Today's the day. The end of this arc. The third divergence.
The time Earth-based canon takes a motherfucking hike.
(No, wait. It kinda already did.)
Enjoy - and I apologize in advance.
Watch for the post-AN scene at the end of the chapter. If you haven't guessed who our ROB is from that section... Jesus.
"Great ex-Patriot, my Great ex-frickin' Patriot!" Dmitri greeted with strained cheer. "Isn't life just great?"
"Tony. No." Steve sighed. "Just... just, no."
"Fine, fine, take all the joy out of it. How about we bet ten dollars I'll come up with the quintessential mix of good and annoying?"
"How about we not?"
Dmitri sighed. "You suck. In serious news, I just had an enlightening conversation with Mrs. Carter's niece. I think you two might be familiar - Sharon Carter?"
"Sharon?"
"The one and only. Apparently, she's on punishment detail in... London, I think." Dmitri ran a hand along his nose. "She confirmed it. Dima's in Prague, all right - Interpol laid eyes on him an hour ago, I have a satellite passing over, checking out Prague - so I should be on him shortly. How far are you? By the way. Just so we're clear."
"Six hours."
"Six hours, copy. Keep your phone on - I'll call you if I have something else on his movements."
"Got it. Thanks, Tony."
"Got any backup?" Dmitri checked. "Because Dima's definitely not the kinda guy even you take alone. Man always has some twisted plans, always up to something."
"Yeah, I know a guy."
"Fantastic. Good luck, El Capitan."
"El Cap -" Steve let out a huff of simultaneous exasperation and amusement. "No, Tony. Could you please stop?"
"I'll find something... one more thing, actually - like, I'm really curious..."
"... Yeah?"
"Is it actually true that you kissed her?!"
"Bye, Tony."
"You're not even denying it?!" He got a long beep in response.
Nat ended the call, our unbelievably shaky but hey, there was no other option sort of plan in semi-total agreement.
"Ooh-kay." I hissed out a breath. "Time to push my AGI to the max. Oh, God I'm doing this. I'm actually gonna do this. I've gone insane."
I knocked on my helmet. "Never mind that. I totally got this. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. Peter Parker is the GOAT. Live up to it."
Okay. So, what are we doing tonight, Peter Parker?
I leaped forward, vaulting past a trifecta of steel pipes, landing with catlike grace, and forcing myself forward. I had no choice but to keep moving forward, in spite of my Spider-Sense's fervent warnings, and I dodged, leapt, landed, rolled and managed to kick off my pajama pants in the process, one smooth, difficult motion.
Ah, nothing particularly extraordinary. Lovely night, moonlit and romantic for most, even if it's late enough for the afterparty...
(Don't try this at home, kids. Or school. Or, y'know, anywhere you can find an increasingly powerful TK-TP combo who may or may not have the ability to warp reality later down the line.)
So weird, huh? I wasn't listening to danger. I had a friend to cognitively recalibrate. With my fists, not... I wasn't taking my pants off because... never mind. Fucking teenage hormones. Fucking hentai.
Dodge!
I unfurled my suit from my shoulders, getting one leg in my suit then flipping away from a trio of even more steel rods, taking in a face of beautiful, beautiful, and intimidatingly cold detachment 180 feet away. She was beginning to frown, though - progress!
How's it sound to, yanno, get Spider-Sensed in the middle of the night into intercepting an intruder one night, which cascades into a spy mess, which cascades to an even bigger spy mess with the mind control of probably the most powerful woman on this planet on the enemy's side? And - keep in mind - dude, Homecoming is still four nights away. Still a thing. Dealt with the main villain of that in a way I didn't want - and I haven't even seen Liz and that's a whole other fucking can of worms - another pops up out the fuck of nowhere because nothing about this was complicated enough, with everything specifically prepared to fuck a bitch straight in the ass.
I had both legs in the suit and was fumbling my way in - but otherwise, success! "Whoo! Got my legs in! Success! Throw out the confetti everybody! Whoop! Wake up, Wanda! Are you in for a celebration with me or not?" I yelled as I hopped on, hopped on, hopped on, and hopped under another barrage of three steel pipes, hip thrusting to narrowly force my body away from a fourth while shakily snaking my arms in. "Will you please stop!? It's rude trying to kill somebody while they're putting their clothes on! If you wanted me to stay naked... maybe just ask! OhgodIactuallyjustsaidthatoutloudwhydidIsaythatoutloudIhatemyself."
"Peter," Karen called, "you really need to stop triggering the NOPE Protocol. I might consider asking the Principal to lock you in the Compound for your own safety."
"It's not my fault!" I whined. "Anyway. Activate NOPE Protocol subdivision: Combat Zone. Access Code: access: Droney's F-Bombs. Do not deploy F-Bombs without my trigger."
Never let it be said Tony Stark didn't roll with the punches, ladies and gentlemen.
(Also yes, the access code was basically butchered leetspeak for 'Are you fucking kidding me right now', because it was accessible in exactly the situation that would get every adult in my life asking exactly that. Whether they were asking themselves or me was just details...)
120 feet.
"Acknowledged. Droney's F-Bombs available. Default trigger: yell 'now!'." She punctuated her quote with the word NOW flashing on my HUD twice.
Mm. We'd have to work on that. Spider-Sense or not, it was distracting.
Oh! And you have to face her, head-on, alone, leaving your aunt to an unknown fate I really can't think about right now with your danger senses screaming at you the entire time while you have to put on your goddamn suit and stop gimping your goddamn self, you're facing the Scarlet Witch! And don't get me killed with your screaming, Spider-Sense, man up! We. Are. Facing her! What's the solution? Oh, dodge? No stress, say less, fam, it's not like THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING THIS ENTIRE TIME or anything!
"Got it."
