For some reason - and he honest-to-God didn't notice until he got onto the jet and sat down on it - there was a dog biscuit in his back pocket.
Clint felt the sharp edges and winced, squirming in his seat to fish it out. The biscuit had broken into two severe halves. Lucky squirmed against his seatbelt in the seat next to him, slobbering all over the upholstery. He let out a truly pathetic whine, his tongue lolling out, and Clint sighed. "You're making a fool of yourself, come on," he said sternly.
Lucky whined again.
"I'll eat the biscuit myself if you keep that up."
Lucky switched tactics and gave him the saddest pair of wide puppy-dog eyes he could.
Clint blinked. "You're pathetic," he drawled. "Fine. Here."
Clint tossed him half the biscuit. It bounced off Lucky's nose and into the air; with a truly hilarious expression of canine panic, Lucky snatched it just before it hit the ground. He munched on it proudly, sending crumbs everywhere. Clint smiled slightly and rubbed Lucky's head until his ears flopped. Good boy. Very good boy. Catlike reflexes, his ass.
"Mr. Barton, are you ready for takeoff?"
His hand stilled. "Yeah, ready," he called, settling back into his seat. He took another deep breath, feeling the stretch in his ribs.
Hell.
He'd almost forgotten why he was on the fucking jet in the first place.
True to her word, the fancy-ass Wakandan jet that Natasha had promised landed on his front lawn a few hours after her call. Those things were fast . Some remote part of Clint's brain was wildly protesting their departure - he couldn't leave, not now, he didn't have time to fucking mourn, dammit -
But the moment the jet's door opened, Lucky ran up and leapt in, sniffing around for Wakandan doggie treats. Traitor. Clint and the pilot had exchanged long-suffering looks. The moment didn't last, though, and Clint had to haul his sorry ass and his daybag onto a jet that would've given him wet dreams six years ago.
Now it was just -
It was -
He didn't even know.
Fuck's sake.
"We're taking off now, Mr. Barton," came the pilot's voice over the intercom.
And they did, so smoothly that Clint barely noticed it; the jet accelerated quickly, and it was like a hand pushing him gently into his seat. There was hardly any sound; the vibranium hull absorbed most of the noise. Lucky went stiff in his seat, eyes rolling frantically in his head, as they truly left the earth behind. Clint scratched him reassuringly behind his ears. His own chest felt hollow.
He'd promised Laura that he wouldn't leave again, after they got broken out of the Raft. After the pardons, after the media firestorm. He'd gotten on the first flight back to Iowa and found Laura on the front porch, holding one-year-old Nathaniel on her hip. Without caring who saw him, he nearly fell to his knees in front of her and promised. He wouldn't leave. He'd ignore any and all calls. God, he didn't want to miss anything, not ever again.
And Laura. Sweet, forgiving Laura. She'd pulled him to his feet and hugged him, whispering thank you in his ear.
That was all they said about it.
And look at him now. Close your eyes for a few hours, and suddenly your entire life is dust.
Goddamn.
His hands splayed wide, made fists. They were starting to shake. Fuck's sake, he needed something to distract himself. He pulled out his phone and idly scrolled through the news notifications. "DUSTING" CLAIMS BILLIONS, the headlines screamed. Twitter alone was a hornet's nest of trending usernames and tribute posts. Each name was a timebomb - either the person was dead or not, and the anticipation hurt like a punctured lung.
He bit the bullet and opened Twitter. His breath left him in a pained wheeze.
Save me a seat at the party, Harrison. With Carrie there too, it better be a blast. - HamillHimself
Ian McKellen was trending. Apparently, he had dissolved onstage while playing Claudius in a production of Hamlet. There were pictures of him crumbling to dust; the young actor playing Hamlet was frozen behind him, horrified, and McKellen was kneeling in the spotlight with his eyes closed. The dust of his body swirled in the lights behind him, a great glowing cloud.
Goodbye, JK. There was art of Rowling, surrounded by the characters she'd killed off in her books. Thank you for my childhood.
Weinstein dusted in his house… good riddance. Guess justice was finally served.
No spoonfuls of sugar to help us swallow this terrible loss. We miss you already, Julie Andrews. You'll always keep singing in our hearts.
Death doesn't discriminate. Farewell, Lin. See you on the other side. - leslieodomjr
He could take it anymore. Death doesn't - "Death doesn't discriminate," he whispered. "Fuck." Damn right, it didn't - it was a fifty-fifty chance, life or death. Two sides of the same coin. While he was distracted, Lucky's slimy tongue wormed into the hand holding the rest of the biscuit. Clint let him have it.
It takes, and it takes.
God-fucking fuck -
His phone suddenly buzzed. There was a call from Natasha. He answered swiftly and lifted the phone; it was already hot, like a branding iron, searing the names of the fallen into his memory. "Yeah?"
Natasha's voice washed over him, curt and business-like. "Clint, there's been a development. Thor came back, and accidentally - " There was some muttering. " Sorry, totally-on-purpose summoned a lost Asgardian artifact that might be able to stop Thanos."
The words took a while to sink in. "Are you kidding me?" Clint finally exploded. "Where the fuck was that when we needed it?"
Natasha scoffed bitterly. " On Earth, apparently," she said. Clint made an exasperated sound that was barely human. Of course, every single fucking artifact that the universe was interested in was on fucking Earth.
"We're going to have a meeting about it," Natasha went on. Her voice was dry enough to tell Clint that she felt the same way about… whatever the thing was. " Thor and one of the sorcerers from Kamar-Taj are going to compare notes and tell us about it."
"Yeah - what exactly is it?"
Natasha was silent. " You're not going to believe this," she said, almost snickering. " It's a ring. A fucking gold ring. "
"Jesus Christ, you're kidding."
"I'm not."
"Ooh, spooky," Clint said, wiggling his fingers mysteriously, even though Natasha couldn't see it. Lucky watched his hand move. He recited, in a fake spooky voice, "'One ring to rule them all, one ring - "
" Ah, shut up," Natasha said fondly. It felt like she was sitting in the chair next to him, affectionately shoving him in the shoulder. Some gaping hole in his chest seemed to fill. God, he'd missed her.
"So - the meeting's about to start," she suddenly said. "I'll put you on speaker so you can listen in, if that's alright."
"Yeah - yeah, that's perfect," Clint agreed, shifting in his seat. "Uh - Nat."
" Yes?"
He was quiet for a while, trying to search for words. Lucky's nose prodded his hand. "Thanks," was all he could manage to say.
Natasha knew what he meant, as always. "No problem," she said quietly. " It'll be nice to have you here. " Clint almost smiled - just the corner of his mouth twitching up, nothing more. "Okay - we're about to start. "
She fell silent, and he heard a door grind open in the background. There was a soft wash of voices, and his ears automatically began to sort through each one. Thor's baritone - now soft and subdued, an undercurrent of terrible sorrow running beneath it. Rhodey's sharp Colonel's voice in full force. Some unfamiliar brash voice, a Frankenstein's monster of Brooklyn-Boston-French drawls. Bruce, surprisingly; his soft voice blended with Thor's. He let the voices wash over him in a tide of words, battering away at the stone in his heart.
He was a pragmatist, after all. He spent his time mourning, but - Laura wouldn't want this. Wouldn't want him to waste time on them, not while there's a bigger bad guy to fight.
When they have to be avenged.
This is no place to die.
The windows in the laboratory were shattered. Shuri shambled onto the destroyed balcony above Vision's operating table; she braced her hands on the railing and stared at the rubble beneath. The operating table stood unbroken among shards of glass.
Shuri squeezed the railing. Her knuckles bled white.
Somehow her feet brought her down the stairs, across the shattered planes of the laboratory floor, to the flat slab of the operating table. She perched on its edge. Now, closer to the windows, the wind stole even the sound of her breath - nothing in her ears but its mournful howl. The gouges in the land left by Thanos's weapons seemed to bleed, and the jungle -
No place -
Great clouds of dust hovered above the trees -
This is no place -
Shuri choked. She clenched her hands into fists, seeking the pain of her nails digging into her flesh.
Oh, brother.
It had barely been an hour, but Okoye's words to her still pounded in her skull. "Your brother… I'm sorry. He was lost." Not killed, not defeated. Lost. Even now, looking back, Shuri felt something rising in her - all sharp and choking, panic wrapped around her throat. Like the monster in the garbage compactor, she thought hysterically. From A New Hope. Hell.
It hadn't sunk in at the time. She had found it in herself to ask what her brother's last words were.
Okoye had been silent, so silent, that Shuri wondered for one hysterical moment if she'd vanished too. Then she spoke. " This is no place to die, " she whispered. "That was… what he told me. I am so sorry. Forgive me." The call ended abruptly, and Shuri had - Shuri had screamed.
The numb shock within her finally burst free, all claws and sharp teeth. The Dora Milaje near her - the ones that hadn't crumbled into dust - surged forward to stop her, but she ignored them, driving her fists into the walls with a howl of grief. She'd sunk to her knees, sobbing; her bodyguards pressed close, their presence silent but soothing. The women had unconsciously joined hands. The combined force of their grief rippled through them all, in a litany of hands squeezed, shoulders leant on, tears freely shed. For they had just lost their King -
And Shuri had just lost a brother.
Her wrist communicator vibrated softly, and she gritted her teeth. She opened her hand - an e-mail from -
Her eyebrows flew up. The United Nations was holding an emergency session? Why was she getting this? Usually her brother -
Oh. Right.
Shuri swallowed and skimmed the e-mail, panic rising like bile in her throat. Words jumped out at her: emergency session… worldwide catastrophe… following ambassadors were victims… substitutes will attend in their stead - She glanced at the list and looked at a few of the countries on the list. "Oh, yikes," she said softly. Roughly half of them were gone, and some heavy political hitters had taken serious damage. Germany. China. Bolivia, United States, Brazil, Canada. Russia. France. Ethiopia.
She bit back the urge to swear. So many of their earliest, tentative allies were gone. Now they'd have to play Diplomacy Bingo again - find their allies, see their stances…
She dismissed the message and put her head in her hands, nervously toying with her hair. Was she Queen now? Was she? Was - Her breath started coming faster, and she leaned forward, hands nearly tugging at her hair now. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she wasn't ready for this - technically she wasn't Queen yet (if at all), her claim hadn't been challenged, she hadn't faced the tribes, hadn't eaten the heart-shaped herb - and what about her stepmother? She was older, wouldn't she have to take the throne instead -
Bzzt.
Her wrist vibrated again. "What now," she muttered, letting go of her hair, feeling her scalp sting. She opened her hand, and answered the call. She snapped, almost immediately regretting it, "What?"
"Your Majesty."
It was the Widow. Shuri pursed her lips and inclined her head, staring out the shattered windows at the jungle where she doubtlessly was. "My apologies," she said tersely. "What is it?"
"We have a… situation," the woman said softly. Tonelessly. Shuri could sense nothing in her voice, and her guard came up. "Thor came back, as you might have noticed."
"Damn right," Shuri huffed. "I could feel the thunder from here."
Romanoff gave half a chuckle. "Yes - well, some things came to light, and we found some kind of magical artifact that… that might be able to stop Thanos."
What.
"Say that again," Shuri said carefully.
A weapon to stop Thanos.
"There's a ring, one the Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj have been keeping secret for centuries," Romanoff explained. "Thor accidentally summoned it and its guardian to Wakanda. We're planning on holding a meeting to discuss it." Romanoff paused, then said carefully, "Would it be alright with your brother if we came to the palace and met?"
It sounded almost too good to be true. So good that Shuri almost didn't hear Romanoff's slip-up. "Um." She cleared her throat. "My brother was among the fallen."
"I'm sorry," came Natasha's swift reply. "I - I didn't -"
"It is quite alright," Shuri said stiffly, the white woman's apology grating on her nerves. It did not ring true in her chest. It was nothing like the Dora Milage gathered around her in grief, in solidarity. "Thank you," she said anyway. "I will allow you and your teammates to meet in the council chamber."
"Thank you, your Majesty," Romanoff said humbly. Shuri gritted her teeth. "Just to warn you, the Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj travel -"
"With giant glowing portals, I'm aware," Shuri interrupted. She could almost sense Romanoff's raised eyebrow and stiffly said, "My people have eyes and ears in every corner of the world. We know of Stephen Strange and his order."
"Oh. My apologies."
"Thank you. Will that be all, Miss Romanoff?"
"It will, thank you," the spy replied. "Wong should be around shortly. We're on our way up."
"Alright. Goodbye."
Without another word, she ended the call; the United Nations summons swam back into view, its official logo and curt, aloof words like a knife against Shuri's throat. She heaved a great sigh and quickly typed a response. She would see if any local ambassadors would be willing to attend; if not, then she would attend herself, in 24 hours.
24 hours.
In less than a day, the world had become completely unrecognizable - and yet in another, it would be back on course. Politics, debates, forums. Rebuilding. That, of all things, never seemed to end.
She took a deep breath. Something in her told her to sit up straight, and she did, staring out the windows at the slashed battlefield.
Vibranium in your spine. The voices of her old advisors echoed in her ears all at once. You are strong and sturdy. Hold steady. Do not yield.
It was silent in the laboratory, and the wind whistled through the windows. Shuri slowly stood up and made her way to the back of the lab, where her prototypes were stored under lock and fingerprint-retina-blood-protected key. She opened a compartment, reached in.
It was just a prototype, but it would do. It would have to.
Shuri put on the nanobot necklace for the newest version of the suit, one her brother would never have a chance to test. Her reflection wavered on the metal walls of the compartment; she looked herself in the eye and raised her chin.
This is no place to die.
Princess Shuri made for the stairs, with vibranium in her spine and the howling wind in her ears.
About half the seats in the council chamber were empty.
Bruce sat in his chair - surprisingly comfortable, for something that looked like it was mostly metal - and glanced around at the others. Everyone important that they could find was milling about in the council room, but it still felt too empty. His fingers laced together, unlaced, pulled and tugged. It was a vaguely soothing motion, but it did nothing to stop the raw feeling in his chest. Maybe it was an injury; he didn't have time to stop by the Wakandans' hospital to get checked.
Bruce swallowed and drew into himself, mentally cataloguing the parts of his body. Muscles tensed, released. Back is strained. Most likely upper trapezius... Lower - ow. Lower part of shin showing signs of medial tibia stress. Deltoid sprain? Uh. Fuck. Definitely a rectus abdominus tear, hell, that hurts. Oof. Let's see, let's see -
Someone gently grasped his wringing hands.
Bruce glanced sharply to his right, and winced as his neck muscles protested. "Ah, fuck," he hissed, jerking a hand away to rub at the muscles.
Thor cringed apologetically. "Sorry," he said hastily. His remaining hand stayed on Bruce's. "Are you alright?"
"Won't be for a while," Bruce muttered, kneading the muscle. The pain started to ebb, but he knew it would hurt like a bitch for days. "Yeah. I'll live."
"Good. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask," Thor said kindly.
Bruce found a knot and pushed on it, cringing. "Ooh. Might take you up on that," he muttered. "I might need some Asgardian strength to get these damn muscles to relax."
"And what of your injuries?"
"They'll…" Bruce trailed off. He would have said that they'd be fine, but normally they would have started to heal by now, thanks to the Hulk's extra-fast regeneration. Hopefully he still had it. Hulk had made his stance pretty clear, when he slammed the metaphorical door on Bruce and left him to himself.
"They'll heal," he finally said.
Thor patted his hand. "I hope so," he said seriously. Bruce swallowed and nodded once at him, slowly pulling his hand away.
Natasha sank heavily into the seat next to him, and Bruce gave her a polite nod. She returned it. They both stared at the table, resolutely not looking at each other. In the polished reflection of the table, Bruce saw Thor glance at him; his eyes drifted sideways and met Thor's. In silent agreement, they winced slightly and looked away.
The doors suddenly boomed open, and Princess Shuri, accompanied by a handful of Dora Milaje, swept into the room. Natasha quickly stood up, placing a phone on the table in front of her; the others hastily followed suit. Where's T'Challa? Bruce wondered briefly, as he dragged his protesting body to his feet. But then he saw the nanosuit-necklace around Shuri's throat, and the reddened eyes in her stony face, and understood. Damn. T'Challa was a good man. It was a shame that he'd…
"Sit, please," said Shuri. Her young voice was cold, sharp as steel. Bruce gratefully took a seat, silently cursing out his back. Shuri herself remained standing before her chair, eyes sweeping over the assembled survivors. She seemed cool and unflappable, though there was a brief flicker of surprise when her eyes landed on Rocket. Then she shrugged slightly and moved on.
"Thank you all for being here," she said, finally taking a seat. The Dora Milage grouped around her. "My brother was... among the fallen. For now, I will be conducting business in his stead, until an official replacement can be found."
"We're sorry for your loss," Steve said automatically.
Shuri tilted her head and gave him a calculating look. "I accept your apology," she said stiffly, and Bruce winced. Not a dismissal of the apology; there was blame there, and tension. Shuri knew full well that it was Steve's idea to bring Vision to Wakanda.
She swiftly tore her eyes from Steve and continued. "As I understand it, Thor -"
Thor sat up straighter at his name.
"You… summoned the artifact to you, shortly after Thanos left?"
Thor cleared his throat. "I did, yes," he said.
"Do you have it with you?" Shuri asked.
"Er… no." Thor clasped his hands on the table, the thumb of his right hand rubbing the left. "Uh - the Ring has been in the protection of the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj for centuries," he said awkwardly, "and. Well. They weren't so enthusiastic about me getting my hands on it."
Shuri's lips tightened. "Hmm. Well - can you tell us what you and your people know about the Ring?" she asked tersely. She definitely wasn't pleased about the Ring being out of sight.
"Yeah, absolutely," Thor said.
He sat up and cleared his throat, his gaze broadening to include the rest of the table. Bruce angled himself towards Thor, listening carefully. "So. The ring," Thor began, his voice strong but soft. "My father told me that it was forged thousands of years ago, by powers unknown, and Asgard laid claim to it. Bor, my grandfather, used it to bring the Nine Realms under his control. Until -"
"Until he fuckin' lost it," Rocket interrupted. Steve gave him an unimpressed look. "What?" the raccoon said defensively. "I figured as much, the ring's here, ain't it? Rational thought, c'mon-"
"I was getting to that," Thor sighed. Rocket shrugged and settled back in his seat. "Yeah. The ring was lost on… on Earth, and when my grandfather passed, Odin took it upon himself to raise a blockade around this solar system."
"A blockade," said Natasha's phone. Everyone's eyes darted to it. "If there was a blockade, then how the hell did Thanos get through?" said Clint's voice.
"Oh, hello, Clint," Thor said brightly. Only Bruce seemed to notice how forced his smile was, the lines of stress around his eyes. "Asgard was destroyed a few days ago by the demon Surtur. My father is dead. No Asgard, no Odin, no blockade."
"Oh," said Clint. "Sorry, Thor."
"No need," the Asgardian said briskly. He swallowed and looked at his hands again, entwined on the table. "It wasn't perfect, anyway," he added. "The Celestial Ego was able to get through once, and a crew of Ravagers snuck through once to kidnap Peter Quill."
"A crew of what," Rhodey said flatly.
"What's a Celestial?" Clint piped up.
Thor and Rocket said simultaneously, "Space pirates."
"And Celestials are kinda gods, kinda not," Rocket added. "Ego's dead now, we had to kill him because he was tryin' to turn Quill into a planet. Or something." At everyone's confused silence, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Yeah, tough to explain," he said shamelessly. "We can fill ya in, if - "
"Can we stay on topic, please," Shuri interjected.
Rocket heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "Keep going, Thor."
Thor shrugged and said hesitantly, "Well… that's all I know. About the ring," he said hastily, seeing everyone's disgruntled expressions. That really wasn't a lot to go off of. "I do know one other thing," he added. "About ninety of your Earth years ago, some Centaurians were getting nosy around the barricade - Odin talked with them and found out they were looking for the ring, since the rumors about its disappearance were going stronger. So he… he wrote a story."
Thor's nervous wringing grew stronger. "A massive story," he continued, "pulled from the facts of whatever great war resulted in Asgard getting the ring in the first place. He cast it across the galaxy somehow. Many planets picked it up, who either absorbed it into their popular culture or ignored it completely. Earth was one of them."
"Let me guess." Rhodey leaned forward and gave Thor a skeptical look, the prosthetic supporting his back whirring softly. "Tolkien got it."
"From the looks of it, yes," Thor admitted.
He sighed and spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know that much about Earth's version of the tale," he said heavily. "But the version my father sent out… it was so detailed, so historically rich, it was like a history book in its own right. Any author would have gladly snapped it up and expanded it. Most worlds did. I just…"
He trailed off. "I had no idea that my father's deception ran so deep on Midgard," he softly admitted. "It is so… so ridiculously popular, the moment you all even saw the ring you began to rattle off references to the tale -"
A staticky bark of laughter came through Natasha's phone. "Hell, Thor," Clint cackled, "we're practically obligated to reference it. It's one of the most popular damn franchises in the world. People relate to it, you know? Gotta love good old-fashioned stories of heroism and bravery."
"I admit," Shuri said, with a faint smile, "I'm a fan of it as well. The movies are almost older than I am, but I do enjoy the story."
"The Hobbit was my favorite book growing up," Steve offered softly.
Bruce said wryly, "Tony and I went to Comic-Con once as Sauron and the Witch-King. Nobody recognized us, under all the fake armor." There were some soft snickers around the table.
"Yeah, Stark loves that shit," Clint said again. "So did Coulson - my call sign at SHIELD was Legolas for years before Stark jumped on that bandwagon -"
BLAM!
An explosion blasted through the phone's speakers. Everyone instinctively jerked away from the table. Bruce exchanged a startled look with Thor. They all stared at the phone, listening to the staticky sounds of howling wind and - was that a dog barking? "Clint," Natasha snapped, hovering over the phone. "Clint, come in, are you there?"
No sound.
At Shuri's end of the table, holograms sprung to life. Her fingers darted through several interfaces, settling on a map of the Atlantic Ocean. "Damn it," she hissed. She pressed a button on her bracelet and commanded, "Pilot, what's your status?"
Nothing but hissing static for a while. Then: "Princess Shuri," a relieved, though tense, voice said. "We've been hit, with some sort of projectile - give me a minute-"
Natasha's phone went silent.
Everyone froze and stared at it. "Clint?" Steve breathed.
No response.
Bruce's hands started wringing again. This time, Thor didn't stop him.
Wind howled through the hole in the jet's hull. Clint had dropped his phone somewhere - hopefully it hadn't been sucked out the hole - but he was more concerned with staying alive. He found a Wakandan oxygen mask and jammed it onto Lucky's face, before finally putting one on himself.
A hull-sealing stream of nanobots crawled across the massive hole. Whatever had struck them was either really big and dense, or really small and traveling at high speeds - high enough to punch through vibranium. The jet reeled and twisted through the air, listing at odd angles. There was commotion in the cockpit - raised voices, alarms blaring. Clint held Lucky close. The seatbelts still held, but he wasn't going to take any chances -
A bright gleam rocketed across the plane, towards the still-sealing hole. Instinctively, Clint reached out and grabbed it.
Just as his fingers touched it, he realized that it was glowing a familiar shade of yellow.
Son of a fuck -
His world faded to white.
A quick author's note, because fuck the system:
All the celebrity and world-leaders deaths were completely at random; I literally pulled up a yes/no option generator and plugged in names. Was also definitely inspired by all those edits of Infinity War deaths with lyrics from "Wait For It" on them. Suing for emotional damages.
Anyway. If all goes well, the next chapter should be out in a week, give or take a few days - it all depends on how soon I get it done. Coming up: Tony feels the effects of the fight, and we meet an old friend who's grown up a little since we last saw them. Come yell with/at me on my tumblr; find me under the username usingourmadeupnames. Until next time.
