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lovemesomerafael · 5 years ago

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Destroying The Planet To Save It Chapter 23: Kind Of A Douche

Chapters 1-20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Read It On AO3

Jarman Arias stood fondling his machine as it emitted its sickly green light. He hated that he had to rely on the foul green orbs he purchased at an obscene cost from a lowlife who’d smuggled them to Earth from the outlaw markets inside Knowhere. Arias didn’t know the origin of the orbs, which was fine with him. The less he knew about the alien crystals he’d had to contaminate himself with to get what he wanted, the better. At least he’d made sure that lowlife smuggler didn’t live to enjoy his profit. The poor fool was one of the very first to be used in a test of the machine. Arias remembered the satisfaction he felt, listening to the man’s screams. It was fit punishment for a traitor to the human race, dealing with dirty rabble from some inferior world.

Arias clenched his fists in rage at the idea of those filthy Asgardian vermin, whom he particularly hated. Treading Terran soil as though they didn’t defile it, with their glowing stones and their pomposity and their ridiculous costumes. At least now, they would never be able to return. Nor would the real evil: those malparido, gonorrea Chitauri.

Arias had been in New York the day the Chitauri came. He had been inside a building, hadn’t even been on the street. He’d been sitting at a large, beautiful table in the hushed, very well-appointed offices of one of his investment bankers. He should have been safe. But the nightmarish, insectoid creatures with machine parts obscenely grafted into their bodies had poured through a hole in the sky, riding some sort of hovering chariots, invading and rampaging at will through the city. And the Avengers? The Avengers had protected no one. The Avengers had been part of the problem. Their wholly destructive – and entirely ineffectual – frenzy of violence had only made things much, much worse. Arias believed it was Thor – another beastly invader – who had hurled that glorified mallet of his into the side of the very building where Arias had been cowering, watching with horror as monsters filled the skies.

A hole five stories high had opened up in the building, leaving Arias kneeling only a few feet from open air, seventy floors above the street. And one of those repulsive reptiles had driven its chariot-thing, with the corpse of its accomplice still onboard, into the very room where Arias clung to the base of the massive table. He’d been too afraid to scream. He had lost control of his bowels and bladder, and could only weep in near-catatonic terror.

Several more invaders had passed the hole in the building, making a noise that still haunted Arias, as the Chitauri beast had dismounted and begun to move toward him. Arias whimpered and drooled, knowing that he had seconds to live before the thing devoured him. Suddenly, his eyes had been drawn to movement behind the creature as that tawdry, red-and-gold electrified tin man blasted one of the flying chariots with his laser beams or whatever the hell they were. The chariot cartwheeled into the building, very near the giant hole that bastard Thor had made, shattering on impact. Shards of hot metal and some sort of burning liquid sprayed into the room. The Chitauri that had been menacing Arias was… How to describe the horrifying sight of the hideous body being torn apart by the fragmented craft, limbs flying and a large hunk of torso landing in Arias’s lap?

But that hadn’t been the worst part. The worst part was the disgusting, putrid sludge the creatures apparently called blood, which had spewed from his severed carcass all over Arias, entering his eyes, his nose, his mouth... Even now, recalling that moment and the vile, rotten stench, Arias retched and had to force himself not to vomit.

He hadn’t been rescued. Not one of the Avengers, the so-called heroes of the day, had tried to help. Instead, he remembered seeing that jumped-up clown who called himself Captain America, presumptuously directing the pitiful feint at clean-up afterward. And then the Avengers, those disgraceful, insolent, unspeakably arrogant pendejos, had simply gone home to their skyscraper.

Arias swore violently, his voice rumbling deep in his chest with the primal rage he felt remembering his horror and helplessness on that day. It would not happen again.

He turned quickly away from the machine, his purple cape swirling around him, and stalked out of the room toward the lower levels. He wanted to check on his guests. Very important guests, actually. Now he smiled with the conceit of a feral cat watching its morally wounded prey writhe under its paw.

He hadn’t even had the idea to “invite” his guests until they, themselves suggested it. But once he had learned that S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers, and the United States government all knew of his machines, he knew he had to do something. And when he’d learned that the lovely Anita Herrera, with whom he had been so intrigued, was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he’d been furious. That had, of course, led him to realize that he would not be enjoying the prestige of employing The Falcon as he’d dreamed, because he had to assume that Sam Wilson was a spy, too.

The idea of the Avengers doing something so ignominious as acting as bodyguards at the Presidential event had always seemed suspicious to him. So he’d set some of his staff to doing research and headed off to his villa for a relaxing weekend. The research team had reviewed the surveillance from the bunker on the night of the tornado, and found footage of beautiful Anita creeping around. Which, of course, had led to a review of the video surveillance of the villa.

Arias had very much enjoyed some of the video of Anita and Sam in their room. But he had decidedly not enjoyed the footage of Anita searching his office, and discovering the ancient implements in their padded drawer, not to mention the robes he was currently wearing.