Steel clattered on the ground uselessly behind me as she missed repeatedly. She was becoming angrier - not colder, hotter - sending constant barrages of steel at me and making it harder to get to her than she otherwise would be. Reminded me of... what's his arrogant face...? Right, Gilgamesh. Only nowhere near as powerful - and thank God, by the way, because I absolutely would have been annihilated in the opening barrage alone. Cocky or not, that bastard was POWERFUL, and he'd definitely (probably) be using far more finesse than Wanda -
Huh. I paused my thoughts as I ran across the road and unexpectedly leapt all the way back across again, using my hang time to finish putting on the suit and slam it into life. I rolled my shoulders as the formerly baggy suit tightened up against my body, and the suit flashed to life, almost absentmindedly ducking another metallic stave. She really is lacking in finesse here, I realized. The same woman that caught my web and gave me a contemptuous look, and threw cars at Iron Man AND HELD UP A FALLING BUILDING was just throwing basic Gilgamesh shit at me, and repeatedly doing it (albeit at speeds that would instakill a poor motherfucker) despite the fact that it was clearly not working.
Why is she just using the same strategy repeatedly? Why default to...?
50 feet.
I forced myself to ignore the gunshots behind me.
Focus on her. Focus on her - and man, it's so weird that I gotta do this for completely non-friendly or romantic reasons.
My eyes widened and I ran like a motherfucker when she started lashing out a constant barrage of those damn things even faster than before. They whipped by with the force and speed of fucking CAT 3 cyclones, barely missing my ass, and she was really annoyingly accurate with them -
STOP! DODGE BACK!
"Wanda, dammit! We don't have time for this!"
I stalled my run, using some of the flying rods as leverage to leap backwards and pull off an almost nonchalant one-handed Screwdriver Kong Vault, then I kept pushing the last few feet - I felt two of those rods narrowly slip by between my legs and past my ribs. Is she resisting? No, can't be. Nat said the control was pretty thorough, to the point that she could actively do something against her will, like killing herself even when she knows she'd die and doesn't want to. This is something else. Has to be. Or maybe she really is that fucking strong, because this thing has only been used on normals. Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.
"Suit accessed," Karen announced as I sprinted at the mind-controlled TK-tic and future reality warper. "Full functions of Enhanced Combat Mode available."
16 feet.
I scowled in determination. Fuckin' finally. Let's do this.
"Web bomb left. Impact right."
I dramatically raised my left hand as if to shoot... and hip-shot out a web with my right. Thank you, Echoes Kakuzu, you greedy bastard. She stiffened for a second, then dodged at the last second.
She dodged. The same woman that caught a very similar web not that long ago dodged. The Impact Web wasn't so powerful that she of all people would see ducking out as the better option. Interesting.
The remaining poles - not a lot, but more than enough to kill me - faltered as she ducked her head, some clattering on the ground outright. I had no idea Wanda could lift so many things at the same time, even if they were light - but it was more than likely hell on her concentration levels.
What the hell is she doing? I wondered, flinging another one. She dodged it, too - some of the poles clattered on the ground as a result of the loss in concentration. Is she really fighting it? I'm in range, yet...
No. Don't give yourself hope. Don't let your guard down. Keep fighting. Distraction tactics, stalling tactics, that's where we are.
"Rapid-Fire both," I commanded, hearing the shooters whir in acquiescence in the empty space, so far from the loudness of New York City.
Her head turned up at me with a wide-eyed, almost frightened look, and she made to grab me. She got distracted by a case of web-ball bitchslap, and another tagged her on the shoulder, forcing her to dodge the barrage as it went on. The poles fell, her focus completely abandoned, and their cascading clattering would've made Venom scream. She weaved right, then left, then jumped back - and couldn't take advantage of the short lull when I raised my other arm and kept pelting at her with webs.
Lacking tactics, lacking focus because of herself, got all the power though so I can't let her muster it - I must not let up!
"Reload left, Droney." I held my arm up, palm backwards, and Droney fired a cartridge at my wrist with unerring accuracy as the old one slid out, bouncing off my shoulder and clattering on the ground. Droney would pick it up after combat. "Snap-Bomb left."
Pole sliding in as counterattack. Erraneous trajectory, but will hurt.
I casually stepped aside, dodging the pipe she tried throwing at me. The webs were throwing her aim off, and I wanted to take full advantage over that. I crossed my left over my right, firing off the Snap-Bomb - a modded Web-Bomb I made to trigger on my command rather than contact. She almost walked right into it and ducked back when she saw it - but I reached out and snapped my fingers, detonating it, and the resultant explosion covered over half her body with webbing.
Got it! Mobility's temporarily halved. Gotta move!
"Droney, Taser round!" I sprinted in on her, ignoring my flickering HUD. Just five steps...
DODGE!
Oh, fuck! Not again!
Wanda roared, blasting the web and round off with powerful ease; an aura of red erupted around her, repelling me and the incoming Taser round with ease. The shockwave was a thing of power; quite more than enough to crack the road and repel a multitude of her impromptu Gate of Babylon, sending them clattering a good distance away from her. The Web-Bomb shooter was cooling down, and I was running low on my right. There was little time for thought.
Closer, closer, closer, closer, close up! Distract her. Get in her face. Then F-Bomb.
"Impact right."
"Warning -"
"I know. Impact right!"
Karen acquiesced, and I fired a weakened Impact almost immediately after the shockwave ended, following up by opening the tip of one of the spider legs, extracting a cartridge to reload. The moment I finished, my Spider-Sense flared. She was making a grab at me, but her arm was shaking and twitching, as if she was fighting herself.
I'mma have to upgrade this reload mechanic - gauntlets from the armor, deffo.
DANGEROUS WOMAN will grab you with telekinesis and snap your neck.
Yeah, but she ain't having it. I'll help along.
"Droney, Shadow Shuriken Attack. Prepare F-Bomb."
My HUD flickered green.
DANGEROUS WOMAN has changed plan; will grab metal rods and use them as sw -
I threw another web at her face, forcing her flinch away, then leapt towards her right and threw another face at her web, giving Droney the perfect cover to drop to a specific space behind me in stealth and keeping a tight position behind my back using a modified body movement prediction algorithm similar to what Tony employed against Steve in the original Civil War. She flinched back and raised her hands, catching the web with her hand and smacking her nose by accident, if the grunt was anything to go by. I hopped around her in momentous sidesteps, forcing her to turn, keeping ahead of her while she picked her arm up to aim at me, most likely with the intention to literally rip me in half, if my panicking Spider-Sense was anything to go by.
Run run run run RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN SHE WILL KILL YOU -
My movements and her own fight against herself worked fantastically - she wasn't at the point where she could enact the appropriate movements to lock on to me and pick me up, which gave me time to...
"Droney. F-Bomb Wanda on default trigger call, then go check on Miss Romanoff and May."
My HUD flickered with a green tint - order acknowledged.
The F-Bomb wasn't anything overly complicated. It was a simple metal casing with cutouts containing a 3.5 gram filler mix of magnesium and potassium perchlorate. It was first developed not by Tony Stark, but by a scientist commissioned by the British Government in the late 1970s, as a modified less-lethal/non-lethal tactical option to disorient enemy forces with the force of 200 000 candlepower flash and 170 decibels of instantaneous, fleeting noise. The results? At the optimal distance, instantaneous overloading of the human eye and ear, causing temporary blindness, afterimage perception, temporary deafness, and distorted sense of balance.
They called it the stun grenade - aka the flashbang.
My miniaturized version was weaker than the standard since it was much smaller than your average M84, which necessitated detonation at a slightly closer range and a different tactical application, such as using Droney to toss it in at more specific angles and mid-air detonation. For obvious reasons, I was only allowed to use two of them in an emergency situation: fighting a rogue Avenger, powerful enemy, or alien. And was it not suitable for use anywhere other than in a Combat Zone against Wanda?
"Now!" I roared, stopping and corkscrewing to her left. Thanks to Enhanced Combat Mode, only people with radio connections would hear my voice unless I directed otherwise, so she didn't hear my yell - and if she did, it would probably only be a muffled mumble. Her eyes trailed my body, almost grabbing me, then reflexively flickered towards Droney when she saw the flash of my buddy's blue lights... and the grenade.
Her eyes widened just in time to recieve 200 000 candela to the face (not literally; I wanted her stunned, not dead - anyway, it was about a meter away, she'd be fine), and Karen automatically muted the sound and blacked out the screen long enough for the thing to go off. I felt its thump, then I could see the world again, far sooner, far faster than the stunned lady and get its results.
Whatever she was planning to do with the rods became null and void; they clattered onto the ground once more.
Shadow Shuriken Attack, success.
The first thing I did? Violence. I rushed her, three momentous steps in - and Superman punched her fine lights out.
"I've done it. The thing I've cussed out so many idiots for. I actually punched a woman out. I'm going to hell for this," I muttered to myself, catching her as she fell and easing her to the ground in the recovery position. "I am definitely going to hell for this. I really need to set her and Vision up on that date - I owe them both now."
I took a moment, and it really sank in. "Holy shit," I exhaled, throwing my arms up in disbelief. "I won."
I won. I actually won. Against Wanda freakin' Maximoff, at that.
Well... only kinda.
It wasn't a real victory - she was literally gimped by mind-control she was actively fighting, so it was an assisted victory from her, Karen and Droney more than anything. If she had access to her full abilities... Christ, she'd make literal mincemeat out of me. I wasn't sure how close she was to the level of power that would've let her do exactly that to Thanos as she intended in Endgame, and I didn't want to know.
"Wanda Maximoff is now unconscious, and the combat encounter took six minutes and 59.77 seconds," Karen piped in helpfully. "First-person and third-person footage are both available for later review. Would you like to disable Enhanced Combat Mode?"
"Not yet." I knelt next to Wanda. "Show me Droney's footage. If there's an enemy there, Droney, Taze the shit out of them. Also, tell her I need to borrow that Red Dust."
Droney's footage flickered into my HUD, and my eyes widened when I processed the details.
"Karen? Call Vision. Now."
Where the fuck was -?!
I detected a flicker of movement on my right, and saw Vision.
My eyes widened in shock.
"Wha - what the heck happened to you, man?!"
Peter Parker was right - it really was a shitty night.
Not the worst, because Budapest did happen for three whole days - but this particular night was definitely going on the list.
Seriously, between Dmitri being a pain to find, his unusual associations with the Red Room network she hadn't quite finished dissecting at the time, and apparently being framed for torturing to Wanda (for what? Why would she ever torture someone when they always offered up the answers she wanted on their own?) and being shot at by Widows again, it was easy to see why the kid had been running on the edge of losing his shit. She was glad he had an impressively tight handle on his temper for someone his age, to the point that his explosions were and remained verbal, and otherwise had a good head on his shoulders outside the occasional blunder (like not putting his Sunday best on in the car, which she was about to point out before they got hit with the Metal Rod Interrupt). Someone with his strength going rampant was nothing world-ending, but it would've been a pain in the ass to deal with, especially if he directed the full power of his wrath at her.
Great potential, otherwise.
Natasha exited the car, narrow dodging another rod as it punched through the passenger door and impaled her seat, and Peter's aunt thankfully followed suit and crawled over to the redhead, taking cover behind the engine as per the teenage superhero's recommendation.
"I can see where Peter got his smarts from," Natasha complimented.
"No, that was his parents," May deflected humbly. "Me, I'm..."
The women flinched as more metal rods hit the road, impaling it or clattering on the ground, one after the other, creating a consistent ringing that was sure to give them tinnitus for some time. As if that wasn't enough, her phone started ringing.
Now? Really? And where's Vision anyway? Tony said -
She looked around, picking her phone up and accepting the call without looking. "Hi," she greeted casually, as if she was being called by an old friend probably wanting to take her bowling.
"Nat!" Peter's voice yelled. "We got a problem! They got Wanda - she's under that mind-control doohickey of yours!"
Nat clenched her jaw, cold, liquid fear seeping into her bones. They were fucked. Even if there was no other choice she could take at all, she didn't have any lethal ordinance she could use from this kind of range, no bombs, nothing to distract a mind-controlled Scarlet Witch with. Sneaking over the 200 feet required to make contact with her was also a no-go, since she had to protect Mrs. Parker.
For once, she would've killed to have Redwing in her corner.
"Okay," she hummed, controlling her reaction and channeling her frustration through nothing more than flared nostrils, "that is bad. I'm gonna call Tony and ask where Vis is - what's your plan?"
"I'mma hold her off until he gets over here," he said, grunting as he made a leap somewhere. "This suit's got some useful stuff, I can use it to run distraction and interference for a few minutes - we'll say five, because I'm sure she'll mulch me after. Tell them to hurry up, please."
"Great plan. Send your drone over here so I can give it the Dust."
"Gotcha. I'm just gonna have to borrow Droney for a minute, then I'll send him over."
Natasha indulged in a brief shake of her head. What was it with boys and naming and assigning genders to their tools?
"Try not to -" she cut herself off, glancing at the boy's aunt. "Good luck."
"What did he say?" Mrs. Parker inquired.
"He'll be fine," she lied. "Vision will be here soon."
Natasha dared a peak over their cover, and her eyes widened as she saw the boy artfully dodge all of them while running at her and putting his suit on at the same time, his drone following faithfully from a few feet above. Wanda hadn't noticed it - or was forcing herself not to react to it.
Well, somebody's been practising his evasion skills. Not bad, I wonder what -
She was so taken by the absurdity of the entire action that she nearly forgot to check on her surroundings. Cursing herself for the rookie mistake, she gave a careful eye to her surroundings - which was how she spotted the dark figure in the underbush. The glint on the pistol barrel gave her away - and Natasha moved immediately. Her first reaction was to duck and kick May away right as the gun went off twice, which was why the bullet missed Natasha and did not pierce May's heart.
Her second reaction was to shoot back, but the figure was already moving.
Tony landed on the front of his Compound.
"How far, FRI?" he checked
"Scanning is 3% complete. There are 39.859 petabytes of files and general data to peruse remaining, which will take an additional eight hours."
He let himself indulge in a smirk, remembering how the kid just about browned his pants when he heard how much data was stacked up in his servers when they were working on his new suit. Very productive night, that - and so far his unusually hot aunt hadn't found him and killed him for it.
"That explains so freaking much!" he'd yelled. "You don't have any quantum computers, but you do have the next best thing to throw a bullshit amount of money at!"
"Hm, alright, I'll help you speed up the process." Tony walked in, looking around the foyer. "Probably scan the entire compound, too - in case they left something nasty. Bring out a couple of drones and have them go through everything in the Compound. Motion det-charges, tripwires, timed bombs, secret cameras, everything. Start on the path to my lab."
"On it."
He sighed. The one time there's nobody in here. FRI should've been able to handle it on her own, but it wouldn't have mattered if someone had a backdoor to my shit, huh? I'll have to keep my suit on.
He made his way to his lab, following his drone closely and scanning for anything it might've missed, his paranoia ramping up to the max. (Though it wasn't really paranoia since they were after him.)
The drone beeped at the door of his lab, and his HUD also affirmed its findings, showing a wire tied to a grenade. He checked the lab, looking for any further traps, and found nothing.
He relaxed a little, but there was still a lot of work to be done.
"Alright," he muttered, "now what did that bastard steal? It was in a box, I got my boxes on..."
He walked over to the closet, found it was slightly ajar - not how he remembered it, it hadn't been opened in a week - and opened it, enabling his scanner again.
Wrong choice, wrong order.
And his drone beeped in warning.
His eyes widened when he saw he'd accidentally triggered a mechanical bomb and a lighter.
"Oh, fu -" He reached out to perforate the canister, but he was too late.
A fiery explosion ripped through the lab.
Natasha took a moment to sigh and lament the fact that she couldn't help the Widow shooting at the both of them, because she didn't have any more of the Dust on her. Melina had done a fantastic job studying and replicating the cure as fast as she could and did, but even then, it would be a while before she had more batches ready for Natasha and Yelena to use.
Death was the only option. More blood.
She was getting sick and tired of being sick and tired of blood.
Natasha pulled May back towards the back of the car, keeping the other Widow's head down with bullets. She'd find plenty of cover on those trees, but no space to shoot.
"You got your wound?" the Russian redhead checked. "Remember to keep pressure on it."
"I know," May hissed, keeping her hand firm on her shoulder as she could. "But it really freakin' hurts."
"Yeah, getting shot is no fun."
"Gee willikers, who would've thought?"
The kid's drone was useful - she wouldn't give it all that much credit, either - and managed to confirm there was only one Widow in the area via Morse Code. It tried flying over to shoot her, but the Widow clipped it with a bullet, forcing it to retreat.
Thankfully, it was intact enough to deliver the Red Dust to the kid, and it was well on its way.
Natasha managed to get them both to the back of her car, putting the civvie into cover then preparing herself. She flinched as a bullet pinged off the body of the car, thankfully coming in at the wrong angle to pierce through the bodywork.
That gave her a vague idea of the enemy's positioning.
She reached into another pocket of the jacket - her sister really did have good taste - and fished out a Beretta. One magazine only, but it was for emergencies anyway - and headshots, where the .22 would do the most damage by bouncing around inside the skull more often than not. She handed it to Mrs. Parker.
"Here," she dropped the gun onto her left hand, helping her wrap her fingers around the gun as much as she could and keeping the barrel away from either of their body parts. Wouldn't have much recoil, so it wouldn't hurt her shoulder too much. "Just in case. The safety -"
"I know where the safety is," May grunted, bringing the gun up while powering through the obvious pain induced by her movement, resting her chin on the folded, bloody cloth, and using her temporarily free hand to kill the safety. "Worked 22s before." She put her hand back on her shoulder, and Natasha noted that her fingers were clean off the trigger, and her grip as firm as she could make it. Impressive. "College years. Crazy. Sister-in-law was a gun nut, taught me basics."
"Nice," Natasha grinned, checking for the Widow again. "I'm gonna go around, try to put the Widow on me. With Peter forcing whoever was throwing those rods to keep focusing on him, we're unlikely to get stabbed by any of them."
"There's just her?"
"There's just her."
"Great."
"Stay safe. Keep pressing on that."
Natasha moved past Mrs. Parker - who she was gaining a newfound respect for - and got to the right side of the car. She kept her gun up as she crouched on, scanning the bushline and treeline as best she could. Once she passed the rearview mirror, she raised her gun and shot it twice into the air, somewhere in the general direction of the Widow, but so far a shot as to make it seem sloppy, like she didn't know and couldn't know her exact location. She didn't, but hopefully that'd be a solvable issue...
She reloaded. Two mags left.
Some utterly unstealthy rustles sounded out behind her - Mrs. Parker, more than likely. She checked, just to be sure, and it was. She seemed to be paying more attention to Peter's fight with Wanda than -
Her eyes widened as she saw Peter dramatically punch her lights out. Oh, wow. He just knocked her out.
"Yes!" May celebrated as quietly as she could.
"Not bad," Natasha admitted, flinching when a bullet smacked into the engine, then she turned her attention to the Widow and shot again, intentionally keeping her aim hilariously wide. "We don't have to do this!" she yelled.
There was a moment of silence - then, to her surprise, the Widow answered. "What makes you say that?"
She hesitated for a second. This one was different from all the others. What was it about her? "Dreykov's dead!" she told her, putting out a feeler or three. "We figured out a solution to the drugs he put in us! You can be free -"
"Wrong!" the Widow yelled in singsong, and Natasha flinched as a couple of bullets crashed by a little too close for her liking. She sounded young - awfully young. "I am free!"
The Russian paused. What? "What?"
"Oh, you thought I was like all those poor little bitches, right?" the young woman chortled. "A victim of mind control, subject to the patriarchy and begging to be saved by the legendary N-92 - what's your actual name? Natasha Romanov, right? Ah, you hero types, you Avengers. You see a woman working for some evil organization, you wonder, is she there of her own free will? Can I save her? No, bitch! I wanted to be here!" She punctuated her declaration with another couple of bullets. "I wanted power! I wanted them all dead!"
"Who?"
"Don't do your homework, eh?" Natasha let out another 'blind' shot. "Why are you even bothering? You're wasting your bullets! Did you go soft since you left Russia? How did you keep up with everyone else? You were just doing basic kicks and posing? Was that it? Did you make sexy poses while your friends destroyed the Red Room?"
Natasha rolled her eyes in annoyance. Her plan was working, but it didn't magically make the taunts less irritating. But at least she was sure now - brash kid. Enjoys her shows of strength. Should be easy. "Why are you doing this if you're not being forced to?"
"It's a job. I chose to take it." A moment of silence, and the Widow continued. "You know I had a family, like you? We broke up, just like you - it was nasty, and it was fine, because they were all bastards. And Sergei found me, I told him I wanted them all dead. He took me to Dreykov, and they made me strong. Stronger than most of them. Stronger than you, Romanov!"
"You really think so, huh?" Natasha shot back, having come up with a plan while her friend gave her the opportunity. She raised her gun and dropped the magazine to her thighs in one smooth motion, coming halfway up from her cover, and letting out a shot with a perfect, practised Weaver stance. She pulled the trigger again, was met with the expected click and slide opening up. She let out a curse in her native tongue, ducking back under cover.
"I damn well know so!" the Widow yelled. "Hah!"
"Who's Sergei, anyway?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"C'mon. Let's talk it out!" the redhead called out, sliding in the mag she dropped and chambering a round as quietly as she could, barely flinching at the shots that hit the car. She saw Peter Parker and Vision looking in her direction, and she made negatory gestures, signaling them to intercept the Widow through the forest instead. She waited, and relaxed on that end when she saw Vision with a hand on the kid's shoulder and talking to him. The kid went off a moment later, jumping into the forest.
Keep her attention, get her to shoot at you...
The Widow laughed. "Yeah, right! Are you kidding me? It's really not your night, huh? What's up? You're out of bullets? Come out with your hands up and I'll consider making this quick and easy for you!"
"You come out and I'll consider doing that worth my time!" Natasha retorted. "I'm out of bullets, but from what I can see, you're out of backup! The boys can get your weak ass and I won't even have to lift a finger!"
"Bitch!" The Widow proceeded to shoot at her again, a series of wild shots - Finally! The bullets hit the car and the road right next to her, and Natasha yelled out in pain. "I'll show you weak!"
"What are you doing?" May whispered, clearly having seen the bullet not hitting her. Natasha just put a finger to her lips and winked, then motioned for her to lie down. She turned back around and shifted closer to the front of the car, missing the older woman's blush.
"Okay!" she yelled. "Okay! W-Wait! Let's talk! You got me! But I-I-I can't move! You-you got my knee! Nngh!"
"Not so easy without Tin Man and the Blue Boy Scout's iron to protect you, right?" the Widow mocked. "All right, toss your gun out!"
Natasha easily complied, clicking the safety on and tossing the gun past the front of the car. She could hear the Widow's footsteps - she smirked, reached into her jacket, then extracted her other Glock 19, killing the safety, and borrowed May's Beretta, enabling the safety on that one. She took a moment to wonder if the woman had ever seen her entire fight during the Incident, where circumstances had forced her to dual-wield the things.
She always kept an extra or two on her. Always. Except when she couldn't.
"Almost there, 92. You got your little flash drive on you?"
"It's right here. You're lucky you missed it." Natasha peeked out at the close voice and placed the Glock on her lap, using her right hand to grip the Beretta and raising her left hand where the woman could see it.
"Both hands, 92. I want both -"
Natasha casually tossed the little gun in the same direction as her discarded Glock, distracting the enemy with the clattering sound and making her reflexively turn her head and gun towards the distraction. The single moment was all she needed to raise her Glock and shoot the Widow in the throat and head before she could bead back on her. She died with her eyes wide in shock, and Natasha never knew her name.
She sighed as the dead Widow collapsed, moved out of her cover, then shot her in the head two more times to make sure.
(People had an annoying habit of coming back from the dead.)
Young, just like she suspected. No older than, what, 21? 22?
"Dammit," she muttered. "Fucking Dreykov." She took note of her equipment - a Smith & Wesson, an Uzi with a long suppressor strapped onto it on her back - both of which she picked up and tossed to the bushes - and what looked like a curved combat knife slightly jolted out of its sheath. She raised an eyebrow at the purple on the blade, and ultimately decided to unsheathe it.
The kid came out of the brush, silent as a wraith, gave her a thumbs up - to which she replied with a nod - and moved on to take care of his aunt. He was pointedly ignoring the corpse in front of the car.
She examined the 3/4-foot-long blade - which was, in fact, a tanto, which surprisingly came with a cross guard - a matte blade brushed over with coal to kill the gleam and some purple lines - purple, slightly glowing lines - and her eyes widened in surprise. She looked at the dead Widow, then at the blade. It was way more than some custom job like she initially thought it was. Where'd she find a knife made out of vibranium? she wondered. Oh well, I'm keeping it. Might come in handy.
She unstrapped the sheath and stored the knife in it, then picked up her guns, made sure they were safe, and stashed them too. I'll have to ask Vision to give it a once-over, make sure there's no tracker on it or something. This kind of stuff is really too valuable to lose. Speak of which...
Vision approached the three, having deemed the situation safe, carrying the unconscious Wanda in his arms.
Natasha's eyebrows went up when she saw Vision.
"What the hell happened to you?" she asked. There were cracks on his face - odd-looking cuts, actually, a closer inspection revealed, and an additional cut on his neck - and she whispered out an 'Oh' of realization, and held the blade up, making sure the dead Widow was well within her peripheral vision. "Did you get cut with this?"
"Quite so," he nodded. "And by our dear other guest - they intercepted me about a mile down that way." He nodded down the road they were all initially heading towards. "You took care of that particular matter, I see."
"Yeah."
"Wait - you got cut by a knife?" Peter blurted out, supporting his aunt. "But isn't your body made of, like, vibranium?"
"Guess what didn't care?" Natasha quipped. The kid's eyes darted over to the knife and widened in appreciation of the blade.
"That's a cool knife," he nodded.
"I know," Natasha smirked, flipping it into a reverse grip. "But how'd it cut you like that? The blade's not wide enough for - hm?"
She frowned and took a closer look at the handle, where she found a smaller button. It actually reminded her of Antonia's own blade, but...
"It folds," Vision confirmed. "That was how she got me. Managed to distract me long enough to cut my face and then have Wanda sink me a few feet underground - again. It nearly severed my head, too. I had to spend a few minutes recuperating and ensuring nothing vital connecting me to the Stone was severed or destabilized, and recovering from my wounds as much as possible in the brief time I had. Pardon my lateness."
"It's okay, we took care of everything," Peter shrugged. "The wounds on you would've killed anyone else, anyway. Vis, how are we looking? Could the car take us home?"
"You have a flat tire, malfunctional left indicator, cracked glass, and the fuel pump was perforated," Vision notified.
"Aww, crap." Peter sighed. "It's not gonna go anywhere. Right. We'll have to make do. How far's the compound?"
"23 miles."
"How far can we push it? How many downhills to coast?"
"Enough that we might probably make some distance, but a better course of action would be calling Mr. Stark and seeing what he can do."
Natasha pushed the button, and she suddenly had a 24-inch humming vibranium wakizashi in her hands.
"Whoa!" everybody (except Wanda and Vision) yelled.
London.
Secretary Ross glared at the screen, taking in every detail shown by the poor at the Queens shootout. Stark's suit was shown clearly on screen flying upwards and shooting at someone then descending to the other side of the building, and he allowed himself a short, small, cold smile.
It was time he played the situation to his advantage.
Stark was going to love the little options he would have.
Prague.
17:50.
Sam slowed the marked van - ostensibly belonging to a delivery company - and gently maneuvered it into a parallel parking space, and he and Steve watched the building in which Stark had confirmed his presence. The satellite would keep a strict eye on him for the duration of its stay on its current side of the planet.
"What do you think?" Steve asked, both scanning the building.
"Uh -" Sam shook his head. "It reeks, man. Doesn't make a lot of sense."
"It does smell a little," he admitted.
"Like, I got so many questions. What was he doing in New York? Why make noise like that when he said he was gonna retire? Why avoid Tony? Why not explain what was actually going on? I mean, I know Tony was being a little shit about the Accords, but he's been a bit more reasonable when the consequences hit him. He's the one who gave us the call, after all. Not to mention what'll happen if Boring Rick Ross realizes his involvement and his guys get to Dima before we do." The wingman threw his hands up. "It's a mess."
"We'll know what's going on one way or the other," Steve decided.
"Too bad there's only the two of us for this," Sam lamented. "Nat and Wanda vanished, Clint and Tic-Tac turned themselves in, His Majesty The Cat's got his own issues and he doesn't want any foreign involvement, your sidekick's out of commission..."
"Bucky's not my sidekick," the Boy Scout shook his head.
"Shoot, did I mistake the Batman-Robin admiration for sexual tension then? Because if you've seen the Rule 34 stuff of you two -"
Steve gave his grinning friend a flat look. "Sam. No. Why would you even - no."
"You know what Rule 34 is?!" Sam perked up.
The blond super-soldier just gave him a flat glare.
"Alright, alright," he raised his hands in surrender. "At least you found him and he's getting HYDRA out of his mind."
"It does take some of the weight off."
"We gonna wait or we gonna go in?"
Steve mulled over the question.
Doing it either way had its advantages and disadvantages. Going in could save them time, help them find Dmitri and resolve the issue much sooner. However, Dmitri was a very difficult opponent to fight, not least because of his stealth and infiltration skills, that surpassed even Natasha's own. Unlike her, his mastery over the art of disguise was so comprehensive it was akin to the shapeshifters of the sci-fi and fantasy novels the Captain told him Bucky used to read back in the day (man was a nerd, apparently, but Sam wasn't seeing it), to the point that anyone he could easily pass for a civilian even to the Russian redhead. The only giveaway that said civilian could possibly be Dmitri was his height, and even then, it was usually difficult to tell because his body language was always so convincing.
...And that was without the technology - Pym something-or-other particles, that the spy and Stark had discussed a year back - which Dmitri said he could try to use to adjust his height to gain a much wider variety of disguises he could pull off. Unfortunately (or really, fortunately in this case), discussion on that end hadn't gone very far due to lacking the vital ingredients - the particles themselves - and the only sources of said vital ingredients, being the inventor or his apprentice's company, would never accept either man's proposal. Hank Pym's stubbornness, apparently, was a legendary characteristic, known to all who knew him.
(Sam was really disappointed that the technology wasn't being put into better, completely non-military use, at least - the ability to contain anything and shrink it down could absolutely revolutionize the way the delivery industry worked, for instance - but the only one worth sharing that opinion with was the inventor himself, who'd disappeared since the heist on Pym Technologies a year ago. It hadn't quite occurred to him to get Tic-Tac to pass on the message, either, and it was too late when it did.)
On the other hand, they could wait.
The building, which Tony had told them their old friend hadn't left yet, didn't seem to have a lot of occupants, and Dmitri's build was one Sam was used to seeing. There were three - four exits, one front, one on the back, and two in opposite directions if one was willing to do a bit of roof-hopping. All of them were covered, the front by both Avengers, the rear and roof by Tony and FRIDAY.
It would take time, giving the initiative to Dmitri, and it was difficult to know when he'd come out or whether there was some secret fifth exit underground that Tony might not have been aware of. If that was the case, then it would -
Oh. Or the man could just...
"There he is," Sam blurted out, snapping Steve's attention to the front door, from which Dmitri had emerged.
... Just show up.
Undisguised, which was weird and sus as hell.
He'd only trimmed his beard down a bit, but otherwise he was only wearing different clothes from when he was in New York. Exact same build, exact same body language, and he was even giving his environment a cursory scan, noting escape routes, any differences in detail from before he went in - and he spotted the vehicle they both were in, frowning. He wasn't overtly looking at it, but even if Natasha hadn't given him tips and tricks to recognize when people were staring at him without staring at him, knowing they were being watched was a simple matter of deduction.
Alarm bells rang in Sam's head.
"... He does know people are looking for him, right?" Sam asked.
Steve was seeing something was up, too. "He's on to us."
"What's the plan, Cap?"
"We'll talk." Steve reached behind his seat, taking his shield out. He'd sprayed it in darker colors of drab grey and black, a necessary measure to avoid standing out more than he already did - but yeah, also the symbology of it. Man was a nomad now, hankering back and forth, helping where he could.
(Hell, Nomad. Good name. He'd pitch it to the Captain later.)
"Suit up. We might have problems, no point in staying low-key anymore. I'll give you some time." He handed Sam the burner phone. "If something goes wrong, call Tony, or try Natasha, Sharon, anybody you can reach. Don't call Clint or Lang, I never should've involved either of them and pulled them away from their families like this."
"I gotcha."
"Let's do this, Sam."
"Be right there shortly, Cap." Sam got off his seat, moving to the back to put on his reclaimed wingsuit. "Try to save a little excitement for me."
"Try to keep up," the blond shot back with a smirk.
"Oh, is that how it is now?"
Dmitri was still standing there, and now presented the former captain with his full attention as he opened the door and exited. Rogers crossed the street as Sam put his protective pads and switched out his combat boots for the shock-absorbing stuff. He glanced out to be sure Dima was still in one place, and saw that Steve had reached Dmitri and they were engaging in tense conversation. He put on his back harness, then followed up with the wings themselves, strapping them to the harness and checking that all fastenings were secure. He booted up his glove computer, but kept his goggles in his pocket for the time being. No cause to give Dmitri reason to think it was a fight or anything. They just needed to figure out the biz first.
He exited the van through the back, ignoring the curious and widening glances from the civilians, and making his way on to the conversation.
That was when everything went wrong.
Dmitri unholstered a pistol, face expressing surprise and panic, then started raising his hand. "Get it!" he yelled. "Get -"
Steve moved in for the pistol hand, grabbing it and forcing it upwards. Sam heard a familiar crack, then Steve's head jerked sideways in an awfully familiar, unexpected way, his grip slacked, and he fell onto the earth, just like that.
It took five seconds for reality to set in.
Steve just got killed. Steve just got killed.
It was Afghanistan all over again.
Then Dmitri's armed hand went to Steve's head and shot him twice more.
Finally, Sam found his voice.
"NO!" he roared, rushing Dmitri, and triple-tapping Redwing into being.
The next day.
I woke up from the bedroom apparently designated for me, got out of bed, went through my ablutions, and before getting breakfast, I went over to the med-bay. I saw Mr. Stark on my way there, but...
Something was wrong. Something was desperately wrong. I'd never seen such a haunted look in his eyes before. He was on the floor, back against the wall, phone forgotten and clattered on the ground.
"Mr. Stark?" I called, approaching him. His eyes went to me, unnervingly wide and shocked. "What happened."
"Steve," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying, but I heard him.
"Steve?" I repeated. "Like-like Steve Rogers? Captain America? What happened?"
What did he do?
