Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
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- Posts: 799
- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Jameson Bryant
Jameson was elated - and more than a little relieved - that everything had gone so well at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Marshal was a free man. As he should be. But that wasn't enough. The mission was only half complete. Physical freedom was important, but there were other ties that held Marshal in bondage. Until his HYDRA conditioning was removed from his brain forever - until there was a guarantee that he could never be used and abused like that again - he wouldn't be truly safe.
Of course, Jameson was happy to join in the celebration and pizza. When Marshal occasionally glanced to him for reassurance, Jameson would give it, smiling and nodding or squeezing his shoulder.
But the mission was only half complete.
When his phone buzzed with a text that it was time, he excused himself to make a call.
"Your Majesty, I'm grateful that you were willing to speak with me..."
"We can dispense with titles. Unless I am to call you Mr. Stalwart?"
He couldn't help smiling. "No. Please. Jameson."
"Very well. I am curious what you have to say to me, Jameson. Despite the White Wolf's current estrangement from us, he has not ceased to ask us for favors. He convinced Ayo to persuade me to speak with you."
"Then I suppose you know the gist of what I have to say."
"I do. But I would rather hear it from you."
"Of course, Your Maj-- Shuri. My friend Marshal is in a very difficult situation. He was brainwashed by HYDRA like Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant Barnes said you were able to help him. That your algorithm saved him from what HYDRA left in his head. That you said it could help other people, too."
"I did. But other events have transpired since then. Go on."
"We also may have another problem. The records we accessed at S.H.I.E.L.D. indicate that Marshal may be suffering from multiple physical health problems as a result of the super soldier serum he was injected with. He may be dying from it. I know Wakandan medical care is some of the best in the world. I know you would be able to help him..."
Shuri sighed. "At risk of sounding callous, there are some among my people who would argue this is a self-solving problem. If we do nothing, and your super soldier dies, he cannot be controlled by anyone and the danger is averted."
"But he doesn't deserve that! He's a good man! He didn't ask for any of this. This is all because people hurt him. All his life, people have used him and hurt him. I want to make it right. None of us can change the past, but you can make the future right for him. I know I'm asking a lot. But you could..."
"I'm sorry, Jameson. You are asking a lot. And I wish I could provide it. There are a great many people in the world who are suffering from illness and harm that is not their fault. Good people, who do not deserve their fates. Wakanda can't save all of them. You are obviously very kind and good, Jameson. You are very charitable. But that isn't enough. Can you give me a reason why we should choose your friend, among all the others?"
"Because I'm selfish."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"Because he's my friend. More than that. He's my family. I didn't grow up in the happiest environment. I had everything material, but no nurture. No care. No love. I waited my whole life for a family who could give me those things. Now I have Marshal. Now I have that family. I'm not going to watch him die. I can't save everyone, but I can move heaven and earth to save him. He's like a brother to me, and I'm selfish, and I want to keep him."
There was a long silence.
"Very well," Shuri finally said. "I will do it."
"You... uh... you will?"
"Yes. I will. Because you are selfish and you want to keep your brother. I would have kept my brother too, if I could. I will save him."
"Thank you! I don't even know what to say..."
"There will be conditions, of course. Not because of me. But for reasons of diplomacy. The White Wolf created some rather significant political headaches for Wakanda. Fixing another HYDRA soldier will not be popular. It will be questioned. I must be able to demonstrate that Wakanda is getting something in return."
"And what is it that you need me to do?"
"You will owe us two favors. One for using the algorithm to save your friend's brain, and one for healing his body."
"Okay. But I can't kill anyone for you. I'm not an assassin."
"Of course not. I don't need an assassin. We have the Dora Milaje, if such a need should ever arise. The task would not fall to an outsider."
Jameson wasn't sure whether to be relieved about that or not.
Shuri went on, "I am confident that nothing we ask of you will violate your morals. If I am wrong, you may decline - but if you do, you will continue to owe a favor until you accept a task. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes. That is very agreeable. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Then we will see you in Wakanda, Mr. Stalwart."
Jameson breathed a sigh of relief. Owing two favors to Wakanda was a small price to pay for Marshal's freedom and his life. As for what those favors would be? That was a problem for another time. For now, he would rejoin Marshal in his celebration, with a lighter heart.
Jameson was elated - and more than a little relieved - that everything had gone so well at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Marshal was a free man. As he should be. But that wasn't enough. The mission was only half complete. Physical freedom was important, but there were other ties that held Marshal in bondage. Until his HYDRA conditioning was removed from his brain forever - until there was a guarantee that he could never be used and abused like that again - he wouldn't be truly safe.
Of course, Jameson was happy to join in the celebration and pizza. When Marshal occasionally glanced to him for reassurance, Jameson would give it, smiling and nodding or squeezing his shoulder.
But the mission was only half complete.
When his phone buzzed with a text that it was time, he excused himself to make a call.
"Your Majesty, I'm grateful that you were willing to speak with me..."
"We can dispense with titles. Unless I am to call you Mr. Stalwart?"
He couldn't help smiling. "No. Please. Jameson."
"Very well. I am curious what you have to say to me, Jameson. Despite the White Wolf's current estrangement from us, he has not ceased to ask us for favors. He convinced Ayo to persuade me to speak with you."
"Then I suppose you know the gist of what I have to say."
"I do. But I would rather hear it from you."
"Of course, Your Maj-- Shuri. My friend Marshal is in a very difficult situation. He was brainwashed by HYDRA like Sergeant Barnes. Sergeant Barnes said you were able to help him. That your algorithm saved him from what HYDRA left in his head. That you said it could help other people, too."
"I did. But other events have transpired since then. Go on."
"We also may have another problem. The records we accessed at S.H.I.E.L.D. indicate that Marshal may be suffering from multiple physical health problems as a result of the super soldier serum he was injected with. He may be dying from it. I know Wakandan medical care is some of the best in the world. I know you would be able to help him..."
Shuri sighed. "At risk of sounding callous, there are some among my people who would argue this is a self-solving problem. If we do nothing, and your super soldier dies, he cannot be controlled by anyone and the danger is averted."
"But he doesn't deserve that! He's a good man! He didn't ask for any of this. This is all because people hurt him. All his life, people have used him and hurt him. I want to make it right. None of us can change the past, but you can make the future right for him. I know I'm asking a lot. But you could..."
"I'm sorry, Jameson. You are asking a lot. And I wish I could provide it. There are a great many people in the world who are suffering from illness and harm that is not their fault. Good people, who do not deserve their fates. Wakanda can't save all of them. You are obviously very kind and good, Jameson. You are very charitable. But that isn't enough. Can you give me a reason why we should choose your friend, among all the others?"
"Because I'm selfish."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"Because he's my friend. More than that. He's my family. I didn't grow up in the happiest environment. I had everything material, but no nurture. No care. No love. I waited my whole life for a family who could give me those things. Now I have Marshal. Now I have that family. I'm not going to watch him die. I can't save everyone, but I can move heaven and earth to save him. He's like a brother to me, and I'm selfish, and I want to keep him."
There was a long silence.
"Very well," Shuri finally said. "I will do it."
"You... uh... you will?"
"Yes. I will. Because you are selfish and you want to keep your brother. I would have kept my brother too, if I could. I will save him."
"Thank you! I don't even know what to say..."
"There will be conditions, of course. Not because of me. But for reasons of diplomacy. The White Wolf created some rather significant political headaches for Wakanda. Fixing another HYDRA soldier will not be popular. It will be questioned. I must be able to demonstrate that Wakanda is getting something in return."
"And what is it that you need me to do?"
"You will owe us two favors. One for using the algorithm to save your friend's brain, and one for healing his body."
"Okay. But I can't kill anyone for you. I'm not an assassin."
"Of course not. I don't need an assassin. We have the Dora Milaje, if such a need should ever arise. The task would not fall to an outsider."
Jameson wasn't sure whether to be relieved about that or not.
Shuri went on, "I am confident that nothing we ask of you will violate your morals. If I am wrong, you may decline - but if you do, you will continue to owe a favor until you accept a task. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Yes. That is very agreeable. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Then we will see you in Wakanda, Mr. Stalwart."
Jameson breathed a sigh of relief. Owing two favors to Wakanda was a small price to pay for Marshal's freedom and his life. As for what those favors would be? That was a problem for another time. For now, he would rejoin Marshal in his celebration, with a lighter heart.
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Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
"Wakanda?" Marshal asked casually, gesturing to the phone Jameson was slipping back into his pocket. "She said no, right?"
He was prepared for that no. He'd been steeling himself for the no, ever since the subject came up. He could accept it. He could make the most of the life he had, for as long as he had left...
"She said yes. To all of it."
Marshal drew in his breath. He blinked a few times. Could he possibly have heard that right?
"They're really going to fix my brain? They're going to get rid of the HYDRA stuff? Like for Bucky Barnes? So I don't have to live with this anymore?"
"Yep. Shuri was very confident she can do that. And they can give you back the lifespan you should have had, that was taken from you."
Marshal bit his lip, fighting not to cry, because thick, hot tears of relief were threatening.
So I don't have to live with this anymore...
Jameson saw - it was, Marshal had to admit, pretty much impossible to overlook - and gave him a long hug. He managed to avoid a full-on cry, but there were a couple of suspicious wet marks left behind on Jameson's shirt.
Finally, Marshal said, "Do you think you could maybe take me to the airport, when the time comes? It's just, I don't want to miss it, and I don't have a car..."
"Of course we'll get you to the airport. Don't worry at all about that. But I was actually planning to go to Wakanda with you."
"You are?"
Being cared for when he was sick was still somewhat of an alien concept for Marshal. His mother had never really bothered with him when he was ill. The one time she'd had to, when he had his appendix out, she'd complained the whole time about all the demands he was making on her time. It hadn't occurred to Marshal that Jameson would get involved in this part - the tedious waiting by the hospital bed part - voluntarily.
"Definitely. I think you'll want to have somebody there. It may be pretty stressful for you. I'll be there to hold your hand."
That hit Marshal like a splash of cold water. It had to be mockery. It had to. No one would really do something like that for him. There was no way. No, he was pushing his luck, asking for too many things, and Jameson was upset about it. Marshal had to backpedal, and quickly, or he was going to lose one of the few lifelines he had...
"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I know I need a lot from you. Too many things. I'm going to stop asking for so much. I promise. I'm really sorry."
Jameson was visibly confused. "I... don't know why you're apologizing."
"The thing you just said. Holding my hand."
"Oh. Well, I don't have to. It's your choice. I just thought it would be a good idea. You were tortured, Marshal. You were tortured a lot. And a lot of it was in a medical setting. Wakandan medical care is amazing, and I know they'll do their best to take great care of you, but there's probably going to be some discomfort involved, and I'm not sure your body is going to be able to distinguish very easily between that and its memories of how you got hurt in the past. I think it'll be a lot easier for you to relax if you know that someone who loves you is holding your hand."
"So you really... that wasn't a joke?"
"It wasn't a joke. I wouldn't joke about something like that."
"People may give you weird looks. For doing something like that for someone like me."
Jameson shrugged. "Weird looks don't bother me at all. I don't care about that."
"Okay. Well. If you're really sure..."
"I'm sure. I'll be there. I promise."
Jameson is a really safe person, Marshal realized. That realization made him think maybe he could confide some other things.
"You know, Jameson, I've been... kind of thinking about the future. I didn't really do that before. I was just kind of trying to get through one day at a time. But now I've been thinking about... maybe what I want to do with my life."
"Oh? And what did you conclude?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"I won't."
"I've been... thinking I might try to stop drinking. Not just take a break from it for one night but like... really stop."
Jameson nodded. "I think that's a really good idea. I think that will be healthier for you, physically and emotionally."
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected that one to go over okay - Jameson had been very positive when Marshal had refrained from alcohol in the short-term in the past - although there was still that faint flicker of fear when the words were coming out of his mouth, because Ginny had mocked him when he talked about cutting back. But Jameson isn't Ginny. That thought gave him the courage he needed to go on.
"There's something else. Something I never told anyone. I didn't choose to be a super soldier - you know that part. But I am, and I probably shouldn't waste it. I don't like fighting, though. I never have. I'm okay with defending myself, or other people, but I don't want my entire life to be about that, y'know? So I was trying to think about what else I could do, and I had an idea. Remember how I told you I saved that kid from a fire, and that was how I got my lawyer? Well, doing that was something I did like. It was something I felt good about. So I thought maybe... I could be a firefighter. I could use the super soldier strength for that. To save people. Instead of hurting them."
"I think that's a fantastic idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Absolutely. That's a great way to use your talents. You could really help people that way."
"The only thing is... Ginny always said I couldn't tolerate stress. That I might snap and hurt someone. So I was scared to say anything because what if she's right?"
"She's not. I've seen you tolerate a tremendous amount of stress, and you handled it fine. You're capable of a lot more than Ginny convinced you that you were."
"Yeah, I... think maybe I am," Marshal replied thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think I am."
"Wakanda?" Marshal asked casually, gesturing to the phone Jameson was slipping back into his pocket. "She said no, right?"
He was prepared for that no. He'd been steeling himself for the no, ever since the subject came up. He could accept it. He could make the most of the life he had, for as long as he had left...
"She said yes. To all of it."
Marshal drew in his breath. He blinked a few times. Could he possibly have heard that right?
"They're really going to fix my brain? They're going to get rid of the HYDRA stuff? Like for Bucky Barnes? So I don't have to live with this anymore?"
"Yep. Shuri was very confident she can do that. And they can give you back the lifespan you should have had, that was taken from you."
Marshal bit his lip, fighting not to cry, because thick, hot tears of relief were threatening.
So I don't have to live with this anymore...
Jameson saw - it was, Marshal had to admit, pretty much impossible to overlook - and gave him a long hug. He managed to avoid a full-on cry, but there were a couple of suspicious wet marks left behind on Jameson's shirt.
Finally, Marshal said, "Do you think you could maybe take me to the airport, when the time comes? It's just, I don't want to miss it, and I don't have a car..."
"Of course we'll get you to the airport. Don't worry at all about that. But I was actually planning to go to Wakanda with you."
"You are?"
Being cared for when he was sick was still somewhat of an alien concept for Marshal. His mother had never really bothered with him when he was ill. The one time she'd had to, when he had his appendix out, she'd complained the whole time about all the demands he was making on her time. It hadn't occurred to Marshal that Jameson would get involved in this part - the tedious waiting by the hospital bed part - voluntarily.
"Definitely. I think you'll want to have somebody there. It may be pretty stressful for you. I'll be there to hold your hand."
That hit Marshal like a splash of cold water. It had to be mockery. It had to. No one would really do something like that for him. There was no way. No, he was pushing his luck, asking for too many things, and Jameson was upset about it. Marshal had to backpedal, and quickly, or he was going to lose one of the few lifelines he had...
"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I know I need a lot from you. Too many things. I'm going to stop asking for so much. I promise. I'm really sorry."
Jameson was visibly confused. "I... don't know why you're apologizing."
"The thing you just said. Holding my hand."
"Oh. Well, I don't have to. It's your choice. I just thought it would be a good idea. You were tortured, Marshal. You were tortured a lot. And a lot of it was in a medical setting. Wakandan medical care is amazing, and I know they'll do their best to take great care of you, but there's probably going to be some discomfort involved, and I'm not sure your body is going to be able to distinguish very easily between that and its memories of how you got hurt in the past. I think it'll be a lot easier for you to relax if you know that someone who loves you is holding your hand."
"So you really... that wasn't a joke?"
"It wasn't a joke. I wouldn't joke about something like that."
"People may give you weird looks. For doing something like that for someone like me."
Jameson shrugged. "Weird looks don't bother me at all. I don't care about that."
"Okay. Well. If you're really sure..."
"I'm sure. I'll be there. I promise."
Jameson is a really safe person, Marshal realized. That realization made him think maybe he could confide some other things.
"You know, Jameson, I've been... kind of thinking about the future. I didn't really do that before. I was just kind of trying to get through one day at a time. But now I've been thinking about... maybe what I want to do with my life."
"Oh? And what did you conclude?"
"Promise you won't laugh."
"I won't."
"I've been... thinking I might try to stop drinking. Not just take a break from it for one night but like... really stop."
Jameson nodded. "I think that's a really good idea. I think that will be healthier for you, physically and emotionally."
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected that one to go over okay - Jameson had been very positive when Marshal had refrained from alcohol in the short-term in the past - although there was still that faint flicker of fear when the words were coming out of his mouth, because Ginny had mocked him when he talked about cutting back. But Jameson isn't Ginny. That thought gave him the courage he needed to go on.
"There's something else. Something I never told anyone. I didn't choose to be a super soldier - you know that part. But I am, and I probably shouldn't waste it. I don't like fighting, though. I never have. I'm okay with defending myself, or other people, but I don't want my entire life to be about that, y'know? So I was trying to think about what else I could do, and I had an idea. Remember how I told you I saved that kid from a fire, and that was how I got my lawyer? Well, doing that was something I did like. It was something I felt good about. So I thought maybe... I could be a firefighter. I could use the super soldier strength for that. To save people. Instead of hurting them."
"I think that's a fantastic idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. Absolutely. That's a great way to use your talents. You could really help people that way."
"The only thing is... Ginny always said I couldn't tolerate stress. That I might snap and hurt someone. So I was scared to say anything because what if she's right?"
"She's not. I've seen you tolerate a tremendous amount of stress, and you handled it fine. You're capable of a lot more than Ginny convinced you that you were."
"Yeah, I... think maybe I am," Marshal replied thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think I am."
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- Posts: 799
- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Thompson's Man
He lay motionless on the concrete floor, willing himself to sleep - it would be better if he could just get some rest - but the cold of the floor felt like it was leeching all the warmth out of him, and he was so thirsty, and he ached so badly all over.
Had there been something he was trying to remember?
What was it?
Something had happened. He couldn't remember what he had done. But he had been punished for it. The worst pain of all was in his left hand, but he was trying not to look at it. Thompson had severed the soldier's left pinky finger. Had the mage said why? The soldier didn't remember. But he understood the gist. He had been disobedient, and he had lost a finger for it. If he disobeyed again, he had nine more. The soldier didn't know why the thought of harm being done to his hands filled him with such horror - it was a thousand times worse than the thought of just dying. But the threat had worked. He had no intention of disobeying again, if he could help it.
The rest of it had been standard. Just a beating. Enough to make him spit blood a few times, but not enough to kill him. Thompson had cut the runes again. It had hurt, but it hadn't bled as much as usual. The soldier hoped that meant that Thompson had miscalculated - that he was about to bleed out, that he didn't have enough left to lose - but it was probably just the dehydration.
Don't look at the hand, just don't look...
Footsteps on the stairs. The soldier considered trying to slink away into the shadows, but a moment later, there was the flick of a switch and a harsh fluorescent bulb illuminated every inch of the small crawlspace.
"Get up," Thompson said. "Get dressed."
The soldier sullenly imagined retorting that he was already fully dressed, but it wasn't worth risking another finger, and anyway, he understood the mage's meaning. Put on a shirt that doesn't have your blood all over it. It's time for another mission.
He scrambled to his feet.
Apparently Thompson wasn't going to leave to let him change, so he awkwardly pulled off his blood-soaked shirt and exchanged it for a clean one from the pile. The mage just kept talking.
"I think we may have been wrong about the location of the sword."
We? the soldier thought sarcastically... then abruptly balled his hands into fists, despite the pain that shot all the way up to his shoulder in the left one, just in case the mage could somehow read his thoughts and got any ideas about other fingers.
Thompson seemed unaware of the tiny mental mutiny, however. "Based on some conversations at S.H.I.E.L.D., I believe they may have given the sword to the other sister. The child. Very irresponsible. But at least it will be easier for you to get it back."
The soldier would have protested if he could have, even at risk of his fingers. He didn't want to harm a child. But that didn't matter. The order was being given.
"Go. Now. Look for her. I'll drop you off in their neighborhood. She may be next door. Get the sword back, by any means necessary. You may have an obstacle, however. A superhero and a super soldier live in that house. So keep your wits about you."
Great. At least I won't have to worry about being alive for much longer.
The thought of death both terrified him, and simultaneously seemed like the most welcome thing in the world.
Thompson briefly stopped the car a block down from the home in question, let the soldier out, and drove away. The soldier looked down at his hand, and grimaced, and started walking toward the house.
He lay motionless on the concrete floor, willing himself to sleep - it would be better if he could just get some rest - but the cold of the floor felt like it was leeching all the warmth out of him, and he was so thirsty, and he ached so badly all over.
Had there been something he was trying to remember?
What was it?
Something had happened. He couldn't remember what he had done. But he had been punished for it. The worst pain of all was in his left hand, but he was trying not to look at it. Thompson had severed the soldier's left pinky finger. Had the mage said why? The soldier didn't remember. But he understood the gist. He had been disobedient, and he had lost a finger for it. If he disobeyed again, he had nine more. The soldier didn't know why the thought of harm being done to his hands filled him with such horror - it was a thousand times worse than the thought of just dying. But the threat had worked. He had no intention of disobeying again, if he could help it.
The rest of it had been standard. Just a beating. Enough to make him spit blood a few times, but not enough to kill him. Thompson had cut the runes again. It had hurt, but it hadn't bled as much as usual. The soldier hoped that meant that Thompson had miscalculated - that he was about to bleed out, that he didn't have enough left to lose - but it was probably just the dehydration.
Don't look at the hand, just don't look...
Footsteps on the stairs. The soldier considered trying to slink away into the shadows, but a moment later, there was the flick of a switch and a harsh fluorescent bulb illuminated every inch of the small crawlspace.
"Get up," Thompson said. "Get dressed."
The soldier sullenly imagined retorting that he was already fully dressed, but it wasn't worth risking another finger, and anyway, he understood the mage's meaning. Put on a shirt that doesn't have your blood all over it. It's time for another mission.
He scrambled to his feet.
Apparently Thompson wasn't going to leave to let him change, so he awkwardly pulled off his blood-soaked shirt and exchanged it for a clean one from the pile. The mage just kept talking.
"I think we may have been wrong about the location of the sword."
We? the soldier thought sarcastically... then abruptly balled his hands into fists, despite the pain that shot all the way up to his shoulder in the left one, just in case the mage could somehow read his thoughts and got any ideas about other fingers.
Thompson seemed unaware of the tiny mental mutiny, however. "Based on some conversations at S.H.I.E.L.D., I believe they may have given the sword to the other sister. The child. Very irresponsible. But at least it will be easier for you to get it back."
The soldier would have protested if he could have, even at risk of his fingers. He didn't want to harm a child. But that didn't matter. The order was being given.
"Go. Now. Look for her. I'll drop you off in their neighborhood. She may be next door. Get the sword back, by any means necessary. You may have an obstacle, however. A superhero and a super soldier live in that house. So keep your wits about you."
Great. At least I won't have to worry about being alive for much longer.
The thought of death both terrified him, and simultaneously seemed like the most welcome thing in the world.
Thompson briefly stopped the car a block down from the home in question, let the soldier out, and drove away. The soldier looked down at his hand, and grimaced, and started walking toward the house.
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Cait McIvor
Ah. Of course. While it would have been all too easy to focus on the offence of being a child and told so - she didn't really feel as though Maureen was treating her as one. No, the woman was all logic and law and Cait had to concede that it was only right that the whole family should meet their new dog and approve of him before welcoming him home. And hopefully, she was a touch concerned, hopefully 'Sully' would approve of the family.
"Well, you heard her. I must leave you for a time. I will be beack. I swear it."
The dog simply lay down and looked away, noncommittal. We'll see was the attitude and Cait couldn't blame him. People made promises all the time. It was a matter of knowing who among them could keep them.
"Thanks for that." she said, tapping the small sign Maureen had placed by the name plate outside the dog's kennel. "I admit I don't know anything about adopting pets. Or actually...owning pets. I had a falcon once, but I don't think that really counts as a 'pet'."
Perhaps a little too honest, but if some of the people she'd seen own pets were allowed - surely their little family would be allowed to have one.
The ride back to Marshal's - or rather, Marshal, Jameson and Maureen's - was a touch on the fast side, which Cait approved of. She stared out the window wondering exactly what she should do next. It was strange that having more years ahead of her should so drastically reduce her options for what to do with them.
So lost in thought, she paid little mind to the scenery and was surprised by the familiar shadow of the house over the driveway. Cait chastised herself, briefly concerned by the lapse in discipline. She needed to spend some time training - and soon.
Ah. Of course. While it would have been all too easy to focus on the offence of being a child and told so - she didn't really feel as though Maureen was treating her as one. No, the woman was all logic and law and Cait had to concede that it was only right that the whole family should meet their new dog and approve of him before welcoming him home. And hopefully, she was a touch concerned, hopefully 'Sully' would approve of the family.
"Well, you heard her. I must leave you for a time. I will be beack. I swear it."
The dog simply lay down and looked away, noncommittal. We'll see was the attitude and Cait couldn't blame him. People made promises all the time. It was a matter of knowing who among them could keep them.
"Thanks for that." she said, tapping the small sign Maureen had placed by the name plate outside the dog's kennel. "I admit I don't know anything about adopting pets. Or actually...owning pets. I had a falcon once, but I don't think that really counts as a 'pet'."
Perhaps a little too honest, but if some of the people she'd seen own pets were allowed - surely their little family would be allowed to have one.
The ride back to Marshal's - or rather, Marshal, Jameson and Maureen's - was a touch on the fast side, which Cait approved of. She stared out the window wondering exactly what she should do next. It was strange that having more years ahead of her should so drastically reduce her options for what to do with them.
So lost in thought, she paid little mind to the scenery and was surprised by the familiar shadow of the house over the driveway. Cait chastised herself, briefly concerned by the lapse in discipline. She needed to spend some time training - and soon.
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Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
Marshal couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed in such a short time. From crushing solitude to having a family and friends. From aching loneliness to being A Person Who Is Loved. From terror of being a perpetual pawn for someone to having the prospect of being a free man on the horizon. From a bleak desire for oblivion to having tangible things to live for.
“Thank you, Jameson,” Marshal said. “Thank you so much for everything. Wakanda and… everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Jameson said with a cheerful smile - as simple as if he'd just let Marshal have the last cookie on the plate, not saved him from a lifetime of incarceration earlier today and then protected him from the darkest hell of violence and abuse.
Marshal threw his arms around Jameson and hugged him tightly.
“Like I said,” Jameson told him quietly. “I've got you. I'm not going to let people hurt you anymore - that's the bottom line here.”
Dear Jameson. The first human connection Marshal had ever had that didn't seem to have any sharp edges to impale himself on. It was such a relief to finally have a soft place to land.
Maureen hugged him too, when she got home. So much hugging. Marshal loved it. He still couldn't quite believe she wanted him around. She was a civilian; after reading that file and knowing what he was capable of, after hearing that he had been ordered to torture and kill her too, he wouldn't have blamed her for wanting him to just disappear from her life. But here she was, still his friend and yoga buddy.
And here was Cait, too. Apparently still willing to put up with him, for all his mistakes. She was a good person. A really great kid. He was going to keep his promise to be a good friend to her. Maybe someday even like a big brother or something. Surely there were books about... well, maybe not this exact situation, but for adults who weren't used to children and suddenly ended up with a significant kid in their life. He would do his homework.
"They're letting me go to Wakanda," he told Cait with a smile, and gave her a high five. He would bring her back something cool, he decided. Maybe something with a lion on it. Because lions are cool.
They had pizza - and, to Marshal's delight, also the little cinnamon twist things. Maureen hadn't forgotten her promise about the yoga, and Marshal found that doing it for the second time, he was more accustomed to the moves and could focus on the mental aspects. On being calm and relaxed and clear-headed. He liked that part too. Then it was movie time, and Marshal briefly opined about the genius of Steven Spielberg, and they settled in to watch the flick.
All in all a great evening, Marshal thought. How had he gotten so lucky?
Marshal couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed in such a short time. From crushing solitude to having a family and friends. From aching loneliness to being A Person Who Is Loved. From terror of being a perpetual pawn for someone to having the prospect of being a free man on the horizon. From a bleak desire for oblivion to having tangible things to live for.
“Thank you, Jameson,” Marshal said. “Thank you so much for everything. Wakanda and… everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Jameson said with a cheerful smile - as simple as if he'd just let Marshal have the last cookie on the plate, not saved him from a lifetime of incarceration earlier today and then protected him from the darkest hell of violence and abuse.
Marshal threw his arms around Jameson and hugged him tightly.
“Like I said,” Jameson told him quietly. “I've got you. I'm not going to let people hurt you anymore - that's the bottom line here.”
Dear Jameson. The first human connection Marshal had ever had that didn't seem to have any sharp edges to impale himself on. It was such a relief to finally have a soft place to land.
Maureen hugged him too, when she got home. So much hugging. Marshal loved it. He still couldn't quite believe she wanted him around. She was a civilian; after reading that file and knowing what he was capable of, after hearing that he had been ordered to torture and kill her too, he wouldn't have blamed her for wanting him to just disappear from her life. But here she was, still his friend and yoga buddy.
And here was Cait, too. Apparently still willing to put up with him, for all his mistakes. She was a good person. A really great kid. He was going to keep his promise to be a good friend to her. Maybe someday even like a big brother or something. Surely there were books about... well, maybe not this exact situation, but for adults who weren't used to children and suddenly ended up with a significant kid in their life. He would do his homework.
"They're letting me go to Wakanda," he told Cait with a smile, and gave her a high five. He would bring her back something cool, he decided. Maybe something with a lion on it. Because lions are cool.
They had pizza - and, to Marshal's delight, also the little cinnamon twist things. Maureen hadn't forgotten her promise about the yoga, and Marshal found that doing it for the second time, he was more accustomed to the moves and could focus on the mental aspects. On being calm and relaxed and clear-headed. He liked that part too. Then it was movie time, and Marshal briefly opined about the genius of Steven Spielberg, and they settled in to watch the flick.
All in all a great evening, Marshal thought. How had he gotten so lucky?
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Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Evening, In And Outside The Knox Residence
Agent Coulson had said not to ‘pester’ Marshal Knox. The Hammer of Justice had decided that this instruction did not preclude surveilling the HYDRA operative’s house with a scope from the cover of a nearby Jeep, however.
Kyle watched as the fat girl and some little kid got out of the car. Apparently the fat girl was incredibly stupid, agreeing to a booty call with the superhero even after a couple of days of humiliation about their past tryst. Sad. Or maybe just desperate for attention.
The kid puzzled him a little, since no one involved had children as far as he knew. Was Knox up to something nefarious? It figured the guy would be a perv.
Kyle kept watching.
Nothing interesting happened for quite awhile. He was about to give up - it looked like they were in for the night, and he was either going to have to try another day or figure out how to get surveillance access to the inside of the house, or both - when a figure moved in the shadows.
The Hammer of Justice was suddenly all attention again.
***
Thompson's man slowly edged closer and closer to the house. Then, from the cover of a nearby hedge, he peered in the window. The four people inside were watching something on the TV, and the interior lights versus the outside darkness as well as the foliage concealed him from their view. It gave him a chance to observe at length.
...Not that observing helped at all, because there was the red-haired girl. She was curled up in an armchair, her eyes on the screen - and there was no possible way she had the sword on her. There was simply nowhere on her person she could be hiding it.
That meant it was hidden somewhere in this house. Or the house next door.
Great.
There was just no way he could fulfill the mission. It was too much ground to search, and he would absolutely be caught. He needed to return to Thompson. Admit his failure. Take his punishment. Probably lose another finger.
The terror of that latter thought made him cast about for another solution that would allow him to stay within mission parameters without returning.
He could think of only one.
The soldier could attack head on. Brazen it, force his way in, demand the sword.
He was well aware that if he did that, he would die. The was no way he could take on both the superhero and the super soldier at the same time, especially not bleeding and thirsty and bruised as he was. If he fought them, he would be defeated.
But... challenging them was within mission parameters, he realized, especially without a clear alternative course of action that held a better chance of success. If he died... well, Thompson always told him there was no way out, but that wasn't really true, was it? He was still mortal.
So. One way out.
He circled around the house and started forcing open the back door. It was sturdier than he had expected - he had expected the shoddy construction of a hasty suburban cookie cutter new build, and was surprised to find it was actually heavily reinforced - but it wouldn't hold against magical super soldier strength for long.
***
Marshal sat up abruptly. "Do you hear that?"
At first, Jameson - completely relaxed, snuggled with Maureen - had chalked it up to the movie, but the sound came again. "Yeah. I think someone's trying to get in the back door."
Wow, that thief has the worst luck ever, Marshal thought, but then he became more serious - Maureen was here, a civilian, potentially in danger.
Jameson disentangled himself from Maureen, and Marshal and Jameson both scrambled to their feet. For a stupid moment, Marshal imagined Cait - Adult Cait - would be by their side. She's a child. Idiot. It's your job to protect her. Well, that he could certainly do.
"Sit tight," Jameson said. "We'll be right back."
Without needing to communicate it in words, Jameson and Marshal headed out the front door circled around the house in opposite directions, converging on the back. And there, as they had assumed, a young man was prying open the back door, illuminated by the motion-sensor light. He looked up, made eye contact with Marshal...
Marshal felt like he'd caught a brick in the chest. He was panicked, paralyzed, frozen--
"Marshal," Jameson whispered, noticing that his friend had gone motionless and was just staring as the other man stared back with blank, glassy eyes. There was something wrong about the guy, Jameson registered. Something about the eyes, something about the movements... "Marshal, what's going on?"
Okay, Jameson thought. I guess that would be two somethings wrong. First, this odd guy was breaking into their house. And second, Marshal was apparently having a full-blown PTSD episode at the same time.
"Please, Jameson," Marshal whispered back. "Please, please, please..."
Jameson reached for Marshal, fumbling for his hand in the dark and squeezing it reassuringly - while keeping an eye on the intruder, who hadn't moved. "Whatever it is, Marshal. I'll help you. I swear. Just take a breath and tell me what you need me to do."
Marshal took a breath. "He's... he's brainwashed. Like me. I can tell. Look at his eyes. He's not acting of his own free will. Please..."
It finally registered for Jameson exactly what was causing Marshal so much fear. He wasn't scared of the guy who was breaking into their house... he was staring in a mirror at his past self. And he was scared of what was about to happen to his reflection.
"I understand," Jameson said softly. "Thank you for telling me. It's going to be okay, Marshal. He's going to be safe tonight. I swear to you. He is going to be safe tonight. But we have to make that happen. Can you help me make it happen?"
Marshal nodded. Jameson squeezed his hand again, then let go and stepped into the light. As soon as he moved, the other man moved too, squaring up for a confrontation.
"Hey," Jameson said, addressing the stranger - who immediately took a swing at him. Jameson simply ducked it and went on speaking. "I want to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to survive this. Whoever has been hurting you is never going to lay a hand on you again. That's all over now." He dodged a swing from the opposite hand. "And for the record, this isn't a conditional offer. I know you can't stand down. That's okay. I'm just telling you what's going to happen, so you don't have to worry."
He believed me, Marshal thought. Jameson didn't even question it. He just believed me.
While the intruder was distracted by Jameson, Marshal was moving into position behind him. Jameson made eye contact and nodded, and Marshal raised a fist to knock the stranger out--
And then suddenly there was a flash of orange, and another voice rang out. "How dare you attempt to invade this home and raise your hand against a superhero? Miscreant! You will pay for this crime with your life!"
As far as Marshal knew, Jameson was always carefully correct and polite - but for just a split second, Marshal would have sworn that he saw Mr. Stalwart roll his eyes. But the fraction of a second passed, and Jameson was moving, stepping in to catch and deflect the blow that was aimed at their intruder.
Marshal said something very profane as he stepped into the fray... and belatedly hoped Child Cait wasn't close enough to hear.
Agent Coulson had said not to ‘pester’ Marshal Knox. The Hammer of Justice had decided that this instruction did not preclude surveilling the HYDRA operative’s house with a scope from the cover of a nearby Jeep, however.
Kyle watched as the fat girl and some little kid got out of the car. Apparently the fat girl was incredibly stupid, agreeing to a booty call with the superhero even after a couple of days of humiliation about their past tryst. Sad. Or maybe just desperate for attention.
The kid puzzled him a little, since no one involved had children as far as he knew. Was Knox up to something nefarious? It figured the guy would be a perv.
Kyle kept watching.
Nothing interesting happened for quite awhile. He was about to give up - it looked like they were in for the night, and he was either going to have to try another day or figure out how to get surveillance access to the inside of the house, or both - when a figure moved in the shadows.
The Hammer of Justice was suddenly all attention again.
***
Thompson's man slowly edged closer and closer to the house. Then, from the cover of a nearby hedge, he peered in the window. The four people inside were watching something on the TV, and the interior lights versus the outside darkness as well as the foliage concealed him from their view. It gave him a chance to observe at length.
...Not that observing helped at all, because there was the red-haired girl. She was curled up in an armchair, her eyes on the screen - and there was no possible way she had the sword on her. There was simply nowhere on her person she could be hiding it.
That meant it was hidden somewhere in this house. Or the house next door.
Great.
There was just no way he could fulfill the mission. It was too much ground to search, and he would absolutely be caught. He needed to return to Thompson. Admit his failure. Take his punishment. Probably lose another finger.
The terror of that latter thought made him cast about for another solution that would allow him to stay within mission parameters without returning.
He could think of only one.
The soldier could attack head on. Brazen it, force his way in, demand the sword.
He was well aware that if he did that, he would die. The was no way he could take on both the superhero and the super soldier at the same time, especially not bleeding and thirsty and bruised as he was. If he fought them, he would be defeated.
But... challenging them was within mission parameters, he realized, especially without a clear alternative course of action that held a better chance of success. If he died... well, Thompson always told him there was no way out, but that wasn't really true, was it? He was still mortal.
So. One way out.
He circled around the house and started forcing open the back door. It was sturdier than he had expected - he had expected the shoddy construction of a hasty suburban cookie cutter new build, and was surprised to find it was actually heavily reinforced - but it wouldn't hold against magical super soldier strength for long.
***
Marshal sat up abruptly. "Do you hear that?"
At first, Jameson - completely relaxed, snuggled with Maureen - had chalked it up to the movie, but the sound came again. "Yeah. I think someone's trying to get in the back door."
Wow, that thief has the worst luck ever, Marshal thought, but then he became more serious - Maureen was here, a civilian, potentially in danger.
Jameson disentangled himself from Maureen, and Marshal and Jameson both scrambled to their feet. For a stupid moment, Marshal imagined Cait - Adult Cait - would be by their side. She's a child. Idiot. It's your job to protect her. Well, that he could certainly do.
"Sit tight," Jameson said. "We'll be right back."
Without needing to communicate it in words, Jameson and Marshal headed out the front door circled around the house in opposite directions, converging on the back. And there, as they had assumed, a young man was prying open the back door, illuminated by the motion-sensor light. He looked up, made eye contact with Marshal...
Marshal felt like he'd caught a brick in the chest. He was panicked, paralyzed, frozen--
"Marshal," Jameson whispered, noticing that his friend had gone motionless and was just staring as the other man stared back with blank, glassy eyes. There was something wrong about the guy, Jameson registered. Something about the eyes, something about the movements... "Marshal, what's going on?"
Okay, Jameson thought. I guess that would be two somethings wrong. First, this odd guy was breaking into their house. And second, Marshal was apparently having a full-blown PTSD episode at the same time.
"Please, Jameson," Marshal whispered back. "Please, please, please..."
Jameson reached for Marshal, fumbling for his hand in the dark and squeezing it reassuringly - while keeping an eye on the intruder, who hadn't moved. "Whatever it is, Marshal. I'll help you. I swear. Just take a breath and tell me what you need me to do."
Marshal took a breath. "He's... he's brainwashed. Like me. I can tell. Look at his eyes. He's not acting of his own free will. Please..."
It finally registered for Jameson exactly what was causing Marshal so much fear. He wasn't scared of the guy who was breaking into their house... he was staring in a mirror at his past self. And he was scared of what was about to happen to his reflection.
"I understand," Jameson said softly. "Thank you for telling me. It's going to be okay, Marshal. He's going to be safe tonight. I swear to you. He is going to be safe tonight. But we have to make that happen. Can you help me make it happen?"
Marshal nodded. Jameson squeezed his hand again, then let go and stepped into the light. As soon as he moved, the other man moved too, squaring up for a confrontation.
"Hey," Jameson said, addressing the stranger - who immediately took a swing at him. Jameson simply ducked it and went on speaking. "I want to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to survive this. Whoever has been hurting you is never going to lay a hand on you again. That's all over now." He dodged a swing from the opposite hand. "And for the record, this isn't a conditional offer. I know you can't stand down. That's okay. I'm just telling you what's going to happen, so you don't have to worry."
He believed me, Marshal thought. Jameson didn't even question it. He just believed me.
While the intruder was distracted by Jameson, Marshal was moving into position behind him. Jameson made eye contact and nodded, and Marshal raised a fist to knock the stranger out--
And then suddenly there was a flash of orange, and another voice rang out. "How dare you attempt to invade this home and raise your hand against a superhero? Miscreant! You will pay for this crime with your life!"
As far as Marshal knew, Jameson was always carefully correct and polite - but for just a split second, Marshal would have sworn that he saw Mr. Stalwart roll his eyes. But the fraction of a second passed, and Jameson was moving, stepping in to catch and deflect the blow that was aimed at their intruder.
Marshal said something very profane as he stepped into the fray... and belatedly hoped Child Cait wasn't close enough to hear.
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Cait McIvor
It was easier to have something else to focus on. As much as she wanted to go over and tell Rhys about the dog she'd found for them, she didn't want to give Marshal the impression that she didn't want to be around him. Which she cared about - because she did want to be around him. She did. And the more she thought about it the more frustrating the situation became - which meant that she had to stop thinking about it.
The movie. The movie was a good distraction in many ways.
Being distracted was becoming a problem. She was only aware of the sound at the same time as the others and she mentally gave herself a kick for being so lazy. So out of touch. So unlike herself. She unfolded herself from the chair to find she was too late to be in on the action - whatever the action was, that is. The two men were out the door in a flash and left her standing there. She caught her cell phone before it hit the floor. At least her reflexes were still reasonably fast.
Cait she stood beside the open door and peered out at the street. With the two of them gone, it was up to her to protect Marueen in case the noise at the rear was only a distraction. The tell tale glint of light off a scope made her pull back and motion Maureen to the ground. Rifle? She'd need another look, but first she pulled up her cell and scrolled through the few numbers on it to a number she had rather hoped not to need.
someone watching marshal with scope
The first text she sent to Agent Coulson wasn't the most articulate, but more importantly, it lacked information. She peeked out and saw a blond-haired man in a bright orange spandex suit jump out of a vehicle and begin running toward the house.
u know some superdouche in orange
Cait braced herself in case the man was headed inside, but no, he ducked toward the back of the house as well. She didn't like this. Too many places to be at once...
"Hey Maureen, can you go to a back window and start filming what's going on? With sound if you can. Hurry." Cait herself dashed out the front, hopped over the porch railing, and stealthily made her way to the back of the house. The smell of fresh blood assaulted her nostrils almost immediately. Unknown blood. She peeked around the corner just in time to watch all hell break loose.
picked fight w stalwart
The fourth person on the scene was the bleeding man. He was thin and his skin clung to him in a painful manner. Dehydrated. Little wonder with all that blood loss. How was he still standing? This guy needed some first aid.
"Psst - hey - buddy. You should come over here and get out of the way." Cait called to the thin man from her place in the shadow, hoping not to attract the attention of the snoopy overzealous guy in a jumpsuit.
It was easier to have something else to focus on. As much as she wanted to go over and tell Rhys about the dog she'd found for them, she didn't want to give Marshal the impression that she didn't want to be around him. Which she cared about - because she did want to be around him. She did. And the more she thought about it the more frustrating the situation became - which meant that she had to stop thinking about it.
The movie. The movie was a good distraction in many ways.
Being distracted was becoming a problem. She was only aware of the sound at the same time as the others and she mentally gave herself a kick for being so lazy. So out of touch. So unlike herself. She unfolded herself from the chair to find she was too late to be in on the action - whatever the action was, that is. The two men were out the door in a flash and left her standing there. She caught her cell phone before it hit the floor. At least her reflexes were still reasonably fast.
Cait she stood beside the open door and peered out at the street. With the two of them gone, it was up to her to protect Marueen in case the noise at the rear was only a distraction. The tell tale glint of light off a scope made her pull back and motion Maureen to the ground. Rifle? She'd need another look, but first she pulled up her cell and scrolled through the few numbers on it to a number she had rather hoped not to need.
someone watching marshal with scope
The first text she sent to Agent Coulson wasn't the most articulate, but more importantly, it lacked information. She peeked out and saw a blond-haired man in a bright orange spandex suit jump out of a vehicle and begin running toward the house.
u know some superdouche in orange
Cait braced herself in case the man was headed inside, but no, he ducked toward the back of the house as well. She didn't like this. Too many places to be at once...
"Hey Maureen, can you go to a back window and start filming what's going on? With sound if you can. Hurry." Cait herself dashed out the front, hopped over the porch railing, and stealthily made her way to the back of the house. The smell of fresh blood assaulted her nostrils almost immediately. Unknown blood. She peeked around the corner just in time to watch all hell break loose.
picked fight w stalwart
The fourth person on the scene was the bleeding man. He was thin and his skin clung to him in a painful manner. Dehydrated. Little wonder with all that blood loss. How was he still standing? This guy needed some first aid.
"Psst - hey - buddy. You should come over here and get out of the way." Cait called to the thin man from her place in the shadow, hoping not to attract the attention of the snoopy overzealous guy in a jumpsuit.
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- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
A Series of Text From Agent Phil Coulson to Cait McIvor
Reply #1: great
Reply #2: unfortunately
Reply #2: [This message has been unsent]
Reply #2: yes
Reply #3: hill will brt
***
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
The situation was rapidly spiraling out of hand. Jameson was now fighting the guy in orange in earnest - defensively, on Jameson's part, keeping his body positioned between the attacker and the stranger. The orange guy wasn't letting up. The two were more evenly matched than Marshal would have preferred. The orange guy was a hard hitter, but Jameson was faster, so Orange wasn't making contact very much. That could change, though. Jameson would eventually get tired, or the other guy would get in a lucky blow, and things would turn out badly. Marshal needed to help - but first, he had to reduce the number of combatants in the field. Another brainwashed super soldier wildcard attacking from a different direction was the last thing they needed.
And then he saw Cait. The child he was supposed to be protecting was now jumping headlong into the situation he was supposed to be protecting her from.
I really suck at this, Marshal thought. Add it to the list of things he was going to need to apologize for when they were no longer in such a dicey situation.
The stranger reacted instantly to Cait. Faced with Jameson and Marshal, he had seemed spacey and was moving fairly slowly; once he saw Cait, something activated in his eyes and he started moving toward her rapidly and with singular focus. She's the mission objective, Marshal realized. Why on earth would a kid be his mission objective?
There was no time to puzzle that out. He needed to act. Cait was in danger.
Fortunately, Cait was also a very effective distraction, for the same reason. The other guy didn't even notice Marshal coming up behind him until Marshal put him in a very precise sleeper hold, careful to block only blood flow and not compromise his airway - the intention being, of course, that the guy would in fact wake up again. "I'm sorry," Marshal said as the guy fought briefly and then went limp in his arms. "I have to take you off the board for right now, to keep everyone safe. 'Everyone' includes you. It's going to be okay, I promise."
He eased the man to the ground gently.
It struck Marshal uncomfortably that he had just used a kid as bait. Keep this up, Knox, and you won't have to worry about how to be friends with a child - either she won't want to, or her sister will never let her see you again anyway.
That thought was instantly dismissed from his mind, though, when his hand came away bloody. He held it up to the light to confirm, and the liquid was indeed sticky and red. "Uh, I definitely didn't do that," Marshal said out loud. Neither had Jameson; he'd only evaded blows from the guy, not landed any. So why was he bleeding?
Marshal pulled back the hoodie from the guy's neck, and found a mess of red. He hastily put it back - the injuries looked extensive, and the fabric adhering to them might be staunching some of the bleeding. Marshal started doing what first aid he could.
But Jameson was still fighting the other superhero. Marshal could hear the two of them arguing between blows, the guy in orange trying to order Jameson to step aside and let him at the stranger, and Jameson refusing. Then another person entered the yard; at first Marshal panicked a little at yet another complication, but he quickly recognized Maria Hill, and was relieved. Hill had always struck him as a sensible, reasonable, businesslike person. Surely she would have no time for the nonsense of the superhero in orange.
Marshal was correct about that. Hill had her weapon drawn, but her finger was not on the trigger and Marshal assumed the safety was still on. "Stand down, boys," she said.
Jameson glanced over, recognized her, and put his hands up - but continued to move so his body was between the other superhero and the man on the ground, which meant he took a couple more hits. Marshal winced. He heard the soft click of the gun's safety. Apparently the other guy did too, because he finally backed off.
Neither looked horribly injured, but Jameson's nose was bleeding - maybe broken - and the other guy was sporting what would likely become a nasty black eye.
Hill clicked the safety back on and lowered the gun, but didn't put it away. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.
"Stalwart hit me first!" the guy in orange said hastily.
"Yeah, I threw the first punch at you, but that was because you were attacking the person I was trying to save? Seriously, what the hell, man?"
"He was breaking into this house..."
"It's our house. I live here. We had things under control. We're not totally sure what's up with the guy yet, but he's brainwashed and we're trying to help him. Then this other guy--"
"The Hammer of Justice!"
"Uh. Sure. Anyway. This guy turns up and starts threatening to kill him? For trying to break in? Seriously, even if there weren't mitigating circumstances that would be wildly excessive. I was just going to tie him up and call the cops. You wanted him to pay with his life?"
Maria Hill glanced back and forth between the two superheroes. Then she gestured to the man on the ground. "Stalwart, can you take care of this?"
"Of course."
"Justice, you're with me. I need you down by the waterfront tonight."
"Fine."
As The Hammer of Justice started to storm away, he turned back to Jameson. "This isn't over. You're going to pay for this. Everyone is going to find out about you. You'll never be an Avenger. I swear. All the people you have fooled with your choir boy act - it's not going to last. It's not going to be you on the Avengers. It's going to be me."
Jameson regarded him coolly. "For the record? I already turned down the Avengers spot. If they didn't recruit you, it has nothing to do with me."
For a moment, it seemed The Hammer of Justice was going to start throwing punches again.
"Now!" Hill said.
And they left. It was done.
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief and returned his full attention to the man on the ground. "It's going to be okay," he promised again, even though the man was thoroughly unconscious and wasn't going to hear him.
Jameson dropped to his knees beside them, seemingly indifferent to his still-bleeding broken nose. "How is he?" He picked up the man's hand to check his pulse, and drew in his breath when he saw the missing finger. He held the hand up to the light, and his jaw tightened with anger. The finger had been cleanly, obviously intentionally severed, and then the wound roughly cauterized. "Torture injury," Jameson said shortly. "We've got to get this guy away from whoever did all this, and put a stop to it."
Marshal nodded. His stomach was clenched, as he fought down the images the word 'torture' stirred up. But he wasn't terrified anymore. They were keeping their promise. The guy was safe.
Jameson got on the phone with S.H.I.E.L.D., using his credentials to request a rapid response medical team. "...He's not an enemy, but he may be combative. He can't help it. And he's going to need some serious painkillers..."
"It's going to be okay," Marshal told the unconscious man several more times. Then he added, "We've got you."
Jameson smiled slightly for a moment, hearing Marshal use his phrase. Apparently it had sunk in. Good.
When Jameson was off the phone, Marshal asked. "What's going to happen to him? I mean, after he gets out of the hospital. Are they going to send him to the detention center?"
"I think that would probably be their default," Jameson said honestly. "But I also think I have enough pull that I could provide an alternative plan. Assuming we have one."
"You mean... stay with us?"
Jameson nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean. But I would need your help. I can be nice to him. I can help look after him. But I can't really relate to what he's going through. You can. We can do this if you're willing to help him with the parts I don't know how to do."
Marshal looked dubious. "Like a mentor?"
"Yeah."
"You... you would really trust me with that?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Without question."
Marshal pondered for a moment. "The detention wasn't bad," he said thoughtfully. "They didn't hurt me or mistreat me or anything. But... it's jail. I didn't get any better in jail. He won't either. I think he can get better here with us. I think... we can help him. That I can help him. I want to try. Assuming Maureen is okay with it too."
"Okay. Great. If she's okay with it too, I'll tell S.H.I.E.L.D. that's what we want to do."
Marshal's emotions were very mixed. He was nervous about the promise he had just made. He was still fighting down the shadows of trauma that had reared their heads tonight. Yet he felt strangely relieved, too. The difference between the present and the past was that he now might actually have the power to do something about it.
Reply #1: great
Reply #2: unfortunately
Reply #2: [This message has been unsent]
Reply #2: yes
Reply #3: hill will brt
***
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
The situation was rapidly spiraling out of hand. Jameson was now fighting the guy in orange in earnest - defensively, on Jameson's part, keeping his body positioned between the attacker and the stranger. The orange guy wasn't letting up. The two were more evenly matched than Marshal would have preferred. The orange guy was a hard hitter, but Jameson was faster, so Orange wasn't making contact very much. That could change, though. Jameson would eventually get tired, or the other guy would get in a lucky blow, and things would turn out badly. Marshal needed to help - but first, he had to reduce the number of combatants in the field. Another brainwashed super soldier wildcard attacking from a different direction was the last thing they needed.
And then he saw Cait. The child he was supposed to be protecting was now jumping headlong into the situation he was supposed to be protecting her from.
I really suck at this, Marshal thought. Add it to the list of things he was going to need to apologize for when they were no longer in such a dicey situation.
The stranger reacted instantly to Cait. Faced with Jameson and Marshal, he had seemed spacey and was moving fairly slowly; once he saw Cait, something activated in his eyes and he started moving toward her rapidly and with singular focus. She's the mission objective, Marshal realized. Why on earth would a kid be his mission objective?
There was no time to puzzle that out. He needed to act. Cait was in danger.
Fortunately, Cait was also a very effective distraction, for the same reason. The other guy didn't even notice Marshal coming up behind him until Marshal put him in a very precise sleeper hold, careful to block only blood flow and not compromise his airway - the intention being, of course, that the guy would in fact wake up again. "I'm sorry," Marshal said as the guy fought briefly and then went limp in his arms. "I have to take you off the board for right now, to keep everyone safe. 'Everyone' includes you. It's going to be okay, I promise."
He eased the man to the ground gently.
It struck Marshal uncomfortably that he had just used a kid as bait. Keep this up, Knox, and you won't have to worry about how to be friends with a child - either she won't want to, or her sister will never let her see you again anyway.
That thought was instantly dismissed from his mind, though, when his hand came away bloody. He held it up to the light to confirm, and the liquid was indeed sticky and red. "Uh, I definitely didn't do that," Marshal said out loud. Neither had Jameson; he'd only evaded blows from the guy, not landed any. So why was he bleeding?
Marshal pulled back the hoodie from the guy's neck, and found a mess of red. He hastily put it back - the injuries looked extensive, and the fabric adhering to them might be staunching some of the bleeding. Marshal started doing what first aid he could.
But Jameson was still fighting the other superhero. Marshal could hear the two of them arguing between blows, the guy in orange trying to order Jameson to step aside and let him at the stranger, and Jameson refusing. Then another person entered the yard; at first Marshal panicked a little at yet another complication, but he quickly recognized Maria Hill, and was relieved. Hill had always struck him as a sensible, reasonable, businesslike person. Surely she would have no time for the nonsense of the superhero in orange.
Marshal was correct about that. Hill had her weapon drawn, but her finger was not on the trigger and Marshal assumed the safety was still on. "Stand down, boys," she said.
Jameson glanced over, recognized her, and put his hands up - but continued to move so his body was between the other superhero and the man on the ground, which meant he took a couple more hits. Marshal winced. He heard the soft click of the gun's safety. Apparently the other guy did too, because he finally backed off.
Neither looked horribly injured, but Jameson's nose was bleeding - maybe broken - and the other guy was sporting what would likely become a nasty black eye.
Hill clicked the safety back on and lowered the gun, but didn't put it away. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.
"Stalwart hit me first!" the guy in orange said hastily.
"Yeah, I threw the first punch at you, but that was because you were attacking the person I was trying to save? Seriously, what the hell, man?"
"He was breaking into this house..."
"It's our house. I live here. We had things under control. We're not totally sure what's up with the guy yet, but he's brainwashed and we're trying to help him. Then this other guy--"
"The Hammer of Justice!"
"Uh. Sure. Anyway. This guy turns up and starts threatening to kill him? For trying to break in? Seriously, even if there weren't mitigating circumstances that would be wildly excessive. I was just going to tie him up and call the cops. You wanted him to pay with his life?"
Maria Hill glanced back and forth between the two superheroes. Then she gestured to the man on the ground. "Stalwart, can you take care of this?"
"Of course."
"Justice, you're with me. I need you down by the waterfront tonight."
"Fine."
As The Hammer of Justice started to storm away, he turned back to Jameson. "This isn't over. You're going to pay for this. Everyone is going to find out about you. You'll never be an Avenger. I swear. All the people you have fooled with your choir boy act - it's not going to last. It's not going to be you on the Avengers. It's going to be me."
Jameson regarded him coolly. "For the record? I already turned down the Avengers spot. If they didn't recruit you, it has nothing to do with me."
For a moment, it seemed The Hammer of Justice was going to start throwing punches again.
"Now!" Hill said.
And they left. It was done.
Marshal breathed a sigh of relief and returned his full attention to the man on the ground. "It's going to be okay," he promised again, even though the man was thoroughly unconscious and wasn't going to hear him.
Jameson dropped to his knees beside them, seemingly indifferent to his still-bleeding broken nose. "How is he?" He picked up the man's hand to check his pulse, and drew in his breath when he saw the missing finger. He held the hand up to the light, and his jaw tightened with anger. The finger had been cleanly, obviously intentionally severed, and then the wound roughly cauterized. "Torture injury," Jameson said shortly. "We've got to get this guy away from whoever did all this, and put a stop to it."
Marshal nodded. His stomach was clenched, as he fought down the images the word 'torture' stirred up. But he wasn't terrified anymore. They were keeping their promise. The guy was safe.
Jameson got on the phone with S.H.I.E.L.D., using his credentials to request a rapid response medical team. "...He's not an enemy, but he may be combative. He can't help it. And he's going to need some serious painkillers..."
"It's going to be okay," Marshal told the unconscious man several more times. Then he added, "We've got you."
Jameson smiled slightly for a moment, hearing Marshal use his phrase. Apparently it had sunk in. Good.
When Jameson was off the phone, Marshal asked. "What's going to happen to him? I mean, after he gets out of the hospital. Are they going to send him to the detention center?"
"I think that would probably be their default," Jameson said honestly. "But I also think I have enough pull that I could provide an alternative plan. Assuming we have one."
"You mean... stay with us?"
Jameson nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean. But I would need your help. I can be nice to him. I can help look after him. But I can't really relate to what he's going through. You can. We can do this if you're willing to help him with the parts I don't know how to do."
Marshal looked dubious. "Like a mentor?"
"Yeah."
"You... you would really trust me with that?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Without question."
Marshal pondered for a moment. "The detention wasn't bad," he said thoughtfully. "They didn't hurt me or mistreat me or anything. But... it's jail. I didn't get any better in jail. He won't either. I think he can get better here with us. I think... we can help him. That I can help him. I want to try. Assuming Maureen is okay with it too."
"Okay. Great. If she's okay with it too, I'll tell S.H.I.E.L.D. that's what we want to do."
Marshal's emotions were very mixed. He was nervous about the promise he had just made. He was still fighting down the shadows of trauma that had reared their heads tonight. Yet he felt strangely relieved, too. The difference between the present and the past was that he now might actually have the power to do something about it.
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
The McIvors
The ride home had been awkward, painful even. The children had been silent - they weren't even speaking telepathically, as far as Rhiannon could tell. Imiel's children were likewise unsettled. And she couldn't make an attempt at consoling the latter without it being blatantly obvious that she couldn't hold the former. Her own children. And she was powerless.
The twins dashed inside without another word, but Rhiannon lingered on the sidewalk, looking as much at the house as she was the retreating backs of her children. Any lightness that had been achieved with the outing had vanished as she was once again faced with the stark reminders of her impotence and frailty.
"Would you stay? You could put the girls down for their naps on the bed. If they'd be okay with that, of course." Her eyes pleaded with him more than she would have liked them to. But she needed the company.
She was thankful that Imiel agreed to come inside. Rhiannon made space for the girls, paused by Ewan and Charis' doors, then went down to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Imiel joined her a moment later and she handed him a hot cuppa. She remained close after passing off the mug, brow furrowed in thought.
"I don't know what to do, Imiel. What happened with Charis today - it scares me. It scares me that I don't know what is wrong and it scares me that I don't think I can trust SHIELD to help. I have no idea what kind of extra tests they did on my children. Maybe they even caused this..."
"Caused what?" Cait appeared from around the door frame. Rhiannon was looking at a space above her head before she focused down to meet her eyes. The younger sister was holding Rhys' tote in two fists, using them to hold up a section of the strap. "There's blood on this. What happened today?"
"Charis had a sort of ... episode at the museum today. She won't talk to me about it."
"But that doesn't explain the blood?" Cait gave her sister a hard stare.
"Oh, my tote was misplaced earlier but it was returned...where..." Rhiannon made an exasperated gesture with her hand as Cait abruptly left the room.
~~~~
Talking to her sister about the dog would have to wait. This was far more immediately important. This wasn't just any blood on the tote. It belonged to the mystery man from Marshal' backyard. There had to be a connection and it wasn't with Rhiannon. She just couldn't shake the strangeness in the man's eyes. The way he seemed to suddenly click into focus when he saw her.
She knocked on Charis' door and received no answer. No matter. She'd barge in when she needed to. There was another line of inquiry she had available, so she took it. Ewan gave her a reply and she entered. He was sitting at his desk, making marks on a piece of paper with a highlighter.
"Hey, somethin's up. What happened today?"
There was a pause, more scribbling, then Ewan spoke in a quiet voice. "There was someone following us around the bus and the museum today. And then something happened to Charis. She won't tell me what it was."
Cait bristled. Someone was stalking her family. And she wasn't there to run interference. She really did need someone to help her with that.
"I'm sorry bud. Not a great day out." Cait had come up beside Ewan and nudged his shoulder with hers. And then her blood ran cold. "Ewan. What are these drawings?"
His ears reddened and the sketching stopped. "I know it sounds stupid. But I saw these. On the person who was following us. That's...how I could...see him."
Cait stared at the sketches a moment more. She knew what some of them were, which was what initially startled her. But they were on a man. Oh. Oh no. She pulled out her phone and started texting Marshal.
the blood is from rune cutting don't let anyone make changes to the cuts
She paused, then decided she was likely right.
he's doc thompsons solider
be careful watch out for dr t
The ride home had been awkward, painful even. The children had been silent - they weren't even speaking telepathically, as far as Rhiannon could tell. Imiel's children were likewise unsettled. And she couldn't make an attempt at consoling the latter without it being blatantly obvious that she couldn't hold the former. Her own children. And she was powerless.
The twins dashed inside without another word, but Rhiannon lingered on the sidewalk, looking as much at the house as she was the retreating backs of her children. Any lightness that had been achieved with the outing had vanished as she was once again faced with the stark reminders of her impotence and frailty.
"Would you stay? You could put the girls down for their naps on the bed. If they'd be okay with that, of course." Her eyes pleaded with him more than she would have liked them to. But she needed the company.
She was thankful that Imiel agreed to come inside. Rhiannon made space for the girls, paused by Ewan and Charis' doors, then went down to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Imiel joined her a moment later and she handed him a hot cuppa. She remained close after passing off the mug, brow furrowed in thought.
"I don't know what to do, Imiel. What happened with Charis today - it scares me. It scares me that I don't know what is wrong and it scares me that I don't think I can trust SHIELD to help. I have no idea what kind of extra tests they did on my children. Maybe they even caused this..."
"Caused what?" Cait appeared from around the door frame. Rhiannon was looking at a space above her head before she focused down to meet her eyes. The younger sister was holding Rhys' tote in two fists, using them to hold up a section of the strap. "There's blood on this. What happened today?"
"Charis had a sort of ... episode at the museum today. She won't talk to me about it."
"But that doesn't explain the blood?" Cait gave her sister a hard stare.
"Oh, my tote was misplaced earlier but it was returned...where..." Rhiannon made an exasperated gesture with her hand as Cait abruptly left the room.
~~~~
Talking to her sister about the dog would have to wait. This was far more immediately important. This wasn't just any blood on the tote. It belonged to the mystery man from Marshal' backyard. There had to be a connection and it wasn't with Rhiannon. She just couldn't shake the strangeness in the man's eyes. The way he seemed to suddenly click into focus when he saw her.
She knocked on Charis' door and received no answer. No matter. She'd barge in when she needed to. There was another line of inquiry she had available, so she took it. Ewan gave her a reply and she entered. He was sitting at his desk, making marks on a piece of paper with a highlighter.
"Hey, somethin's up. What happened today?"
There was a pause, more scribbling, then Ewan spoke in a quiet voice. "There was someone following us around the bus and the museum today. And then something happened to Charis. She won't tell me what it was."
Cait bristled. Someone was stalking her family. And she wasn't there to run interference. She really did need someone to help her with that.
"I'm sorry bud. Not a great day out." Cait had come up beside Ewan and nudged his shoulder with hers. And then her blood ran cold. "Ewan. What are these drawings?"
His ears reddened and the sketching stopped. "I know it sounds stupid. But I saw these. On the person who was following us. That's...how I could...see him."
Cait stared at the sketches a moment more. She knew what some of them were, which was what initially startled her. But they were on a man. Oh. Oh no. She pulled out her phone and started texting Marshal.
the blood is from rune cutting don't let anyone make changes to the cuts
She paused, then decided she was likely right.
he's doc thompsons solider
be careful watch out for dr t
-
- Posts: 799
- Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2020 7:31 pm
Re: Welcome to the Suburbs. Population: Odd.
Marshal Knox and Jameson Bryant
When they cut away the unconscious man’s hoodie and shirt in the S.H.I.E.L.D. field hospital, Jameson gasped audibly, and Marshal felt a little lightheaded.
Seemingly every inch of skin on the man’s arms and his back had been covered with carved runes. Some were fresh and bleeding. Some were starting to heal. Some looked infected.
“What kind of monster would do something like this?” Jameson asked aloud.
The superhero meant it as a rhetorical question, but one of the medics actually answered it. “The runes exert magical control. Every time this guy starts to try to surface, the controller cuts him again, and the personality and the memories disappear. Pretty clever, really.”
Jameson frowned, not liking the use of the word ‘clever.’ “So, what can be done about it?”
“You have a couple of options. There’s the easy way. You cut the runes into him again. The hard part of brainwashing him is done. Do that, and he’s yours. He has no choice but to obey you.”
Jameson tried to hide the fact that the idea of taking a knife to this man’s skin made him physically ill. He didn’t quite manage. “I don’t like the easy way. What’s the hard way?”
“Well, you could just let the injuries heal. He’d start breaking through the conditioning almost immediately, and it would fade completely in time.”
“We’re doing that.”
“Hey, not so fast. It’s the hard way because it’s more risky. You’ll get his real personality - whatever it is. He may not be a great guy. He could be a serial killer. You wouldn’t know until it’s too late. You’d also have to protect him. You couldn’t just program him and release him. You’d have to constantly keep an eye on him to make sure his original owner doesn’t get him back.”
“Yeah. Like I said, we’re doing that. I want his injuries treated. No one cuts him. No one. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Stalwart.”
A piece of paper fell out of the man’s jeans pocket as his effects were carried away. Jameson picked it up, glanced at it curiously, then tucked it in his own pocket.
Marshal, meanwhile, had received a text from Cait. As he read it, his eyes widened with alarm. It made sense. They had found that note in the safe, and how many magical super soldiers could be running around at the moment? But as Marshal had said, he didn't know Dr. Thompson; he could walk right by the man and never know.
He texted back: thnx! we'll be careful, i'll tell J
Marshal did so, and Jameson shared his concern. "All the more reason to get our new friend home as soon as he's medically stable enough," Jameson replied. "I don't know who we can trust here, and who we can't."
S.H.I.E.L.D. had already been compromised by HYDRA once, and had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Who was to say the new version hadn't been compromised again? Maybe he was getting paranoid, but that one medic made Jameson nervous. He was going to have to keep a close eye on that...
Getting the man stabilized wouldn't be instant, though. The stranger had lost a lot of blood. Donations were needed. Marshal and Jameson both volunteered theirs without hesitation. As the blood filled the respective unit bags, Marshal said with careful casualness to Jameson, “So… you turned down the Avengers?”
Jameson nodded. “Yeah. It was recent.This wasn’t how I planned on you finding out. I was hoping we would get a chance to talk about it first.”
“You wanted to talk about it first…? Oh. It was because of me. It’s my fault you don’t get to be an Avenger. I’m so sorry.” Marshal felt like something had snapped in his chest. Jameson, who had been so kind. Who had given so much. He’d lost even more than Marshal had realized. Was there anyone Marshal was going to leave unscathed…?
“No. Marshal, it’s not like that. There’s no ‘fault’ here. It’s not a bad thing. It’s like - remember how you decided to become a firefighter? You thought about your life, and the things you wanted out of it, and the things that make you feel good? Well, I decided the same way. Yeah, there was a choice to make. There are always choices in life. This was the right thing for me. You’re important to me, Marshal. I hope you aren’t under the impression that you’re like… some kind of charity project for me, or something. I need your friendship as much as you need mine. Most people don’t ever realize that I’m more than just the suit. That there’s a person in there who needs support too. Maureen has always understood that. And now so do you. I genuinely enjoy being around you, Marshal. I don’t want to go away. And I don’t intend to.”
Jameson thought for a minute, then added, “I’m not sure being an Avenger would be right for me anyway, honestly. The Avengers swoop in and fight battles, and then they leave. And those battles are important. But that’s not… I’m not ready to be done then. I want to be able to stay involved. I want to be…” He patted the rail of the hospital bed. “I want to be here. After the fighting is done, I still want to be there. I want to be able to be just… me.”
Marshal smiled. “You’re good at being just you. And a lot of people are glad you are. Including me.”
“Thanks. Hey, Marshal… you realize you do actually deserve to be loved, right?”
Marshal, who was utterly blindsided by that, suddenly found himself blinking rapidly. “No. Uh. No, Jameson. I really don’t think that’s true. I really don’t…”
“It is true. I don’t expect you’re going to believe it today. But I’m going to keep reminding you until you do.”
Jameson squeezed his hand briefly, and then there were further matters to be attended to. Jameson was called off to give a report about their evening to S.H.I.E.L.D., while Marshal was summoned for medical follow-up.
“We were able to use your blood donation,” a nurse told Marshal cheerfully as she checked on him to make sure he had eaten his cookies and hadn’t passed out. She glanced at the chart in her hand. “Oh, and your brother’s too.”
“Uh… I don’t think so. I’m an only child.”
The nurse frowned, and looked down at the chart again. “Yeah, that's not what your DNA says. They had to do some genetic testing to make sure you were compatible donors for the magical guy. Tests show the two donors share a biological father.”
Huh, Marshal thought. Well, this is going to be interesting. My mom always said my missing deadbeat dad was a total horndog. Guess she was right - he was married to Jameson’s mom!
“Jameson, did you realize we’re brothers?” Marshal asked casually when they met back up.
Jameson smiled his usual, carefree smile. “I think of you as my brother too, Marshal.”
So no, Marshal thought. Hope this isn’t about to be an unpleasant surprise…
“Yeah, same, but that’s… not really what I meant. They did those tests on our blood. Turns out we have the same father. Go figure, huh?”
A series of very complicated expressions passed over Jameson’s face. But rather than leaving Marshal to interpret them, Jameson immediately explained himself. “I’m so glad you exist, Marshal. And I’m honored to be your brother. But our father… was not a kind man. He was not a good man. I wish I had a better family to offer you. Still, this is a bright side of the whole thing. I thought all my father had given me was a lot of bad memories, a fear of enclosed spaces, and a strong incentive to go to therapy and learn some emotional skills. I was wrong, though… because he also gave me you. I’m a much luckier man than I realized. Luckier than I realized… brother.”
Marshal smiled. “I’m luckier too.”
***
A little while later, Coulson came in to check on them too. He briefly watched Jameson and Marshal watching over the sleeping man.
To Jameson, he said quietly, “Another one? Wow, Stalwart. You do realize every tortured super soldier who wants a way out of it is going to come to you now, right?”
“Yeah,” Jameson said. “I sure hope so.”
When they cut away the unconscious man’s hoodie and shirt in the S.H.I.E.L.D. field hospital, Jameson gasped audibly, and Marshal felt a little lightheaded.
Seemingly every inch of skin on the man’s arms and his back had been covered with carved runes. Some were fresh and bleeding. Some were starting to heal. Some looked infected.
“What kind of monster would do something like this?” Jameson asked aloud.
The superhero meant it as a rhetorical question, but one of the medics actually answered it. “The runes exert magical control. Every time this guy starts to try to surface, the controller cuts him again, and the personality and the memories disappear. Pretty clever, really.”
Jameson frowned, not liking the use of the word ‘clever.’ “So, what can be done about it?”
“You have a couple of options. There’s the easy way. You cut the runes into him again. The hard part of brainwashing him is done. Do that, and he’s yours. He has no choice but to obey you.”
Jameson tried to hide the fact that the idea of taking a knife to this man’s skin made him physically ill. He didn’t quite manage. “I don’t like the easy way. What’s the hard way?”
“Well, you could just let the injuries heal. He’d start breaking through the conditioning almost immediately, and it would fade completely in time.”
“We’re doing that.”
“Hey, not so fast. It’s the hard way because it’s more risky. You’ll get his real personality - whatever it is. He may not be a great guy. He could be a serial killer. You wouldn’t know until it’s too late. You’d also have to protect him. You couldn’t just program him and release him. You’d have to constantly keep an eye on him to make sure his original owner doesn’t get him back.”
“Yeah. Like I said, we’re doing that. I want his injuries treated. No one cuts him. No one. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Stalwart.”
A piece of paper fell out of the man’s jeans pocket as his effects were carried away. Jameson picked it up, glanced at it curiously, then tucked it in his own pocket.
Marshal, meanwhile, had received a text from Cait. As he read it, his eyes widened with alarm. It made sense. They had found that note in the safe, and how many magical super soldiers could be running around at the moment? But as Marshal had said, he didn't know Dr. Thompson; he could walk right by the man and never know.
He texted back: thnx! we'll be careful, i'll tell J
Marshal did so, and Jameson shared his concern. "All the more reason to get our new friend home as soon as he's medically stable enough," Jameson replied. "I don't know who we can trust here, and who we can't."
S.H.I.E.L.D. had already been compromised by HYDRA once, and had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Who was to say the new version hadn't been compromised again? Maybe he was getting paranoid, but that one medic made Jameson nervous. He was going to have to keep a close eye on that...
Getting the man stabilized wouldn't be instant, though. The stranger had lost a lot of blood. Donations were needed. Marshal and Jameson both volunteered theirs without hesitation. As the blood filled the respective unit bags, Marshal said with careful casualness to Jameson, “So… you turned down the Avengers?”
Jameson nodded. “Yeah. It was recent.This wasn’t how I planned on you finding out. I was hoping we would get a chance to talk about it first.”
“You wanted to talk about it first…? Oh. It was because of me. It’s my fault you don’t get to be an Avenger. I’m so sorry.” Marshal felt like something had snapped in his chest. Jameson, who had been so kind. Who had given so much. He’d lost even more than Marshal had realized. Was there anyone Marshal was going to leave unscathed…?
“No. Marshal, it’s not like that. There’s no ‘fault’ here. It’s not a bad thing. It’s like - remember how you decided to become a firefighter? You thought about your life, and the things you wanted out of it, and the things that make you feel good? Well, I decided the same way. Yeah, there was a choice to make. There are always choices in life. This was the right thing for me. You’re important to me, Marshal. I hope you aren’t under the impression that you’re like… some kind of charity project for me, or something. I need your friendship as much as you need mine. Most people don’t ever realize that I’m more than just the suit. That there’s a person in there who needs support too. Maureen has always understood that. And now so do you. I genuinely enjoy being around you, Marshal. I don’t want to go away. And I don’t intend to.”
Jameson thought for a minute, then added, “I’m not sure being an Avenger would be right for me anyway, honestly. The Avengers swoop in and fight battles, and then they leave. And those battles are important. But that’s not… I’m not ready to be done then. I want to be able to stay involved. I want to be…” He patted the rail of the hospital bed. “I want to be here. After the fighting is done, I still want to be there. I want to be able to be just… me.”
Marshal smiled. “You’re good at being just you. And a lot of people are glad you are. Including me.”
“Thanks. Hey, Marshal… you realize you do actually deserve to be loved, right?”
Marshal, who was utterly blindsided by that, suddenly found himself blinking rapidly. “No. Uh. No, Jameson. I really don’t think that’s true. I really don’t…”
“It is true. I don’t expect you’re going to believe it today. But I’m going to keep reminding you until you do.”
Jameson squeezed his hand briefly, and then there were further matters to be attended to. Jameson was called off to give a report about their evening to S.H.I.E.L.D., while Marshal was summoned for medical follow-up.
“We were able to use your blood donation,” a nurse told Marshal cheerfully as she checked on him to make sure he had eaten his cookies and hadn’t passed out. She glanced at the chart in her hand. “Oh, and your brother’s too.”
“Uh… I don’t think so. I’m an only child.”
The nurse frowned, and looked down at the chart again. “Yeah, that's not what your DNA says. They had to do some genetic testing to make sure you were compatible donors for the magical guy. Tests show the two donors share a biological father.”
Huh, Marshal thought. Well, this is going to be interesting. My mom always said my missing deadbeat dad was a total horndog. Guess she was right - he was married to Jameson’s mom!
“Jameson, did you realize we’re brothers?” Marshal asked casually when they met back up.
Jameson smiled his usual, carefree smile. “I think of you as my brother too, Marshal.”
So no, Marshal thought. Hope this isn’t about to be an unpleasant surprise…
“Yeah, same, but that’s… not really what I meant. They did those tests on our blood. Turns out we have the same father. Go figure, huh?”
A series of very complicated expressions passed over Jameson’s face. But rather than leaving Marshal to interpret them, Jameson immediately explained himself. “I’m so glad you exist, Marshal. And I’m honored to be your brother. But our father… was not a kind man. He was not a good man. I wish I had a better family to offer you. Still, this is a bright side of the whole thing. I thought all my father had given me was a lot of bad memories, a fear of enclosed spaces, and a strong incentive to go to therapy and learn some emotional skills. I was wrong, though… because he also gave me you. I’m a much luckier man than I realized. Luckier than I realized… brother.”
Marshal smiled. “I’m luckier too.”
***
A little while later, Coulson came in to check on them too. He briefly watched Jameson and Marshal watching over the sleeping man.
To Jameson, he said quietly, “Another one? Wow, Stalwart. You do realize every tortured super soldier who wants a way out of it is going to come to you now, right?”
“Yeah,” Jameson said. “I sure hope so.”