Arias had considered being ashamed by the fact that he, himself, had been in the room and missed Anita’s covert search on the night of the tornado. He had also actually invited the spies to his own villa. But he was not a security guard. Those were not his failures.

Then, when he’d investigated further, he had learned of the red-haired infiltrator who had been allowed not only to enter his facility, but to wander about unescorted! His guards had fallen for the very simplest of ruses and, worse, had tried to hide from him what they’d done. That level of unprofessionalism, of course, could not be tolerated. He had simply killed the other guards responsible for that breach, but he needed to set an example. Santiago Cárdenas had therefore been the resource who piloted the machine that created the earthquake in Washington D.C.

Still, Arias hadn’t had the idea of “inviting” his guests until Anita Herrera, supposedly a well-regarded S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, had contacted him to suggest they meet. He had wondered what to do about her and Sam Wilson, but when she agreed to simply walk into a restaurant to offer herself to him? The idea had sprung into his mind fully-formed. He had enjoyed their dinner together, watching her spout her transparent lies and try to seduce him. And afterward, he had decided that it was time to utilize his access to the so-called most powerful man in the world. That had actually been somewhat disappointing, really. Arias had simply called his operative in the White House and the pitiful little President had been brought to him almost immediately, like ordering a pizza.

The two would die, of course, as would Sam Wilson. But not before they got him what he wanted. Because he would never, ever, be made to cower again. He had started with intentions of the purest altruism. All he wanted to do was protect the Earth. Of course, none of his top echelon of advisers had supported him in that. They had always argued that he should announce his mastery to the world, be acknowledged for his power, and be rewarded accordingly. He always replied had not done his work for that. But now they had forced his hand, tried to destroy one of his facilities, and were once again imperiling the world with their reckless stupidity. So they would pay the price. How did these fools, who courted invasion with their own wildly irresponsible actions, dare to stand against the only man who could defend the planet?

Arias was deeply, venomously angry. He allowed his rage to flow like lava through his chest. He was in control now, and he would keep the world safe from further violation. By either alien infestation, or these smug, imperious children who called themselves by the hopelessly vainglorious name of the Avengers.

He left the room where his beautiful machine hummed, striding the short distance down the corridor to the end, where it took a sharp right turn. This was the very lowest level of the facility. At the end of the hallway, there was a wider space, and at the back of that space, a door. Guards stood on either side of that door, although there was really no need. For one thing, there was no way to open that door from the inside. And for another, only Arias and his most trusted lieutenant had the key.

He wanted very much to go into the room, to talk with his guests. He had toyed with the idea of having Anita brought to him, to enjoy her before she piloted the machine. He had no hope that S.H.I.E.L.D. will see reason, of course. He knew that, when he declared himself and demanded that S.H.I.E.L.D. acknowledge him, deliver Sam Wilson to him, and imprison all of the other Avengers and their allies, S.H.I.E.L.D. would refuse. That pompous fool Coulson had enjoyed just enough minor success that he would imagine himself and his organization able to deny Arias what he demanded.

Which meant that Anita, alas, would have to be sacrificed. She would be the resource that would pilot the machine to destroy Washington D.C. But he hoped that, once that lesson has been taught, the United States would see reason and capitulate to save their President and avoid further destruction. Once America, that boastful, swaggering giant, was under his thumb, of course, surrender by the rest of the world was only a matter of time.

Arias stood tall, looking contemptuously at the screen that showed Anita Herrera sitting ungracefully on the floor, the President next to her resting against a wall, leaning weakly against her. He appeared to have regained consciousness, but he did not look well. Arias smiled. What a foolish man, to think that he had power, to think that he was any match for the Custodian of the planet.

It was time. Arias swept out of the area outside the holding room and strode back up the corridor, past the room where his machine glowed and purred as its caretakers tended to it. He entered the crowded control room, pleased to hear an awed hush precede him as he crossed to the center.

He nodded to the technician who had been awaiting his arrival, and the technician flicked a switch. Just like that, Jarman Arias, the Custodian, was broadcasting on every screen in the world currently powered up and connected to any cable television system, any streaming service, or any internet site.

“I am the Custodian of this planet,” he began ponderously. “It is my role to protect her, and you, from invasion from outside. I will protect Earth, and her people. And my first step in doing so is to remove those who would aid alien species to attack us, people who have betrayed their own kind, and will do so again, if allowed. I am talking about S.H.I.E.L.D., and those abominations who call themselves the Avengers.”

“Man, this guy’s kind of a douche,” Clint whispered to Natasha as they watched from their assigned position.

“I have two guests here in the facility where I am currently located.” Arias signaled the technician, who touched a screen that switched the video being broadcast. All those screens were now seeing Anita and the President as they sat on the floor of the room where they were imprisoned.

