#fearmonger

The day before the big one however an old grudge had kicked off more than one of your warning flags online while you lay awake thanks to another evening of pain within your joints. A couple inches longer your arms tucked to your chest in your roll onto your belly to keep from twitching out of annoyance to silence the pain that paused only when you were in motion. Close eyed over your back you felt one of your bees scanning the rest of your body who confirmed that your legs were just over an inch longer as well. Being under five feet wasn’t easy in any way, though how you would gain every inch to come if it were like this had a tear spill out from the corner of your eye across the top of your nose. Everything was closed today and all you had to do was wait for the time that everything would line up just how it was destined to.

Amongst all the cruel things Hydra had been behind in the past the most ridiculous of them was their annual face off against Santa Claus since the days that Hitler himself had sent them after the mythical figure. Nowadays Hate-Monger, the latest clone of Hitler up and walking around now, had set off clues that he was headed to New York and with it you sent a proverbial flag up the flagpole to warn a man who had a score to settle with him. 

Just twice you had crossed paths with The Punisher and while you wouldn’t be braiding each other’s hair anytime soon there was a sort of understanding from both times at least that no ammunition had to be wasted on the other.

Christmas was meant to be a happy time of year, especially with the bringer of such joy supposedly on his way several networks showed progress of his work online. Though it seemed only Hydra was set to be raking in all the goodies as King T’Chaka and his son had arrived with a group of female guards to take their seats at a meeting of the UN. Tonight was the night and you had plans to get ready before the big showdown would kick off.

 *.*.*

Another year with that hunk of junk case would not happen. Inside the trunk of his old Buick was the case holding an old vibranium shield and vibranium layered suit Isaiah Bradley wished to be rid of. The return of Steve Rogers had brought up bad memories he hoped had been locked away, and like the Tell Tale Heart that case had been driving him mad. So to the tallest bridge he could find he was driving to dump the damned thing off into the river. Once close enough paying half a leg in an empty parking garage a set of crashes had him park and slip out of his car to go and see what was going on to interfere with his plans.

*.*.*

 What looked to be a good city block of soldiers donning white snow blending SS uniforms in front of swastika emblazoned tank and air ships that had dropped them would stun any who came across it here in the heart of New  York. Their numbers moving onwards with, for the moment, seemingly just your lone glowing self in their path. You could only sigh as Hate-Monger’s cackling self sat atop the tank barking orders to the sight of people in windows above staring in shock or backing away to find a place to hide. A cleared throat on your left turned your head and you couldn’t help but grin seeing The Punisher looking you over with hold of a gun he was reloading the chamber to, taking note of the smoking spot on your shoulder from your rush out of the smoking UN building behind you. Luke Cage seen standing on his left had you say, “Hey, you brought Cage too, nice.”

Cage gestured to your shoulder, “You’re smoking.”

“Happens,” you said, patting a hand on your shoulder to snuff out the smoke but leaving the pen width hole. The sudden crash of the Hydra agents who tried to ambush King T’Chaka that you had bound inside the building down the street leapt through one of the only unbroken windows on the main floor for a showy entrance to lure attention had you say, “Oh goodie, they’re alive…” The sound fire of a missile from the tank turned your head back to the approaching formations and you shouted to the King and his son inside the car on your right, “Stay down!” The men on your left took note of the heads that lowered in the rise of your bright yellow glimmering hand to summon a monstrous wall of vines that erupted in flames to dissolve the cocoon it formed around the projectile. 

Four of the now spear wielding guards who had escorted the King and Prince to the meeting made easy work of the Hydra Agents and returned to their places surrounding the car until their safe vehicle could arrive to remove them. Normally they would have killed anyone on the instant a hand was laid upon their rulers, and yet the smooth dispatch of the group who had ambushed them had their curiosity piqued to see who had tried to save them. 

