AN: I'm probably going to end up posting the rest of this story by night's end; what else does a writer do when they've lost that creative spark? Edit, edit, edit...
Chapter Five
Wandering throughout the Helicarrier seemed like a fun idea, until I found out it wasn't. There really isn't much to see, but maybe that's just because my brain doesn't have much to go off of. It's a big, chrome boat with flight capability that has SHIELD agents running around doing…SHIELD agent things. Every other room is restricted and the few I can enter are the canteen, the restrooms, and the spare bunks. I was hoping to find those old HYDRA weapons, but I'm guessing those are in the restricted rooms and I'm nowhere near strong enough to just pry one of those heavy metal doors open with my small hands and scrawny arms.
Maybe I can dream up a portal and jump over to the Harry Potter universe…Nothing is boring when magic is involved. I mean, I'm assuming.
However, instead of attempting that, I decide to continue wandering until I reach the bridge. It is the center of most of the action, so if I want to meet anymore main characters, this is the place to be.
Still, there's nothing for me to do here. All I can do and all I've been doing is walk up and down the aisles of SHIELD agents, occasionally looking over the shoulder of a SHIELD agent, hard at work (both figuratively and…ahem…literally, if I may add…ew). How disappointing. My fangirl fantasies are usually so eventful.
I groan at a volume that some might consider obnoxious, announcing, "Oh my god, there's nothing to do in this hellhole. I am done with this dream, somebody shoot me."
Sadly, no one obliges. I'm contemplating throwing myself off the edge of the Helicarrier when I notice that I've reached the group of agents tracking Loki. Well. This dream has been going far too slowly.
"He's in Stuttgart," I say. "Preparing to terrorize a bunch of rich old people at an opera house. Hawkeye is looking for iridium somewhere and Loki's team of hypnotized soldiers and scientists is in the sewers somewhere, prepping."
"And how did you come across this information?" Fury asks.
I shrug, "Watched the movie."
"And how do I know what you're saying is true?"
"I guess there's only one way to—"
"She's right," one of the agents announces. "Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding."
I smile at Fury, but he's already turned to face Steve, "Captain. You're up."
Steve nods and leaves the bridge to suit up.
"Still looking for something to do, Little?" Fury asks.
"Alice. Call me by my last name again and—wait, what do you mean?" I ask.
"Meet Agent Romanoff out on the flight deck. Go. And I better not have any regrets if and when you return."
It's about time I got roped into the action. Without a moment's hesitation, I do as I'm told. Seeing this all unfold up close? What kind of Marvel fan would I be if I passed this opportunity up? Of course, it's not technically up close, since I'm not actually here/there/wherever, but it'll feel like I am and that is good enough for me.
oOoOoOo
Almost instantaneously, it's made clear to me that Natasha Romanoff does not trust me in the slightest, which really, really sucks. Normally, in my dreams, my favorite characters are my best friends, occasionally with benefits. This Natasha just keeps eyeing me suspiciously, like she'd be ready to kill me at any given moment should she feel compelled to. Which, I guess, makes sense, considering that this is the Black Widow we're talking about, but it's disappointing nonetheless.
Steve is also quite suspicious, though on a lesser scale. At least, in the sense that I am way more afraid of Natasha than I am of Steve.
"So…the modifications Coulson made…" I say, suppressing laughter. Oh my god, this is amazing up close. "It…it looks just like your chorus girl costume. It's great."
"You know about that?" says Steve, half-cringing.
"Don't worry, I know worse things about the other Avengers…actually no. No, I don't. That is probably the most embarrassing."
"How do you know about that anyway?" Natasha suddenly asks. "The Avengers Initiative."
"I don't have to explain myself to you. This is all a dream, therefore, there are zero consequences."
"Then answer me like you're not dreaming," says Natasha.
"That's the weird question for a figment of my imagination to ask," I remark, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Then again, this whole dream has been weird. And I'm not just saying that because it isn't 'Mission Impossible' enough. Well, okay, yeah, I am saying that, but this entire thing has been so uneventful."