“That man is the President of the United States. He may look different than you are used to seeing him, but I think his current state is a more accurate reflection of his real status than his usual posturing.”

“This guy wants to talk about posturing? While he’s wearing that?” Bruce muttered to Catherine in the close quarters of their location.

Catherine snorted. “Wanker.”

Arias continued. “That woman’s name is Anita Herrera. She is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., a spy, and a criminal. Today, she is going to do something very important. For you. For humankind. What that is will be determined by S.H.I.E.L.D. and its Director. Agent Herrera will deliver to me two things I demand: absolute control over S.H.I.E.L.D. and Sam Wilson, who fancies himself a hero and calls himself the Falcon. Or, if Director Coulson chooses, Agent Herrera will destroy Washington D.C. Director Coulson, you’ve just been sent instructions for contacting me. Do so within thirty minutes. If you do not, you will have chosen to reduce America’s capital to rubble.”

“I really hate it when I’m right,” Sam snarled into the comms.

“We all do, Falcon,” Steve replied. “’Cause you always have to point it out. You in place?”

“Fuckin’ A.”

Sharon Carter knew a lot of people who were quite skilled at swearing. She actually didn’t know many people who didn’t swear. All of her military friends and acquaintances could swear fluently and creatively, and certainly S.H.I.E.L.D. was peopled by some of the very best. Not one of them could hold a candle to Phil Coulson. She has always admired his ability to combine, twist, and conjugate foul language into lyrical expressions of both satisfaction and displeasure.

Currently, Coulson was marching back and forth before a bank of monitors and instruments, waving his arms to punctuate his expletive-filled reaction to Arias’s announcement. It was an astounding display of wicked eloquence Sharon wished could be recorded for posterity.

She simply stood back to appreciate the performance. They had thirty minutes, and they already knew the answer he would deliver to Arias.

“Is the team in place?” Coulson asks Sharon.

“Getting there, Director. Vision is assisting everyone to access their positions. He reports that sixty per cent of the force is good to go. He estimates the rest will be at their assigned locations in fifteen. He can enter from anywhere, so we’ll be ready in plenty of time.”

“Tell him to do it in ten. This Arias fuckwit pisses me off.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The Custodian,” he scoffed. “Lamest fuckin’ name. Relinquish S.H.I.E.L.D? My skinny, white ass I will.”

Sharon had to work very, very hard not to look at Director Coulson’s ass as she contacted Vision.

Arias turned to the technicians at various stations in the control room. “Tell me when Coulson makes contact.”

“Yes, Custodian.”

He did another of those turns that billowed his cape behind him satisfyingly, then stalked across the room and down the corridor toward the machine. Arias’s lieutenants followed at his heels. They understood that now was the time to tell him that he had delivered his message powerfully and masterfully. They, of course, did not disappoint him.

“Bring the woman,” he said to Olviedo, his second in command, as they walked. “It’s time to get her prepared.”

When Arias turned into the room with the machine, Olviedo continued down the corridor to the locked room where Anita and the President waited. He approached the thick, metal door, but before he inserted his key, he gave instructions to the guards to be especially careful. The President had been drugged and beaten, but he was still not to be underestimated. The guards nodded and took positions just behind him, so that he missed their momentary eye contact and slight nods to one another.

Neither Anita nor President Burke got up when they entered. Olviedo brusquely ordered Anita to stand, with the oh-so-predictable result that Burke objected. While the guards took a struggling Anita by her arms, Olviedo dealt with him. Burke almost got to his feet, but Olviedo landed a surprisingly powerful blow to his left temple, knocking him to the floor once more. Olviedo was occupied, which meant he was entirely unaware of the activity behind him as he kicked Burke unconscious with one quick, well-placed strike of his boot heel.

Anita fought against the guards’ hold, even as one of them deactivated his nanomask, just long enough to show Anita his face. He signaled her to continue her cries and struggles while the other guard briefly deactivated his mask, while she shouted defiantly and resisted. Continuing to scream and fight was easy enough – she was genuinely terrified of this situation, after all – and it kept Oliviedo from seeing her reaction to the fact that the guards were Markus Turell and Bucky Barnes.

Olviedo re-locked the heavy door and signaled for the guards to bring Anita and follow him.

When she arrived in the machine room, Arias smiled warmly at Anita, as though pleased to see her. Which wasn’t entirely false; she was a beautiful woman, and wearing that torn cocktail dress and fearful expression, she looked like several of his darkest fantasies. She feigned unconcerned disgust at seeing him, which didn’t fool him for a second, but he appreciated the attempt nonetheless. He did like a woman with some fire to her.

“Ah, mi Anita,” he greeted her, taking her hand. She attempted to pull it roughly back, but he had her wrist in a grip tight enough to leave a mark.

“You son of a bitch,” she spat. He stepped backward, pulling her with him, and she fought him all the way past the corner of the machine, where her eyes widened as she was confronted with a coffin-like receptacle extending from the machine at thigh level like a drawer.

That was it for her ability to play along with whatever was about to happen. She turned abruptly away from him, jerking her wrist from his grip. Continuing to move in the same direction, she stepped backward, stomping on his foot with the spiked heel of her shoe while swinging her elbow into his face. He stumbled backward, hands clasping to his head, leaving his abdomen wide open for the vicious kick she launched. Her heel probably would have punctured his flesh, were it not for the ridiculous robe thing he was wearing under his cape.

She would’ve continued to go after him, except that she was suddenly looking down the barrels of two sidearms in the hands of the guards, and covered by half a dozen more from others in the room.

“What are you wearing, Arias, you asshole, Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?” She huffed furiously, breathing heavily from her exertion. “Is the ‘C’ for caricature?”

“Put her in!” Arias roared, injured and humiliated before his men, which made him angry enough to kill her himself, if only he hadn’t needed her to pilot the machine. As it was, he knocked her into the drawer-like receptacle with a vicious backhand that left her bleeding and disoriented.

The guards wrestled her into the drawer-thing, strapping her limbs down as she struggled, spitting and cursing. Then, as she screamed, the reservoir retracted smoothly until Anita was entirely within the machine.

“Custodian, S.H.I.E.L.D. has made contact,” a technician announced. “I can connect you whenever you’re ready.”

“Excellent,” Arias responded, pulling roughly on his robe to straighten it, then running a hand through his hair in an attempt to put himself to rights. Fucking bitch. I will enjoy listening to her die. “Begin the program.”

Several of the technicians began to push buttons and throw switches, while one typed something that appeared as strange symbols on a monitor in the control surface of the machine. One of Arias’s lieutenants brought a long, rectangular metal case towards him, holding the case so that the catch faced him. Arias opened it, revealing the metallic objects Anita had found in his office on Marathon Key.

These objects upset him, just as the orbs did. They were the reason for the long, black gauntlets he wore, although he admitted to himself that fashion, too, played in a role in choosing those. He did not want to touch the implements, tainted as they were from being not of Earth. They horrified him, really, with their repulsive markings and the heavy, shifting weight of them, as though something alive was trapped inside.

The machine was now making a number of sounds, as Anita’s muffled screams and the thumps of her attempts to escape could be heard from the compartment where she was imprisoned. The machine whirred and clicked, whined occasionally, and made other unidentifiable noises as… something happened inside it. Anita’s cries reached a crescendo, then quickly slowed, quieted, and then stopped.

“Connect me with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Arias ordered imperiously, lifting the first metal object from the case. It was irregularly-shaped, with multiple surfaces, all at different angles and of different sizes. It was strangely luminescent, which seemed impossible, given that it was metal. That was another thing Arias didn’t trust about them.

“Arias-“ Phil Coulson’s voice was heard from several speakers around the room.

“I am the Custodian,” he corrected. “That is how you will address me.”

“Yeah, not likely. I just called to tell you to suck my dick.”

At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Sharon stifled a laugh.

“Your Agent Herrera will die, and your capital will be destroyed,” Arias said matter-of-factly.

“Meh. Climate in D.C. sucks, anyway. Maybe they’ll rebuild somewhere better.” There was a soft beeping sound.

Arias whirled toward the technician. “Did we lose the connection?” He really did not want to contemplate the humiliation of having his conquest of the planet hampered by something as pedestrian as technical difficulties.

“Uh… No, Custodian. It, uh… S.H.I.E.L.D. has ended transmission.”

Bucky, standing to the side, very determinedly did not smirk at the idea of Coulson hanging up on this grandiose jagoff.

Arias was incensed, and yanked hard on a small lever near the top of the machine, where it was bathed in the ugly green glow coming from the multiple openings in the level above. The noise of a small motor accompanied the sight of a small hatch opening. Inside the hatch was a simple compartment, the exact size and shape of the implement Arias held in his hand. It took him a moment, given its very irregular surface, to find the correct orientation, but when he did, the object slid home and the compartment lit with more of that eerie green light. Arias shoved the lever back up, and the compartment closed. The sound from the machine changed.

“OK, the feed from Bucky’s body cam is showing Arias starting with those objects,” Sharon said into the comms.

Coulson’s voice could be heard next. “Go time, Cap.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Sam’s exhale came over the comms. Steve didn’t comment on that, because he agreed.

“First wave, go!” Steve ordered.

Arias had just finished placing the second implement into its niche when he heard shocked voices over the sound of the machine. He looked up and was startled to see Vision, that machine-made red abomination, who had just come through the wall. At the same time, Arias could hear shouts and gunshots begin up the corridor, seemingly from the control room.

He did not panic. He knew these adversaries, knew they had freakish powers and would try to resist him. He simply touched the ornately decorated collar at his throat, barked a command and went back to his work, pulling down the third lever perhaps more quickly than he had done the first two. The scream of the ultrasonic weapon filled the air.

Vision ignored everyone in the room, simply tossing them out of the way, as he moved to the side of the machine away from the control surfaces at which the technicians were working. He began trying to tear panels off of the machine. Bullets ricocheted off of him, which actually took out one of Arias’s lieutenants. The rest of the men in the room rushed to find cover.

Arias screamed at them to stay where they were, and to stop firing. There was no cover, and the only one hurt by the bullets was on their side. They would have to find another way to deal with Vision. The pilot’s mind was even now being programmed with visions of the destruction she was to cause once the energy began to penetrate, and then saturate, her body. They just needed to keep Vision from doing much damage. He couldn’t, really, not from where he was hacking and tearing at the machines’ cowling. Perhaps he could disable the ultrasonic weapon, but that was a small matter. Arias’s guards would simply have to deal with any intruders. Or not. Once the machine was activated and Washington destroyed, Arias himself had a personal escape route that would allow him to simply leave the facility, and the guards, to their fate.

He continued to place the implements into the machine. Four in, three to go.

“Second wave, go!” Steve’s voice came through the comms.

Like cockroaches, black figures began pouring into the bunker through every access tunnel big enough to fit one, and a few that really weren’t big enough, but Vision was one determined dude, whom none of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wanted to cross. Once they began entering, the flow of agents in tac gear into the bunker didn’t stop.

Arias’s armed guards fought desperately, and knew the underground facility much better than the agents. Still, the agents’ training and numbers gave them the advantage. Besides which, they had Captain America, Ironman, Hawkeye, the Black Widow, and Ant-man with them. It really wasn’t a fair fight, but the Avengers didn’t want a fair fight. Not today. Arias had kidnapped one of theirs, and they were still steamed from their defeat the day before. The lunch room where poor Santi had first brought Natasha began to be filled with disarmed, frightened bad guys.

Joss and Wanda, along with three other agents, only paid enough attention to Arias’s men to avoid being shot. Their mission was to rescue the President, not to engage anyone except as necessary to get to where he was being held. They encountered a surprising number of Arias’s men who, not knowing that they’d already lost, fought fiercely. One popped out from a side corridor, grabbing Joss by the neck and holding a gun to her head.

“I don’t care who the hell you people are,” the guy said in heavily-accented English. “I just want out. Get out of my way and I won’t-“

That was all he got out before Joss made her move, flipping him over her shoulder. Wanda caught him in mid-air, and he found himself slamming into, then sliding down the opposite wall of the corridor, upside-down, to land painfully on his head. One of the agents took his gun, and they moved on, leaving him for someone else to deal with.

Sam was not happy about having to help herd up Arias’s men before he could get to Anita. He had to keep ruthlessly stomping down thoughts of her as he and his team worked their assigned corridor, one where they didn’t expect to find many men. He’d reluctantly agreed that he was too emotionally involved to have been assigned the role one of the guards - not that Steve was likely to back down on that - but still, it was hard. Sam might have taken some chances he shouldn’t have, and was perhaps rougher than he would normally be with the men he disarmed once they surrendered, but who could blame him? He trusted Vision, Bucky, and Markus Turell to keep Arias from activating that machine, but he wanted like hell to be there, already holding her and getting her the fuck out of this hole.

Arias now had the last implement in his hand, as Vision fought with guards who tried to subdue him physically. He couldn’t use the energy from the mind stone, for fear of hitting the machine. Tearing into its guts was taking longer than they’d planned, because he kept having to consult Bruce and Catherine. The two were monitoring Vision’s progress from nearby, outside the bunker, as to which wires or circuit boards to tear out next. But no matter how much of its guts Vision tore out, it didn’t seem to be stopping whatever the machine was doing. As Arias continued to place the objects, the noise was getting progressively louder, the green glow brighter. Soon, Vision was going to have to give up trying to disable the machine and stop Arias from activating it.

There were many other machines throughout the world. They needed to know how Arias activated them, so that they could destroy them without accidentally triggering them. They had no idea how many sets of those weird objects he’d inserted into it might exist. Perhaps one for each machine. They needed to know how to activate the machines, so they would know how not to. Arias certainly wasn’t going to tell them, no matter what they did to try to convince him. So Vision had to let Arias continue until the last possible second. And he had to be right. If not, Anita’s body would be shot through with a beam of energy much more than capable of killing her.

It was a frenzied, slow-motion race that had those monitoring it at S.H.I.E.L.D. and in the mobile command post near the bunker completely on edge.

Bucky and Markus, meanwhile, had been busy taking out guards and technicians. In keeping with Steve’s usual order, they used non-lethal force wherever they could, and sent many disarmed guards and unarmed technicians flying into the corridor with instructions to get out of the bunker. They wouldn’t get out, of course; they’d meet the rest of the team. But they didn’t know that.

As he tossed two more screaming guards into the corridor, Bucky saw Joss and her team jogging down toward him. In her black tac gear, armed to the teeth, her hair once again in that businesslike French twist, she easily could’ve distracted him if he’d allowed it. He gave her a cheeky salute and a grin, which he was pleased to notice made her flush an adorable pink, and went back to work.

The door to the room where the President was being held needed a key. That was unexpected, but S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers were pretty used to the unexpected. Joss signaled to one of the agents, who began shaping plastic explosives on the hinges. Joss banged on the door and tried to yell to President Burke to get as far away as he could, but on the monitor, he didn’t seem to hear anything through the massive metal door. At least he wasn’t right next to it.

The agent gave them a signal and the team retreated behind the bend in the corridor. At a nod from Joss, she called “Fire in the hole!” and triggered the charges.

Seconds later, the team came around the corner again, to find the door entirely intact. Joss displayed some of the colorful language she’d learned in the Air Force.

Steve and his team had cleaned out the rooms in three of the five corridors, and had run out of space in the room where they were putting those they’d disarmed. The conference room became a second holding cell, once Ironman welded all but one door shut. Now it was time to deal with the armory room. Tactically, it was a lousy situation. Several of Arias’s goons had shut themselves up in the room, with who knew how many weapons and an unknown quantity of ammunition. The team stood just around a turn in the corridor and discussed what to do. Ant-Man couldn’t go in and do recon, because the metal doors were airtight; there was no way for him to get in. Ironman was going to have to burn through the door, which was going to take time and give those inside plenty of time to plan their defense. The only good news was that damned hypersonic weapon was finally disabled. They all triggered the buttons on their collars to turn them off, grateful for the relative silence and an end to the uncomfortable pressure on their bodies.

Arias didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what was going on in the room around him, as the machine reached a painful scream of volume. When Vision saw him place the final object into its niche, Bucky and Markus watched from behind Arias, ignored, as he pushed buttons, turned dials, and flicked switches in a sequence long enough that Bucky was glad for the body cams – he was never going to remember that shit. Arias then looked up, and they heard the unmistakable sound of Anita screaming inside the machine.

That was that. Vision had to be satisfied with the amount of destruction he’d caused the machine so far and turn to Arias. He launched himself over the machine, colliding with Arias just as he touched a final lever on the control console, and sent Arias flying. Markus took Arias’s place at the controls, and simply began reversing the sequence of what Arias had just done. Bucky didn’t have much time to be impressed with his memory, because he was around the side of the machine, removing a short pry bar that had been hanging from his belt. There was a muffled explosion from the hallway, which no one in the machine room paid any attention to, as Vision dealt with Arias, Markus dealt with the machine, and Bucky tried to free Anita.

Joss and Wanda’s team stood looking at the hinges of the door, now devoid of paint but still very much intact.

“I don’t know what I can do here,” Wanda said. “But let me try.”

A stream of scarlet flowed from her fingertips to the door and around it, outlining it and the hinges and latch. It was beautiful, but Wanda scowled. “Not that way, apparently. I think we’re going to have to go old school. Back around the corner.”

“Wait, what are you gonna do?” Joss asked.

“Blow the door in. Brutish, but effective.”

“And probably fatal. That’ll blast the door right into the President. Look where he is.”

On the monitor, the President was, indeed, slumped against the wall, directly across from the door. He was awake and alert; he’d heard the initial attempt to blow the hinges, but he didn’t look like he was going to move anytime soon.

“Anyone got any bright ideas?”

For a few moments, the team stood looking dumbly at the door, minds considering and rejecting option after option.

“Do you suppose…” Joss cocked her head, squinting at the door thoughtfully.

Wanda turned to look at Joss. She could see that Joss wasn’t just staring at the door. She was doing something, and Wanda correctly guessed that she was using her telekinesis somehow. “What is it?”

“Shhhh. Bucky and I discovered I can sort of… feel things, even if I can’t see them. I’m trying to… see how this lock works. It’s not easy by feel.”

“Why?”

“My dad’s a locksmith. I love locks. Used to play with them when I was a kid. I might be able to figure this one out.”

Arias was beyond furious. He was outraged that this magenta horror was trying to stop him from doing what was necessary to protect the world. He was just angry enough to consider the unthinkable. It would, of course, destroy this machine and make it impossible to level the city as he’d planned, at least for a time. Arias truly hadn’t thought he would need to use the Pulse. But he was otherwise unarmed and his entire cadre of lieutenants, guards, and assistants appeared to have abandoned him, except for two. Although now that he considered it, he realized they weren’t doing anything to help him. Rather, they were doing something to his machine while this Vision creature lifted Arias from the floor by his neck.

He sighed dramatically. “The Avengers. Always part of the problem.”

He squeezed the small trigger in his hand.

The men in the armory room apparently decided not to wait to be trapped by the Avengers in an inescapable shooting gallery. Without warning, the door was flung open and heavily armed men boiled out of the room. There was a shocking number of them, and the element of surprise gave them a split second to already be among the Avengers when the team shook off their surprise and began to fight back. Scott disappeared into insect size, and soon every member of the team was dodging bullets and fighting one or more armed men.

Sam’s team threw the last of the men they’d cleaned out of their corridors into the conference room. He didn’t even bother saying anything to the rest of his team, or the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents guarding the conference room door, before sprinting down the corridor toward the machine room.

He didn’t make it.

The door to the President’s cell clicked loudly and a crack appeared between the edge of the door and the frame. “You know what?” Joss smiled. “When this is over? I’m totally rethinking my stance on mutant pride. Might even read some of that Xavier guy’s stuff. Because you gotta admit, that was pretty cool.”

The team quickly burst into the room and Joss threw herself to her knees, sliding the last foot or so toward the President.

“Sir?” She looked into his face, very pleasantly surprised to see that, when he opened his eyes, there was a glittering fire in them.

“You get Arias?” He asked hoarsely.

“Not yet, Sir, but it’s in process.” She reached behind her to accept the first aid kit one of the agents handed her.

At that moment, the comms went nuts. Steve was hollering for backup and there was a host of overlapping chatter that made it clear there was a serious firefight going on.

“Natasha’s down! We need every swingin’ dick up here NOW!”

Joss and Wanda exchanged glances. Joss didn’t even have to ask. “No, he doesn’t usually talk like that. It’s bad. I need to go.”

“Yes. Go,” Joss told her. “Mr. President, can you shoot a gun right now?”

Burke made what Joss assumed was his war face. It was pretty gruesome, especially with the injures to his face. “Absolutely,” he growled.

That was good enough for Joss. She looked up from the bandage she was applying. “All of you. Go. I got the President.”

That was when the lights went out and all of the omnipresent sound of humming power, and the screaming coming from the machine down the corridor ceased abruptly. It was immediately disorienting, the quiet even moreso than the dark.

Vision simply crashed to the floor and didn’t move. The machine continued to glow hideously, which is how Bucky and Markus saw Arias seemingly disappear into the wall. They both ignored everything except the desperate calls for help that had begun erupting from their comms. Saving their team took priority over chasing Arias, or even checking on Vision. He’d be fine; he’d just been powered down.

Bucky swore as he pulled his night-vision goggles from his belt and donned them. This is why he hated when Steve split them up on missions. That dumbass always got himself into shit, which meant Bucky had to get him out of it.

#The Avengers #Captain America #The WInter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Wanda Maximoff #Vision #Sam Wilson #Phil Coulson

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halocentury · 8 years ago

Text

Fic: Slow Whimpers

Warnings for multiple MCD and unhappy endings (… or is it?). Unexpected friendship. Prompt fill:

It wasn’t how he epxected his life to end.

It wasn’t unlike his beginnings. His lodgings were unremarkable; a small one-room cabin with an outhouse that technically was attached but to access one had to step outside. A small but well-maintained garden grew the food that fed him year-round, thanks to the refrigeration-freezer unit kept inside. Water for cooking and bathing was from a pump outside to be heated on the old-fashioned stove. A cot was positioned near the stove away from the drafty windows. The only seats provided were the two chairs intended to be used for the eating table.

A second bed, a bedroll, was kept rolled up on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf when it wasn’t in use.

The planet was far from his home planet, in distance and topography. Slopping rocky hills that might’ve been mountains had it not been for the winds that buffeted it daily. The trees were short and hardy, providing equally hardy vegetation. The temperate growing season had gentle breezes, light rainfall and glimpses of sunlight. The worst part of the year was when the cold hard winds pushed snow three feet-high against the door until the snow came to a standstill. Those were the months he appreciated the normally dreaded chamber pot.

It was one of those cold nights that he watched the older man dry-heave into the pot. “You aren’t getting any better,” he remarked when he finally unfolded himself.

Poe took the wet cloth he passed him, wiping at his mottled whiskers, more grey than black. “You aren’t the only one to notice.”

Even though his bones protested it he took up the abandoned bedroll. “And no one’s playing nurse for you?”

Struggling to his feet Poe shuffled to the cot, sitting down with a ragged breath. “They know that you’re the best nurse-maid – for me.”

Poe didn’t amend his statement fast enough for the slight to be ignored. The years that passed, decade after decade, a shadow hovering around him, was a constant reminder. “And how long will my skills be of help?” Poe’s smile wasn’t answering or providing of any comfort. “Have they decided this is how they will execute me? That exile wasn’t enough?”

Poe shook his head before lowering himself under the blankets he warmed up for him. “You were pardoned long ago.”

“And yet I’m the one who stays here, while you’re free to come and go.” There was no bitterness in his voice. He was too old to hang onto the past, over misdeeds and the treatment that other’s thought he deserved. The past chose to chase after him, in the way of his travelling friend. His only friend. The people who didn’t outright hate him merely ignored the fact he existed.