Shallowly you let out a huff. Now a few inches farther back from where you had been standing thanks to the force of the vine encased blast. Flaming chunks of the vines collapsed to the ground to keep burning to ashes, sure to be joined by more until you could take that tank out. The Punisher said lowly in his usual way, “Leave Hate-Monger to me.”

And you nodded, “No problem, I, I got all the Nazis.”

Unable to help it Luke Cage smirked at your nod to yourself in the slip of your hands underneath your jacket to bring the twin axes from their holsters across your back, “We’re gonna help you with the Nazi’s too.” He rumbled playfully.

On your toes you bounced to get your stance ready and said, “Just see how many are left when you get there.” Straight ahead you shot off making Cage smirk and sprint after you, leaving The Punisher to seemingly linger behind to advance on his own pace, unable to keep up with the both of you. And while Cage was virtually bullet proof you weren’t, and on an icy strip you dropped to your knees latching one of your grappler chains to the base of one axe you swung around you to take out the front line of soldiers in front of you.

Around your arm the chain looped in the return of your grip on the handle to free your next move. Off the ground you sprung in a stunning leap up, to start a bounding attack from chest, side, back and wall between the soldiers who were more Cage’s stature. Slicing and hacking each of them at the neck and other weak points better in your reach higher off the ground. Too fast for any of them to get a clever return wound for your troubles. Effortlessly the soldiers, now apparently clones with identical faces and body structures, fell in groups of three to your almost invisible barrage.

A soft whimper and squeal however turned your head. And in the opening of an alley a soldier that had you leap out of the formation was seen to be advancing on a pair of small children with their mother. 

Now The Punisher had reached the lines of marching targets and was powering his own charge towards Hate-Monger, who was watching with apparent glee exclaiming loudly on how his troops would cut you all down. ‘Resistance was futile.’ The phrase mockingly under your breath was uttered and in a whip of your grappler chord the stray soldier was flung away back into the path of a bullet meant for The Punisher. Lifting a foot you skidded to a stop at the wall across from the mother and children muttering, “Resistance is futile, every bad guy, buy a new threat book.” When your eyes fell on them you asked, “Where you headed?”

“Two blocks, East.” The mother answered shakily. You nodded and gave the pathway a glance and said, “I’ll cover you to the corner, then you cut to the next block over and go from there, alright?”

The mother nodded and then pulled her children into her arms with wide eyes shifted at Cage’s shout of, “BEE!” From the center of the group a four wheeler with a crank machine gun on top of it had stopped and aimed right at you.

“Oh great,” you muttered and leapt from the wall to the curb, tearing a door off an abandoned old VW van that was on cinderblocks and gradually being turned into a graffiti coated art piece. Monstrously loud an explosion went off in front of the mother who shrieked and clung her children tightly to her chest, clenching her eyes shut as she did. Had she opened her eyes she would have seen the source. A new wall of vines erupted out of the ground at your feet to enforce the wall of the detached VW door you propped up between the machine gun and the trio behind you. Ricochet of bullets rang muffled for moments through the vines that dwindled and fell to coat the ground at your feet and sprawl down over your back and stiff arms to collide with the door. Weight of the door collecting the bullets helped to show you which way the gun was aimed on its narrow swivel to find a weak spot in the vine wall you kept doubling over with new stalks to try and wean the gun out of its ammo or give the trio time to run away if that came sooner. Layer after layer of bullets collapsed together to flatten and pack more into the frame of the door a layer of your glowing bees helped to keep firm thanks to the endlessly firing gun. 

 *

“Run..!” Isaiah Bradley heard in his wide eyed view of the cowering trio behind the gradually splintering vines failing to get up and moving to safety. Again the tinier than expected Misique repeated the order then dropped with a pained squeak from a forward lunge of a stance behind the door enforcing those vines. Grimacing at the stray bullet that grazed her lower leg now dropping her to a hip still holding that glittering mist lined door while Cage fought to get to that gun as more and more clone soldiers piled up to block the way.

