When Pietro and Wanda were first approached by the metal creature known as Ultron, the young man was unsure how to feel about it.
It was all very suspicious to begin with; a child, a young boy, had run up to him in the market, telling that Iron Man awaited him in the church. They had thought they were being very careful, coming and going only at sunrise or sundown, and otherwise sticking to the shadows. They had to wait until furor over the HYDRA occupation died down, when it would be calm enough to search for better accommodations. Reentering society, returning home, would take time, precious time, but it was all they could do. It would be shocking enough for them to come back, for their old friends and neighbors to realize that they were no longer missing. Thievery was providing for them in the meantime, what little he could walk out with distributed amongst others as well as his family. Wanda, however, pointed out how he used it as an excuse to chat up any pretty girl he saw, handing over a trinket to win them over as well. Smirking and shrugging was his only answer to that; two birds, one stone, and all that. Nobody had caught him out so far.
But someone had figured out where they were, who they were, and had sent that little boy with the message. Under the cover of night, they had gone, determined to finish what they'd started with Stark in the underground chambers. (At least, Pietro was. Wanda was confident that her mental manipulation would more than get the job done, and she would go simply to see the terror in the man's eyes.) When they arrived, when the cloaked figure spoke, they knew immediately that whoever it was, it wasn't Iron Man. It was definitely confirmed when it stood, the metal gleaming in the low candlelight, red eyes and twisted horns towering over eight feet, at minimum. Wanda, wide-eyed, had glanced at him, perturbed by the development, but also intrigued. So this was the product of Stark's fear; she certainly was pleased to see it. A thing created to help them avenge the world, and instead it would work against them. Ultron, he was called, and he came to them with an offer: help him end of the Avengers, and change the world for the better.
Refusing such an offer was impossible, no matter the slight misgivings sitting deep in Pietro's stomach.
It would start small, expand as they went out, gathering materials to aid their cause. Bringing them back to the discarded base, his eyes had widened, resembling saucers as other robots were floating, clattering in the large, open space, soldering and assembling different accoutrements. Ultron, all smooth baritone and low grumbling under the words, sounded quite businesslike to his ears, casual about the need to divide and conquer, as well as tear down, the enemy when they opposed them. Letting them live with their mistakes was not enough for Pietro, and he said as much initially, wanting the metal creature to understand how much he despised them. How much he hated Tony Stark, how much he had taken away from their family. He didn't know if the creature could truly feel compassion, but Ultron ultimately came to interpret the depth of the pain and suffering they'd lived with since childhood. They, the man and the machine, could make the Avengers suffer, but it would be Wanda that would destroy them. Only if they worked together. With little else on their table, they'd accepted, and got to work immediately.
Many hours later, he was still not sure how to feel about the entire endeavor. The last few days had been a blur, which coming from him was saying something. They'd traveled all over the place, Ultron's sentries and hacks allowing them safe and easy passage between countries, gathering supplies and tools as needed for the supreme cause. It was the first chance since the attack on the base that they'd been able to use their abilities in the way they'd been promised. While being constantly on the move was exhausting, a part of him was thrilled to be in the thick of it, doing what he felt was right. Every step brought them closer, brought them nearer to the peace they desired for Sokovia, for everyone who had ever been touched by the worst things. The latest objective, passed along the secure links Ultron provided them, was to head South Africa. They had to find a Ulysses Klaue, a trader and black market dealer, and corner him. Shake him up, if it was necessary, break him if they had to, but otherwise incapacitate him until the automaton could deal with him personally. The grounded ship he'd taken for his own was dank, grimy, and dark, somewhat like the fellow himself (Pietro was cleaner than him, and he hadn't even showered in two days). Lanky hair curled over his forehead, his dark eyes sizing Pietro and Wanda up as they found him, after easily disabling the lights—which barely functioned as it was, but that did not matter. He had seen them, and in his view, they weren't worth the time to even pretend to be afraid of them. He even knew who they were, which surprised the younger man, given how hard Strucker had worked at not allowing them outside contact with the world. Evidently, they were the worst-kept secret the baron had, arrogant bastard, and they weren't the ones he would discuss anything with.
