick to his stomach: I don't believe them anymore.
Treason, then, he supposes.
Nova exhales sharply through his nose before squeezing his fingers into tight fists and wrapping his magic around the shackles. He digs into the molecules, slowing the vibrations until they're all but stopped, and delves sharply throughout the scattered space, giving a pull. The shackles burst into a dozen metal fragments, ice-chipped at the edges.
They're meant to hold magic, and they do. But creating ice is an inherent ability he can't remember the source of. It's not magic. It's the one loophole he found, and refused to say anything of. If Ebony noticed when he pranced across his mind, he never said.
Nova turns his attention immediately to Wanda, resting a hand on her stomach and closing his eyes. His magic wiggles around in her, floundering out of his control and he has to snatch it sharply to keep it from doing permanent damage. Her body isn't strong enough to hold the power he wields, if he slips up, she'll be dead. The sickness sits inside her lungs, heavy with bacteria.
Before he can decide what to do about that, he wills the muscles to contract and expand. Wanda breathes a forced breath. He lets his magic continue the work absentmindedly, trying to think. He's rubbish at healing magic without remembering how to do it. The concept seems familiar, and he knows that if he could just grasp the memories he'd understand, but it's out of his reach now.
If he did a rushed purge, maybe...shove the bacteria out of her lungs and up through her throat? Dangerous, given than she could suffocate if he doesn't do it fast enough, but he doesn't exactly have many options. If he could just remember…
He shakes his head, praying to anything listening that he doesn't make this worse, grasps around what he can determine is harmful and shoves up. The Witch sputters, hacking and choking as he draws the sickness from her like pulling a very long ribbon from her mouth. The entire process is nothing short of disgusting, and Nova is privately grateful for the darkness. He doesn't have to see what he's removing.
After a few moments, Wanda's eyes snap open and she coughs deeply, spitting up whatever he didn't manage to remove. She inhales raggedly, as if breathing for the first time after nearly drowning to death. Nova bites on his tongue for a moment, uncertain what to do. He removes his hand from her stomach and watches as she shifts somewhat, looking up at him and squinting.
"Nova?" her voice is hoarse. He flinches at the name, something in him wanting to insist that's not mine, but he's not allowed to. Nova is the name that Father gave him. It's his now. (But it doesn't belong to me.) She seems to determine that he is what she's looking at at slumps somewhat. "I feel terrible," the raw admission after their days of muted silence speaks a testament to her state.
He grits his teeth on top of the plastic mouthpiece of the muzzle, but is unable to respond.
"I think I'm going to die," her voice is quiet. Young. Nova only stares at her. She closes her eyes and coughs a few more times. "You can kill me now."
Ha, hilarious. She really thinks that after everything, he'll be so swift to delve the death blow?
He breathes out through his nose once before lifting his hands to his mouth and tearing against the matter. He slows the atoms, wincing somewhat as ice spreads up his cheeks, but the metal snaps with a harsh clicking sound. He throws the separate pieces to the floor and stretches his stiff jaw. His throat is dry and his tongue tired, but he's free.
Free. That's what this is? As if freedom has not been given to him by his father in the first place?
He hesitates again. Father has done everything for him. He rescued him from the stars, gave him purpose, a name…to do this would be to discard all of that. Is he really so ungrateful? Can he really just walk away from all this mercy?
He glances at the Witch. Miserable and dying on the floor, a product of his actions. If he stays here, things will not get better. He's been fooling himself for months hoping it would. He wanted it to, and he clung to that like somehow it would be a savior amid the nightmare. But it's not. Because there's nothing but death for him.
Whether it is his own, or someone else's.
Treason.
He opens his eyes and fumbles for a moment until he grasps Wanda's cold hand. The misshapen bones poke out starkly against the smooth skin and he winces inwardly. She may be crippled in these fingers because he decided to drag her along rather than giving her an execution on Terra.
"Wanda," his voice is dry. Somehow, it sounds worse than hers.
Wanda stills, before she looks at him through hazy lids. Her eyes are wide, "You…" she tilts her head, seeming to notice that he is no longer bound for the first time. "I don't understand. How…"
"We're leaving." He winces. The words hurt. She still doesn't seem to comprehend. Nova releases a breath through his nose and shifts until he can swing her arm around his shoulder entirely and pull them both up to their feet. He staggers and she can't hold her weight, but they remain upright. Nova pulls her towards the door and toes the edge of the sword hilt until it's resting on hit foot. With a sharp jerk of his leg, he flips the weapon into his waiting hand and clings to it.
He's going to get them both caught.
He can't do this.
He's failed every other time.
(How can he be leaving? How can he be choosing this over everything else? How can he just run away because the Witch may know a man that could be his brother?)
"Wait," Wanda's voice is frantic. She looks towards him, "We won't make it out; not like this. I'm going to die anyway, just kill me and leave."
He shakes his head, bracing himself. There aren't guards on this level, everyone here is either too near-death to attempt an escape, or too afraid. The next level will be harder, because that's where Thanos keeps the active interrogations going. There are Outriders stationed by the dozen there. The escape pods are only available from the bridge. To get there, they have to go through the second level.
If he can make it to the elevator, on the second level of the prison, that's...still not great odds. But it's better than nothing. But even if he gets to the elevator, it only functions for the DNA of the Black Order. If Thanos removed his—though Nova doesn't know why he would have—then they'll be stuck down here until one of his siblings comes for them.
Which they haven't. No one has even checked to see if he's murdered the Witch yet. What have they been doing? Surely this would have taken precedence unless Thanos found another world to purge or a Stone. He must've. Nova can't see them ignoring him like this unless he had. Which is...good, isn't it? That means they'll be distracted with that and won't have time to look for him until he's got Wanda well on her way to Terra.
He leans down somewhat, tensing his muscles, preparing for the jump.
"You don't need to do this." Wanda whispers. "You hate me."
"Are you so desperate to die?" he hisses hoarsely. He needs water. No, he wants water. He can go much longer than a week—eight, nine days?—without substance. The Other tested those limits with glee when he was still with him.
"No." Her voice has gained an edge. "Is this some sort of ploy?"
He laughs tiredly, making sure he has a steady grip around her waist before he leaps. She clings to his shoulder sharply, gasping slightly when he lands on the small lip next to the door. It doesn't buzz open, but he didn't expect it to. He's already tried this. He slashed at it with the sword for the better part of ten minutes before giving up.
But he hadn't been trying to leave, only get someone's attention.
"Believe me, witch; if it was, I would be just as much in the dark about it as you." He swallows, trying to work moisture down, but it's not enough. He tips his head down and feels the chill rush down his spine as he gathers his magic. He grasps at the lock with it, attempting to open it, but slips with his control and the door blasts off of its hinges, smacking against the far wall with a loud clang.
He winces. Oops.
Wanda inhales stiffly, squinting into the hall and trying to see if there's anyone. As he expected, there isn't. He grips the sword tighter before hauling her up a little and staggering into the dark corridor. Not for the first time, he's grateful for his ability to see through the inky blackness. He turns left, moving as quickly as he can and dares to. The sound of their feet shuffling is a relief after hours of his ears straining for any other noise than heartbeats and breathing. She fumbles with her feet a moment, trying to catch her balance before she manages to keep pace with him.
"You have been able to leave this whole time?" she questions.
"Yes." He says through his teeth. "I didn't want to."
"You didn't…" the Witch sounds incredulous. "How could you choose this!? They were going to kill me—they did kill my beloved, and you just—"
"Shut up or I will make you," he promises, his voice cracking somewhat. Water, his mind pleads. "We will get nowhere if you keep up this inane prattle."
"'Inane'—" she starts to repeat, clearly annoyed. He jostles her on purpose and she quiets with a sharp gasp. He bites on his tongue and blows out a heavy breath, moving forward through the long hall. He passes the familiar cells and focuses stalwartly on the staircase towards the end. This is designed as a labyrinth so anyone attempting an escape will be lost, but he's been down here too many times to fall prey to its whims.
They reach the stairs. He allows himself one small breath. Checkpoint one.
He grips the sword harder. His knuckle is beginning to ache and his fingers go numb. Treeeason that voice rings off in the back of his head. Liar, traitor. Thanos did everything for you and this is—
Stick it.
He struggles up the stairs, nearly losing his grip on Wanda twice. Her breaths are getting harsher. She's afraid. He is, too, but he'd sooner die than admit that outloud.
Keep pushing. It's too late to go back now.
It's not. He could still haul them around and climb into the cell, pretending nothing happened. The blasted door might take a moment to repair, but no one would ever have to know what he planned on doing. What he is doing. Smuggling a Terran out simply because she knows someone he does. The man who might be his brother. Who has no face and no name, but a presence in his head all the same.
He's running away.
The realization nearly makes him stop, but he keeps pushing. He's running. Like a coward. Like someone who doesn't want to die here. He has something out there this time. Something he can run to. All his other attempts were fruitless in part because he had no destination in mind other than away. He never made it to the bridge. But this time, it's not just him.
There's something to go to. Something beyond this. His brother, whoever he is, if he's even real.
The end of the stairs comes too soon for his frantic heart. He chances a look down the corrider and quickly draws back, yanking Wanda into the shaodws beside him. He only saw vague shadows at the end, but he hears the approaching Outriders before he sees them. There's a scraping noise. A body. Whoever this is is dragging a body. He grits his teeth and hears Wanda inhale sharply as the Outriders and the poor idiot pass by them. The blue-headed figure seems vaguely familiar, but almost from a dream.
He catches a glimpse of a crest hidden on the inside of the man's coat and grimaces slightly. Ravager. Thanos has been merciless in his capture of them since Gamora left. He kept insisting that the Ravagers would know where she hopped off to because someone in her new "team" used to be one. It never rewarded anything beyond a headache.
Nova tastes blood and loosens his hold on his tongue. When the noises are far enough away, he chances a look down one of the corridors towards the awaiting lift. There's two guards posted next to every cell and about two dozen cells on this block. He swears violently and progressively in his head. That's about forty eight. How is he supposed to get past that? And this is only one hall. There's three others adjoined to this staircase. Two of which are more cells.
That's more than a hundred. He squeezes his eyes shut. Great. Their odds are low to the point of nothing and they haven't even started. All he has is a sword, jittery magic, and a woman who can barely stand.
They'll be dead before they step foot in that lift. He can't risk it. Why did he think this was possible in the first place? Why did he even bother to try?
Because he has to. He has to find his brother, and get Wanda back to Midgard. He freezes. Mid...what? How did he...that's not a name he's even remotely familiar with, why did he just assign it to Terra? Why would...stop it. Stop it, now. He has more pressing matters at hand.
Nova takes in the scene again, sweeping his eyes carefully over the guards and the hall, picking out what he can. This is not his first stealth mission. If he just...he doesn't know if he can trust his magic to hold an invisibility spell that long, but he doesn't really have a choice. He can't risk open battle. Not with this many Outriders.
He glances once at his charge before spreading his fingers around the sword hilt and tapping himself and Wanda with the edge. She jerks somewhat and a rather foul taste fills his mouth, but when he looks down at himself, he can see nothing. It's a little disorenting, but he forces himself forward. He casts a silencing spell on their feet and their breath, sends a very quick prayer up to anything listening, and takes a step out of the stairwell into the hall.
Nothing turns to look at them.
There's only the scratching yank of the body and the Outriders hissing at each other further to their left. Nova moves to the right, down the hall towards the lift. The hall directly in front of the stairs appears to have an exit, but it's an illusion. Trick. Captives who think they're close to freedom, but then fail when their last hope proves to be misplaced.
He drags them forward another step.
Nothing.
And another.
Wanda's not breathing, but neither is he. They pass the first set of stained guards who don't bat an eye at their presence. No sense of smell, a weakness that few know of. He still doesn't breathe, but keeps pulling. He keeps the sword above the ground so it won't scratch, but wishes he had somewhere to sheath it because he doesn't know if he's about to jab someone with the weapon on accident or not.
They pass another set. Three. Four. Six. Twelve.
This feels too easy, but he knows the fight won't be here. It will be on the bridge, where the Black Order is usually stationed. All his other attempts either failed when he ran to the wrong door, or the bridge. Not this time. He won't let it happen this time. And he needn't worry about the next time because there won't be one. His father always executes traitors.
Except for Nebula. And Gamora, whenever Father does manage to find her.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Twenty.
Four left.
He can see the doors in vivid detail now. All the little scratches on the metal and the blood. The large dent that he never did learn the source of. They're so close. A bit further, a few more steps...just a bit further, he can—Kriff!
Wanda's foot catches on something and she tumbles forward. Unexpecting it, he lands with a heap beside her. He enchanted their bodies, but not the sword. It clatters loudly against the ground and escapes his grip, revealing itself to the light. They might have gotten away with just falling, but the sword is a death sentence.
Wanda swears in a language he doesn't recognize. That's about the only thing she has time to do before the Outriders draw their blasters and various assortment of weapons, swarming on them. Nova releases the spell and scrambles up to his feet, yanking her to her own. "Go!" he shouts, shoving her towards the lift. He summons the sword into his hand and dodges a blaster bolt aimed for his head. The creatures are moving rapidly, snarling and reaching out with their long claws and four hands.
The hissing, clicking sound of their language is guttural and angry. He can only pick out bits and pieces of sentences, and what they say chills him.
"I can't," Wanda gasps, accent thick. She pushes up against him. "I can't."
The Outriders have circled them. They hadn't made it to the lift yet. Close enough to almost touch, but not enough to use.
He swears and swings the sword, bringing it up to cut off the arm of one of the creatures. Blood is drawn, smearing down the blade. The blood that was supposed to stain this was meant to be Wanda's. Now it is drawn in defense of her.
The hands reach for them. Long claws rake against his face and stomach. His vision goes white for a moment as Wanda releases a howl behind him.
The odds were never in their favor. They're going to die here.
He has to get her to the lift. He can't let...can't let this—stop it. He shakes his head, trying to snap back into focus. The sword moves, but he can't feel his hands. He's going numb with panic. The adrenaline is doing nothing for him now. A bolt hits him in the side and he drops the sword in favor of gripping at he burning flesh, only for a hand to wrap around his dark hair and yank. A knife is pressed against his throat and his breath catches.
Someone slams a hand against the warning bells, and the lights begin to flicker as the familiar dull ring pounds through his skull. He can't breathe. The pain is making his vision flutter. He sees Wanda in a similar state of captivity to his, but she's bleeding from her nose and favoring her left foot. Well, he thinks almost dazedly, at least he can say that they tried.
It's not enough. They were meant to leave. He can't stay here. He can't stand another minute and—
They told me…
Wanda.
Wanda.
His lips move in a stiff prayer. Please don't let him be making a mistake. Nova digs into his magic, grasping around the block that he holds around Wanda's like a choke hold and let's go. The surge of cold that washes through him makes him shudder and the knife scrapes against his throat.
Wanda gasps, heaving like she's been hit in the stomach. For a moment, he panics. He's killed her. He should have let it trickle back in instead of dumping it all on her and expecting her to drink it, but then Wanda's head lifts, and her eyes open, glowing a dull red.
The hum of magic is thick in the air. The Witch exhales slowly before she moves. Slamming a hand against her stomach, a red pulse shoots through her chest against the creature holding her. She dives out of the way of the knife like she's been trained to do so since birth. The Outriders leap at her, but she waves a red-misted shield to block their bolts and throws a hand forward.
She throws them against the wall with the red energy, and glances down the hall, throwing her hand up. He hears several Outriders slam against some sort of shield and they begin to hiss and screech in earnest, scratching at it. The sound is awful.
She moves with grace, but a slight fumble in her work, speaking of her inexperience.
Then she turns towards him. With a jerk of her wrist, the Outrider's knife is pulled into her own hand and he feels something dig into his shoulders before he's pulled forward by her energy before the Outrider can reach for him with any of its arms. He can't hold his weight, and a low moan slips through his lips as his burned side stretches. He crumples to his knees.
Fire.
It's hot.
The Other loved fire.
He's dragged across the bodies and the floor as Wanda does something else he can't make out. A haze of red tumbles over him and an Outrider yells. The Witch's stiff fingers grab at his arms and haul him up. It's awkward. He's a good few inches taller than her, and the weight distribution is funny, but she makes it work.
As if she hadn't been sick and nearly dying twenty minutes ago. The release of her magic seems to have given her new life, but Nova knows it isn't going to last. Her adrenaline will wear off and then the crash will be worse than anything she's ever experienced in her life. He has an unwanted acquaintanceship with this cycle. The high is dangerous. It's hard to know when to stop.
"C'mon." She commands, dragging him towards the lift.
He doesn't understand. She could leave him. She has no reason to take him.
She grimaces suddenly, as if something has struck her, but when he chances a glance behind them, he can only see her wall of red. The Outriders are piling up against it angrily, smashing their fists and weapons upon it. He grimaces for her sake, knowing that the sensation must be painful.
Wanda hauls him forward towards the doors. She looks around for a moment, but obviously has no idea what to do. "How do I—!?" she starts, frantic.
He lifts his bloody palm away from his side and all but drops it against the scanner. It reads through his blood or perhaps reads his blood, and mercy of mercies, the door shudders open. Thanos really thought he would come back. He believed that enough time would cure him of his ailment.
You see, the silky voice accuses, he had faith in you. You're the one that broke this trust. Traitor. Liesmith. Snake.
Wanda says something he doesn't quite catch and all but pushes him inside the lift. She follows after, staring at the foreign technology like he just asked her to recite the first page of a political document she's never heard of before: Disdain. Panic.
He blinks through his tears, leaning forward to smash a bloody fist against the wall to close the doors, then scrambling to spin the hologram reading floors to the one they want. The doors shut with a thud and Wanda breathes out.
"We made it." She exhales.
He snorts, wiping blood away from the side of his mouth. His throat hurts, his side is burning, and he thinks he's in danger of vomiting or passing out. "No. We got out of the prisons. Now we have to get to the escape pods. Through the bridge."
She blanches, then rubs a hand across her face. "Alright," she doesn't have nearly the amount of confidence for him to take her seriously. She's leaning against the wall for support, her leg bleeding into her clothing. She's stiff and in pain. They aren't in any state to face the Order. Or, if the fates truly deem them so unworthy, Thanos himself. "We can do that. It's not problem. I can move things with my mind, I can handle a few more of those things."
It won't be those "things." It will be the Order. She couldn't even handle him. She won't last ten seconds against them. He doesn't say that outloud, letting her cling to her misguided hopes. He should have thought this through a little better. But he'd been impulsive. And stupid. Just like at Ria, and that's what got an axe in his back.
The elevator slowly climbs. Floor by aching floor. He hears the shudders as the cables groan, and a quiet worry settles into the back of his mind that they're simply going to cut them and let he and the Witch fall to their untimely deaths.
But it holds, and they keep moving up.
"They'll be waiting," he warns quietly. He's swaying, and it's getting hard to focus. His vision is beginning to tunnel. All he can smell is the coppery scent of his blood. His heart beats raggedly inside his chest, fighting for survival, but seems oddly uncertain as to what the point is. "They'll fire when the door opens."
Wanda nods, glancing at him once. She doesn't, thankfully, mention that he's not in any state to be standing or fighting. That he should be unconscious, but is too stubborn to pass out right now. Her green-brown eyes only parse him for a moment, lingering on the gash against his stomach before she turns her attention towards the door. She waves a hand, bending at her elbow and bracing her body like she's preparing to be struck by a hammer. A wave of red light blinks into life in front of them. A shield.
The elevator stops, and Nova holds his breath.
The doors grind open.
No bolts fire. This, he feels, is worse than the expected hemorrhage of weapons and blasters going off. Wanda doesn't drop her guard, and Nova grits his teeth and forces himself to focus. He summons a dagger and blinks until his vision focuses a little better.
There, standing in front of the entrance, are his siblings. Ebony stands in the center, his fingers pressed together lightly. Midnight is on his left with her staff, Obsidian a thick axe on his left. Nebula stands on the other side of Ebony, her sword lowered in front of her.
They face each other for a long moment before Ebony takes a light step forward. The red grows in thickness, a wall between them. Ebony touches it with a delicate finger, and though the Witch shudders, Ebony does not break through.
"Hello, Nova," Ebony says softly. He tips his head towards Wanda, "Miss Wanda."
Wanda glances at him for direction, but he doesn't know what to do. They're cornered. The most he can offer as a suggestion is to throw their hands wildly into the air and surrender. Nova can't get his tongue to move, and Wanda doesn't say anything to the comment. He can feel his sisters and Obsidian burning their gazes into the him, and the intensity of their combined stare makes him feel oddly hot.
Ebony, oddly, sighs as if battle-worn. Nova's eyes won't focus enough for him to see much more than blurry figures and half-expressions. He doesn't know what they've done to make Ebony do that.
"Our father knows you have left. He has demanded your capture, and in all the years I have served our father, I have never failed him," Ebony whispers. Nova stiffens. He forces out a breath, pressing his fingers deeper against his wound. The pain, unlike the many times before, does not help him focus. It just hurts enough to make him stagger forward a step. Wanda's hand twitches, but she offers him no help.
"Will you kill us both then?" Nova questions. Water, please, his throat pleads. He longs for that dripping pipe, even if he wouldn't dare to drink any of the water. "Drag our corpses to Thanos and let him rejoice at your quarry?"
To his surprise, Ebony laughs. Then he gestures to himself and the rest of the Order, "You misunderstand. We have little desire to kill you, Nova."
"That's not my—" he starts to snap, attempting a step forward to drive his point home, but a flare of agony ripples up through his stomach and he's driven hard to his knees, gasping. Wanda flails slightly, grabbing hold of his arm. She tries to move him, but every jerk makes it worse.
"Nova," she pleads, "get up, come on,"
He doesn't know if he can.
You've suffered worse than this. Stop being pathetic.
"I…" Blood drips down the side of his mouth.
"Witch," Nebula. "Drop your shield. Now. Unless you want to see him dead."
"No," Wanda refuses, "I am not stupid. I won't let you kill us." She pushes out with her magic, causing them to stumble back somewhat. He coughs harshly, but forces himself to remain present. He's close. His brother. Terra. Wanda's release. They're so, so close and they—
Wait. Why does Nebula—?
The Luphomoid swears. "Drop it, or we will make you." To accentuate her point, Ebony raises a fist and clenches it slightly. Wanda chokes, hand moving to her throat, but it's over just as quickly as it started. After a hesitation, Wanda drops the shield, but steps in front of him, hands raised. The red energy pulses around her hands.
"Don't get any closer." She warns.
Nebula gives a pointed glance to her left and Ebony lifts his hand. Obsidian and Midnight relax somewhat. Nebula sheaths her blade and lifts up her hands, approaching them. This doesn't...what are they…? Wanda tightens, but doesn't make any attempt to stop them.
Nebula squats down in front of him and lifts her flesh hand to his face. It's cold. He flinches back from it. She stares into his eyes for a long moment, searching, before she swings his arm around her shoulders, and slides the other to his knees. In a swift move, she hauls him upright. His burned side splits anew.
He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knows, he's on top of some sort of table and Nebula rapidly patching up his side. He can sense Wanda behind him, and feels one of her hands on his head. Her magic is thrumming in his brain. She's trying to calm him. It's an adorable attempt, but she is no empath.
When his vision isn't doubling about a minute later, he bats away his sister's hand and props himself up. The Black Order stares at him from behind Nebula's stoic form. They haven't killed him. They haven't imprisoned them or reported them to Thanos. They're just...standing. He can't get his tongue to move. Finally, "Why?" he croaks. "You should kill me."
Midnight offers a bitter smile, her eyes cold. "What good would that do us? You're no use if you're dead."
Use. He's only kept alive because he's useful.
Nebula finishes her field dressing despite his annoyed swatting and takes a step back. "We don't have much time. As far as Father is aware, you're still in the prison levels."
"You're—"
Midnight slaps a hand over his mouth, and Wanda twitches. "Shut up. You are our only hope in this war. You can save us. No one else would bother. Father found the Tesseract."
Oh.
Well. That explains where they were.
He bites back a swear, even though he should be rejoicing. He should leap to his feet and praise his father's name and his mission, and though some part of him is afraid not to, he's...tired.
"Father is two Stones away from finishing," Midnight continues, voice grim, "but he won't stop there. You know he won't. He wants this to be permanent, and you know who is going to be the lab rat for him?"
Nova's stomach sinks.
"He'll use the Stones on us." Nebula says lowly, "Without remorse. We're waiting at the gallows or insanity's doorstep."
Like him.
"Are you not under the impression it would be an honor to die for him?" Nova questions.
Obsidian snorts. "That's what he'd like to believe."
The open, treasonous words startle him. None of them even seem remotely surprised by the thoughts. They've discussed this before. They are not so loyal. They...are like...him. Always teetering on the edge of complete loyalty or mutiny because the fear was never enough to bind him to Thanos. They kill and maim in the name of a man that does the same to them. He calls it mercy. He's hardly more than a sadist.
"In your past life, you were allies with powerful beings," Nebula explains quickly, all of them tensing as the elevator groans. It remains open, empty. "We don't have time to explain who, but they'll know who you are. You need to find them and bring them here. Stop us. I've made contact with Gamora, she'll explain everything."
She pushes a device into his hands. Nova tries not to gape. He heard her speaking to Gamora, and though he knew she lied about what she said, this was the last thing that he would have thought. Midnight wanted him to find a way that would release them of the sentencing with Wanda. They've been hinting this for weeks, he's just been too stupid to put two and two together. They'd all pled for the end with the Stones. Nova endured it more than they did and became a bubbling mess, barely a shell of what he once was, and that was only after days of reprieve. Another go would kill him.
Thanos won't stop with the snap.
He'll never be satisfied.
Midnight grabs his right arm and hauls him upright. He sways and the world spins, but the oddly-silent Wanda catches him before he can fall. Midnight pulls him to his feet, and between the two women, they begin to move towards the escape pods.
Treason. They're helping him escape. He owes them. They'll be killed if they're found out.
They reach the pods and Midnight releases him to set it up, Wanda standing next to him, silent and obviously as confused as he is about this whole mess.
"Nova," Ebony says, and he glances back before his brother lifts up a hand. The Tesseract is gleaming in his long fingers, a delicate object that radiates enough power that he's afraid he'll vomit. Their father's newest prize, and Ebony is giving it to him. They're serious. "Take this. It will delay him."
Nova reaches a hand out and takes the object from him. "If you're so afraid, just leave," he whispers.
Ebony looks amused, but sick. "Where would we go?" he asks, "What barren moon could hide us from his all-seeing eyes? There is nowhere we could run that he would not find and slaughter us. Do not fail us, Nova. Our lives rest in your hands."
He nods grimly.
Midnight steps away from the pod and Nebula holds his gaze for a long moment. "We all did what we had to survive here," she says after a moment, "but for what it's worth, I regret what happened to you."
He narrows his eyes somewhat, wondering if this is all some sort of bizarre dream. He doesn't ask what she's apologizing for. He doesn't really want to know.
"Thank you," Wanda says after a moment, "we owe our lives to you."
Midnight scowls at her. "Keep him alive, or you'll live to regret it."
He doesn't quite catch the Witch's expression, but she dips her head somewhat and a blast of red energy snakes from her palms like a concussion wave, smashing into his siblings harshly. They go flailing backwards, slamming into various desks and screens. It's at this moment that he notices the Outrider bodies laying in the room haphazardly. Mutiny. They did that, because they knew they would be coming. They killed.
They are afraid.
As he is.
Thanos does nothing but instill terror, and he wants nothing more than to give his all up and run back.
"Wanda—" he hisses sharply, angrily.
She shakes her head, pulling him towards the pod. "They asked me to. They needed it to look like we won. Come on, we need to go, we haven't much time."
She pulls him forward, and together they step inside the pod. The Tesseract hums in his hand, happy, and the cold communication device feels like a ploy. A lie. They told me I am Nova...Gamora knows who he is. His name. He takes a seat in the pilot's chair as Wanda slumps gratefully into the co-pilot's seat. He detaches them from the mothership and shakily flips up the coordinates for Mid—Terra. He turns on autopilot in case he passes out, and blasts the engines at full power, turning up the shields.
He barely remembers the flee from the Sanctuary to open space, but without anyone at the bridge to command the fleet, the most they have to deal with is the outer torrents. More of an annoyance than a worry. They quickly break range and Nova spots a heavy gathering of debris off to their left. It looks like a planet exploded, the bits to clustered together to be a normal asteroid field.
He ignores it, turning his attention forward and wrapping his shaking hands around the controls. Treason. He ran away. He left. (He's going to find his maybe-brother.)
Wanda grips at her scalp and leans against her knees. They hit the nearest jump point, and Nova pushes them inside. The jolt makes the Witch gasp, but he doesn't really care. He wants to laugh with giddy relief or panic. They're gone. They left. The Sanctuary is behind them now.
Tentatively, he takes the first breaths of freedom he can remember.
Author's Note: How're we doing? Quarantine driving everyone insane yet? ;)
Next chapter: Um. I don't know. Let's go sometime in May/possibly end of April.