Just a hunk of junk. Useless scrap metal. Now that case and his parked car had him in an instinctual trotting turn backwards to his parked car. He hated this suit and shield, and every inch that eased over his skin just about burned, but before he could even question it his hand and arm locked into his shield’s brace and of he sprinted to help, however unarmed or rusty he may be. Nazi’s were trying to take over New York on Christmas Eve and he would be damned if he wouldn’t grant them an inch without a fight.

 *

Bullets once burrowing into the door or vines while he took notice of the three Dora Milaje, who had raced over to help now with suited up Prince T’Challa to get the mother and children to safety, now bounced off the shield held in front of Bradley and yourself. All at once he dropped to a knee to block off the onslaught to help your tiny target of a self. Off your hip he had guided you to be lined up behind the lengthy barrier against his chest. His shield alone in sight was a jaw dropping moment for Cage and the others from Wakanda who knew of him right away. “What’s the plan?” Bradley asked with his hand still on your side feeling your breath steadying as your foot was able to take your weight again in the start of the healing of your gunshot wound.

“Punisher gets Hate-Monger and we get the Nazi’s.” You said and asked in a glance at his chest and waist for any weapons, “You don’t have any weapons.”

“No.” He replied and you gave a nod.

“I got a baton, or a knife, probably a bit small for your grip.”

And behind the shield he smirked saying, “Baton is fine.” And you slid one under his hand on your side you pulled from your jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

“What is the plan?” T’Challa asked sliding to a stop at your side cutting off Bradley who he nodded his head to and got a nod in return. “Good to see you Captain.”

“You, um, what are you called?” You asked the armored Prince.

“Black Panther.” T’Challa answered confidently.

“Ah, there like a spectrum of panthers?” You asked then to his shielded smirk you shook your head, “Not important. Just um, stay there a moment, don’t move.” You said and he held his kneeling position through the bounce of two bullets off his chest only to feel your boot press into his knee for an awe strikingly fast lean from behind the shield to launch yourself at the soldiers. The door left propped up on the ground between the remnant of the vine wall and Captain’s shield.

Ax free with kicks, maneuvering of limbs to break the bodies of those carrying them accented by a whip of your grappler chain the four wheeler was now unmanned and you slung yourself back to the crumbling wall of vines to hand the now upright Captain a gun you had taken and look him over saying in a clearly disappointed sigh, “You have no pockets…” The utterance could only make the men in armor smirk in admiration of your clear intention to have filled his every pocket with spare ammo to protect him in return for his help. A hidden set of pockets on his boots and the inside of his shield were loaded with the magazines you had collected for him and back into the clone troops you all sped to cut them down to the very last one.

A fly over of one of the helicopters that dropped more soldiers had you say, “I got the birds,” then speed off kicking the bullet riddled door off the ground where you’d dropped it to your grip to race to the tallest building nearby.

.

When your back was turned however fresh from the SHIELD jet that had arrived from a trip out in India to fetch Dr Banner, War Machine came to a hover looking over the scene before him muttering, “I know there are not Nazi’s in New York right now.” Familiar faces of former soldiers had him line up with your allied group to help take a more steady sweep of the clones out of their tries to break off down the side streets and more as they parachuted down on a second fly over.

.

“Which one goes to the roof?” you asked coming into the view of the Security Guard who had been hiding from the wall of glass lining the lobby behind a pillar and alcove of crème colored marble to match the polished floors and brushed copper ceiling and light fixtures.

“That, that one,” he said after a stare at your stained and snow sprinkled self. “But it needs a key.” Before he knew it instead of tossing you the key he found himself inside the elevator with you trying not to smile as you began to hum and bop your head to the lively violin holiday tune.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked a few floors to go.

“Just Hitler’s clone Hate-Monger with an army of cloned Nazi’s who are after Santa Claus.”