Natasha still looks as if she's trying to decode my every word, to no success, as I am not, in fact, speaking in code. Steve is definitely still confused, and slightly weirded out, but that face he's making is adorable as opposed to Natasha's stoic yet terrifyingly suspicious expression.
"Are we almost in Stuttgart?" I ask.
"Five minutes outside of it," says the other pilot.
"Awesome, drop me off now," I say. "I want front row seats to this thing."
"What thing?" Steve asks.
"Loki's monologue. Oh, and you're going to want to position the jet right above the plaza, outside the opera house, because Loki's going to target this Holocaust survivor and Steve needs to drop directly in front of him, shield ready—don't question me or this whole movie is going to be fucked and I don't want to be stuck in this dream longer than necessary," I explain. "I mean, I love you guys, you're like my favorite fictional characters of all time, right up there with Harry Potter—except you, nameless co-pilot, I have no idea who you are—but this is all…very boring. Yeah."
The other pilot and Natasha share a look before Natasha finally nods and the jet begins to lose altitude. See? Even more proof this is a dream. Why else would a fictional character, who is clearly superior to me in every way, let me do this? How else could I be interacting with a fictional character in the first place?
"Wait," says Steve, just as I'm about to leave the jet. "Wouldn't it be easier if I just went with you?"
"As much as I would love that…nah. See ya. And don't be late."
oOoOoOo
The opera house was easy to find. Stuttgart is insanely small and, well, it's my dream; I'm in control.
Somehow, I'm still not allowed in the opera house; this denim-shirt-dress thing I'm wearing didn't fit the dress code in the slightest, which makes zero sense. How the hell was I not invited to the event taking place inside my mind? This is confusing.
And I'm cold. Why can't I dream up a jacket or something?
Anyway, the doorman made me wait outside the opera house, which isn't so problematic, as, soon enough, shit hits the fan and people start running around screaming, trying to get away from Loki.
"Hey—Jesus Christ—stop—STOP PUSHING. Holy shit, imaginary people are still fucking rude. This does not happen in normal dreams—OH SHIT—OH MY GOD!"
…Maybe this isn't a dream.
Having been dragged into the chaos, I was pushed this way and that until my arm got caught on something. It might have been some of the oversized jewelry worn by the guests, it may have been the top of a gate or an unusually sharp corner of a concrete planter. Whatever this something was, it managed to leave a six inch long cut on my shoulder, reaching down to just above the inside of my forearm Not deep enough to see bone, thank God, or to sever an artery, but deep enough that there is blood running down and around my arm, making it look like a damn candy cane.
I press my left hand over the gash that just will not stop bleeding, both to check if it's real and to keep pressure on it just in case it is. Oh my god, this is painful. Painful and gross—oh god, there is so much blood. The wound is real. I'm actually bleeding. I'm injured, I need stitches, this is actually happening, what is going on?
Oh, God. I'm in the Marvel universe. That is actually Loki. My life really is in serious danger.
Screw kneeling and watching the show, I am out of here.
I try to ignore the pain while I quickly scan the area for a nearby hiding spot. There's one by a random pillar thing, hardly out of Loki's sight, but definitely better than being immediately visible.
This is awful. I want to go home. I don't want to be in this dangerous universe where my life is at risk on a regular basis.
Everything finally hit me. All at once, I caught wind of the situation I'm in. I'm in Germany because I asked government agents to drop me off here, and to do what? So that I could watch a super villain terrorize people? Who does that? I pissed off all of SHIELD, acting like an idiot because I couldn't believe that any of this could be real. Christ—I want a do-over. No, I want to go back to my old world, where I'm safe, not bleeding, and watching this all on my laptop. Back where I'm safe in the sense that there are no super villains and alien armies and killer robots and all the other fucked up things that start wars in Marvel films every four months.