Still chewing on his pilfered candy, offered sarcastically from the grungy man, Pietro barely flinched when Ultron pushed through the window, glass shards flying as Klaue was thrown out the door of his office. The uneasy feeling had returned, for what reason he didn't know. However, he squashed it down, chalking it up to the strange place they were in, the strangeness of the circumstances altogether. Ultron had wanted the dealer's secret stash, a metal compound that he housed safely under the weaponry and toxic waste he sold. Vibranium, gotten at great personal cost according to Klaue. It was something Pietro remembered hearing about in school, years ago, but as it was not important to him at the time, he recalled nothing else about it. Ultron, though, knew exactly what it was, and was willing to go to the greatest lengths to get it. Being tossed one of the containers, he examined the silver-toned metal through the glass, wondering what the advantage could be in having that particular alloy. In due time, he surmised, they would be told. Probably something to do with whatever was being built back at the base, if he had to guess. It was going over a lot better than he'd thought.
And then Klaue had to say it, had to comment on an old saying that Ultron spouted.
"Years ago, I heard that phrase," he murmured, gaze narrowing. "It was one of Tony Stark's favorites. Do you work for him now?"
Something in the automaton tightened, the air around him suddenly cold and menacing. Deftly, he swiped up the man's arm, ignoring how his bodyguard had begun to draw his weapon (easily held in place by Wanda's quickness, her aura pushing the gun to a standstill).
"Stark and I are nothing alike!" Ultron roared, the claws on his hand turning white-hot and slicing through the other's appendage. Klaue stumble back, shocked, his severed arm dropping to the ground. Pietro frowned, taken aback by the show of temper, sharing a look with his sister. For his part, Ultron tried to apologize, though it was barely genuine. Rearing back, he kicked him down the nearby stairwell. Stark was a sickness, everything that was wrong with the world.
"Oh, dear," a canned voice echoed around them, alerting them to a new arrival. As metal clanked against the walkway beneath, they all turned to see the aforementioned sickness, the god and the soldier coming up on either side of him. The other members were not in sight, but the elder Maximoff twin knew they could not be far away. "It's a crying shame you feel that way."
The robot drew himself up to his full impressive height, treading warily. "Shame or not, it is the truth."
Not caring less about what anyone else had to say on the matter, Pietro scowled at the gold and red figure standing before him. This moment had been too long in coming, and he would not let his sister impede him like last time.
"Must feel like home to you," he directed to Stark facetiously, motioning to the crates on the floor below, filled to the brim with missiles and machine guns. No doubt he was familiar with such things, he who had once been the merchant of death. Almost snarling, he continued, "After all, it was only a few years ago you were neck deep in it all."
The armored man dipped his chin down, staring at the boxes for a moment. "Might want to get your facts straight, kid. I never wanted this, any of this."
Indignation flowed through the younger man. He never wanted it? It was all he'd ever been before that incident in those caves so many years ago. If that had never happened, it still would be what he sold, still would be his name on the harbingers of destruction that killed so many, ruined thousands of lives. Glaring, Pietro stepped forward, preparing to respond (physical or verbal, it was still up in the air) when the bespangled soldier cut him off.
"Neither of you have to be here," he said, eyes darting between the twins. From behind him, Pietro could barely hear the low scoff Wanda let loose.
"And where else should we be, Captain?" she simpered, a smarmy smirk on her face, her gaze steady and hard. For his part, the soldier tried again. Pietro had to give him points for persistence, no matter how futile his efforts were.
"Wanda, Pietro..."
"Bah!" Ultron snapped, a retching sound in his mechanical throat. The captain, a righteous man, he derided the other fellow. He would not allow him to spew further nonsense when he knew the truth: that such a man, though angling for peace, could not live with it. With taunts thrown in his face, the captain merely closed his mouth, saying no more.
"What you seek cannot be found here," the god said, his tone calm and reasonable. Pietro wasn't fooled by the facade, and he was glad to note that Ultron wasn't, either.
"You have no idea what I seek, or even what you seek," the automaton corrected him. The tension in the air mounted, pushing them all to the breaking point. And then, and then...snap.
Stark and Ultron took to the air, armor banging and bouncing off one another as sentries invaded the space. They moved in synch towards the leftover pair, attempting to drive them back and down. Pushing forward, Pietro slipped by, rebounding off the god and pushing him back into the far wall. Blue and white mist trailed after him, the final indicator of his presence as he flew through the facility. He left Wanda to do her work, her auras blasting against the painted shield of the captain and slamming him into the ground. Gunshots and shouts filled the space, a veritable army rising from the shadows, making no discrimination between targets. The three-way attack threatened to become more explosive as time went by. To Pietro, it seemed as though no time passed at all when he moved. It was like running between raindrops, dodging and swerving so nobody was able to hit him. Doubling back, he returned to the upper walkway, the fiery blasts along the railings highlighting the slow rotation of the shield that had been flung. Dipping to the left, he easily avoided it, bring his fist back and delivering a vicious uppercut to the captain's jaw, knocking him down. Flying down another walkway, he saw the god there, almost cornered. His hammer was cutting through the air, something Pietro deduced could be used to his advantage. The terrible clench of his gut told him how wrong he was when he grabbed the handle, being shunted over the railings and crashing into an outcropping of crates.