“Well,” the guard said in a stunned blink, “He would be on the naughty list for life.”

“That he would. But War Machine showed up and Iron Man can’t be far behind.” When you were a floor away you said, “Might want to hug the wall for this. Close the door soon as you can once I’m out, count to twenty then head back down.” He followed the guideline and was just in time as the pitter patter of bullets that grazed the rooftop to the elevator the heat scanner had picked up bodies on their way up to collide with the again raised shield of a door as you shot out of the open elevator. Frantically he hit the close door button and for a few scary minutes he watched the numbers of holes grow in the back wall around an outline of why could clearly be the outline of the upper half of that VW door then stop as the closing doors began to collect more bullets. 

Just a pause for a moment to reload and you had your break to lower the door, and in a double handed grip your body spun to hurl the door that caved in the door on the side just enough room for you to leap off the roof inside. Three tosses of bodies later four of your bees flew up to keep hold of the controls while you used your grappling chords to fling the men at the controls from their seats out to plummet to the ground far below. To yourself alone again you smirked and whispered, “Hot bird coming in.” To the pilot’s seat you went and settled down taking control to angle the chopper back to the group on the ground who turned at the bird coming from the opposite way the others had.

The rain of bullets at the Nazi’s and a missile launched at the tank Hate-Monger fled from had your group cheer even if just internally at the mysterious way their little friend had captured one of the birds. Although the caved in door was a major clue. 

In your break to chase down a string of more four wheelers and motorcycles Iron Man, who had just blown up another chopper, came straight for yours. “Fucking Nazi’s on the ground and let’s fire at me, hmm?”

A missile was launched and all you could do was hit the self destruct sequence, ready a grappling hook and take hold of your door shield on your leap out of the chopper. Around a stone feature on the side of a tall building your chain latched to grant you atop your door a scuff of a slide to a dangling stop on the side of the building to watch the chopper implode taking the missile with it before either could damage the city and cowering people below. A spotlight from Iron Man landed on you and over his speaker he said, “Christmas Eve, really Bee?”

All you could do was sigh and kick out of the way from where his blaster aimed then swing back through the scream triggering break of the window behind you on the building still loaded with people hiding out before they got the all clear to head home. The chain let loose and recoiled to wrap around your palm while you darted inside to manage the maze of cubicles between you and the stairwell as Iron Man flew himself inside.

Banter from him and tries to lure you out marked the moments as your bees worked out a map of where people, Stark, and the door was. The main difficulty being how to keep him from attacking you and the innocent people scattered on the way to your exit. 

A clever path to freedom within moments was cut off. Natasha Romanoff sprung directly in the middle of that path, breaking a window in order to do so. The drop was timed and lined up perfectly, tethers from the aircraft she leapt out of with a flick of her free hand let loose at the same time she drew her gun from her thigh holster. Gradually you lifted the door a bit higher at your side as she landed and fearlessly locked eyes with her.

One pop and you darted off out of the line of fire to avoid the smoke flare Stark set off. The projectile alone was motivation to have some of the workers hiding on that end of the floor, the smoke meant to block you off in his reach long enough to get a shot did the opposite. Not just the smoke but now rushing bodies were a barrier between him and yourself. Panicking people raced for fire exits and now the building lit up in emergency lights flashing everywhere and sirens that signaled those even on lower floors to begin to evacuate the building.

“Honestly? None of you saw the Nazi’s downstairs?! Hitler’s clone?! Heil myself and all that and you come after me?!” you shouted.

“Don’t you try distracting me, Bee! Someone said there was a bee problem in New  York while I was gone. Time I did something about it.” He shouted then dropped at the marble sized stun dart you threw at his back when he passed you. Like a paperweight trapped inside his suit he had to lie there until his system rebooted itself just leaving Natasha who looked you over when you turned your head to face her.

“Just you and me,” she said cockily readying the grip on the blade in her hand.