Yet…in some ways…it kind of makes sense? Kind of. Not in the fact that I'm here, the fact that it's me. I mean, let's look at the facts, shall we? Who ends up in these situations in fanfiction? Girls in their late teens to mid-twenties with a conflicting personality, who just so happen to be part of the fandom who's fictional world they end up in. I have somewhat of a backstory that fits the description. Also, my name? Alice Little…Alice Liddell…as in, from Alice in Wonderland? Me in Marvel…land…hm. I'll work on that. Also, I'm slightly below average height and out of shape! Christ, this is so messed up. I remember reading all those self-inserts, thinking I wanted this to happen. I don't want this! I want safety. I don't want a premature death. I want stability, for Christ's sake. There's no way I'll ever get any of that as long as I'm here.
What if I die right here? What if I bleed out in the streets on Germany? It wouldn't even be a tragic hero's death or an epic villain's death, it would be due to a goddamn stampede of the elderly.
Christ, I can barely see the actual color of my arm, it's nearly completely stained with blood. And this is definitely not going to come out of my shirt, though that's the least of my concern.
I glance skyward, to see if Natasha actually listened to my nonsense from earlier. Maybe she or Steve would consider maybe helping me out of this mess.
Unfortunately, I don't even see the sky when I look up. I see Loki staring down at me. Yep. I'm screwed. And not the fun kind.
"I told everyone to kneel," says Loki. I suddenly slip into the demeanor I normally take on in times of distress; extremely calm and barely breathing. All I want to do is get out of here, but as I can see no escape, I try to somehow talk myself out of the situation. I admit, not the best decision.
"I-I am aware. But, in my defense…I am scared and seriously injured right now, so you should maybe consider giving me a free pass."
"Excuse me?"
"You know, like, let me walk away, tend to my injuries, or hobble off and die somewhere else far, far away from you?"
"You dare disrespect me, mortal!"
"No disrespect intended! I promise…so, uh…how about—"
"I told everyone to kneel and you will do as I say!"
"Look, this is getting embarrassing for both of us so, how about we just part ways and pretend this never happened?"
"Or you could kneel now and I might spare you."
I want to obey. Or at least, I want to want to obey. Oh, screw my goddamn stubbornness… "Can we like, compromise or something? You don't like my suggestion, I don't like yours—"
"Well, that's unfortunate then, isn't it?" says Loki. He starts preparing a ball of bright blue energy in his scepter.
And I am dead.
Not yet, though. I know it's coming. Even with my eyes shut, the light behind them continues to get brighter and brighter, and even brighter, much faster when he fires it—and when he fires it, everything feels like it's in slow motion. The blast gets closer and closer, until finally…
Nothing.
A sharp pain pierces my skull. I open my eyes, and something silver and blue and smoke-like implodes on itself and Loki is revealed to still be standing there, in shock. More glittering smoke appears a short distance behind him, swirling. It stretches out, and it becomes clear that this "thing" is a portal. Shockingly, blast from the scepter comes hurdling forward, causing Loki to face-plant.
Loki quickly recovers, and is clearly not happy with being humiliated in front of the people he's trying to convince he is the king of. He also seems to be blaming me for this incident.
Before I can process what may have just happened, Loki is preparing another orb of energy. Instinctively, I quickly raise my hands up, palms facing out towards Loki, and I push…something that felt extremely bizarre—almost like static without shock, or a more tangible version of that feeling you get in your chest when the bass in a song is really intense—I manage to push whatever that hell this is 'out' and the blast is sucked up into that same smoky substance. Did…did I actually just do that?
The same thing happens three more times before Loki decides that the scepter is no longer necessary.
"What have you done?!" He shouts angrily. He charges at me and his free hand goes straight to my neck. I found myself being pressed against the pillar that was supposed to have prevented this situation from happening.
I'm suffocating. Suffocating and bleeding. Oh, if there is a god, permission to end it here, please.
Wait. There is a god, and technically, he is trying to end me. Right at this moment.
Oh well. I suppose death is inevitable. Might as well just close my eyes and—
oOo