A grunt passed his lips, his hands scrambling to lever himself up and get his bearings. That, however, was not meant to be, as a star suddenly banged into his chest, forcing Pietro back to the floor.
"Don't move," the captain barked under his breath, withdrawing his shield and leaving Pietro with a swimming head and a throbbing chest.
xXxXxXx
The fight was starting to get out of control, Steve mused, throwing his shield at several approaching men (Klaue's, no doubt) and knocking them into shipping crates. It had to be contained, and quickly, before it escalated any further. Trying to dissuade the Maximoffs had been a long shot, but he wasn't about to give up on the idea before trying. Shortly, they showed him how vain his hope was. They were fighting like people possessed, driven beyond reason to beat them down, but perhaps they could be made to see what Ultron was manipulating out of them. Maybe. A garbled message came over the line, the words "code green" barely decipherable, and when he tried to respond, nothing else was heard. Scanning for his teammates, he tapped into the com-link, glancing up at Thor. He would ascertain status before attempting again.
The god, frozen in his steps, soon enough pushed on, telling him that the female Maximoff had tried to warp his mind. The captain gritted his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut. They had all speculated about whether the girl would bring her powers into play, or rather, when she would. That answered that question. It would be best for the mortals to avoid her, Thor had posited, as he doubted they could do much to defend against her. Copying that, Rogers darted off, deciding the best course of action would be to find Natasha and Clint, their scattered arrows and stunner disks the trail he followed. More bodyguards flooded out of the holds, distracting him with punches and jabs. Retaliating in kind, Steve barely had a moment to catch his breath. That moment would cost him.
A blue and white blur came up on him in mere seconds, driving him back several feet and throwing him into a far stairwell. The blur reformed, the steely expression of the male Maximoff taking on a satisfied air as he ground to a halt, signaling off in the distance with the barest nod.
Stunned, Steve groaned, his back screaming in protest as he shifted. Opening his eyes, he had no time to shout or even move. The girl was there, auburn ponytail swinging as she leaned between the bars of the stairs. A hand outstretched, there was a savage delight in her gaze as she looked down at him, irises flushing scarlet and a blazing aura twisting around her fingers. Exhaling sharply, she flicked her fingers at him, the red mist floating through him. Such an ethereal thing should not have caused pain, but when it went into his head, he felt as though someone had his skull in a vice grip for a few seconds. An instant later, she was gone, leaving him to endure it alone. As he rolled onto his knees, he ripped at the connectors on his helmet, pulling it free to alleviate the pressure on his brain. It dropped away, ignored as he stumbled off. It hurt...and the lights...
A bright flash blotted his vision, causing Steve to shy away from the source. The photographer grappled with his camera, adjusting his bow tie after shifting the flashbulb back into its holster.
Flashbulb? That pulled him up short. He hadn't seen one of those since...blue eyes narrowed as he looked around.
Attention turned to the room, he saw an assortment of people he didn't know, most of the men in dress uniforms while the ladies were turned out in swing and pencil dresses of all colors. Tables were draped in fine cloth, food stuffs abandoned all over them, mixing with confetti. Glancing down at himself, he was astonished to find his dress greens, the fitted clothes molding over him in familiarity. Corsages perfumed the air and jewelry shimmered in the golden light as he proceeded across the room, not sure what to make of it all. Bottles of champagne popped amidst the raucous laughter of the guests (despite one or two smacking against each other in a show of force), a banner over a stage at the far end proclaiming congratulations. Several people nearby clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, shaking his hand enthusiastically. Beneath it, a professional band dressed in black suits played, the saxophonist and trumpet player leading in the music. He was back, back in the time he was taken from. The forties...it was home, but it was almost foreign to him now.
'This is wrong,' his mind shouted at him. 'This is a trick. Don't forget...'