“Not just us,” you said and in the leap of Steve Rogers through the broken window she had entered. Blindly his hands got to releasing his parachute, a sound paired with his glass crunching landing that had her flinch and for just a moment lower her gun granting you a chance. Easily you leapt over a cubicle to jump to the door. She barely was able to shoot in the small opening that allowed the bullet to catch you in the side. Hard and fast your body fell to roll down a small flight of stairs and come to a loud stop. The heavy shut of that door broke her smirk and she turned to look at Steve, saying, “I told you to stay on the jet, I had a clear shot.”

And in a shake of her head and trot to catch up with her prey in the stairwell he said, “I’m not leaving all the Nazi’s to you two.” Looking down at Stark on his way to follow after Natasha to see who she was chasing, he said, “Thought the suit was unbreakable, Stark.”

“The bug shut off Jarvis somehow.” Was heard muffled from inside the suit. A streak of blood was all Natasha could find that later would be shown to be a mixture of non-human plant based sources and deteriorating by an additive to keep the source substance a mystery. Not blood, later to be assumed a tube of some first aid mixture nicked by the bullet they dug out of the wall also found scarce of any human dna.

Down through the stairwell you sped and to avoid Hawkeye, who was in wait on the ground floor, you dove through a plaster wall to get to the janitorial pathways to a back exit. At the sudden hole in the wall he scoffed and forced himself to jump up and wiggle through to get after you with help of Natasha and Steve when they caught up and heard where you went to chase behind him.

Where you had assumed the bike riders were gone by chance they came around the corner. With hold of your grappling chain you raced to grab the handlebar of the lead bike to use the slide of your bent leg into his side to help force his body in a flip over your back to tear him off as you took over the bike fully. “Buster,” you said to the bees in your hair, gaining a trilling chirp in response, “How is that emp going?”

The result came in a sudden plummet of darkness for the block, including the rapid fling of passengers from the bikes around yours that locked up colliding with the four wheeler to cause a mini explosion. Your bike you protected with a cloud of your mist over its body to keep racing back to the small group still audibly heard battling for the safety of the city. The sound on the pitch black streets however would be the only hint of where you had gone to and were coming from.

A reindeer pulled sleigh diving down low was hot on your heels. Just now burst free from the back exit of the building you were speeding away from, Hawkeye, Natasha and Rogers dropped to the ground fast asleep. A single swipe of the gloved hand of the jolly man manning said sleigh made them do it. Belting out into the snowy breeze as he let his magic loose, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” Tony upstairs as well drifted off even to Jarvis’ powering up sequence warnings after your charge had worn off. And in a flanking position Dasher at the front of the line of reindeer kept pace with the crotch rocket you turned back to flank Hate-Monger and his remaining troops.

Creating a glittering yellow ramp of bees for the bike at the perfect angle you slapped an explosive charge on the side of the tank and leapt off to roll back down the ramp to a stop. Back on the cold ground you inhaled sharply, watching the bike collide with the lead four wheeler in the second wave of three to take out the back soldiers. The explosion bright enough to light up the view of The Punisher shooting Hate-Monger point blank. Cage nearby took out the final few behind War Machine’s barrage of his own on the opposite corner after taking out a jet of his own. The sleigh as you rose to a knee circled the battle zone clearing away the damage and bodies in the growing fall of snow. A spare swipe of that gloved hand magically cleared the blood off of your clothes and mask but little else.

Panting slowly to calm your heartbeat your head turned to the Dora Milaje who was standing and staring straight at you in search of your injuries to Bradley’s approach to help you up. “I like your, um, stick, thing,” you said making her smirk as your natural accent came out hinting English wasn’t your first language at a loss for the proper word. “Gold?”

“Vibranium painted gold.” She replied and you nodded.

