Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loki’s veins tremble when the crust of Midgard cracks beneath the seas, when Jormungandr loosens his grip on his tail and let’s Midgard break and boil; Pietro eyes him when his muscles writhe, when Skuld wraps himself about Loki’s shoulder and when Urd latches themselves around Pietro’s waist.

Pietro doesn’t see them though, doesn’t see the pain the worlds suffer nor does he see the Norns who lead them through and between the lands; this little pocket place of safety Verdandi and Skuld create and recreate, keep balanced to keep Loki safe if Ragnarok cannot be stopped, is warm and cold, dark and bright.

“Do you know where they are?” Pietro questions, eyeing the void of constellations around them; he dips his hand into the stardust and it comes out glowing. Verdandi twitters and Urd hums, prideful and content for the moment.

Loki does; he sees the children clearly, has watched them for weeks now, awaiting the Norns orders to step in. “Yes.”

“When can we go to them?”

Loki watches the witch vengefully hold a monster down while the cursed boy erases it from existence; Midgard groans, and somewhere along Loki’s spine Jotunheim screeches. The children laugh—the boy does, grinning viciously, and there’s a cold welcome in the girl’s shoulders.

“When the time is right.”

That doesn’t satisfy Pietro, but he has no choice to believe the god of mischief; he sits in this void pocket, doesn’t know Urd and Verdandi curl close, and swallows the need to hold his sister and friend close.

On Midgard, on Earth, Jason stands above a Hydra agent while Wanda twists her magic against the stranger’s limbs, restraining him; Jason advances, his boots falling heavy upon the wet concrete floor, slick with water and blood. He grins behind his lower face mask, his eyes glowing as his teeth snarl for him; of course, it’s unseen.

No one can see his grin behind the mask; he couldn’t get ahold of his helmet or jacket or body armor, but he knows how the underworld works. And Wanda is an expert manipulator; it wasn’t hard to find replacements for the weapons and armor he lost during the Accords drama, to procure them from those more willing when faced with a glowing teenager and his threatening friend. Sister; something closer than friend, lesser than romance.

A tether, a preserver in a storm that has ripped their lives apart and threatens to drown them; the other side of a coin, the puzzle piece that compliments him and he her.

Wanda, face also obscured by a mask and a hood pulled over her bushy hair, nods to him once; Jason’s grin widens and he blinks. There’s a gentle flash of green before the struggling grunts and warning yells cease to exist, the agent vanishing into nothingness, and Wanda’s fingers relax to spark red.

The other agents shrink in fear, gripping their weapons tighter, and Jason tips his head quietly back and to the side, eyeing each in slow turn; some turn and run, but Wanda doesn’t let them. She contorts her hand, a vicious snarl on her face, and they trip and fall. They try to rip the magic from their ankles, but Wanda holds true.

“Open fire!” one man orders, panic in his voice.

Jason responds with a quiet scoff, head dipping down to his chest, and when the bullets come Wanda stands firm with a shield around her; Jason allows the air around him to swallow the projectiles, little green splotches, and he rushes across the room. He twists, jams his elbow into one’s jugular, and then twists once more to fit the palm of his hand against a different agent’s chin; behind him, there’s a chilling cackle and he knows Wanda is dragging her prey towards her.

He flashes through existence, or at least it feels like he does, as he flickers from one enemy to the next; he comes into existence, grabs a gun and pulls the enemy’s sternum against his knee, follows through with the action of pulling his leg back to kick out against another’s shin. He moves again, silent and deadly, grinning, and clothespins a man into his companion; it’s not enough as they stumble so Jason thinks about them disappearing and they do.

Screams echo off the walls, screams Jason hadn’t paid attention to, but now he turns and watches Wanda contort limbs into what pleases her; he pulls his mask down, the handkerchief of a skeletal chin folding against his collarbone, and lights up a cigarette. Some others groan but it’s drowned out by Wanda’s work; her magic slithers about broken limbs and Jason breathes out smoke from his lungs.

It’s only a few more minutes before the screams stop, cut off as the tendrils wrap around their throats, and when they still beneath Wanda’s ministrations she turns her full face mask—it’s a cold thing, flat and white, the lips stitched with black and charcoal coloring the eye slits—towards Jason.

She tips her head and a lock of hair falls out from beneath her hood; it’s one of Jason’s old ones, baggy but still fitting, and she stands to her full height. “We’re not done here yet,” she says, voice slightly muffled.

Jason tosses his cigarette down, stamps it out, and tugs his mask back up; he pulls his gun and without hesitation shoots everyone who was left alive. Wanda goes further into the facility, to the computers, and she wipes a speck of blood off the keyboard; there’s a memory stick in her hand, and she goes to work gathering information. Files, evidence, and whatever they can get; when she pulls the memory stick out and tucks it into her hoodie pocket, Jason shoots the monitors, having returned from exploring other areas.

They walk out side by side, stepping over bodies, and when they get a good safe distance Jason detonates the charges he’d set; behind them the facility explodes in brilliant flames, and Wanda pulls her mask off to smile at her partner, teeth pristine and hair mused. Jason smiles back.

They’re violent crusade will only continue, they think; this is not a beginning, for there will not be an end.

Chapter Text

Steve likes to imagine the secret agent doesn’t follow him around the grocery store; he likes to imagine they haven’t been tailing everyone since Wanda’s bracelet sent out an alarm, since she and Jason disappeared in the middle of the night, since the morning Steve woke up to Accord agents banging on Clint’s door. An empty cot, an open window…

T’challa had continued to advocate for them, for the interlopers against the Accords; that included Sam, Clint, Steve, and the kids. He’d been mediating for them, keeping them out of deep trouble; he is the Wakandan king, practical leader, and the panel isn’t comfortable going against him. So he says Steve and Clint and Sam are not to be touched, and that the children need to be brought in alive and as unharmed as possible.

“I do not want to hide them away on the Raft if I do not have to, Mister Rogers, but you have to understand that the longer they hide the more enemies they make; people are fearful, and the more the danger stays hidden in the shadows the more the fear grows.”

Yes, Steve understands; but he doesn’t like it. The kids have been spotted, in various places around the states, one time in Florida, another time in Washington; how they were able to afford that Steve didn’t know. But they were traveling, disappearing, and Clint thought they might’ve been trying to get ahold of armor and weapons from the blackmarket.

When asked about it, the archer had shrugged and swallowed pitch black coffee. “I’ve been around.”

Steve puts the can of soup back on the shelf and stuffs his hand in his jeans pocket; he sighs, glances momentarily at the agent loitering around the gummy bears, and slinks down the aisle. He needs cereal, and a half gallon of milk; Sam said he’d pick up the eggs on his way back to the apartment…

That’s another thing that’s changed since the kids went off the grid; Sam and Steve left Clint on his farm to be closer to civilization, in hopes to be ready to go after every sighting of Wanda and Jason. Except they still have to go through a rigorous interview with Ross every time they wanted to leave the city limits.

Steve finds the cereal—Cheerios, it’s good for fighting cholesterol, not that Steve or Sam had high cholesterol—and tucks it in his shopping basket. He catches sight of the agent; he’s dressed in sweats and a jogging jacket, messily cropped hair, casually reading the nutritional value of Lucky Charms.

Jason likes Lucky Charms; Steve walks down the aisle with firm steps, snatches the box from the agent’s hand, and shakes it.

“My kid likes this,” he nearly snarls. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him; tell Ross or whoever the fuck sent you we’re doing fine, haven’t heard from my kids, and that if we do we’ll be sure to let you know.”

Steve stuffs the box in with his broccoli and Cheerios and goes for the dairy aisle; he still needs milk.

The groceries are organized neatly back at the apartment, and Steve taps out a response to Natasha’s text.

hydra base was destroyed in Wisconsin

do you think it was Jason and Wanda?

Yeah
witnesses from the town say two teenagers
            stopped by few days before and then
            left immediately after the base was destroyed

Ill check it out
thank you

That makes the seventh base in three weeks; they’re accelerating. Steve braces himself on the counter and breathes; they have to get those kids some help. He’s not sure why they’re doing this, though he can imagine; grief and unfairness, two kids caught in a war…

He considers calling Peter, goes so far as to pick up his phone and hover over Peter’s contact information; he wants to know how Peter handled his own war all alone and came out sane. The doorknob rattles, and Sam steps in; he pulls his key from the hole, pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Okay; alright, thank you. Yeah, we’ll be there.” Sam hangs up, shaking the phone in his roommate’s direction. “That was T’challa; we’ve got a plane with Natasha and Tony scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

Steve nods; he pushes away his animosity towards Tony, they’re arguments over the accords and… And Bucky. That happened, and though the feelings are still there Steve has to focus on the kids now; he takes a deep breath, nods once more, and turns towards the stove.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Sam sits at the counter, a good friend and an excellent support, and Steve reminds himself to breathe through the weight on his shoulders; he's not alone.

Chapter Text

He was Robin once, or at least that was the name they called him; they… Gothamites, civilians, villains, the Joker… Batman, Bruce… Was he Jason to Bruce or was he Robin? It’s hard to remember; he thinks he was Jason, but sometimes he thinks he was just Robin. A symbol.

The voice in his head calls him Jason, tone soft and warm and calming; it’s almost familiar, like a mimic from his memory, but the words aren’t memory. Jason, let me help you; Jason, come home; Jason, you’re hurting; Jason, trust me…

The voice in his soul, coursing through his veins, calls him monster and encourages destruction; that fire burning in Jason’s stomach, the voice hisses yes, yes, death; kill, they deserve it, you’re saving people, make them disappear forever, take their lives and save a broken boy.

Sometimes the voices fight each other, and Jason wakes in a cold sweat; the sheets pool around his waist as he sits up, eyes aglow in a darkened room, and he pushes sticky hair from his face. Nightmares; random snippets of things. The way it felt to run out of oxygen in his coffin, the way creaky motel beds somehow felt safe… He wonders if Bucky stopped breathing in the stasis machine, wishes he had paid more attention to Bruce’s presentation at the gala all those months ago…

He thinks Wanda has nightmares too; he wakes and she’s curled in the corner of whatever hideout they’re in, blanket wrapped loosely around her body. Her magic sparks sometimes, and she flinches; her gaze is always frozen to the space under their bed. Jason knows that look, of longing and fear and the wish to be safe.

He takes the pillows, stuffs them under the bed and scoots himself underneath; he finds a comfortable position for his bulk, his shoulders beginning to fill out, his toes peeking out from beneath the bedframe. Wanda brings the blanket; she takes the second pillow, offering Jason a corner and he accepts; they curl under there, long after the air has turned heavy from their carbon dioxide, long after the sun has risen and any darkness but their own has been chased away.

Jason knows it’s safest under the bed from his younger years; how Wanda learned it is a mystery, but Jason’s pretty sure it has to do with late night talks with Pietro that she mentioned once before. A training mat under Jason as he tried to apologize for not being able to save him, Wanda above him frowning and brows furrowed; “We would always talk so much; at night, when no one could hear us. We would talk, about nothing and everything, about whatever interested us; and it was special.” He holds her hand now, but neither says anything. The intimate talks are saved for her brother, and Jason wouldn’t dare claim that.

They emerge from their cocoon when it’s time to move; Jason tosses his sweats in after a quick shower, and Wanda does the same with her own pajamas. She tucks her face mask into the waistband of her shorts, and Jason wraps his around his wrist; it being a piece of cloth makes it versatile, and Jason hands Wanda her jacket. She passes Jason his holsters, and he hides his weapons on his person.

They step out of their hotel room, drop the key off at the desk, and walk out before the receptionist can say anything; they take a bus to three cities over. Jason holds his hand out as they walk down the street, and Wanda drops a handful of quarters in his palm; Jason shoulders open a payphone—they’re hard to find, but in the slums of cities they’re still popular—and Wanda shuts it behind him, taking post.

Jason dials the number he’s memorized; they left their phones behind, and it wasn’t a priority to get ones. Too easy to track, to pin them down and drag them back. Jason presses the phone between his ear and shoulder, dumping his bag at his feet and shuffling around in the small space. On the third ring, his contact picks up.

“What does the bird sing today?”

“I’m not the bird,” Jason answers.

“I don’t think that’s a part of our code list, Jay.”

“You know I didn’t memorize that.”

Tim laughs; “So, Wisconsin?”

“Went well; base is gone, we got a good night’s rest, hopped on a bus. What’s the next location?”

“That was all I could find, Jason.” There’s the sound of shuffling, papers shifting. “Shield—or is it the Accords Panel now?—whoever is in charge… They found the loophole I used to get into their files, blocked me; I tried a few other times to get in. I was able to look at a few other locations but they aren’t Hydra, and the ones that were have already been dealt with.

It’s over, Jason; Hydra’s gone.”

He doesn’t say anything; he stands there and breathes for a moment. “That…” he thumbs his temple. “No… There’ve gotta be more; you…you missed something.”

Tim doesn’t say anything for a moment; a dog barks, a door opens, and Tim raises his voice. “Get out of my room!” A muffled voice responds, snippy and high pitched. “No, I’m on the phone; out! Out!” Another bark, a whistle, and the door shuts again; Tim sighs. “Jay… I’m not going to lie, I could’ve missed something; but that’s all I’ve got. I…I don’t have anything else for you.”

Jason pushes the door open, and motions Wanda inside; it’s a tight fit in the phonebooth, but they make it work, and he tips the phone towards her too. She takes the quarters from his hand and pushes a few more into the machine when it begins beeping. “We can’t… There’s gotta be more. You’ve got to look somewhere else.”

“I looked; I’m sorry. Jason, you guys did it; the Hydra bases are destroyed. Hydra…is gone.”

For a minute, they breathe; Wanda, eyes wide and wet, stares over Jason’s shoulder. And Jason tries to hold on, as everything drains from him; Hydra is gone, or whatever they can reach is. Their revenge is done; for Pietro, for Wanda, for Bucky, for everyone hurt and tortured and killed and taken… They burned like a wildfire, burned out of fuel too quickly, and now they’re just embers.

“What do we do now?”

Wanda turns her gaze to him, wraps an arm around his waist, and sags against him.

“You could come home,” Tim offers, and Jason scoffs. “Listen, I’m moving out at the end of next month; you guys can move in with me. It’s a penthouse, spacious, there’s a balcony and a huge kitchen. You’d like it.”

“You know we can’t; what would dear daddy bats say?”

Animosity curls like smoke around Tim’s words; “Who cares? I’m moving out, he doesn’t have a say in who my roommates are.”

Wanda takes the receiver. “Wait, why are you moving out?”

“Hi, Wanda; it’s a long story. How are you?”

“I…am unsure.”

“Listen, the offer is open; you guys can come stay with me, as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Tim; for everything.”

“You guys keep in contact, ok? And if I can do anything else…call.” He takes a deep breath. “Can I talk to Jason?”

She passes the phone back, tucks a few more quarters in the machine; Jason presses the receiver close. “Hey…”

“You ok?”

“Yeah; just…didn’t expect it to be over so soon.”

“I’m sorry; I’ll let you know if I find anything else. I’m not giving up on you, Jason. Call if you need anything, and remember: my apartment is yours, whenever you need it.”

He’ll have to talk to Tim about that, about moving out; he’s still just a kid, and Jason feels there's more going on than Tim's letting on… “I’ll call you later.” He hangs up, and they unfold from the phonebooth; the sun is high and bright, and newspapers blow about their feet. For a moment, they both just breathe.

The voice in his head calls him Jason; the one in his soul calls him Monster, and his memories call him various names (Robin, Phoenix, son). Civilians call him Reaper, and Wanda is graced with Phantom because of her mask; Jason laughed at that, asked if she’d ever seen Phantom of the Opera. She shook her head and Jason remembered what her life was; a bomb, a rocket, experiments and magic and Hydra and death… “We’ll watch it when this is over; it’s a classic”.

Well, Jason reasons as he snatches the dvd from the rental machine; it’s over. Their crusade is apparently completed; Hydra is destroyed. The world is safe.

They curl on the creaky motel bed together, huddled under three blankets and a three bags of popcorn settled between them; the television flickers images across them, Christine’s dancing figure moving across the screen. Wanda rests her head on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason tips his atop hers; they sit in silence in the night.

The following morning there’s a report of a kidnapping, another of a convenience store being robbed and the manager being shot. Jason meets Wanda’s gaze evenly, and she slips on her oversized jacket and offers him his facemask.

Hydra is destroyed, but the world isn’t necessarily safe; they’ll have to remedy that.

Chapter Text

T’challa meets them at the Wisconsin airport, his phone pressed to his ear. “Alright, Professor; thank you for your help.”

Steve tips his head to the side; what sort of connections does a King of Wakanda have?

T’challa greets them with a bow of his head, still speaking on the phone. “I understand; I’m working on it. Does our deal still stand?” By his warm smile, this professor agrees; “Please call if you get any leads; thank you. Good day!”

“T’challa,” Natasha greets, hefting her carry on. “It’s nice to see you.”

Steve hasn’t said much to Tony, and Tony hasn’t said much to Steve; Sam took the role of mediator, attempting a sort of conversation with Tony. “How’s Pepper?”, “She’s well”, “How are you?”, “I’m fine”… Steve shifts.

Before the conversation between Natasha, Tony, and T’challa can drift too far, Steve clears his throat; it draws their attention, and Natasha considers the once Captain America.

“Where’s this base they destroyed? And the motel they stayed at?” Steve grabs his bags and takes a step for the door. “I’d like to find them as soon as possible.”

T’challa acquiesces. “Of course, Captain.” He waves their group towards an SUV parked by the curb; they begin stocking their luggage in the trunk. “It was disguised as a textile mill; how they’ve discovered all these locations is beyond me.”

“Friday,” Tony pipes up, unfolding a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on, “reports that the system at the Accords building has been hacked into; on multiple occasions.”

Natasha silently shoves Tony towards the front of the car and slips into the back with Sam and Steve; “so they got the information from us?”

T’challa takes the driver’s seat, and Tony shifts nervously; Steve is reminded of how he prefers to drive. Sam wonders if it’s a control thing, something connected to his parents, or maybe a bit of both. “Perhaps; I wonder where they got their technology though. We know the body armor and other equipment they’ve been seen with wasn’t easy to come by, and the technology required to hack into something so extensive as the Accords’ system would be—”

“Way beyond their paygrade,” Tony butts in. “So either they stole it or they’ve got help.”

Steve hesitates; there’s a third option, if the kids are smart enough… “When we were…looking for Bucky, back when… When he was the Winter Soldier, Natasha and I were able to get into files through a laptop at a store; if the kids are resourceful, they may have done the same thing.”

Natasha nods subtly, and Sam smiles encouragingly; T’challa seems to consider the possibility, before nodding in acceptance, and Tony watches out the window. They drive in silence for a while, before Natasha strikes up a conversation with T’challa about Wakanda and how his Kingship is going; T’challa invites Sam into the conversation, asking after Clint and if Sam has rejoined his therapist carrier.

“I’ll go back after we find Jason and Wanda; my schedule needs to be flexible right now.”

“Understandable; and you, Steve. How are you?” T’challa turns off the main highway to a backroad, winding, and a cop car goes towards the way they came.

“Fine.” Steve doesn’t mean to be snippy; he’s tired, and worried, and stretched thin. “So what exactly did they do to the…”

Steve trails off as the base comes into view; it’s a burnt wreckage, ash and twisted metal, and Steve leans forward to see it better. Sam does too, and Natasha peers curiously out.

“The surrounding area wasn’t damaged?”

“No,” Tony pipes up, hand on the doorknob and ready to bail. “The blast was contained; what was the body count, T’challa?”

The king eyes Tony with scrutiny. “The records here said 234 were working here; the bodies recovered were 146. Of course, some may have been lost in the fire.”

Jason and Wanda killed 146 people; it’s not the first time Steve’s seen one of their war fields, but it still rocks him to the core. It’s not that he hasn’t killed, or that they haven’t fought before; but that they’re doing this, with such vengeance, and alone without backup, all while being chased by a panel of judges ready to throw them in a prison in the middle of the ocean and forget them…

It’s too much; Steve stumbles out of the car and towards the wreckage. He goes to the edge of the burnt building, eyeing piles of ash and melted metal, blown out computers; he shakes his head. There’s so much destruction here, the taste of something rotten on the air, vile. A hand curls against his shoulder, firm and supportive.

“Where’d it all go wrong, Sam?”

His friend shakes his head; “I think it was a long time coming; Jason became very reserved a while ago, Steve. And then his magic showed up and we weren’t prepared to help him.”

“And then we lost Bucky.” Steve knows the relationship Bucky and Jason had; it was close and companionable, supportive and understanding, something that kept Jason balanced and safe… Losing Bucky had not only left a gaping hole in Steve, but had ripped the floor out from under Jason. “He was different after Bucky.”

Sam shakes his head; “A lot happened; we’re all different after Bucky… And Wanda is a wild card.”

“She’s powerful and thought she found a place; then Natasha and Clint split up, and the Accords happened, and her safe place was disrupted too.” Steve glances back to the SUV; Tony’s kneeling near the burnt building, inspecting and investigating, and Natasha offers Steve and Sam a smile. T’challa is back on his phone, speaking quietly into it, and Steve starts walking back to the car; there isn’t going to be any clues here.

Jason and Wanda aren’t stupid; they haven’t left any hints before, at any of the other locations. Steve scrubs a hand over his face; alright. Well, they couldn’t have gone far since they were first alerted to this; Steve goes back for the car.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve calls, voice even. “We aren’t going to find anything here; let’s go to the hotel and figure out a plan for tomorrow.”

Tony folds to his full height, trails after them, and slips between T’challa and the driver’s seat. “I’m driving, King, get in the back.”

T’challa slips in with a raised brow, still listening intently to the soft and calm voice on the other end of his phone. “Do you know where they are? Or their next steps? No, just that they’re… Alright, thank you very much, professor.” T’challa hangs up and catches Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “That was a friend of mine; he’s been helping me keep an eye on the kids. He’s a telepath, says for about two hours both Jason and Wanda were… Silent, so to say; they felt empty. Not sure what it’s all about, but he says they’re about three cities over.”

Steve will have to question after this friend later; for now, he casually eyes Tony. The billionaire is still hiding behind his sunglasses. “You up to driving overnight?”

“Get me a Red Bull and I can pull two all-nighters.”

Steve looks out the window; they’re close to getting the kids back. And if they all act the slightest bit like a team, well… Steve will reminisce later.

Chapter Text

The land pulses gently, and Pietro stares longingly out at the vast expanse of the universe; they’re in a bubble here, quiet and lonely, stasis. Still; cold… He rubs his hands together, trying to spot Earth; if they’re even near Earth, in this strange universal landscape.

Loki suddenly glances up, quick and sharp; Pietro watches a lazy smile grow across his face, eyes roving over the stars.

“What is it?” Pietro tries to follow Loki’s erratic gaze.

“There’s a storm coming, young one; do you think we should face it?” Something is hidden in his voice, somewhat sinister, and a shiver runs down Pietro’s spine.

“If it will help Wanda and Jason, then of course.” He wants to see his sister; he wants to hug her, he wants to thank Jason for looking out for her. He wants to talk to her, to cook with her, to live their life…

Loki turns his emerald gaze on the teenager, heavy laden and dangerous. “Do you want to meet a god, Pietro?”

He doesn’t say anything; Loki stares deep within Pietro’s eyes, piercing and all knowing, and Pietro settles on a response. “Aren’t you a god?”

He blinks; an emptiness consumes the flowing venom in his eyes, chasing it away, and his visage slackens. He turns back to the masterpiece that surrounds them; Skuld, floaty as ever, wraps himself around Loki’s waist, hand gently brush across his hip. “I am not a god.”

“…So what are you?”

Silence; Loki doesn’t turn to face him. He stares out at the universe, and then he turns towards a portal that appears at the farther end of their bubble. Pietro stands hurriedly, takes a step forward, feels a tug against his arm that holds him back; he watches Loki.

“If you’re not a god, then what are you?”

He halts, and a ripple courses through the air as he shifts; whatever visible skin fades away, from natural to a blue, and when he slowly turns around his eyes are nearly glowing. Colored red, Pietro tries not to find it disturbing. “What does it look like?”

Pietro doesn’t know what to say, so he gapes; the grip on his arm, whatever metaphysical being has him captive, tightens. Pietro doesn’t feel threatened, but he still can’t find an appropriate response; so he says nothing.

Loki transforms again, turning away once more, and squares his shoulders. “I shall investigate the going ons on Midgard, and return with a more detailed plan of how we should proceed; Urd and Verdandi shall stay with you and keep you safe. If you need anything, just ask.”

And then he steps through the portal, it shutting behind him, leaving Pietro alone in this strange expanse.

On earth, thunder rumbles; Wanda flips her hair over her shoulder, glancing out of the café window and watching Jason loiter on the street corner. He leans against the crosswalk light, pulling a cigarette from his mouth and scuffing his toe against the wet ground; it’s rained for days now, this the only day that hasn’t for some time. The clouds are still there, the thunder still threatening, but at least Wanda’s hair isn’t wet today and Jason has only sneezed a few times.

“Refill?” it’s a barista, smiling down where Wanda sits, and the witch glances down to her cold mocha.

“No thanks.” It’s cold, the whipped cream creating a fine film across the top, and she knows she’s not going to finish it; the door opens, and a glance out the window tells her who it is. Sure enough, with her magic touching another, Jason slips into the seat across from her; she doesn’t even think twice before pushing the cup towards him. “Better?”

Jason sniffs at the cup, drinks it; he’s never cared much about what’s set before him. If its edible, he accepts it. “Sure.”

Wanda doesn’t believe him.

“What’s next then?” he slumps back against his chair, slouched and lazy like; but Wanda can see the tension around his eyes, the drawn lines, she knows his feet are firm on the floor in case of the need to run. He eyes the waiter near the telephone, the couple sharing a muffin across the room… “What do we do today?”

“And tomorrow; and the day after that; and the day after that…” Wanda tips her head against the glass window, eyeing lightning in the sky, awaits the thunder. “We can only fight low level crime for so long…”

“What do you want to do?”

A deep breath; the thunder doesn’t come, or at least isn’t audible, and lightning flashes in lines across the sky. It cracks the clouds, but lights the scenery, destruction and something else. “We’ve done what I wanted,” and she feels empty for it, unsatisfied, insatiable. “Hydra is defeated; Hydra is erased. I have what I want.” This anger, this pain, this grief doesn’t leave. “What do you want?”

There’s a pause, more lightning in the sky, and Jason drags his heavy gaze from their surroundings to his companion; she matches his gaze evenly, head still tipped against the window. “I want Gotham.” That’s not quite what he means to say; he wants safety, happiness, wholeness; he wants to protect.

Wanda straightens, and outside thunder claps loudly; the earth rocks, the sound barrier shattering, a blip in the sky flitting towards New York. She knows what Jason means, and she smiles. “Then we take Gotham.”

Rain pitters out on the pavement growing into a torrential downpour; inside the café, Wanda and Jason are dry and warm—and plotting.

Chapter Text

It’s like his first visit all over again; well, it couldn’t quite be called a visit if he had been banished, but this time around Thor smiles jovially at his captors and awaits their leader’s entrance. He came willingly, Mjolnir still in hand, and as regale as the current ruler of Asgard should be.

“Friend,” he calls to one of the guards stationed at the room’s doorway, smiling to try and ease the tension. “I only wish to find my friends; I have something of urgency to discuss with the Avengers.”

“And as we’ve already told you, the Avengers have been dispersed. You’ll have to talk with Secretary Ross.”

Patience is not his virtue; it’s a lesson he’s still learning, and he takes a breath to remember that. Patience; he can do this. He waits.

Eventually, the door is opened at last and enters who Thor can only guess is Secretary Ross and a few other personnel.

“I am Thor Odinson, current ruler of Asgard, and I have come to request the aid of the Avengers.”

Ross blinks at him, then over at his personnel, and then back at the god. “Sir, please sit down; the Avengers are, as you can tell, under new management. Before we can offer you any help, you’ll need to read and sign these.” A lady hefts a large binder down in front of him, and Thor peers in confusion at it.

“What is this?”

“These are the Accords; a set of rules written to control the damage you so-called heroes have wrought. Please,” he waves at them. “Read them; if you sign, we will offer aid. If you do not sign, we’ll have to confiscate your weaponry and consign you to a watchful guard.”

A tip of his head, and Thor turns his confused gaze from the stack of papers to this new man; Ross is serious. He wants to cage a god.

“Have all the Avengers signed?”

Ross thinks for a moment, as if weighing his options. “No, not all; that shouldn’t change your decision, Thor.”

“Who did not sign? As god of Asgard, I demand a clear answer.”

Clearly uncomfortable, he swallows. “Captain America, the witch, the boy, Sam Wilson.”

No mention of Bucky, though Heimdell has already informed him of what’s happened with him. Thor chuckles; he hefts Mjolnir in his hands, regarding it, and then ever gently settles it atop the papers.

“Do you know what power my hammer holds?” Steve was the only one, barring the robotic man, who the hammer answered to.

Ross raises a brow. “Its storms? Uh, lightning and thunder?”

Thor steps away from the table. “More than that, it is a scale of your worth; for whosoever be worthy may lift it. The hammer will determine your worth; should you be honorable, I will sign your papers.”

“I’m not going to play your games; this is a serious matter, Thor. Read and sign, or don’t.”

Darkness shades his face. “I have not played games since my youth, when my brother loved and my heart was not broken; or do you forget that you speak to a god?”

They’re at an impasse; Thor, calm and serene, awaiting the verdict in the corner of the room—Ross standing rigid near the door. However stubborn Ross is, Thor is more so; he stands steady. Heaving a breath, Ross steps forward.

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs; hand wrapping about the hammer’s hilt, he tugs.

And it does not budge. Another tug, and it stands fast still; Thor sighs. Of course.

He steps forward, which pushes Ross away, and lifts Mjolnir. “I do not sign, Ross. And I take my leave to where my friends are; those who would help me.”

He steps from the room, and thankfully no one follows him; he is not so thick as to not recognize the way he came so he takes the path back out. Personnel spare him attention purely because he is the fabled god of thunder, and his even gate, squared shoulders, set jaw warns those who want to direct him to keep their mouths shut.

A corner comes up and he takes it too fast to keep from knocking a small mortal off their feet; the teenager jolts back, a bag scattering across the floor, and Thor pauses, grip tight on Mjolnir. But it’s only Peter, Jason’s friend, and Thor offers his hand in apology.

“Thor!” Peter exclaims, and then his eyes grow wide as he grabs his bag and stands. “Wh-what are you doing on Earth? I thought you were in charge of Asgard?”

“I am; some important events have happened. I must get in contact with the Avengers, though it appears they are scattered.”

The boy doesn’t meet his gaze; he ops to fiddle with the zipper on his backpack and look elsewhere. “Uh, yeah; yeah, they are. Um…”

Thor tips his head. “Would you happen to know where I could locate young Jason and Steven?”

This causes him to duck his head, a flush appearing; shame, it would seem, for Thor has felt it plenty. “I-I don’t know. Did Ross not tell you anything?”

The god shakes his head; a stalemate then, where Peter refuses to lift his gaze and Thor ponders what drama has befallen his friends.

“They’re in Wisconsin.”

It’s a quiet murmur, and Thor nearly startles. “Wisconsin?

HIs eyes flicker up briefly and there’s a darkness there, soul deep and painful; they dart away once more. His voice stays low as he continues. “That’s the last I heard; Natasha was going to Wisconsin and she’s on the case to track Jason down so I’d assume they’re still there…”

There is much Thor still doesn’t know then, despite Heimdell’s watchful gaze; he clasps Peter’s arm in brotherhood. “Thank you, friend; is there anything I can assist you with?” Thor tries to catch his gaze; he has questions, such as why Peter is here, but he bites his tongue. Those answers can come later.

Peter shakes his head, and with that Thor dismisses himself; he skirts around the boy with a soft farewell. He exits the building itself, removing himself from this heavy place; outside he brushes lint from his cape and, swinging Mjolnir, takes to the skies.

He has a duty, to protect Midgard and all its inhabitants; if that means by himself, or with an amalgamation of broken heroes.

Ragnarok—his brother—must be stopped, once more.

His flight to Wisconsin, after requesting directions from a young woman at a park, is fairly quick; he lands without much havoc and begins his search for the Avengers. It takes some time, but he finds them at a small diner partaking of a meal; their charriot is packed he takes note with the necessities of a lengthy trip and he is lucky to have caught them before they left.

“My friends!” He bellows as he comes upon their table, and Natasha pats at his arm in greeting. “’Tis been too long!”

“Thunderbuddy!” Tony’s speech will probably never make sense to Thor, however similar the tones seem to be to Loki’s, but still Thor offers a beaming smile in greeting.

Short pleasentries are exchanged, tension clear between every member at the table, and eventually Thor’s anxiousness must be taken note of.

“So why’re you here, Thor?” Steve offers a smile, though it’s shadowed by his exhaustion. “Did your father wake up?”

He’s stayed in contact as he could, through ravens or by sending one of the Warrior’s Three. However, he shakes his head sadly; Odin still sleeps. “I am afraid a graver subject brings me here; my brother…”

He doesn’t need to speak any more, as everyone’s disposition has altered at the mention of Loki.

Tony scrubs a hand across his face, already guessing what’s happening. “He’s escaped to Earth.”

“Perhaps; but, more importantly, he has begun Ragnarok.”

A snap in the air, static raising the hair on all arms, and a humored voice calls out “The end of all worlds.”

Loki stands at the edge of their table, and the various patrons seated nearby screech in a panic; he is a recognizable enemy, and some flee.

“You think me the bringer?” Loki’s smile is crooked, and the air shimmers sickly. “I’m not guilty, and yes that is truth; in fact, the culprit is from your ranks. The boy who Hel wished to claim, blessed by the Norns with unimaginable power; he is your Ragnarok bringer.”

Steve shakes his head and mutters no, whether confused or in denial is debateable; Sam, ever the helpful friend, places a supporting hand on his shoulder.

“And how do we know you speak the truth?” Natasha is tense, prepared for a fight, and she shifts in her seat. "You're a liar."

A wave of his hand, and Thor is distracted by the gentle caress of the air about his brother; he’s known but only a few spirits to attach themselves in such a way, and Loki has always been favored by a particular Norn.

“Because the Norns stand by him.”

Loki tips his head in acknowledgement, and Thor can almost hear his teasing note of very astute, brother .

Chapter Text

They’re thirty thousand feet above Earth and Jason wonders if he’s losing his mind; the voices seem to have grown louder over the past few days, echoes of his time as Robin and whispered pleadings to not go through with this. Faint longings for home, as if his subconscious is digging its heels into the mud and screaming for him to reconsider.

But his heart is determined, and it’s a fight to drag himself forward; even though he’s sitting still on an airplane, Wanda tucked against his side, he’s moving forward. And his mind does not seem content.

Think of Steve, lonely without Bucky, alone without you; don’t you miss him?

Terribly, but Jason grits his teeth and wonders if he could get an alcoholic drink from the stewardess. As much as he’d like a smoke to calm the unease, he won’t smoke on an airplane.

And what of Bruce? Flashes of watching movies together, splashing in the manor pool, training in the cave, happy moments of laughter and bonding…

Jason’s gonna be sick; he tries to be gentle, but still wakes Wanda when he shifts her off, hurrying to stand, shoving pass Wanda’s knees and stepping for the bathroom. Wanda uncurls, alert, worried, and tosses Jason’s jacket off her shoulders.

“Jason!” She calls after him, but he ignores her and locks the door behind him.

He braces against the tiny sink, splashes water on his face, and stares at his reflection; dark circles and sunken cheeks… He needs more sleep, so does Wanda. They both need more sleep, and better food, and for life to just calm down and be normal again--as normal as possible for a witch and a zombie.

This is not the boy from Crime Alley.

If only his mind would shut the fuck up.

“You’re losin’ it, Todd.”

He washes his face again, scrubbing his bloodshot eyes; they’ll be in Gotham under the hour, go to ground at one of Jason’s safe houses in the city slums. A place he remembers from his childhood, an abandoned warehouse loft; perfect for them, spacious and defensible. They got through customs with their weapons, luckily, and despite Tim’s reassurances that he had them covered and that the suitcases were expertly crafted to hide suspicious contraband Jason still found himself holding his breath until the plane took off.

Someone tries the door, giving an impatient knock when the lock stays in place; Jason grabs some paper towels and dries his face before squeezing out of the place. At least the voice has faded away. Wanda has taken his seat by the window, curled up and watching the clouds pass by; Jason takes her abandoned spot and she gives him a worried tip of her head.

“I’m fine.” He rifles in their bag for something to do; books that Wanda hasn’t had a chance to read are stacked in specific order, and Jason keeps them that way. There’s a StarkPad tucked at the bottom which he grabs; when he sits back up, she’s still watching him. “Wanda, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t say anything, just staring him down with her calculatingly genius eyes; finally she breaks away to pluck a book from the carry on, settling back once more. “You would tell me if you weren’t, yes?”

She’s like Natasha in a lot of ways; she asks when she tells, orders, directs. He scoffs a smile, knocking his temple against hers.

“Of course.”

It’s enough reassurances for her; she flips the book open and Jason fiddles on the StarkPad, finds solitaire buried in the apps, and plays a few rounds. The rest of the flight goes well, his mind only occasionally growing hectic with the voices, but Wanda touches his shoulder when he tenses and the voices fade away again.

Arriving in Gotham, they disembark to the smog of the city; Wanda’s face sours but Jason’s gaze only darkens. A lifetime lived in this city has left him desensitized to the darkness, fear and dislike morphing into anger.

Wanda fills out the paperwork for a car, though they’ll easily change out the plates and toss the paperwork away; easy to hide in Gotham… Jason keeps a close eye on their surroundings; so far, they have gone unnoticed. If they can keep that up for a while longer, this might just work.

But every shadow holds a reminder of Batman, a blanket over the city most find reassuring; it puts Jason on edge and he considers calling Tim. He can’t rely on his replacement for everything; besides, with Wanda in the passenger seat scanning radio frequencies for a bopping song, Jason is calm.

He doesn’t need Tim--but…

“What do ya think we pay my little brother a visit?”

Wanda raises a brow, hesitating on some country radio station before resuming her search. “A social visit?”

Jason pops a bubble of gum; nicotine gum that Bucky had got him before… Before everything. “Just to let him know we made it.”

“So, not a social visit.” She settles on a poppy station and turns her attention to the heating.

“It can be.”

She grins at his tone. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

So once they’ve settled in the loft--multiple sweeps, planting a weapon here or there or over there, putting in place an alarm system and nailing the windows shut--they don their costumes; Wanda leads them out of the warehouse, but then lets Jason take point. He knows the city better than her, knows where shadows fall and which roofs are unstable.

It’s different than their other travelling; less open spaces, buildings crammed together, and Wanda wonders if her bright magic will draw too much attention; she uses it to bolster herself atop rooftops behind Jason, but is careful. In the smog of Gotham, magic is very noticeable. It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention, at least not yet.

Still, they make a few stops; Jason hands a woman her purse, retrieved from a mugger Wanda ever so carefully dumps in a pile of trash. Wanda takes a little boy’s hand and walks him the rest of the way home, through terrifying alleyways back to his drugged out mother’s side. He gives her a wet kiss to her plastic covered cheek, unafraid. So brave.

They still make it to Tim’s penthouse early; early enough that Jason knows he isn’t out on patrol yet. He may have moved out of the manor, but Jason knows the hero life is as engrained in Tim as it is in Bruce, or Dick...or Bucky…

For a moment, they just hunker on a rooftop; Jason peers through a set of binoculars at the penthouse and Wanda lets quiet magic swirl around her fingers. Little fireflies are safe; Jason thinks Tim needs to invest in some curtains.

He says as much and Wanda huffs a little laugh; she comes to stand by Jason at the edge of the roof.

“So? Are we going to say hello?”

Jason tucks the binoculars away and offers an arm to Wanda; she shifts closer and he wraps himself around her shoulders like an oversized koala.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Her magic takes them the length to the penthouse balcony, and Jason stalks to the door, sliding it open quietly and stepping inside on feet of death. Wanda is less careful; she slides the door shut a little hard, purposefully, and Tim jolts so bad he spills his coffee all over his trousers.

“Sup, replacement.” Jason quips, even as Tim keeps muttering a bunch of swears; Jason smirks. “Alfred’s gonna wash your mouth out with soap.”

That earns him a deadened look and Wanda perches herself on the spacious island, fiddling with her boot laces; Tim gets over the chaos of their entrance easily though and he sets his half full cup down to greet his brother with a big hug.

“Jason! You didn’t tell me you were coming!” Tim eyes his facemask. “Nice duds.”

Wanda reaches for the cookie jar and precariously balances it on her knee, digging around for one that’s not rock hard stale; Jason raises a brow at the fancy leather couch, the spacious but oddly empty apartment.

“You too, bro; what’s that couch, Armani?”

“No,” Wanda mumbles around a cookie; her mask is pushed over her head. “That’d be his pants.”

“Armani makes couches now,” Tim corrects ever quietly and Jason nods impressed.

“No shit, good for them.” Jason pays no mind to his boots and hops atop the leather, bouncing up and down for good measure; Tim hardly reacts to his antics.

“What are you guys doing here?”

Jason shrugs, not sure how to answer that, so Wanda moves to pat her crumbs onto Tim’s head. He just barely avoids her mess and Jason smirks, bouncing upwards and then letting gravity pull him deep into the couch, feet flopped over the armrest.

“We’re going to take Gotham,” Wanda answers. She takes his coffee cup and sniffs, pulls a face, and puts the cup back down. “You shouldn’t be drinking so much caffeine.”

“Yeah,” Jason pipes up. “It’ll stunt your growth or some shit.”

“Hold on, you’re here to...take Gotham?”

They both shrug in tandem; “something like that.”

Tim eyes Jason. “Gotham belongs to the Bat.”

“We’ll he’s not doing so good a job, is he?” Jason swings into a sitting position, ready for a fight, but Tim doesn’t raise to the bait. Jason eyes what Wanda is now interested in; looks like a new Robin symbol, and he reaches out to inspect it too. She drops it in his open palm and he starts taking into account the material spread out over the coffee table, the diagrams open on Tim’s laptop. “New design? I dig the cape wings.”

That sets Tim over the edge it seems, and Jason feels like he’s missing something. Something very important.

“Why’d you move out, Timmers?”

Tim scoops up some of the fabric, shuts his laptop face, reaches out for the fancy new symbol. “Now’s not a good time to talk about that, Jason.”

The older boy holds tight to the symbol. “What happened? You and Brucie have a falling out?”

“Something like that; now can we just drop it. I’d like to hear your plans for Gotham.”

“We don’t have any; what was the falling out about?” Jason tosses the slip of metal between his hands. “Can’t be about violence, that’s what we argue about; can’t be about responsibility, everyone knows you’re ten times better than Bruce no argument there.”

“Jason.” A warning, something oddly desperate in his voice. “Please just drop it.”

He eyes the the bandoliers draped over Tim’s arms, the papers outlining a patrol route vastly different than Batman’s, and something begins to click vaguely. Jason grips the symbol painfully. “Tim.” It’s also a warning. “The only time someone’s dropped Robin, dropped the duo dynamics , was because Bruce took it from them or…”

Tim doesn’t have to say anything; it’s in his eyes, a sinking look of pain, and Wanda murmurs Jason’s name. Oh, his hand is bleeding from where the symbol dug into his skin. He drops it, grips his hair, swears.

“Fuck, he didn’t. Tell me he didn’t replace you, Tim?” Something bubbles in his chest, aching, burning; he thinks he’s going to vomit. “Tell me he didn’t hire another kid to be Robin.”

“I can’t lie to you, Jason; you know that.”

“Who?”

A pause of silence where Tim opens and closes his mouth, unsure. “His son.” There’s a spit of venom in that and the intonation makes Jason think that nomenclature is partially why Tim left. “Biological, with Talia.”

A biological son, the real heir of the Bat; an al Ghul and Jason remembers choking on green. He throws the laptop and Tim doesn’t even flinch when it shatters against a wall.

“Jason…”

“How old?” He’s seething now; another child. That makes four now; god, he’ll never stop, will he? “How old, Tim?”

“Ten.”

The cookie jar shatters, even when no one touches it, and Wanda has to remember to breathe; this isn’t her trauma, this isn’t her anger, her history. It’s Jason’s; he can lose himself, green magic sickly as it swirls through hers, but she needs to stay steady. For him.

Jason pushes pass Tim, heading for the balcony, only stopped when Tim calls after him for the third time.

“Jason, what are you going to do?”

Jason tugs his facemask back into place, eyes aglow, and steps over the thresh hold into the night. “I’m gonna fix this."

Tim's not sure he believes it.

Chapter Text

Soon, so soon, Reaper and Phantom are beginning to be rumors in Gotham; it’s good they start out as rumors, because Jason still isn’t too sure what he’s going to do, but rumors always grow. The deadly efficiency, the strange powers each hold, the way some gangs just vanish all together like they didn’t even exist. There’s little to mourn under their iron rule; the streets on the lower side are safer than ever, and kids aren’t afraid to approach them.

A little girl has her hair braided for a school function, a teenager talks with Reaper about the man that won’t let the bruises heal, another girl asks if one of them could walk her to her car after work… Reaper hands out honey buns as kids wander about looking for scraps and Wanda offers hot tea to a veteran missing his leg, left with a cardboard box and even that isn’t always his.

But they aren’t kind; no one would define them as such. They are death and horror; they give very few second chances, and the alleyways run with much blood. They can be merciful though, on those merrily acting out of need, redirecting them with a gentle handout or a reminder there are other options; those seeking control over others, however, are rarely spared.

So it’s little surprise when Batman starts encroaching on their turf; in a way, it’s good. It’s the push Jason will need to know what direction to take. Wanda swings her feet playfully over a roof’s edge, gravel digging into her hands, and she only knows when Robin--the new Robin, the true Robin--lands behind her because she’s spent so long with Jason. She knows the imperceptible sound of boots landing, quietly, a well learned skill; she hums an old lullaby in greeting.

“You’re the new scum then.”

“Hmm…” she tips her head, just barely able to see him from the corner of her eyes. God, he’s so small; he’s just a kid, just like all the others before him. For a moment she pictures Jason in the bright colors; it sickens her, because she knows that brightness won’t stay. “Is that what you call us?”

The boy tuts. “Should you be called something else?”

“I go by many names; scum is hardly new.” She still swings her feet; villain, danger, a mutated thing, not even human.

It seems the little Robin doesn’t quite know how to address that, how to address her total disinterest and casual nature. She swings her feet in a rhythm and hums softly again; Jason will be by soon, rejoining her, and he will deal with Batman and Robin. She need only wait, so she does.

Indeed, Jason arrives mere seconds before Batman does; Jason’s arrival is casual, a relaxed tension to his shoulder, proud from a well-won fight. Batman’s is both quiet and intimidating; he appears as he always down, shrouded in darkness but light as a feather, and Wanda does stand at his approach. Little Robin did nothing but watch her, Batman is the true threat, their real target.

There’s sparks in Jason’s eyes; Wanda thinks her jacket might catch fire, and she keeps her distance. “B-man, how do you like our side of town? Pretty calm and quiet lately, huh? We’ve cleaned it up nicely I think.”

“Jason.”

“I heard you kicked Timmy to the curb; that’s rough, huh? Didn’t you replace someone before? And we all know that went wonderfully; tell me, does Dick talk to you still?”

Batman says nothing.

“And we all know I blew up; now that was a party!” His eyes flash and Wanda holds to her magic. “Are you fucking insane? Putting another kid, a child, through that!”

“I’m not a child.”

“Quiet, pipsqueek, the grown ups are talking.” Robin’s glare has no effect; Jason throws a hand out. “He’s ten!”

“Jason, enough.”

“No! Look at you, old man, you’re a fucking weirdo; you just can’t stop can you? Can’t stop filling that role, can’t stop putting them in danger; do you get off on it?”

“You know it’s not like that. He’s well trained, just needs a bit of guidance; with the proper tools, he’s a wonderful fighter.”

“You said that about me.” Jason breathes deeply. “He’ll be a good fighter until someone’s better than him; and there’ll always be someone better than him, because he’s a kid! A kid fighting against maniacs who’ve killed hundreds! When is Joker getting out of Arkham again?”

Batman doesn’t say anything, and Jason snaps.

“Why didn’t you ice him, like you had Bucky? Your little stasis machine works real nice by the way; Bucky’s having a nice long nap.”

“I didn’t want that to happen, Jason, you have to know that.”

He scoffs; Robin looks like maybe he’d rather be anywhere but here and Wanda feels a shot of pity. “Seems like you were real eager to donate a stasis to the Accords; did you really make it for medical purposes? Or were you planning on this?”

His silence is answer enough; the medical Stasis was a coverup. He’d planned for Bucky to lose it again. Jason pulls out a hand gun and empties the clip, Batman dodging and Robin jumping into action. Jason tosses the gun aside and leaps for another building, pulling Batman into a chase, and Robin tries to throw a batarang at the witch. She stops it midair with her magic but does not engage the child; he doesn’t deserve that.

“You don’t protect Gotham,” Wanda whispers on the breeze. “You just pretend.”

And then she too is disappearing into the night.

Later on, after they’ve had their fun and expelled their anger, Wanda patches up a cut on Jason shoulder from a batarang and he tears a napkin to pieces. She asks him again what he wants, here in Gotham, from Gotham.

“He’s not going to stop, is he? That kid’s going to have more scars than happy memories by the time he’s 12.” There’s a couple tabloids scattered over the mattress in their loft; pictures of Damian Wayne. He’s a cute kid, with a glare that’s like a drenched kitten. All Wayne and al Ghul; Jason shoves the magazines away.

“Jason.” Wanda calls softly; she’d stood up at one point, digging out a cellphone from one of their duffles, and indicates it softly. “I’m going to call Wade.”

He doesn’t stop her; if anyone can help him get this done, it’s Wade.

Somewhere, in a parking garage, with several dead bodies in a trail, is Deadpool. His ankle is facing backwards and he’s popping jokes to the man he’s currently choking out--“Well now, isn’t this kinky?”--when his cellphone rings. It causes pause and he considers ignoring it, but he decides against it; holding up a finger, he presses the man harder against the cement post.

“Hold that thought, sweetcheeks.” He digs his phone out of...somewhere, and accepts the call with a chipper yello.

“Wade,” comes the soft voice and he grins.

“Wanda! How’s it going? Been hearing great things about you and your boy toy. Where you guys at now? You should really visit Niagara Falls during your little trip, I hear it’s beautiful this time of year--all times of all years!”

“Wade,” she sounds serious so Wade squeezes the man’s neck a little harder. “Wade, we could use your help. Well, Jason needs your help.”

The phone gets passed around, a bit of fabric against the speaker and Wade holds it away from his ear; he gives his prey a noncommitted nod, as if to say he hasn’t forgotten about him.

“Wade.” That’s Jason, voice too serious, very deadly, a little bit insecure. “I need your help; can you back me up on this?”

“Come on now, little one, I don’t even know what this is; give me the juicy details. I’m dying from suspense!”

A lengthy pause. Wade thinks maybe the call has dropped but he just barely hears Jason breathing and so he waits, checking his nonexistent watch briefly before shrugging at the man still held in his clutches.

“I need to kill the Joker.”

With a twist of his hand, the man’s neck is snapped and Wade goes for the door. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

There’s a kaleidoscope of light painted across the plush airplane carpeting of the private jet; Loki thinks it an odd show of superiority, all the fancy vinyl panelling and and brown shag carpet, even the ice in Tony’s cup of whiskey is overly rated. It’s the same unnecessary aesthetic as a gold gilded horse saddle; eye catching beauty on something meant for purpose.

Skuld hisses laughter, whispering against Loki’s ear a humored joke: “Mjolnir is hardly beautiful but oh so very practical, yes?”

Yes, but in a way that makes her beautiful. Power encased in sigiled stone.

Tony drains his whiskey, moves on to scotch, and rubs the space between his brows. “Run it by me again.”

“I should think with your intelligence it wouldn’t be that hard to understand,” Loki quips, if only to feel Skuld laugh against his skin, and is surprised Thor doesn’t jump to his friend’s defense. “The Norns dwell at the base of Yggdrasil, by their Well of Fate, and weave our lives into being.”

Tony waves his hand impatiently and Loki grits his teeth. “Yeah, yeah, and they splash their magic juice on the tree and what not.”

“Do not mock the Norns, Son of Stark.” Thor has a hard time looking away from the shimmer his brother is bathed in, oddly jealous in a reverent way. “They are the gods of the gods, and you will respect them.”

Natasha murmurs that again-- gods of the gods --as if that concept is too strange to comprehend; Skuld moves his chin from Loki’s right shoulder to his left, humming.

“She too I had hoped a better life for.”

“When Yggdrasil is watered, the Water of Fate drips from the branches and has been known to pool in the realms; this is hardly ever a problem, as most cannot ever find these puddles and those who do are given rejuvenation. Hardly a troubling issue when most live a lifetime of eons, but you mortals...you were always special.

You know these places, these puddles, by many names: the Fountain of Youth, the Lazarus Pit…” Loki leans closer because Rogers hasn’t looked at him in a while and this is very important. “Your boy, this Jason, was dipped in a pool to help heal his broken psyche and the Norns found pity in his string of fate. They offered him healing and gave him parts of their power in penance for having tied his string so soon; a mortal has never been given godlike power before, let alone power above the pantheon.”

Tony reaches for the bottle of scotch again. “And so Jason is...unravelling space and time?”

“He is erasing people and places from existence; the rope the Norns are to weave is vanishing from their hands, their looms, before it is time. The universe has become unbalanced, and to restore it, to heal Yggdrasil, we have to return the power to the Norns.” They don’t need to know the details, how the power will be returned to the Well of Fate and how Yggdrasil’s healing won’t be instantaneous; that is for the Norns to worry about.

“And how will that be done?” T’challa is as honorable as any king should be; he holds very little judgements towards Loki, only expressing an interest in both the mythologies and his knowledge. “Will it harm him?”

“No,” Loki answers; he sees Thor shift, as if unsure, and repeats it again with more conviction. “No, he will not be harmed; the Norns will remove the power but leave him intact in every other way. The magic will be gone, but his psyche will still be whole.”

For a moment, there is blissful silence; then, Tony huffs in frustration and locks eyes with Loki.

“Okay, but run it by me one more time.”

Skuld snickers at Loki’s displeasure, which is just enough to keep him from throwing the idiotic mortal off the plane.

In Gotham, Wade steps onto the roof; Jason is lighting a cigarette with the embers of another one, and Wade frowns. He walks over, loud enough to be noticed, and taps a bottle of beer against the kid’s shoulder.

“If you’re gonna kill yourself slowly, at least do it with something tasty and fun.”

Jason huffs out a laugh, but it’s quiet and soft, not quite broken. Sad all the same; he takes the offered alcohol but doesn’t snuff out the smoke. “Thanks for coming, Wade. It means a lot.”

“So you’ve said, buddy, about twelve times now.” Wade sits next to him on the heating unit. “Tell me what the plan is.”

“I don’t even know. I just...I know Bruce isn’t going to stop, he’s shown that by bringing on another kid, and I…” Jason digs out another cig, tries to light it with the other one but his hands are shaking too much, and Wade takes both from him; he squishes them into the little pile at their feet. Enough smoking. “Fuck, Wade! Dick I get; I mean, he started Robin, he made it himself. Me? Sure, whatever, a wild street kid who stole the wheels off the batmobile; I practically put myself into the role. Tim I get too, in the long run; grief and trauma, whatever, and Tim helped Bruce through it.

“Even that though… You think he would’ve stopped after… After.”

The older man hums. “This new one though, what makes him different from you three?”

“He’s a child! He’s ten!” Jason reaches for the little box again, then tosses it in frustration when it turns up empty. “He shouldn’t be fighting for his life every day! No one should…”

“The solution?”

A pause; in Gotham there’s no silence though and cars rumble in the streets, machinery hums and groans, and on occasion a crow may call.

“Joker needs to die. Not for me--not just for me--but for everyone that comes after me. And the cemeteries he’s filled.”

Wade grins and his skin cracks. “Are we gonna rip out his heart still beating? Break all his bones ‘til his skull caves into his brain? Ohh, I’m thinking electrocution!”

“A bullet to the brain. Nothing fancy, nothing drawn out, fuck knows he deserve it all.” The boy runs a hand through his hair. “No, I just want him gone as quick as possible.”

“Like taking out the trash.”

It’ll take some planning; Joker is locked in Arkham and Jason would rather not give him the chance to escape before they can stop him. A few days worth of bumbling about in Arkham’s security system, frustrations rising, before Wanda mentions bringing Tim in. Jason shoots her down very quickly.

“He helped us with Hydra, why wouldn’t he help us with this?”

“Because we’re on his turf this time.” Jason frowns at the bagel she’s offering him; well, the sun is coming up so he supposes it’s about time for breakfast. “He’s not going to defy the Batman just for us.”

Wade sniffs loudly over on the couch where he’s passed out, mumbling something about pizza, and Wanda grabs a spare blanket from the floor, shakes it out, and then forces herself besides Jason on the lounge chair. Jason wriggles to make room then knows better than to resist when Wanda pulls him close.

“He defied the Accords panel; is that not of higher authority than Batman?”

He laughs at that; quietly, like an inside joke because it is. “You’ve never worked with Batman, with Bruce. He trumps everything.”

Wanda hums, if ever quietly, and a contemplative silence overtakes the room; Jason scarfs down the bagel and realizes just how tired he is. He hunkers down next to his best friend, listens to her soft breathing, nose twitching when her hair brushes his skin. For now, he can ignore the frustrations of the Joker, of Batman and Arkham and the Accords. He closes his eyes.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, Jason.”

He groans, all in good nature, and presses his chin into her shoulder. “Fine,” he knows how persistent she can be. “But it’s not gonna work.”

They meet for coffee, two once-Robins, and Jason feels like they’re closer for the role; Tim talks about starting a subsidiary of WayneCorps, a more hands on approach to social services for the homeless and orphaned, about his plans for Drake Industries.

“You’re gonna take over Drake Industries? I thought you’d given up on that a long time ago.”

Tim shrugs. “I’ve got time on my hands now, and I know I can do a lot of goods if I take my place as the Drake heir.” He rips the napkin to pieces. “Guess it’s a good thing I stayed Drake.”

“Drake-Wayne, you lucky sunovabitch.”

Tim chuckles. “You didn’t ask me out here to talk about corporate bureaucracy; I heard you ran into Bruce and Damian.”

“Yeah; and you’re right, I hate politics. So I’m not gonna be political about this, Tim; I need your help getting into Arkham.”

Tim surprises him by sipping his coffee as calmly as always, as if Jason hasn’t just asked him to commit yet another crime; Tim sets his cup down very dliberately. “You’re going after Joker.”

The table shakes with Jason’s frantic movements. “Scars’ll fade, Tim, but the kid will be dead forever; Joker’s the only one who’s gotten away with killing a Robin. And take my word for it: it’s not fun.”

Tim holds up a hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me; the amount of times I’ve thought about doing it. For you and Barbara, for everyone else… But it’s not gonna be that easy, Jason; Barbara’s been involved with updating their system, and you know how impenetrable her gear is. I can’t just type a few lines of code and call it a day.”

“I just need to get in; give me five minutes, hell give me 30 seconds! I just need to get in; I’ve already got a distraction ready to minimize the police reaction time, and Deadpool’s coming in with me so he’s got my back. I swear I won’t hurt anyone but Joker. Tim.” He ducks down to catch the other’s gaze, eyes wide and imploring, almost begging. “Please. Just 30 seconds. I just need 30 seconds.”

For a minute they just stare at each other; a couple walks in on a sweet coffee date, approaching the counter with hands held tight together. Tim turns to watch them, quickly drains his coffee cup, then stands to leave. He puffs into his jacket then snatches Jason’s untouched drink.

“I can do that; just tell me when.”

Chapter Text

Tim swats at the mud caked boots spreading dirt all over his beautiful Armani couch. “Jason, I swear…”

“No you don’t; you flinch whenever I say fuck.”

Tim rolls his eyes--he does too swear, if quietly under his breath--but lets his brother laugh it up; he turns his attention back to the laptop in front of him. He’s lucky that Bruce, despite their falling out, hadn’t blocked his login to the batcave’s equipment; he can access some of Barbara’s brilliant coding from here, and work on a momentary malware for Arkham’s security.

He doesn’t know why Jason decided to spend the day at his apartment, but he’s not really complaining. He knows this isn’t easy for Jason; the idea of a new Robin never sat well with him, even when Tim was Robin, and to see a little kid in that position… After losing everything else; Tim pities him. He won’t say it out loud, won’t treat him like a delicate flower, because Jason is anything but delicate. But still...Tim pities him…

“Yo, let me borrow your login.”

Tim eyes him. “Why?”

Jason shrugs. “It’s boring just sitting and watching; lemme look at some of B-man’s files. I could really do some good work if I have his intel.”

“Your login is still active, ya know.”

There’s a pause. “Wait, seriously?”

“Bruce never deactivated it.”

“That seems like a security risk.”

Tim shrugs and clicks into a new tab. “I just think he never got around to it after you…”

“Died; you can say it, Timmers, don’t be such a pansy.”

“After you died.”

Jason pulls his phone from the coffee table and digs his feet firmly into the couch cushions, using his phone to pull up the security cameras in the cave. He gives a low whistle. “Damn, not much has changed. He’s got bigger monitors, think he’s compensating for something?”

Tim huffs, fondly tells the other boy to shut up. They lapse into a silence where Tim feels like he can finally concentrate; if he reroutes power momentarily from the security system, he may be able to delay the backup generators from coming online which should allow Jason enough time to slip in undetected. The only problem is that might give the inmates time to escape their cells, and that would cause too many issues; he could certainly see if he could divide the power centers, allowing the cell doors to stay powered and locked while the rest of the security system shuts down...

It would be harder and take him more time to prepare, but it’s certainly feasible. He turns to run it by Jason but the words get lodged in his throat; sometime during Tim’s planning, Jason swung into a sitting position and his shoulders have tensed up, so much so Tim wonders if his bones are cracking beneath the pressure. He’s glaring in bewilderment at the phone in his hand and Tim catches what appears to be a zoomed in angle of…

“Shit.” It slips out, because Tim hadn’t thought about that, hadn’t thought about that in a while. Because Jason wasn’t dead and the case had been there for so long that it all just faded away, became something noticeably unnoticeable, disgustingly horrific.

Jason’s eyes have gone vacant and they reflect a glow against Tim’s coffee table. He doesn’t say anything, however, and Tim lets out another curse.

“Jason, I’m sorry I should have warned you about that. I just, it’s been there for so long and--”

The older boy stands and goes for the balcony door and Tim just barely has enough time to jump to his feet before Jason’s gone, leaving the phone tossed on the floor with a clear picture of a ripped Robin suit preserved for eternity.

A few days later sees Charles Xavier in Gotham. He hadn’t ever planned on making a trip to Gotham, but there are always going to be unplanned events in his life; the best he can do is face them with dignity, so he greets his friend with a smile when the private jet lands. T’challa too greets him with a smile and they clasp hands when T’challa embraces him.

“My friend, it has been too long. I am sorry to have pulled you away from your children, however.”

Charles dismisses the apology with a wave of his hand. “Please, this is important; I’m happy to offer my assistance.”

T’challa introduces the professor to his companions and Charles has something kind to say to everyone; a thank you to Steve for his efforts in World War II, an expressed interest in StarkIndustries various advancements, respect to both Thor and Loki, an offer to Natasha to teach self-defense at his school, and he asks Sam if the Falcon wings are difficult to maneuver.

“Professor Xavier has been helping keep track of Wanda and Jason,” T’challa explains. “His telepathic powers are powerful, and he was kind enough to offer his services when I asked.”

“I refuse to do more than offer mental assistance when the boy gets too unstable, so I won’t be able to tell you what his plans are or where exactly he is located within Gotham; but he is highly agitated, and Wanda too seems ready for a fight at any moment. I fear something terrible will happen if we don’t reach them soon.”

“I can guess why he’s come here,” Steve speaks up. “The Joker is here; he’s come for revenge, hasn’t he?”

Charles nods contemplatively. “There is a lot of anger in the boy.”

“We’ll need to talk with Batman; it’s part of the Accords laws.” Tony adjusts his sunglasses and frowns out across the smogy pavement. “An Avenger isn’t allowed to encroach upon a League member’s territory without their permission.”

“I doubt,” Steve chimes in, “that Jason asked for Batman’s permission before trying to lay claim to Gotham.”

“Then he probably already knows the boy is here.” T’challa waves them to an awaiting SUV and Tony claims the driver’s seat. “Hopefully the Batman will be willing to work together on this issue; how can we get in contact with the Batman?”

Charles quietly thanks Natasha for storing his wheelchair for him as he settles into the passenger seat of the car. “I’ve heard he works closely with the police department, so we should be able to get a message to him through there.”

“A hero who’s an enigma to his own people.” Sam shakes his head. “Doesn’t quite seem right.”

They are directed, by the Commissioner no less, to await Batman on the roof of the PD building that night; the Commissioner lights a spotlight of the bat symbol and they converse as they wait in the chilly night air. Eventually, Batman does arrive and he lands heavily on the roof’s edge.

“Gordon,” he calls gruffly, “now’s not a good time.”

“Some of the Avengers are here to talk to you.”

Batman doesn’t say anything so Tony takes that as an initiative; he steps forward. “Not sure if you know, but Wanda and Jason, Steve’s kid, seems to have come to Gotham; he’s being a little bit of a brat and we’re going to totally put him in timeout for any problems he’s caused you but we were hoping you’d give us permission to work in your jurisdiction and take him back to the Accords panel to face his consequences.”

Batman breathes deeply, then huffs out “no”. He quickly turns to leave but Loki blinks into existence in front of him; he presses a boney finger against Batman’s chest armor, unamused.

“You will give us permission, though quite frankly this is all a droll formality; Jason is currently destroying the very existence of the universe and he is nearly ready to swallow it all whole.” Loki, surprisingly, needs to stand on tiptoe to get into Batman’s face and he momentarily wonders if the man has stilts in his boots. He sneers; what fragile egos these mortals have. “You won’t have a domain if you don’t accept our presence in this fight.”

Batman brushes the god’s hand aside, clearly offended, but he doesn’t leave. “What power are you talking about?”

Skuld, still, always, wrapped about Loki’s body laughs heavily. “You will never be done explaining it, will you?”

Loki grumbles, then pointedly looks at Thor. “It’s your turn, dear brother.”

It takes some discussing, a lot of compromises, but eventually Batman allows them some power in his city. “What exactly is your plan?”

“First,” T’challa begins, “we need to get Jason into custody. It will be difficult to get a hold of him with Wanda at his side, so it would be best to separate them before attempting capture; once separated, Loki and Steve should be able to contain Jason and Loki will extract the power from him.

“From there, it should be no problem to transfer him out of your city.”

Charles hums, hands steepled. “Him and the girl will be assigned under my watch; I run a school for...gifted children, one where they are supervised and cared for, taught how to properly use their powers for good. I signed an agreement with the Accords so I could keep my school running under legal means.” T’challa had facilitated the agreement, as he seemed to handle most of the Accords’ dealings, and Charles was very happy with the freedom he was given under the agreement.

“A literal timeout!” Tony quips, but Charles shakes his head.

“A bit more severe than that; he will be wearing a monitor bracelet and be given community service. Think of it as a form of juvenile detention for a powered child.”

Batman ponders this for a moment, then nods once. “Fine, but I will be assisting with Jason’s capture. If this is as dire a situation as your trickster says it is, then this needs to be done very soon.”

Across the city, Reaper and Deadpool stand side by side, watching the illuminated entrance of Arkham; many blocks away, Wanda builds her magic in her hands, gives Red Robin a cheeky thumbs up, and explodes chaos into the city.

Chapter Text

The group of superheroes work together well; they follow the police response to where Wanda is destroying buildings, tossing cars into the air like a crazed juggler, and a pipeline bursts under her magic. She laughs; there is no mask in place, though Jason hoodie is still draped around her shoulders. She welcomes Batman with open arms, eyeing the Avengers warily, grin wavering.

“Welcome to the show!”

“Wanda,” Natasha tries but she is greeted with a blast of magic that she just manages to dodge.

“Where is Jason?”

Wanda floats on waves of red, legs crossed, and leans her chin into her hand. “Don’t worry about him; I want you to play with me tonight. Aren’t the fires a worry?”

Batman narrows his eyes at her, motioning for the police to hang back; there’s an aborted chirp in his gauntlet, and he pulls up the alert in his eye display. A momentary alarm at Arkham, stopped in its broadcast by an outside source… “She’s a distraction!”

Wanda’s grin widens, but before Batman can inform the others where the real threat is she engages them in battle; it’s a messy situation, having to face off all of the Avengers and Batman, but she manages somehow. She stays out of their reach, most of the Avengers missing their equipment anyway, and keeps them occupied with civilian danger--she would never actually harm the civilians, but it’s easy enough to make a flung car look like it will impact right atop a business woman’s head.

Eventually, it’s just her and Batman standing face to face; her chest heaves from the exertion of the fight and he too seems winded.

“Why is Jason at Arkham? Is he going to release them all?”

Wanda laughs; she shakes her head. “You really think so little of him; he came here to save Gotham, not condemn it. Unlike you, he’s reasonable.”

“I am reasonable.”

“Yes!” She laughs again, absently exploding a gas line when T’challa and Steve start heading their way. “You’re so reasonable you willingly donated a Stasis to keep Bucky in check; tell me, Jason’s dying to know, did you even make the Stasis for medical purposes? Or were you always waiting for Bucky to make a mistake?”

He tosses a batarang her way, trying to inch closer, but she delicately floats out of reach again. “I always have contingency plans; Barnes was no different. Sometimes a sacrifice has to be made to keep the world safe.”

“Killing one man won’t save the world!” She knows Bucky isn’t dead but sometimes it feels like he is.

Batman has pieced together their plan and he frowns. “Neither will killing the Joker.”

Her anger morphs into understanding, a soft smile gracing her face as she huffs out a laugh. “Oh; no, killing the Joker will not save the world. But it will save Jason, a boy I’ve grown to love and admire; that is enough for me.”

Loki grabs her wrist suddenly, preventing her from sending another burst out against the city. “So he’s at Arkham, is he?”

She twists to get away from him, but Batman is upon her; he grabs her other hand and she grits her teeth, boiling in her chest. She releases the burst of magic, sending Batman flying and Loki blinks out of existence. While she finds a better vantage point, Loki appears behind Steve.

“Rogers, I know where he is.” Loki places a hand on the man’s shoulder then nods to Skuld; the Norn opens another portal and they are flying against the stars.

At Arkham, Jason lets Wade lead through the cold facility; any security they happen upon on--which is slim, thanks to Wanda’s explosive distraction--are quickly and kindly dispatched into sleep. Wade had studied the layout of the facility and while Jason knows it better, the older man had insisted on taking point.

“No sense in you using up all your courage before the real fight happens.”

He appreciates that; Arkham is as terrifying as it had been when he was little. A cold box where the Rogues rot away planning their escape, plotting their next great show; Jason shudders in the shadows and Wade watches him closely.

“You okay?”

He nods; “let’s keep going.”

They turn down another hallway and Jason gives finger gun to a security camera; Tim is no doubt on the other side and he hopes the action makes Tim scoff a laugh. He also hopes it makes him look braver than he feels right now.

“Sweet tart!”

Jason stops, turns to look at the woman who called to him; he finds himself breaking out into a fond smile and hopes she can tell from his eyes. “Harley.” She wasn’t there that night, and she had always been fun during his Robin days.

She takes in his new outfit, pressing close to the glass; her shirt collar shifts and he sees one of her various Pudding tattoos obliterated. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye you, sweet tart; heard about you and the Avengers! You’re doing some nice shit out there.”

It’s always been odd how they’ve known Batman and Robin’s identity yet do nothing with it. “Thanks, Harley.”

“Who’s your friend?” Wade flutters his eyes under his facemask, hoping to exude hearts all around him. “She’s pretty~!”

Jason rolls his eyes and Harley cocks a hip. “You’re not too shabby yerself, boyo, but I’m taken.” She rolls up her sleeve to showcase a beautiful ivy wrapping about her arm, Poison Ivy’s name in elegant script. “Why are you here, sweet tart?”

“Joker.” He watches her reaction, but she gives nothing away. “I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

She laughs. “Are you kiddin’? I dumped his ass years ago.” She lays a hand against the glass, as if to cup Jason’s cheek. “When he did that to you. You were just a baby, it was so wrong. Showed me everything else that was wrong with him, sweet tart; he’s nothing to me now.”

He nods appreciatively; Wade gives them a moment before gently drawing Jason’s attention. “We should go.”

They part with soft goodbyes, but Harley calls him back. “Sweet tart!” She flexes goofily, smiling softly. “Give him a good ol’ right hook for me, yeah?”

He smiles and throws her a thumbs up. “You got it, Harley.”

They make it to Joker’s secluded corner with little other problems; they’ve made a specific section of Arkham just for Joker, full of reinforced doors and a solitary confinement cell. They stand before the final door and Wade motions to the security camera to wait; he knows Jason needs a moment.

“Remember,” Wade mutters, tossing a comforting arm around the teenagers shoulders. “I’m right here with you, Jay.”

A few deep breaths and Jason squares his shoulders; he looks up to the camera and gives one decisive nod.

The door slides open and before Joker can even register who is standing there, Jason’s fist connects with his jaw; the clown falls down to the rough floor, wheezing out laughs. Wade shadows Jason as the boy steps into the cell.

“That was from Harley,” Jason greets, flexing his fist; he shifts, draws his steel toed boot up. “And this is from me.”

He slams it downwards, reveling in the splattering of blood as the Joker’s nose cracks.

Outside, Loki and Steve have appeared on the Arkham lawn however Loki seems to have no urgency in approaching the building; Steve falters in his march and steps closer to Loki, who is currently examining a sign before plopping regally down.

“What are you doing? We need to get Jason.”

Loki looks up from his well manicured nails. “We can let him finish his business first.”

Steve’s brow furrows.

Loki turns back to his nails, picking invisible dirt from beneath them; Skuld purrs happily. “The Norns do not find this erasure of life problematic.”

Back in Joker’s cell, the man lays bleeding and wheezing; Wade’s fists are stained red, and even Jason got some good hits in. Jason didn’t want to torture the Joker, but a beat down is deserving and makes him less of a threat; it gives Jason time to build courage.

Jason unholsters a gun from his thigh, ignoring Joker’s ramblings; he breathes in startled breaths when Joker pushes himself to his knees.

“Ahh,” Joker laughs, smacking his lips together. “The prodigal son returns! My best joke came back a haunting ghost! Ahaa!” He laughs, coughs, chin against his chest.

Deadpool circles Jason, dangerous but not feared, and the Joker laughs and laughs and laughs; he pulls his mask off with one hand and the other slides down Jason’s arm, grips the gun with the teenager, and Deadpool whispers over his shoulder.

“You want this?”

Reaper, Jason , nods; god, he’s dreamed of this for ages! He’s dreamed of freedom and safety, and here it is within reach; it seems too good, like this can’t be real. But Wade, steady at his back, feels real, and the gun in his hand weighs heavy and the haunting laughter of his murderer, torturer, this criminal scum, the sound itches through his mind.

“You really want this? You can back out; do you want this?”

He adjusts his grip, wets his lips, stares into Joker’s crazed eyes; Jason nods again, more determined, and Deadpool smiles. His finger curls with Jason’s over the trigger, both aiming the weapon, two vigilantes seeking vengeance for wrongs committed.

“So pull the trigger.”

The gunfire echoes through Arkham, silences the laughter, draws out a startled bubbling of joy in Jason’s chest; Joker slumps, falls to the side, still. He stares down at the white faced man at his feet, brain matter splattered over the walls, blood pooling on the pristine floor. Joker looks vulnerable, face twisted into one final joking grin, eyes wide and unseeing, but he lays at Jason’s feet and it feels like the world comes together then; like the pieces slot into place, like the sun shines.

Deadpool crouches, his scarred face wide in a grin as he pokes at the dead thing; Jason unbelievingly covers his face with his free hand, still gripping tight to the gun. He’s not sure who pulled the trigger but he doesn’t care; it was why Wanda called Wade for him, to make sure this happened.

And it did. The Joker is dead and it was so easy and Jason bursts with laughter; breathy, wheezy, too elated to understand why he feels like he’s floating, why his hands tingle, or why he’s crying.

There’s a hand slipping the gun from him, an arm going around his shoulders, and Jason shrieks out peals of laughter that sound more like sobs in the middle of a crime scene. There’s a weightlessness to him, as if his soul has gone and he’s watching everything from afar, feeling himself drown in relief. He thinks there are no most monsters in this world.

Chapter Text

T’challa knew there were going to be issues as soon as Wanda started leading them over to Arkham; their plan is fully based on keeping Wanda and Jason separated. Putting them together is, as Charles put it earlier, like adding nitroglycerin to a stick of dynamite; they’re each holding a can of gasoline and a lighter. At any moment, Charles had warned, they could go aflame.

T’challa runs through the ruins of the street Wanda has just passed through, eyes searching for anyone in need; but this was a construction zone and no one seems to have been present when she crushed a support pillar and let the building fall into another one. She’s drowning but she’s not so far gone yet.

Wanda spots Loki lounging against Arkham’s sign, Steve restless besides him, but she runs past them; the door to Arkham is opening and out steps Jason, Wade just behind him, and she skitters to a stop in front of Jason. She searches his face for...something, concern across her face.

It takes him a few seconds to seem to recognize her, then he smiles softly and tension leaves her body; he throws an arm around her and draws her close in an embrace. She grips him close.

“Was it everything you wanted?” she asks.

“He’s gone,” Jason says. “Won’t change the past but the future’s safe now.”

“Jason!” that’s Batman’s voice, gruff and angry. “What have you done?”

T’challa shoves Loki, and the god shifts to his feet. “You were supposed to extract the power; what were you thinking waiting?”

“The Norns called for a death, so we waited.”

Natasha frowns. “Who’s death?”

It’s Batman who answers, scowl always firmly in place, this time so disappointed. “Joker.”

Steve thinks that’s alright, if a little saddened that Jason had to be the one to do it; Natasha seems to have little opinion, same for Sam, and T’challa frowns. Tony shrugs in his armor.

“Think he left the body this time?”

Steve glares, and Loki tries to ignore Skuld; the Norn is watching him closely, expecting him to jump into action and apprehend Jason. But Loki doesn’t want to; once the power is gone, the Norns will be too and he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to say goodbye to Skuld, the beautiful god who has yet to leave his side for all these months, warm and kind and ever sweet.

While Batman and the others square off against the trio, throwing quips and arguments and attempting to find a weak spot, Skuld releases his grip on Loki’s waist. He steps in front of the trickster, face soft and understanding.

“You can’t postpone, Loki; it must be done.”

“And then you’ll be gone.”

A tender smile graces Skuld’s face; he brushes his knuckles against Loki’s skin. “And if you don’t do this, there will be no chance of reunion; the worlds will end, and I with them. You will suffer and be no more. This way, allowing us to return the power to our Well, we could meet again.”

Loki thinks he would rather let the worlds end; but he also knows how much this ordeal has pained Skuld and his siblings, and he can’t be the perpetrator of more pain. Beyond Skuld’s shoulder, Jason pops a shot off at Batman, Wade is attempting to slip away into the shadows, and Wanda winds magic about her fists that connect with Natasha’s chin. “Tell me what to do.”

Skuld steps ever closer, leans in until they share the same air, then hesitates as if to kiss him. “You know what to do; we gave you the other one for a reason. Let him go to them.”

Briefly, Loki chases the Norn for the almost-affection; but he swiftly dodges the motion and Loki is left wanting. He takes a deep breath, feeling Skuld’s arms go around his shoulders once more, and concentrates on the pocket of space Urd and Verdandi oversee. He waves his hand in the air, watches a spot just beyond Jason and Wanda shimmer in awed glory, and there’s a gentle ripping that happens; within moments, Pietro comes stumbling out upon the asylum lawn.

“Wanda!” he calls out, and the witch falters in her attack; she turns quivering eyes behind her, and Pietro’s smile turns to Jason’s tense shoulders. “Jason!”

The boy doesn’t turn around, attention still fixed on his opponent; Wanda however has abandoned all efforts to fight and with a shrieking cry she goes running for her brother. They greet each other with a much needed embrace, Wanda crying and Pietro so happy to be alive again; finally, Jason turns his gaze very carefully to the siblings.

Loki steps pass the gathered heroes, pointedly doesn’t respond to his brother’s worried gaze; he stops close to Jason, not so close to touch but close enough that he will be the boy’s main focus. Blessedly, Skuld is still with him.

“The Norns wish you well, Jason.”

The boy glares at him, then his eyes soften, brow furrowed; his gaze is just over Loki’s shoulder.

“The power you possess is destroying everything, a gift given in a moment of remorse; but your misuse, your overuse of it, has caused too many issues.” Loki takes a deep breath. “It’s time you give it back now.”

Jason thinks of choking on green magic, his lungs filling with the toxic water. “Tell me he didn’t go in the Lazarus Pit.”

“He did not,” Skuld steps forward, away from Loki, and Loki realizes the boy can see him too. “My siblings and I reformed him before breathing life into him; another gift, one we need not ever take back, in exchange for the power you hold.”

For a moment, all is still; Wanda has yet to release her brother, overjoyed at his presence, pleased that he breathes once more. Finally, Jason turns his gaze to the ground and tosses aside his gun; he offers his wrists almost mockingly.

“I don’t need it anymore anyway.”

Batman cleans up the mess, requesting the Avengers to leave his city as soon as possible. To do that, however, the power must be returned; in an interrogation room in Gotham’s police department sits Jason, unmoving. His wrists are bound to the table by handcuffs and he every now and then blinks blankly at the mirrored window across from him. He doesn’t feel like he’s being watched, but there’s still an inkling that someone stares back at him.

The door opens and in comes three beings of great power, followed closely by Loki; the trickster god waves a hand at the strangers.

“The Norns grace you with their presence; you should be honored.”

Urd comes to kneel by Jason’s chair, their face full of grief as they pet his hair in holy ministrations; Verdandi takes the other side of Jason, clutching a small clay jar close to her chest. She fits her slender fingers against the boy’s.

“We are sorry for your suffering.” Urd kisses his temple; his skin burns momentarily. “We are only the weavers of your story, not the authors of it; please do not be cross with us.”

Verdandi uncorks the jar, holding it up before Jason. “It will not hurt, our child, and you will still live for years to come.”

“Don’t fight it,” Skuld chimes in; he reaches across the table and presses his nails against Jason’s temple. “Let us do the work; you need only consent.”

Jason nods once, a bit shakily, and Skuld closes his vibrant eyes in concentration; all is still for a moment, and then Jason’s body arches in his chair, mouth flung open as smoke trails out of his skin and twists about Skuld’s fingers. Urd sings something deep and husky, and Verdandi holds the jar up higher in baited anticipation; finally, with a bundle of smoke in his hands, Skuld releases the boy and Jason goes loose.

Skuld holds the smoke to the jar, tips his hands just so, and the smoke turns to liquid as it drains into Verdandi’s jar; she quickly closes the top and clutches it close to her bosom. Urd wails momentarily, falling away from the boy, and Loki knows how they feel no longer being able to be a part of his life.

Sure enough, when Jason opens his eyes he can no longer see the Norns; he has a feeling they are still there, however, but the connection with them has been taken away. He feels empty without the storm inside, building and blowing and making him feel invincible. But an equivalent exchange was necessary; his power for Pietro. Wanda deserves it. He raises dull eyes to Loki.

“It is done,” the trickster declares and then he is blustering out of the room, leaving the boy alone.

Out in the corridor, the Norns drift in single file to a portal that Verdandi has called into being; she steps through first and Loki can just barely see her standing at the base of Yggdrasil, jar still clutched so close like a precious child. Urd too passes into their domain but Skuld does not leave just yet. He turns swiftly, cups Loki’s face, and kisses him fiercely; it is not like the embrace previously given, one to share information at the base of the world tree. It is heavy and wanting, and Loki’s eyes burn when it ends.

“We might meet again, dear one.” With a lingering touch, Skuld too disappears into the portal and Loki is left alone in the hallway.

By morning, there is an armored truck at the back of the building and T’challa escorts Jason to it; the boy is still in chains, as is Pietro and Wanda who already await him in the vehicle. Jason steps up and takes a seat on the bench opposite the twins; the doors are shut on the disappointed faces of Steve and Natasha, Bruce hovering somewhere in the shadows, and Jason breathes in the darkness.

“You know,” Pietro pipes up; his tone is teasing and happy. “I think you still owe me a kitten.”

Jason smirks; the engine turns over loud, the truck lurching into motion to wherever their destination is.  “Sorry,” he quips; he leans his head back, smiling at the way Wanda has curled against her brother’s side. “I gave them to Wanda.”

Four Months Later

There’s an ancient looking mantel clock ticking; it’s loud in the wood paneled room, but it’s better than if Jason was talking. He gnaws at a hangnail, eyeing the second hand tick tick tick . His ankle itches under the monitor bracelet. Across the practical if ginormous office desk sits Charles; his gaze is soft, patient, understanding and Jason halfheartedly wants to smack him upside his bald head.

Charles glances at his watch. Why? There’s a perfectly working clock right there; Jason plans how to sneak it out of Charles office without him noticing and hiding it somewhere in Charles’ room. Watch him get a good night of sleep then. Ha!

“Your privileges will continue to be hampered if you don’t talk to me, Jason.” Charles sighs, though it’s somehow patient too. “I need to see you progressing, but so far there’s very little I can do to help you.”

The skin by his nail bed rips and he sucks on the small droplets of blood, then examines the wound; he slouches further in his chair. “One thousand one,” he talks, because Charles wants him to talk; never specified about what. “One thousand two; one thousand three; one thousand four…”

In 20 more seconds, his hour long therapy session will be over and he can go back out into the hedge maze. No one bothers him there.

“Jason, there is a place for you here.”

He scoffs, then meets the professor’s eyes evenly. “No there’s not; I’m not powered like everyone else. I wasn’t born with it and when I had it they took it away. I don’t belong here.” He wants to elaborate more, but bites his tongue. He doesn’t belong anywhere, really, just being passed around from rich man to rich man to rich man. Maybe he belonged once, with Bucky, but Bucky is still frozen all these months later.

The clock chimes before Charles can respond and Jason hops upright, quickly heading for the door.

“Same time next week, profess?” he quips, pulling the door loudly shut behind him.

Charles’ presses a headache away with his fingers, kneading at the soft tissues of his temple. The twins were adjusting well, but Jason was a troubled child even before he had discovered his power; his life here was no different. His pranks were dangerous and bothersome, setting fire to a pair of oven mitts in the kitchen sink or drenching Hank in a bucket of mud; he was no longer assigned to trimming the hedges because he’d trimmed a very distasteful if surprisingly anatomically correct shape out of them.

Not only that, but with the way the political climate is going… The newspaper sits bravely in the center of his desk. Charles sighs and rereads the headline lambasted across the front page.

Mutants: a Subspecies Worthy of Eradication?

There will be tough times ahead, he ponders as he looks out across the vast expanse of his estate; kids mingle about playing tag and the older ones compare books, notes, and handheld games. If he can keep them safe, however, then it will all be worth it.