"Steve, there you are." That voice, the accent feminine and warm, rushed through him, the original line of thought lost as he registered exactly who had spoken to him. Pivoting on his heel, he felt his stomach lurch in shock.
"Peggy?"
There she was, red painted lips and wide smile. Her brown hair had been curled back, pinned away from her face, the smooth line of her chin cutting up as she looked at him. Her blue dress fit her well, the skirt flowing around her hips as she approached him. Pearls decorated her ears, flowers were pinned to her collar. She looked amazing, as always, but what shook Steve the most was how young she looked. It was as if the seventy years she'd spent without him had never occurred.
What was she doing here? What even was this place?
Unable to fathom what was happening, he could only gape as she stepped closer, laying a companionable hand on his arm.
"Wanted to claim my dance with the groom," she said by way of explanation.
"What?" Steve's brow furrowed, his gaze flying down as Peggy took his left hand. Lifting it up, she tapped her thumb on his ring finger, just below the gold band nestled there. He blinked, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. His wedding ring...today was the day? Had he just forgotten in the heat of the moment? He couldn't remember even picking a date with Holly... "Oh. Right."
"Thank you for the invitation, by the way." She shrugged a shoulder, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she tilted her head to the right. "Granted, I thought you might tell me in person you were getting married."
Steve eyes widened, a flush of embarrassment heating his face as he jerked his head up. "I, I wanted to, but—"
"Luckily, the bride took care of it for you." She nodded to the left, and following her prompting, he looked as well. The sight that greeted him made him lose his breath, his anger from before dissipated in a moment. Holly was there, speaking with another guy in uniform, a woman in red on his arm. Her pin curls were swept back, pearls in her hair, pearls on her ivory dress. As she laughed at something the other man said, she swatted at him with the gloves in one hand, the other coming up to cover her red-shaded lips. The glint of her ring caught the eye. Recovering from her chuckles, she spotted Steve staring, gave him a warm smile before waving at Peggy. The other brunette returned the gesture, grinning widely. "She looks beautiful."
"She is," Steve agreed, regaining his composure. Focusing again on Peggy, he ducked his head, tongue-tied once more. There had been a time when he'd been awestruck by the woman in front of him, and in a way, he still was. But that was a long time ago, a different life, and what he had now, who he had now...that was what he wanted.
But how could he say such a thing to Peggy?
"Every woman is on her wedding day," she was saying, a knowing glint in her gaze. Taking stock of his expression, she softened. Guiding one hand to her waist and gesturing for him to take her other, she nudged him into swaying, into a dance. Fingers slid over his shoulder, a waft of lavender in the air as she pressed a peck to his cheek. When she drew away, she nodded, support in her eyes. "I'm glad, truly. I want you to be happy, Steve. With the war being over, you deserve to be so."
The beat of the music pulsed around them, the tempo picking up. As she spun away and back, the blue folds of her dress flying, Steve felt light, good. When she came back to his arms, however, a darkness seemed to spread over Peggy's features.
"Except...except it's not really, is it?"
He stopped then, even more confused than he was earlier. "What are you talking about?"
"The war. In your heart, it's never going to end. Deep down, you'll keep finding something. Another mission, another threat...another enemy." Her fingers dug into his arm, making him flinch from the pressure. Her strength was almost inhuman, jarring him so much that he grunted in pain. The edge in her words forced him to listen, despite that. "Because you can't stop. Because you'll never stop."
"That's not true," Steve retorted, taking her wrist and pulling her hand away. The smirk she shot him held the weight of the world in it, as if she was aware of something he would never be able to comprehend.
"You forget, I've known you for quite some time. It's all you've had for so long, you'll never be free of it. The soldier; you've always been one. Ever since you were small...and it hasn't changed," she pointed out, speaking the truth that sat deep in his heart, the truth that he had pressed down. All of his life, he spent his time fighting. Fighting the bullies, fighting HYDRA, just...fighting to live. He swallowed hard against his dry throat as she continued, "You can't just leave it all and go home."
Pulling away from her fully, Steve stared at Peggy, incredulous. The band kept playing the swinging beats, the thumps of the other dancing couples making the floor vibrate. Even with the flashbulbs, the brightness stinging, he felt shadows closing in around them. What was even going on?
The woman before him shook her head, gently patting the flowers on her dress. "And what will happen to her, in the endless fight? She'll fret, she'll suffer..."
All it took was a single pause in the music, the room's dull roar going so silent that one could almost hear a pin drop. Time seemed to slow, the party-goers stepping sluggishly around the room. However, it wasn't a pin that suddenly echoed in the dead space.
It was gunfire. Two shots, fired from the shadows, the spark and smoke of it all gone in an instant. Instinctively, Steve ducked, attempting to pull Peggy down to safety, but she remained immovable as stone. Rather, she stared on, the sorrow in her eyes growing as she focused behind him. Dread tightened his gut as he turned to look. In the mill of people, he could see them giving a spot on the dance floor a wide berth. White cloth spilled over the floor, blood spreading over it, a garish crimson blot. Shock and horror flooded through him then, and despite his best efforts, he could not move.
"...She'll die," Peggy murmured, the crack in her voice preceding the tears pooling in her eyes.
"Holly!" As his scream tore from his throat, time seemed to snap, and he was free to move again. Pushing through the men and women, he shoved his way across the floor, the dancers resuming their steps and the band striking up again. Nobody seemed to care that something outrageous had just happened. A harsh cry poured out of Steve as he broke through the crowd, dropping to his knees and reaching out for her.
Holly was barely breathing, the wounds piercing her heart and through her stomach robbing her of any strength. Her eyes were unfocused, blood trickling from her mouth as she gasped. Cradling her in his arms, Steve's eyes darted frantically as tried to think, tried to help her. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he attempted to stem the bleeding coming from her chest, refusing to acknowledge the effort as futile. Working to flag down one of the dancers spinning by, he felt building rage under his panic when they merely laughed and went on. His wife, his wife was dying...why would nobody help?
As the rush of sorrow, of fear, spread through his veins, he could feel Peggy's presence behind him. Her hand settled on his shoulder, a barely-there caress as he struggled to keep breathing, to call for help.
"The war will never be over," she told him, near a whisper. The pity in her tone weighed him down, broke him. "There will never be peace."
Holly started to choke then, more blood coming out, the stain spreading over her dress and onto his uniform. Steve held her closer, muttering reassurances, promises, any words that he thought might help her hang on just a little longer. Weakly, her hand came up, brushing along the curve of his jaw, her eyes becoming glassy.
"Steve..." she breathed, eyelids drooping. Her fingers dropped, arm falling gracelessly to the side as she exhaled one last time. Seconds passed, shuddering gasps wracking his body as she ceased to move.
"Oh, God, no...no, no, no..." he moaned, tears blurring his vision as he held onto Holly's body, fingers scrabbling to her face and pressing against her cheeks. When that failed to rouse her, as he knew it would, he closed his eyes, teeth gritting hard as his jaw set. He'd seen so much death in his life, had tempted fate so many times...how could it claim her? Why her, why everyone but him? Pressing his forehead to hers, the pangs of his heart hurt as he tried to speak, tried to beg. "Somebody, please..."
Nobody could help. It was over.
"It's not over, Steve. It can't end this way."
Stunned, Steve blinked, the tears in his eyes falling as he whipped his head up. It was Holly's voice, but she was, she was...
The spacious ballroom was empty now, the tables cleared and the dancers gone, and Peggy, too. The band had disappeared, leaving him in the silence. Leaving him mired in his torment. Looking back down, he felt a shudder go through him as he realized that Holly's body was no longer there. Every trace of her had vanished. Alone, again...alone.
His head drooped, eyes closing, chest heaving. He couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't think...his body shook.
"Cap...Cap..." The shouts reverberated in his ears, made him wince as they got closer. Suddenly, he felt so exhausted, so beaten up...
"Steve!" A hand grabbed him by his shoulder, rocked him back and forth. As though coming up for air after being submerged in deep water, he inhaled sharply, eyes flying open. Barton was there, kneeling beside him, sweat glinting off his brow in the low light of the ship and worry in his face. Groaning, Steve attempted to get up, heart pounding in his chest as he returned to reality.
xXxXxXx
The archer gripped the captain's arm, helping him off his back and into a sitting position. That little witch had done her work, and did it well enough that Clint was forced to pick up the broken pieces as they fell. The crawling feeling up his spine, remembering the numbness and brokenness of his soul after his own stint with mind control, came back to him whenever he saw that girl. It was if he developed another sense for it, having experienced it for himself. Stunning her with one of his arrows was his only option, and though the brother had pushed him through plate glass in revenge, he did not regret his choice. At least he had not fallen prey to it, and could be of some use to his teammates. Slowly, he got the captain onto his feet, pressing the abandoned shield and helmet back into his grip as he guided him out of the vessel. He'd already retrieved Natasha and Thor, both of them waiting by an outcropping of broken hulls for him to return with Steve. The horror of their nightmares permeated from every inch of them as he marched his friends the quinjet, but none of the affected spoke. While the god and captain made their way unassisted, he had to coax his fellow ex-agent up the platform, out of her visions in the world again. All of them were in a daze, their nightmares still before their eyes. Both of the other males averted their gazes, almost as if they were afraid that he would see them and be brought down as well. Carefully, he helped Nat into one of the seats, tucking some of her matted hair behind her ear as a gesture of comfort.
"Red r'm," she mumbled, too low for the others to hear her. All the same, Clint gave her a one-armed hug, the disgust in her eyes receding somewhat as he did so. Moving away, he tapped the com-link in his ear. Stark was off trying to round up Bruce, his rampage tearing up Johannesburg, but he hadn't heard from him in some time.
"Come on, come on," he grumbled to himself, taking a seat at the controls. Clipping the harness into place, he began to flick switches, powering up the quinjet. If there was no word from in the next couple of minutes, he would have to leave them behind, force them to catch up when they could. Each second that passed increased the danger and hostility that would undoubtedly rise to smother them. A crackle and snap came over the com-link, a harsh gasp following it.
"Open the hatch, open the hatch," the rough, irritated voice of Stark snapping over the line. "I'm coming in too hot, open it!"
Hawkeye reacted automatically, smoothly flipping the switch back in time for a loud thump to echo outside the jet. Looking over his shoulder in time, he saw the Iron Man suit bounce and skid up the ramp, coming to a full halt when it banked off the center seating console. Hastily removing the straps, the archer made his way back, the other coming out of their trauma long enough to ring around the battered billionaire on the floor. The eye slits flickered, shutting down just as the facial plate slid up. Wide brown eyes stared up at the ring of light ones, the lids fluttering as he groaned in pain.
"That was too close," he muttered, wincing as he sat up. Pulling off his helmet, he nodded towards the open hatch, huffing out a breath. "I dropped Banner outside. Literally."
Wordlessly, Thor pivoted on his heel, the god's brow furrowing as he strode away. Swiftly he returned, an unconscious Bruce in his arms, blood sliding from the corner of his mouth and from the cuts on his brow. The violence necessary to change him back from his Hulk form was evident, even more so from the way Tony shied away from him. The scientist's limp body was set gently on the ground, a blanket retrieved by Steve tucked around him, all of it done in silence. Stark began hauling pieces of his armor back to the storage chamber one by one, mumbling how he wished Veronica could take care of that as easily as it had the bigger version. Without any further prompting, Clint resumed his seat at the front, the hatch closing with a hiss and click. They had to go, they had to run...they were in no shape to do more.
And as they rose in the air, Barton frowned to himself, wondering even if they would ever be in the shape to do more after this.
A/N: Early-ish chapter this week, since my birthday is this weekend and I would like to take the time to celebrate. Little bit shorter than the last one, but I think it turned out okay. :)
I don't own anything from the MCU, including references to deleted scenes, nor any other pop culture references that may have been made.
Pietro started us off this time around. I wanted to get into his mind a little more. If I were him or Wanda, I personally would have problems trusting some random robot who promised me my greatest desire in return for helping him save the world. There are strings attached to those sorts of offers, and I feel that they would probably have misgivings about it, even though they ultimately choose to follow him because he says he'll give them what they want. So Pietro shows a little of that here.
Also, the anticipated altered vision has arrived. Similar to the original in some parts, different in others. At its core, the fear of war is deep within Steve. Here, it's the fear that it will never end, and that it will cost him everything he holds dear, again. That he won't be able to stop himself from pursuing it now that he's been at it for so long. Given this now-alternate story line. I don't intend for this to be a carbon-copy of the film, after all.
No Holly this time, just the vision version of her, but we'll see her again soon. As well as that, because it intrigues me, I may or may not hint at Banner's vision within the next few chapters as well. Watch out for that.
I'll be updating my LiveJournal sometime this weekend, so take a look if you feel so inclined.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!
EDIT: One last note, which I meant to address earlier, for my guest reviewers. I know it takes awhile for your reviews to show up, sometimes almost a full day after you post. That's because I moderate my guest reviews now, and while I do read them when the email alert comes in, I don't always moderate them right away. So it takes them awhile to show up, generally that's why! Sorry if that caused any confusion!