“Ah, painted gold,” you said looking up at Bradley who offered you a hand you tensed your hold of it to stand on your still throbbing ankle you’d heard a pop in on your fall down the stairs. “Nice, I just have,” sharply you panted a breath out as a second of the Dora Milaje lifted your long sleeve shirt brushing the side of your jacket back to reveal a trail of blood still oozing from the gunshot wound surrounded by an already darkening bruise fingers pressed to the cracked ribs above it. “Kevlar,” you whispered to finish the sentence then brushed your shirt back down to catch her eyes, “Your hands are cold.”

With a smirk she said, “You are wounded.”

“It’ll heal. Few hours, bout a day for the bruises.” you replied.

The stringy view of your side underneath the bulky protective layers had Bradley say, “Looks like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“I eat nine times a day,” you fired back, “I’m just short.”

“Short,” he repeated in an amused tone then looked to War Machine as he came closer looking over your group.

And in disbelief he asked, “Was that Santa?!” You nodded and he looked you over asking, “Um, you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“Ya well, Tony chased me out of a chopper and Widow shot me on my way out of the office he forced me into. Apparently I’m more enticing than Nazi’s.” You answered plainly.

War Machine asked, “They alive?”

“Ya, let them a few blocks that way. Something involving cubicles. Thanks for not shooting me.” You said uncertain of what else to say to the man you’d gotten to know who had seemed so protective of you outside of your armor you hoped wouldn’t recognize your voice or stature.

He nodded and in the shut of his helmet he said, “Merry Christmas,” then flew off to go and locate his friends while Cage and The Punisher shook hands and parted with Bradley fondly as the armored car arrived loaded with King T’Chaka and the rest of the Dora Milaje.

The King gave you a kind look after his own greeting to Bradley to say, “We thank you Misique, for your assistance tonight. Should you ever find yourself in Wakanda we would repay your protection with a show of our gratitude and warm welcome. May you have a holiday season of comfort and plenty.”

“Wow, that’s very nice of you, and I’ll try to keep you warned on if Hydra tries to come after you again when you come to town. I wish you and yours a bountiful Yule as well.” you replied.

They were grateful and did have to get on their way to return safely to their jet that would fly them back home, leaving Bradley at your side who said, “I have a roast at home, let’s get you something to eat.” He wasn’t going to let you head out into the night alone with bullet wounds to stagger off and bleed out. “I’m parked in the garage over here.”

View of the traffic and security cameras all around the street had him sigh and you said, “They won’t have footage of your car or face.” That had him look at you and then to the bee with glowing green eyes nestled in your braids, “Chester saw you jump in and scrubbed the footage.”

“Chester?” he asked, “You, name the, bees?”

“Yes, they all have names. A part of me. I don’t really have many friends, but at least in the fleeing bit the hive tries to help keep cover of escape routes for the few who help me.” You answered.

At the trunk of his car he opened he added his shield and removed his suit he dropped on top of that inside the case again he shut and then the trunk over it. A group of bees lured his attention to the bag they carried from its hiding spot you took hold of with a thanks to them in their path to nestle inside of your hair to join the others and rest. “How did you get tied into this? With Hydra, you’re a kid.” Asking just the question you didn't want to answer today of all days.

A sudden tear that fell down your blood and smoke splattered mask had his lips part, and lost in the cascade of physical and emotional pain of the evening you said, “They killed my parents.”

“Oh,” he let out in a pained sigh, “You’re one of those babies they steal.”

“I wasn’t a baby,” you said then looked away to draw in a breath to keep from crying.

“I have never seen anyone they stole able to do what you can.” He stated with clear regret in his tone for sharing that admission.

“Why they took me, I was special.” You cracked out wishing to jump leap out of the parking garage and deal with the painful landing to race off to avoid this conversation.

“Well I’m certain that your parents, for how hard you fight, they must have fought so hard for you.” He tried to say in means of comforting you in your grief.