There used to someone else. A lover, though at the time he never called him that. Kylo Ren didn’t fall into any one definition. All they acknowledged was that he was his just as he was Kylo’s.

Hux and Kylo knew that things were not going to work out right, not since Kylo’s confrontation with his old master and the new student. Hux fought for something that the First Order could hold onto, something that they could call their own against the Republic that took from the Empire. Not the reign of terror that existed under the might of Palpatine but a sense of belonging, a life that they once had, only to be shoved into the outer reaches of the galaxy, ships in place of houses, strangers instead of families.

Snoke didn’t care about a new life. Strength for the Master of the Knights of Ren was to be Snoke’s strength, buoyed by the young or younger, the easily manipulated.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. In the few communications and nights he and Kylo managed to spend together they realised the truth of the matter. Kylo worked a tentative alliance with Luke and Rey. Hux and his trusted few worked to establish secret safehouses and connections to communicate with the Resistance. Most of the communication efforts were on Mitaka’s shoulders. He could provide a cover for the Lieutenant. He and Phasma had facades to maintain.

And had the Resistance knew that the remains of the Republic were going to attack a First Order strong-hold he may never had been caught in the melee between Republic and non-Finalizer First Order factions. Poe and Finn had been sent out with a small squadron of x-fighters and a single shuttle of ground troops. The less to get caught in the cross-fire the better.

Finding their attempted rescue, which was a curious sight from what he was later told, himself pinned under Poe’s sprawled form, Finn attempting to talk them out as to why they were in the middle of a Republic-led attack, went predictably awry. He was taken away in shackles to a prison that shouldn’t have been used at all. It was in solid shape but by health standards it was a death trap.

When he came into his cell, awaiting verdict without trial, he found Kylo looking like death warmed over. Away from Snoke’s influence, a miasma of his own, left him vulnerable to many things. Treading the grounds that were not light or dark, a hazy shade of in-between, the pull left him susceptible in mind and body.

It seemed ridiculous that a powerful Force-user could fall ill but there he was, condition worsening by the day.

The prison was cold and wet, infested by the worst kind of vermin. The food they were given, when they were given any at all, was gruel of the most innutritious variety. He gave up most of his food to Kylo in hopes volume would better nutrition. The clothes he was allowed to keep he gave to Kylo to keep him warm. Twice a week someone from the Resistance would drop by, normally Poe or Finn, offering to bring something along. Any medication they tried to bring was confiscated by the guards. In the end the only thing that passed inspection was the flasks of water.

He only took a drop or two at a time, trying to keep Kylo as hydrated as possible.

Kylo had been asleep in his arms, their nights spent always the same way.

It wasn’t until he woke up that he realised how cold Kylo had become.

It was by order of General Organa, pleading her case day after day, that he finally was released into Resistance custody, to be held prisoner until the Republic decided what would be best done to him. The Republic demanded death but the Resistance demanded something that would benefit everyone involved: a means to defeat the so-called man who allowed so many lives to be manipulated, killed and thrown-away like pawns in a giant chess game.

He agreed to work with them. To enlist Phasma’s cooperation to bring her Stormtroopers into the fore, supposedly strengthening the units throughout the First Order by planting them in twos and threes into all other Starships and squadrons. Turning the minds of the easily persuaded that there was a better way. Trusted officers who Mitaka was in contact with, from station to station, ship to ship, took new vows.

Hux was released from prison on an exchange, intended to be re-programmed by the Institutes that still raised the children that the First Order so desperately coveted. His supposedly regained functionality was meant to be an inspiration, a teacher for the newest generation.

The Academies were destroyed alongside the Starships and ATAT. The Old fell and the young survived, those who never were tainted by the propaganda. Mass trials ran and found places for the guilty, whether it was prisons or underground. Those who worked in conjunction with the Republic and the Resistance were given the new life they fought for, the new beginnings they wanted.

All but him, exiled into the wind-bowl that only Poe knew where it and he was. He brought the things that he couldn’t provide for himself. The blankets and the few clothes that filled his closet were such things and though he would never admit it to himself, he need his company the most.

Poe’s visits came more frequently when Finn passed on.

The next visit, when vomit in the chamber pot ran with blood, he hoisted Poe up gently, helping him back to his cot.

Pressed a kiss to the sweat-cold scalp under matted curls.

“I’m going to see him soon, aren’t I?”

There was no need to ask who Poe was about. There had never been anyone but Finn in his mind, even when he was sharing the cot with him. “You’re saying that as if he ever left you,” he commented, tightening his hands around Poe’s, clenching his too-thin belly and the blankets curled around them.

He smelled rancid but he could hear the breathless smile. “Yeah.”

The next morning Poe was cold in his arms.

By nightfall he found himself in Kylo’s embrace.

He found his home.

#fanfic #prompt #kylux #mcd #kylux cantina

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