Earth 216
Eight Months and Twenty-Three Days After Invasion
Everyone was already standing when they brought Grant's body back. Roy had his hand on Jamie's shoulder as her eyes looked around wildly; like an animal caught in a trap. And, oh boy, this animal really wanted to leave. Sasha and Shay were off to the side silently conversing (this could have been one of us. This could have been Winter) while Steve, Bucky, Clint, and some girl named Anna Marie stood in front of the exits to keep the rabid Jamie from escaping. Cat and Sam were over by Jace who was still rubbing his jaw; purple and blue from Jamie's rage. Everyone else was out looking or had never returned and that was exactly why they all risked their lives to keep her in.
The body was freezing, Jamie was crying, and Roy, who had prepared a multitude of jokes for any and every scenario that could walk through that door, could never have been prepared enough for this.
Tori had said he was sorry.
Sasha had sucked in a deep breath – "What are we gonna tell Rogers?"
Steve had looked up, because, oh yea, in another world the shreds of this body were his son.
And Jamie…Oh, Jamie….
She clutched to the corpse as it was lowered to the ground, blood pooling from everywhere and staining her soul. She choked and sobbed and hovered over his broken chest to stroke his young face all the while screaming that it was her fault; that it always had been; that it always would be.
But never, not once, did she look up with hope in her eyes and tell them that it would be okay, because Roy knew Jamie was a sensible person, so he knew she could see the fragments of bone littering his open wounds and the oozing stump where his left arm used to be.
Roy watched as people slowly started to file out of the room. He was sure they knew what loss was, what it felt like. But this was different. This wasn't one of their own. This death was that of someone who came to help them; this wasn't the death of a man – it was the death of a boy.
Roy watched, frozen, petrified, as Tori and Fandral walked away, their uniforms stained with the dark blood of his teammate. The Anna chick shook her head as if to say 'too bad', said some soft words to Jamie, and took her leave. Even Jace looked a little less angry about his deformed face as he licked his lip and turned away. Roy was vaguely aware of someone else crying. Cat, maybe.
He was angered into moving by Sam. Sam Rogers with his hard eyes. Sam Rogers who stared at the dead body with those eyes, who disgraced it. Sam Rogers with the look like he knew it was going to happen – and he could have stopped it if it where he who went out looking instead of Tori, but he would never be man enough to say it.
Sam Rogers who Roy lunged at. Sam Rogers who pinned him to the floor and hit him and hit him because Roy Strange attacked Sam Rogers and Roy Strange did not have his magic. If only he had his magic…
Sam Rogers who was ripped away by a scowling Jace while Steve looked on in shock. Is this my son? Was he ever going to stop?
Jamie Rogers who never looked back, not even once, not to see Sam's repulsive gaze, not to watch Roy defend Grant Rogers for the first time in his entire life, not to see the shock on Steve's face as his son handed Roy's ass to him, not once for she couldn't bear to look away from Grant's deformed face, mouth open in agonized howl and eyes so full of fear and anger.
If only he had his magic.
Finn Eisenhardt hated the world and everyone in it. His younger sister, Edie, knew that, but she could still remember those sweet days when he was shy and oblivious, following her around like a shadow even though he was eight years older. Even as an adult he was in the background, smiling politely and letting the world spin by in a blur of unjust rage. This change in him, this animalistic hatred for everything, had happened very recently – eight months and twenty-three days ago, to be exact. Yes, that was right. Today was the eight-months-and-twenty-third-day anniversary of the day Finn Eisenhardt's sister saved the world. And as a thank you from the planet and all its' inhabitants; Edie was abandoned and left to die in the streets.
Finn was the only one who came back for her and carried her away to live in their father's old cabin more than half a country away – and he would never let her forget it. It wasn't like she could run away, either, for the Stinger's had ripped off her legs before Finn got there. Messed up her spine pretty bad too, among other things, so all she could do was lay in bed and let Finn feed and water her like a houseplant. This wasn't a life, and she knew it, and he knew it, but she was the world's last hope and she didn't give up hope as easily as her brother.
There were very few ways to entertain herself given that she couldn't walk, or even sit up without help. So Finn had given her permission to log onto his laptop and read his journal, though only the recent days. It would always give them something to talk about, though they usually argued given their different viewpoints on the world, and Edie liked to think she could one day know what he was thinking without reading his journal again, like the old days.
He was away right now, anyway. She grabbed the clunky silver object and opened it up.
Why the World Sucks: The Truth Through the Eyes of Phineas M. Eisenhardt.
Entry 1,468
I had another dream about Father last night. He was still so disappointed in me. We just sat there, staring at each other all creepy like. We were back in the mansion, in these big, plush chairs. I wanted to go. I wanted to stand up and run away. I couldn't.
I knew that if Edie was in my place, Father would have been smiling. I knew that even in my dream.
I could tell that he was looking at me and seeing everything. I knew that as I looked at him, I saw my father, nothing more, nothing less. The way his eyes looked into mine, steeling my darkest secrets and making my heart pound upsets me still, even as I am awake and writing this.
I woke up in a cold sweat. Edie was still sleeping peacefully – or as peacefully as she could. It took me all day, but I think I can finally admit what I've been choking down my whole life. No kid should ever have to feel this way. I know Edie didn't, even though she should have.
I am terrified of my father.
Roy sat next to Jamie on the ground. She was still crying but the sobbing had stopped, replaced instead with soft whines and vacant eyes. Sam, Jace and Cat where nowhere to be found, and everyone else besides Clint, Bucky and Steve were currently, well, anywhere but there.
He felt numb. Not because Sam beat him senseless or because he was in pain, embarrassed, or angry. Sam had nothing to do with it. What had everything to do with it was the fact that Grant Rogers, his Earth's Captain America in training, lay dead by his feet.
Grant Rogers had always been a pain in his ass. Best friends with Carly since, like, ever, Captain freaking America for a father, an amazing sister who really knew how to throw down, and unimaginably good looks. Roy had always been beyond jealous. And looking to his right, to the beautiful, resilient, prodigious Jamie Rogers, his best friend in the entire world – in all the worlds – because he didn't have many other choices and she was the only one who liked him, much less tolerated him – he felt numb inside. Not the kind of empty numb that came with not knowing how to feel or what to do. No, this was the filled to the brim kind of numb that came with shame. Shame, because as he looked from crying Jamie to dead Grant, no matter how much he hated himself for it, he couldn't stop feeling just the tiniest spark of pleasure.
And it disgusted him.
Roy had never felt so ashamed to be alive than at this very moment. He felt like he didn't deserve to be in a ten mile radius of there, or anywhere. Like he didn't belong and he never would – it was an old, familiar feeling, but it crept back up on him with such newfound force that he wanted to crumple beneath it and lay prisoner to its chains.
His hand ghosted over Grant's arm. He had only the vaguest idea of what to do and all the doubt in the world that it would work. His eyes drifted to Grant's face; peaceful now as Jamie had closed his mouth and eyes and was currently occupying herself with smoothing down his hair. His eyes flickered back to the arm, cold and lifeless. He shivered as he made contact, fingers gently squeezing around the bicep as his eyes closed in concentration.
There was nothing. No sense of life force, no sense of magic, no fluttering feeling of the possibility of anything. Roy dove deeper into self-loathing. He wasn't himself. He had no jokes, nothing to laugh at or make fun of. In fact, since seeing Grant's body and feeling that grain of glee, Roy hadn't spoken a single word. Not to Jamie, not as he lunged himself at Sam, not anything to anybody.
He squeezed the pale flesh harder, hating the way it moved against his hand. Roy tried with everything he had. He didn't even know what he was trying to do. He felt like he was just sitting there, grabbing some dead guy's arm and squeezing it real hard – because that's exactly what was going on. But nobody stopped him.
Roy squeezed harder. His face scrunched in concentration. Do something, he urged himself over and over, the words like fire in his mind. God, are you good at anything? Why are you even here? The words were like poison, fueling the raging flames as they went higher and higher and Roy felt like he was burning from the inside out. You're worthless. You came here to help – and look at you now. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes. Is that all you got? DO SOMETHING.
There was a loud, earsplitting pop. Roy felt like someone had taken an axe to his brain; his chest ached like heartburn. Heads snapped around in his direction as Roy slowly opened his eyes, the world around him a dark, dizzying blur. He could faintly make out Jamie's teary face as she looked at him with confusion and then—
Grant's first breath back from the dead.
Roy didn't know who was more surprised between the six of them.
Jace came running into the room. "What was that?" And then, "Oh my God," as he stared at newly living Grant who began to convulse and spasm on the floor, fresh blood oozing from his wounds as his heart began to pump again and his eyes blinked open and his mouth let out moans and groans of incomprehensible agony.
"Grant?" Jamie exclaimed, looking wide-eyed at her brother, Roy, her brother, Roy. Then Fandral as he and Tori came running in. "Help him!" She begged. Roy stood up.
"I need to go." He stumbled out of the room, his head spinning and threatening to fall off. He let out a groan as he clutched the wall, and then his head.
"Roy," he struggled to turn around, to see who had called his name. His vision was pure white, burnt on the edges with black darker than obsidian. "Roy, it's me, Clint. Are you okay?"
"Yea," he managed, feeling sticky blood begin to gush out of his nose as the world spun left and his legs gave out.
As Edie closed the laptop with an emotionally confused sigh, she saw Finn standing at the edge of her bed, pitcher of water and glass in his hands. He studied the glass as he poured, his gentle brown eyes traveling with the water.
"You're afraid of Dad?" She asked, watching as he took the computer from her grasp and traded it for the glass. She watched him watch the ground as he walked around the small room, adjusting things and occupying his hands while he tried to ignore her.
She put the drink down and shook her head at him. "Finn," she said, strong this time despite being so weak. She hated to upset him; they used to be so close. But recently, well, recently it felt like he was a stranger. A simple ghost of the brother he used to be.
"I think your eyes are going bad," he said lightly, smiling gently in her direction as he watered the plants around her and opened the window so she could feel the sun on her skin. "It actually says terrified, but I guess scared could work too."
"You've never had any reason to be scared of him," she defended without hesitation, noticing and not liking the way Finn tensed at her words. Who was this man?
His lips pursed and his thumb scratched at the glass handle of the container. "I think you know that's not true," he replied, his words as timid and docile as his eyes.
Edie struggled to sit up, to shift, to do anything. Her frustration of not being able to do so echoed in her words. "Our father was a hero."
Finn had been watching her from the doorway; his hands now free as he leaned cautiously against it and watched her with those big, sad, doe eyes that she used to love so much. He was always one to flee from a fight, to avoid any sort of confrontation whatsoever. He would push it down and hold it there, letting his words flow briefly across the screen as his only outlet. Edie had grown up knowing that they were different people, but it had always felt different than this. This was a different type of different – a dangerous one that only concluded with the revelation that these two people, the last to care about each other, were not, after all, compatible.
He kept looking at her with that gaze of his, his age eight years older but his eyes eight years younger. She waited for him to walk away. What she didn't expect was his words before he did so.
"Our father was a murderer."
Roy woke up with a start. There was an all too real pounding in his head and a faint wetness on his face – had he been drooling? As his breaths came in labored pants and his eyes took in his surroundings, Clint came straight away to hover over him, though it was obvious he didn't have the slightest clue what to do. He just sort of stood there, watching cautiously as Roy's head whipped around and he gasped and gasped like he'd never tasted air before—but oh – it was so good.
Through all of his head wagging and eye blinking Roy had noticed a significant amount more of the room than people might have expected him to. It was quite a lot different than all the other rooms, and it was on the floor above the balcony, obvious from the amount of sunlight pouring through the large glass windows that overlooked the fragmented remains of the city. The room had a lot of technical equipment in it – no, medical – which meant that they were using it as the med room but it hadn't always been, as the walls and outlay of the room showed signs of previous furniture placement. This meant that previous medical supplies had been at least a couple floors up, probably taken out by the invasion and what useable equipment remained, bent and broken, had been moved down to the next available space.
Roy also knew that the equipment must still be working because mechanical beeps and whirs filled his head as he stopped moving and gazed to the side, because he had no machines hooked up to his body, so that had to mean that in the bed next to him, the lady with the red hair and pale skin, was Natasha Romanoff and she was in very, very bad condition.
"Uh, you doing okay?" Right, Clint's here. Roy turned his head, looking up at the archer with as much seriousness as he had ever looked at anybody before. Unknown to most due to Roy's charming personality, he was actually a lot smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. You see, even as he worked to steady his breath, even as he wondered what happened to Black Widow, even as he had just woke up and still felt completely, utterly drained; he already had a working theory of what had happened. And he needed confirmation – hopefully something Clint couldn't give him.
"I need to speak to my father," Roy croaked out, reaching out with a shaky hand to raise the bed into a sitting position. Clint scratched his neck.
"He'll have to take a message." Roy shook his head – he needed Clint to entertain him. To tell him that Roy was missing some big part of this puzzle, and the current conclusion growing stronger and stronger in his head was just his mind thinking up the worst thing it could.
"Stephan Strange. I need to speak to this world's Stephan Strange. Doctor Stephan Strange, please," His voice was still hoarse as he insisted his demands, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and slipping just once as he tried to stand. Clint secured an arm around him, lifting him up and trying to lay him down again but Roy shook his head.
"Whoa there, Frankenstein – do you know what you just did? I'd take a little rest." But he didn't try to move Roy any further. Roy was tempted to laugh. Yes – Frankenstein—I suppose I did create a monster.
"I just rose my not-so-favorite Rogers from the dead, so, yes, I know exactly what I've done," Roy answered coolly, getting increasingly tired of the way his head weighed twice as much as normal. "Now, please, take me to see someone magical. Anyone. Wong, Mordo, The Ancient One, Clea – literally anyone." Clint didn't move a muscle. "Um, now," Roy commanded, and Clint made a face.
"Yea, I'm going to go get Tony up here ASAP."
Roy sighed. "Sit me down." Clint complied and helped him sit, his hands coming up to his head and his breaths became labored again.
"I'm going to have to ask…"
"Let me guess, you want to know how I did it?" Roy's voice was muffled by his hands, his eyes squeezing shut so hard that it hurt. He heard Clint's simple agreement and wanted to smile – the moment was rather funny. Really, who would have ever guessed, me and him, up here, Widow dying besides us. What a crackpot world this is. What a fucked up…insane… crazy world. Roy felt like his mind was slowly derailing. Dismantling piece by piece until only the edges of the puzzle were left and he either wanted to laugh or cry about it. Clint still stood three feet to his left. Roy forced in a ragged breath.
"They don't exist, do they?" He muffled again, slowly rubbing his face and lifting it up until he could visibly see Clint shaking his head.
"Sorry kid, I've got no idea who you're talking about." And he did, he looked sorry. What a guy – he's sorry to not know people who've never existed. Roy wanted to applaud him. Roy wanted to do a lot of things that didn't really make sense at the moment. Mostly, Roy wanted a big block of cheese on a stick.
He stood up again and Clint was right there, securing an arm against him and helping him walk.
"Where to?" He asked, and Roy actually managed a chuckle this time.
"I have a feeling there's more people than you who want to know how Grant's alive. I'm going to answer that question."
It was quickly turning into their third day on this other Earth as the sun began to rise, and the only thing Sasha knew was that he wanted to go home. It was absolutely ridiculous! He especially had a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that Grant Rogers had died (and then he started to freak out, because he only went along to protect his daughter and watch out for these crazy kids – and then Grant went and died) and Roy Strange of all people just popped him back to life.
He felt bad for Jamie. No one had said why Grant was outside, alone, after patrols had already been sent out, but no one was exactly asking yet given the total chaos that had just went down. What Sasha did know was that Clint had found Roy unconscious in the hallway and had brought him up to the medical room, and Sasha was the only other person who went to visit. Roy had looked just as pale and lifeless as Grant had been just hours before, and it was worse knowing that he wasn't the only body in that room.
Now the younger Rogers was on a pile of rags in the corner of the room as some nurse he only knew as Claire operated on him because it was too risky to move him anywhere else. It was taking hours. Surprisingly, the room was crowded as everyone waited with baited breath. Some helped Claire while they could while others simply passed through to check in, or converse or switch out patrols.
Cat sat with Jamie on the couch where she had been since Claire told her to give her some space. Jace sat awkwardly next to them, constantly looking around and stiffly tapping his foot. Steve and Sam hadn't been seen for hours, and Shay, well Shay was out on another patrol.
Sasha, however, was currently kneeling on the ground in front of heavily sedated Grant, putting pressure on the harshly amputated arm as Claire worked her magic. Sasha had no prior medical training – he had been working at a dance studio before joining the team – but he couldn't just stand around and do nothing as all of this was happening, and Claire had seemed grateful for his nimble hands and quiet attitude. Others had leant their help and done their duty, but with their ever changing schedules and random emergencies, Sasha's unwavering presence made him a strong ally.
Grant still looked like a dead man to Sasha, but a significantly better dead man. His chest had been cleaned up and pieced back together so that only parts of it hung open, his minor wounds were still open and unbandaged but they were clean and no longer risked infection, and his arm had finally stopped bleeding and the flesh looked slightly less grey. Overall, Sasha figured this would be the luckiest day of Grant's life – forget his wedding.
Still, Sasha was done. He knew now, looking down at Claire's hands as she worked, he was done before he ever agreed to come. He missed his daughter. He missed Mack. He missed his dance classes. He missed keeping his powers a secret and just living a normal life – but then that contradicted everything else because if he had done that, if he had just stayed normal, SHIELD would have never found him, he would have never met Mack or Shay or Fury or the Avengers and that little girl with the white hair…she would have never been born.
He put more pressure on the wound and a squirt of blood oozed out.
Why the World Sucks: The Truth Through the Eyes of Phineas M. Eisenhardt.
Entry 1,286
I've decided to let Edie read these stupid things. I'm done letting this be a private outlet for my eyes only. She's been laying there – just laying there – for two months now. They just left her there; my own sister just to die on the streets. She trusted these people. And now she just lays there with nothing to do. I try to keep her occupied, I try to make her smile and laugh but I know she feels a lot of pain. I know I'm angrier than ever but I refuse to take it out on her. She tried to tell me that it doesn't hurt, but I don't believe it. Not for one moment.
You see that, Edie? I don't believe you. So go on, keep telling me that you don't feel that undeniable itch where your legs should be, keep telling me that the betrayal of all your friends, of the man you loved, doesn't tear you apart inside. And most of all: keep telling yourself that I'm enough to keep you alive, because I know we both don't believe that so maybe if you say it enough…maybe then one of us will.
So enjoy reading these stupid things, I don't know why I do it anymore. It used to feel so good. I would write away my anger and my worries and I would be happy again. I haven't felt happy in a very, very long time. But don't you ever think that's your fault. I know you didn't mean to leave me behind and do those things you did, not really.
Anyways, I know you're snoopy and that you're going to try to read the entries previous to this one even though I told you not to, so I put a lock and password on them to keep you out. There are just some things I have to keep private, even from you. I hope you understand. I hope you know that I love you, even though we don't see eye to eye on more than you could ever know. I hope you know that I'm sorry, and that I know you are, too.
I hope your pain eases soon, or that you pass along before it gets unbearable.
-Finn
Roy could almost stand without help by the time the elevator doors clicked open and Clint helped him walk out. Immediately heads swung their way as Roy let out a tired grin and held up a peace sign.
"Did you miss me?" he asked arrogantly, waving Clint away with a quick 'thanks'.
"Roy?" It was Jamie, asking his name like she forgot he existed. He looked over to her, watching as she clung to Grant's hand as he lay on the floor, his wounds dressed and healed. How long had he been out for?
Grant was still pale, lifeless, and covered in blood. Everyone was still quiet and crowded together and looking at him with many different emotions. Roy couldn't tell if Grant's chest was moving or if it was just his imagination. His smile faltered slowly. "Is he…?"
"Sedated," Clint answered, crossing his arms heavily over his sturdy chest. "Heavily. Now come on, crazypants, you gonna tell us how you did it or what?" The emotions turned expectant as the eyes stayed trained on Roy. Jamie was expectant, too, but her eyes were still glazed over and Roy was very sure that she wasn't in the same world as him.
"Yes, I am," he said as he tore his gaze from her, "but first, I have a question."
"You don't get to ask a question," Jace roared and suddenly he was all up in his face and the room was tense again. Roy knew, in that moment, that trust would be harder to earn here than anywhere else. Doubt – they were full of it, and Roy and his team had just dropped in conveniently after they really needed help and Roy had just brought the dead back to life. Trust was a foreign concept far, far away.
"First you get struck by my lightning and don't die, and now you bring this shred of human flesh back to life? Who the hell are you?" Jace demanded, his electric eyes dancing with, well, electricity. Roy was never that good at explaining things.
"Would you believe me if I said 'magic'?" He asked, unflinching but tired as he looked up at Jace with calm certainty. Everyone was on their feet and ready to do something, but no one else spoke. Roy gazed around calmly as he sidestepped Jace and stood in front of him. He briefly wondered, if Jace was there to pull Sam off of me, but Sam is gone, who's here to pull Jace off? But he pushed the thought away now knowing that, if he absolutely had to, he could take him.
His gaze swept the crowd around him, staying on Grant for a few seconds longer than he would have liked before he made his way calmly over to the windows, slowly building up the anticipation. Roy was a showman – he liked people groveling at his feet and hanging on his every word. He peered out of the window, their expectant silence fueling him as his mind tried to put two ends together before they did. He pulled back and pointed up, towards where the sky should have been but was now covered by Stingers kept mostly out by some slightly gleaming force field.
Roy looked at Jamie, opened, and then closed his mouth. He turned to look at Shay, and then shook his head. He looked back at Clint and company, giving a sigh and shrugging his shoulders. "I was waiting for my friends to figure it out – you see, I'm supposed to be the stupid one. But," he looked around, his lips coming to form a thin frown, "with Grant's…unfortunate state, Jamie's rather hung up on it and can't use her brain like normal." Jamie looked up at hearing her name, but it was evident there was nothing behind her eyes except grief. Roy continued, "And Sasha's just thinking about his daughter which leaves Shay, who's usually very on top of things." He paused to give her an expectant glance, like she might catch on to his ramblings and continue for him. When she didn't, Roy clicked his tongue and returned to the window. "So, by process of elimination, that leaves me." His voice trailed off at the end, his pale gaze narrowing like he wasn't ready to admit defeat yet.
Jace let out a growl. "Answer the damn question, Roy." Electricity sparked across his skin, moving up and down his arms like tiny waves only breaking to reach out and attach to anything they could reach. Roy pointed at him.
"You might want to get that checked out." Jace's lip quivered until it showed his teeth in an animalistic growl, and his muscles twitched with the great effort of restraint.
"Roy, what are we missing?" Sasha's soft gaze made Roy roll his eyes and nod; an agreement to reveal his big question. So, he wouldn't get to solve this one on his own, after all. Maybe with a little more time, but alas – time was of the essence.
"What's keeping those, uh, 'Stingers' out?" He asked, pointing back up at the sky and turning his gaze once more. When he turned back it was like his question had let everyone down – like they were disappointed. They still don't get it. Sometimes it was aggravating being the smartest one in a room. He sighed, heavily this time. His face twitched in confusion as something changed in Jace's eyes and he looked beyond triggered. Was it something I said?
"I thought it was magic," Roy explained, watching Sasha shrug and nod in agreement. "But it's not. Magic doesn't exist here, well, it didn't, or it doesn't Ah, I don't really know. So, I repeat: What's keeping the Stingers out?"
"What does it matter?" Jace snarled, the strands of energy growing longer across his skin until it nearly encased him. Roy took a step back until he was flat against the wall.
"Answer my question and you'll find out," he retorted, finally pleased with how confused Sasha and his wife looked.
"You're right, it's not magic," Clint answered and Roy rose an eyebrow.
"Then what is it?" He inquired, watching Clint wave his hand and look at the others expectantly.
"Hell if I know," he said with a dry chuckle, stepping back to let someone else come forward.
"Magnetic fields," Jace answered hotly because, apparently, if someone had to say the thing, it was going to be him. Roy's head felt like it was spinning again.
"Magnetic fields?" He echoed, closing his eyes for a few brief seconds. When he opened them, he was still confused. "How did you guys manage that?"
"It wasn't us," Cat said shyly from the corner, and Roy became increasing aggravated when everyone refused to give him a straight answer. A little taste of my own medicine, he thought dryly, shaking his head slightly with a small, proud smirk.
"Then who was it?" He pushed, his gaze casting from person to person around the room as everybody suddenly became very quiet and soon enough the only sound was Jace's skin crackling with electricity as he stared hard at Roy with hate and something else, too, something inexplicably like sorrow or regret.
"A mutant," Jace betrayed himself and spoke, taking long, calming breaths to corral his wild powers.
Roy whistled. "A mutant strong enough to put magnetic forcefields around the Earth?" He tried to imagine it – no wonder why mutants were feared. If they were that powerful…
"Well, she was Magneto's daughter," Clint offered, like it explained everything. Jace had sentenced himself to the corner with Cat where she gently grabbed his arm and spoke to him soft words. Shay looked to Sasha, confused, who in turn projected that confusion onto Roy who simply nodded his head.
"Ah, yea, we've got one of those, too." He said, scratching his chin idly. Sasha gave him a face.
"Uh, Roy, we don't have Mutants." Roy blinked his eyes, the sudden realization smacking him in the face. A light blush covered his cheeks and ears as he shook his head, trying to play it off like an easy mistake as his mind once again began to freak out.
"Oh, right. My bad." He chuckled, rubbing his neck.
"Is this some kind of joke to you?" Jace demanded, Cat holding him back as he shook his head with disbelief. Roy was quick to hold his hands up in defense.
"What? No! I'm sorry – I just got confused –"
"Why don't you turn that confusion into some use and tell us why you're able to bring people back to life." Heads turned again as Steve Rogers appeared in the doorway, Sam angrily peering over his shoulder.
"I was born of magic," he began, trying to speak as slowly and carefully as he could – he often left people in the dust. "Dimensional magic, like how we all know there are different dimensions; different Earths that each has different events to them. My dad, Doctor Stephan Strange, is my Earth's Sorcerer Supreme. He's got like, super magic powers and stuff. Not important. Anyway, my mother, Christine Palmer, was dying when I was due to exit her lady parts, so my dad took me to Clea, ruler lady of the Dark Dimension, yadda yadda, and she agreed to help…er, birth me." Roy could see that he was starting to loose people. He shook his head. "Look, that's not important. What is, is that I wasn't born normally. I was born using extreme measures of some seriously dark dimensional magic. I guess you could say I have two mommies. Not funny? Okay, sorry. So my mom died but I lived – so, yay – and we came here."
"What does any of that have to do with you resurrecting the kid?" Clint asked, and Roy groaned with frustration and cast his gaze to Jamie.
"If she were in her right mind she'd see the big picture here." He took a deep breath, pursing his lips as he tried to think. "Ah, okay. So, think of it this way. Your Earth has no magic, right?" He got several nods. "No Doctor Strange, no Clea, no Ancient One. Yet here I am, absorbing lightning strikes and bringing people back to life."
"Jesus, kid, get to the point," Roy glared at Bucky and desperately wanted to punch himself in the face.
"I was born with magic – created with it," he tried again, "I carried that magic over with me through the portal. Basically, it's my life force - I'm a living battery, and right now I'm in a place where I can't be recharged."
Edie stayed up reading and re-reading his works late into the night. She sighed as she did so, shaking her head and altogether getting upset.
'He's a murderer.' Her brother's words echoed in her mind like a disease she just couldn't shake. She couldn't believe he would say that, that he would believe that. She wanted to make him see what she did, know what she knew. He was blinded, just like all those other people who had thought the same thing. She felt betrayed by one of the two people she thought she could never get betrayed by.
But now, as she read, she knew that his betrayal ran further than she would have ever guessed – that she created this man of hatred just like the world had deceived and corrupted her father. It was a sad night of unwanted awareness that Finn had never really been uncorrupted. All her memories of her smiling brother standing far off now tainted at the thought that he stood aside not because he was shy, but because he feared his father and what he could do. It sparked something inside of her, something she never thought she would feel towards him; her own flesh and blood. But, as the night was growing darker, she learned that never was just something sad people said when they needed something to believe in.
As she scrolled it grew bigger until it crawled from the pit of her stomach and laid over her like a thin blanket. And as her eyes scanned the screen and all of her brother's false words and accusations, she claimed a name to the sacred emotion: hatred. She swaddled it up and cradled it like a baby and fed it all her disgust and empathy until it grew into a raging monster and became her only friend.
The screen was glowing in front of her when she decided to call her brother on his bullshit.
Why the World Sucks: The Truth Through the Eyes of Phineas M. Eisenhardt.
The cursor found its place and she paused, casting her gaze down to her sleeping brother who stay sat in his chair, body crumpled over the side of her bed as he breathed peacefully.
The Truth Through the eyes of Phineas M. Eisenhardt.
She watched him as his chest rose and fell, touched his feathery brown hair as it blew in the night breeze of the open window, and sealed their future with her soft-spoken words.
"You blame father for the faults of the lesser-evolved. Yet you use him and his past to further aid you in life – you use him so that you can escape him. I'm sorry, brother, but that is not honorable."
Her finger found the backspace.
Phineas M. Eisenhardt
Phineas M. Eisen
Phineas M.
Phineas M. Lehnsherr