That only brought on more tears in a shake of your head, “My mom was on a ventilator,” and your voice broke as you said, “…she tried.” That had him move closer and rest a hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I never got to see my boy grow up, but let’s get some food in you.” He opened the door and he covered his passenger seat you removed your jacket to try and minimize the stains you could give it. When he took his own seat he asked, “You in school?” Trying to not have this as awkward silence. “You seem about my grandson’s age.”

“I’m in High School. Actually won a scholarship for some University courses to take as well, gotten a few packets of New York Universities that will offer me place on their campus to get ahead on degrees I might want.” you shared.

“Very good,” he said, “Very good.”

Straight to his home he drove you and at the lights on and noise of the tv he ushered you into the bathroom closest to the door as he calmed down his grandson who was supposed to be sleeping at a cousin’s house. “Eli, you are supposed to be at your cousin’s.”

“There’s Nazi’s in New York and Cap is on the news! That’s your suit! Came home and the case was gone! Gramps you said you’d never suit up again!” Eli argued.

Isaiah sighed and said, “I saw a kid in trouble. Had to help, and we have company.”

“Is it Luke Cage? Cuz Ben down the block will go just ape over proof that we had Luke Cage in our house.”

“It’s the kid, looked like she hadn’t eaten, got roughed up a bit. Gonna feed her and then take her home.”

“You, you brought like a person here? Gramps! She’s gonna know who you are! You don’t show the bat cave to just anyone!”

Isaiah scoffed and rolled his eyes, “This is my home, and it’s Christmas.”

“Gramps! Super hero 101-!” Eli argued some more.

Under the tap of the tub you washed your hair using the towel and blow dryer from your bag muffled by the perimeter your bees had set off to muffle the noise. Over the scab on your lower leg, ribs and the side of your neck bandages were added along with the fresh jeans, sweater, long socks and boots. Without your mask or armor you exited the bathroom and left your bag by the door making Eli beside his grandfather fall silent in a stare at the young teen girl with purple eyes and dark raven curls even Isaiah had to take a look over your true face he wouldn’t have expected underneath that mask. The only telling proof was the braid down the side of your head with the bees resting along it to leave the rest to pool over the other side of your face and shoulder.

Eli asked haltingly, “You, you got caught up in this?” he gestured to the news footage of the battle captured from people filming above. “Hey, you were in that parade, with the flags.”

With your Swedish accent you answered, “Ya, your grandpa helped me out, though.” With a nod he jumped into helping you sit for the meal in a far different welcome place as a guest than some random lady he had expected to have eating with them.

When you were getting ready after the hearty meal to head out again with a second fresh coat you left with your bag Eli asked when he escorted you to the door. “So, you um, heading to church in the morning?”

Up at him you looked with a brow ticked up a moment before you said, “I’m not Christian, actually.”

“Oh, Jewish, that’s cool too. I got some Jewish friends. They go to temple, you have one?” Eli said in a supportive curious tone.

“I just moved to New York not long ago, hard to pick.” You answered.

“I get that, my Gran always took me to hers so I go there.” He replied.

And Isaiah chuckled in saying, “Get to bed, I’ll be back after dropping our guest off.”

Back to the car you went withholding your giggles to climb back in for him to close the door and walk around to climb in on his side. “Where am I taking you?” Isaiah asked.

“I live in Queens,” you said, making him look at you for how far you traveled for the battle and expected to travel back again after. “The closest subway stop will do or you won’t be back until after Santa gets to your home.”

“You always take the subway this time of night?” He asked in concern as if he hadn't seen you defend the whole state tonight from a Nazi clone invasion.

“Yes. Had four jobs through the summer, I’m a familiar face.” you answered matter of factly. Radio broadcast of police now on patrol throughout New York after cornering off a barricade around the invaded city had him furrow browed and listening intently for the rest of the drive to the nearest subway stop.

Outside the subway stop he parked the car with a sigh and said, “I have a good idea what you can do, but I know everyone has a breaking point.” You caught his eye taking hold of your bag, “I know what I faced, religion is harsh to come to terms with, but the support could help.”