"Steve," he repeated, numbly. A tear - a fucking tear - fell out of his eye. My eyes widened. Oh, no. No, it can't be! What the fuck happened? How?!
"No," I said. Vision emerged through the wall, eyes also wide in shock.
"Is it true?" he asked. I received a beep on my phone - a news notification, fallen something-something, I didn't look at it properly. I ignored it, focusing on the both of them.
"What happened?" I asked.
Vision wordlessly gestured at the phone in my pocket. I took it out - and almost dropped it in shock.
'FALLEN SON'
'Steve Rogers, Captain America, has been killed in action'
I gaped at the headline in horror. "What the fuck?!"
Author's Notes:
And that is that, for now.
I wanted to post this yesterday, if not Saturday, but, well, I've been pulling raw all-nighters three days of the week. Stuff with the shop. I was tired. But I managed to do a little until my day off, where I managed to finish this off between everything else.
Yes, Steve is fully, absolutely, undoubtedly dead. No take-backs, no resurrections. He took a bullet to the head and died, like everyone else. He's not coming back from this one.
That is the third divergence. And it will have a lasting impact.
Next chapter, we'll be exploring the ramifications of Steve's death, the consequences of the Queens shooting, and, well, other shit. As in Ross, other shit. This clusterfuck is only gonna get worse before it gets better, and Thanos isn't even in the picture yet.
And he's honestly just the minor shit adding on top of everything else.
As for the brothers? They'll be back. Still got plans for them, still got a few things we can do with them, but they won't be the main antagonists of the overarching story. You'll see who it is, if you haven't already guessed.
Also, who would you cast as Sergei Kravinoff? Is Aaron Taylor-Johnson suitable for it, appearance wise? Man can act, but Kraven? What do you think?
Post-AN scene down over here.
Night, everybody.
The Middle Of Obviously Nowhere.
The Prisoner held his head in his hands, just as shocked as Suicide Solo.
"What the hell happened?!" he yelled. "How? What happened? What have I done?"
He brought up his computer, readying himself.
"Move your hands, dammit," he growled, almost making the command, but restraining himself. He didn't want to reveal that the sudden twist in events had taken him as unexpectedly as it had the undead 22-year-old. "Ask questions. Anything!"
Thankfully, Suicide Solo had the same idea, immediately opening up the article and perusing it, his heart rate going from calm to seriously agitated.
"Prague? What the hell happened in Prague? Who killed him? How'd they - assassination? A sniper?! Fuck."
He fell down onto his seat heavily. "Fuck! Fuuuuuuuck. This fucks up so much - where do I - I-I gotta make a plan. It's still gotta happen. I gotta make it happen somehow. Shit. MO!"
His assistant appeared moments later, regarding him with a curious expression. The wild panic on The Prisoner's face was not something that he'd ever seen before.
"What happened?"
"Fucking Captain America got killed, that's what happened!"
"Wait, what?"
"That's fucked it up, big time! Why wasn't the TVA -" he stopped short. "No way. They let this happen. They probably even killed him themselves. I didn't think this Celldweller guy was such a big deal at first, but... I didn't even... I don't...?" When he'd let the kid Google the Avengers, he was ensuring that there weren't any serious divergences, and was not only surprised to see the addition to the team, he was also even more surprised by the kid apparently recognizing him and panicking. He thought he was just making a big fuss over nothing - man was as normal as it got, it seemed. "Why would he do that? What the hell made him do that?"
"If you can't have access..."
"Then I'm fucked!" The Prisoner threw his hands up. "If I stay here - and I'm gonna stay here for a long time - then I'm dead! I don't even know how to -" He cut himself off, slumping into his seat. "I need it. I need Thanos to happen and to be reversed, just like in the Sacred Timeline. But this puts so much out of whack I don't even - okay. Plan B. We need to think of a Plan B. I'm not gonna go that easy."
"Sir?" a soldier walked in carrying a tablet, attracting both their attention. "Sir... I have a report."
"Go ahead."
"927 has noticed some unusual activity across the Walls. Serial fluctuations, a persistently branching river..."
The choice of words took The Prisoner's attention. "Branching river? What does that mean?"
"I think it's best if you see it for yourself, sir." The soldier approached and handed him the tablet. He browsed the images on it.
"This was taken on the quantascope?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where are these branc..." he swiped through the stills, pausing when he finally recognized what the man was talking about. He zoomed in, trying to jog his brain on where he remembered seeing this particular phenomenon. He hummed and patterned out a swirl on the tablet, converting the image to a 3-D translation.
It wasn't just a branching river.
It was a fucking six-dimensional conglorematic multidistributary. It was a tree.
A time tree.
Somehow, the multiverse was back in business.
"What is that?" MO asked.
"What the hell?" the Prisoner gaped. "Wasn't the whole point of... but why would he...? Wha- are you - even - why - isn't - but I -" He ended his sputtering, sighed, and closed the 3-D translation with a slap. He then handed the tablet back to his soldier. "Tell them to keep an eye on the wall. Constant scans. If it starts thinning, I want the first word, chop-to. Get on."
"Sir." The soldier saluted him, turned and left.
"What does any of that mean?" MO asked. "The Walls haven't weakened in forty years like you said, right? The whole time you've been here? Why would it start now, and what does it mean?"
"Might be my way free though," The Prisoner shrugged. "Can't be sure yet. Something off happened up there, and we don't know jack. But I can't bank my hopes where I'm not even likely to cash my credits - could be a trick, or something else happened I can't take advantage of anyway. Okay. Here's what he knows and we know - Captain America's dead. Years earlier than he was supposed to be. We need to start thinking - what is that gonna affect? What I pulled with Suicide Solo - I can't do it again, successful transdimensional and transmultiversal soulprint shifting without any tunneling devices was the luckiest fluke I ever had, and we messed that up, too. And I can't shift him where I need him without raising a lot of awkward questions and risking compromising us. So how do we plan around it? Let's talk possibilities, MO. We don't have a lot of time anymore."