“I’m from the Norse faith. There aren’t exactly churches or temples here in our faith. Sort of have a reputation.” You shared.

“Ah,” he said and you flashed him a quick grin.

“Thank you, for the help and the food.” His eyes lowered to the slip of paper he accepted, “If you need help, I’ve read your file, compared to Hydra, some times this system isn’t much different.” He looked at the number you had given him he saw at once had too many numbers in it and you said, “The number works, on an untraceable network.”

“Thank you. Not much left for them to take from me if they tried.” He claimed dejectedly.

“Doesn’t mean the idiots won’t try,” out of the car you climbed and shouldered your bag to stroll into the subway stop as he pocketed the slip mentally reeling about what was coming next on his way home for what he expected to be a sleepless night.

Alone on the platform in wait for the right train you stood leaning against the pillar with your phone in your palms, keyboard extended, scanning through your back doors in both Hydra and SHIELD. A red flag of notices drew your focus on signs that something was being put into motion involving Isaiah Bradley’s file. Through the link with your bees two in your apartment brought out your laptop you had built yourself. Those two opened it allowing you a smoother pathway to unleash what you had swirling in your mind right now to halt the agents going after that kind man.

Straight to the internet with his real name blacked out of the files at the questions online of who the black Captain America was his entire file as the Captain was published. All of it, with clear aim of how he was treated afterwards, his 30 year prison sentence and the redaction of his entire military career. All underneath the title, ‘And How Did They Repay Him?’. 

Out of the thick chunk of paperwork copied electronically included a note from President Johnson, who had the chance to overturn his sentence, as each other President had until the end of baby Bush’s last term. Johnson personally wrote a rather callous note that, on top of his treatment of the Mercury 13 killing the female astronaut program, killed the chance for freedom for a young black male who was treated so cruelly after serving so valiantly. The others left it to an obligatory typed secretarial dictated notice to continue captivity until he was deemed too old to be of much harm to anyone but himself and not worth being contained under lock and key anymore.

Just one click was all it took and the avalanche was unstoppable and by morning every newspaper team had met up to plaster the face of the hidden hero across their front pages by sunrise to ensure that no one could quietly put him back to some hidden corner of the country. Morning shows would be next to blast this news either for good or for bad and even to his shock and that of his grandson images of him in the past and present in that suit with shield in hand stirred something solid and untouchable even with Steve Rogers alive and back in his own Cap suit.

Over an hour you spent online monitoring the situation as well as what else was up with possible ways Stark was set on finding you until up the stairs you came to a stop at your apartment door. Once unlocked the door was eased open and shut promptly behind you to silence your hushed squeak at seeing the place decorated fully just as if your parents had done it for the last Yule celebration you had spent with them. Underneath a stocking beside the heater powered by your bees sat a wrapped collection of Norse mythologies in your native tongue. An exact copy of the ones your father had read to you since your mother had gotten pregnant.

Tears and shuddering sobs you muffled with your arms as you collapsed to lay across the floor flooded out of you until tearfully you were able to force yourself off of the floor to crack open the first cover to relive these tales again. Even if you had to read them alone to the sound of the final twelfth night of the Yule celebration feed playing on your laptop from your hometown this was another step to being true to yourself, or the you that you hoped your parents might be proud of. Pain from your skirmish had you crawl eventually to bed to try and get some sleep. Again leaving your bees to hourly health scans until at sunrise you had to be hoisted up by a group of them to get something to eat.

Inside your pantry and fridge a tear stirring ham and trimmings had you ready a proper feast with ample bites of an instant bowl of oatmeal until the feast was through cooking. More stories were cherished while you wrapped a heating blanket around yourself to try and loosen your muscles and sore joints around your sprained shoulder, ankle and severely herniated disk that was slowly healing itself.

Pt 12

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All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac