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It’s cold, the night the sky cracks.
Fred’s shivering with it; he hadn’t put a jacket on, in his mad dash out of the house to try and find the source of the screams. His rifle is shaking in his hands, the torch braced on top of it sending out a wavering beam of light - he tells himself it’s just from the cold.
Everything’s quiet. Somehow that’s worse than the screams, even though it’s just… wind moving through the wheat, birds and bats flying across the sky, someone behind him--
Fred whirls, prepared to pull the trigger, but thankfully recognises Jimmy before he does.
"Jus’ me,” Jimmy says, leaning out of the torchlight with his hands half-heartedly raised. “Got the kids an’ Lyssa settled. Find whatever that screamin’ was yet?”
Fred shakes his head. Jimmy steps up beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching. He hasn’t got a jacket either, just his sweaty wife beater.
“Could just be the foxes,” Fred offers, almost humorous.
“‘s not foxes,” Jimmy responds. “I’d recognise foxes.”
Guess that is in the skillset of a farmhand. Fred nods over eastward. “Think it came from over there.”
They trudge in that direction. It’s a little more bearable with someone else shivering along beside him, Fred considers.
“There,” Jimmy notes, nodding across the way.
Fred raises his rifle and stalks up to the blot in farmland, getting closer and closer until he recognises--
“Christ, Jimmy, that’s a kid,” he breathes, throwing his rifle over his back and jogging over until he reaches the kid-- young man, really, but by God he looks small-- and crouches down beside him.
He’s comatose, but in pain, if the way he’s hunched around himself says anything. Fred tosses his torch to the side, reaches inside the kid’s red scarf to feel a flutter-light pulse against the warm skin of his neck. Sits back on his haunches.
“Jesus, man,” Fred mutters. “Who is he?”
“Don’t think who’s what you should be askin’,” Jimmy says. When Fred looks up, Jimmy nods eastward further, and Fred turns his flashlight to the mile-long crater behind them, like some kind of almighty car crash, stopping right along the curve of the boy’s shoulders and back.
Talos visits the cafe on Saturday, like he has every Saturday for the past thirty years. Fury is already sitting at an outdoors table, like he has been for every Saturday for the past thirty years, his coffee in front of him and Talos’ tea still steaming next to a slice of mud cake.
“Good morning,” Talos says.
Fury grunts.
“Someone is grumpier than usual,” Talos notes.
“Something’s going to go wrong, I’m sure of it,” Fury says, and behind him the street vanishes in a beam of blinding white light.
When it fades and Talos’ eyes readjust, there’s a man. He’s beautiful, hulkish, visibly without need for armour but wielding a weapon anyway: a broadsword glowing with that blinding light, familiar but unintelligible glyphs carved down its length. The warrior - because there’s nothing else he can be - stabs the sword into the ground, seeming uninterested in how it must dull the blade, and stands properly, judging the rings on his fingers like they mean something.
“Shit,” he mutters, just loud enough for Talos to hear. “Not here. Okay.”
Fury sighs. Stands. Pulls his gun, turns, and demands, “The hell you doing on Earth, Invader Zim?”
The warrior blinks up from his hand, and Talos almost starts at the purple eyes - the same as G’iah’s, shatteringly beautiful - before he blinks and he’s just a human, maybe early twenties at most, with grey-blue eyes and pale skin, a purple hoodie and piercings all through his ears.
“Um,” he says. “Hi?”
“You’re a skrull,” Fury says, something confused under the firm apathy of his voice.
“He’s not,” Talos corrects, because Fury couldn’t tell a skrull from a skifflefuffle.
“Half,” the warrior interrupts, head tilted curiously and wrist resting on the handle of his sword. “I’m half skrull. On my mother’s side. Who are you?”
“Motherfucker, you’re the one that magicked here with Excalibur,” Fury snaps. “Who are you?”
The warrior’s hand adjusts protectively on the hilt. He judges Fury first, then Talos, and eventually answers, “Teddy Kaplan-Altman.” Then, grey-blue eyes on Talos, “Dorrek.”
Talos sits down.
Fury glances at him. Back at Dorrek, who’s graduated to a satisfied smile, most of his weight on his sword. Back down at Talos, this time with a raised eyebrow. Talos shakes his head, still in shock.
“Sit down,” Fury orders. “Let’s chat.”
“Kid’s awake,” Bucky calls from the doorway of the kitchen. It’s a good day, today, if he’s speaking without being prompted. Steve’s wary to make sure his haste doesn’t look aggressive when he turns off the stove and stacks his waffles on one of their chipped plates, superglued back together.
“Coherent?” Steve asks as Bucky steps out of the doorway, arm wrapped around his ribs, to make room for him.
He just gets a shrug. Steve takes it.
Their living room is small, worn, with a lumpy couch and drooping armchair. Steve can’t afford much more, and Bucky isn’t used to much more. The window’s lockable, like that can fight off the ever-present paranoia, but that clearly didn’t stop the kid, who’s swung a leg out and is ducking under the frame.
(Not seeing the jump, just hearing the screams, watching the civilians on the street pointing up at the sky, rushing into the road before he even registers that it’s a figure falling--)
Steve forces his voice gentle. “Hey.”
The kid starts, but keeps their balance, green eyes flicking over at Steve, at Bucky back in the doorway. “Greetings.”
(Oh, the figure saying when they land, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open, you.)
The kid’s eyes catch on the plate in Steve’s hands, and Steve recognises the way they’re caught between.
“If you stay to eat them,” Steve offers, nodding towards the coffee table tucked away next to the armchair, “they’re yours.”
They want to, Steve can see it in the desperation in their eyes when they look back up at him. “Poisoned?”
(A peace sign, weakly pressed into his shoulder - I’m good now, I promise.)
(Please don’t hurt me.)
“Blueberry,” Steve jokes, gentle, gentle.
The kid evaluates. “You… really don’t know who I am?”
“I know I caught you falling from skyscraper height, and now you’re trying to jump out the window,” Steve offers. “I don’t know who you are, but I know what you do.”
The kid watches him for a long moment, before sighing and sliding back into the room. They take the plate straight from Steve’s hands, walking past both him and Bucky to eat in the kitchen. “Now, if you’d kindly get in contact with Thor, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Bucky tilts his head almost imperceptibly - Steve nods in acknowledgement of his confusion but just focuses on the kid for now, who’s picked up a fork and is frowning down at their shaking hand.
“You’ve been asleep for three days,” Steve explains.
“Ah. Understandable, then.” They stab into their waffles, cramming as much in their mouth as possible. Steve’s familiar with that too. “My thanks, Captain, for your hospitality and this meal.”
Steve turns his head away from Bucky’s curious eyes. “I’m not a captain of anything.”
“Unlikely,” the kid responds, eyes on their plate even with their fork pointed at Steve. “I’m very good with faces. Now, are we at all closer to getting in contact with Thor?”
(Chest heaving, exhaustion tugging at their eyelids, hand already falling back to their side - Tell Thor-- Tell him Beta Ray Bill is better.)
(Falling cold, like Steve’s suddenly cradling a corpse.)
“Kid,” Steve says, testing the waters with sitting across from them. They don’t run, but do turn sharp eyes to him, arm bracketing their plate.
“Kid,” Steve repeats, “Thor’s been missing for years.”
The kid stares, eyes flicking between Steve’s, searching for a lie. After a moment, they straighten, putting their hands on the table. “Ah,” they say. “Rjerdwrbr.”
And then they’re gone, leaving nothing but their plate and their fork, bent out of shape as if moulded to the shape of a fist.
Dorrek politely borrows a chair from the table beside them and seats himself on the third side of theirs, resting his sword against his thigh and tangling his fingers together, one leg up on his seat. Closer, Talos can recognise the freckles spattered across his cheeks, beside his eyes; the ring hanging from his nose and the studs through his eyebrow. This isn’t a borrowed form, he doesn’t think - this is one created from nothing.
“Where are you from?” Fury asks, first.
“A different dimension,” Dorrek answers. “Who are you?”
“Is Dorrek VII your father?” Talos asks.
“No, Mar-Vell’s my father,” Dorrek corrects. “He might be my grandfather?”
“Captain Marvel is a woman,” Fury tells him.
“Not Carol,” Dorrek returns. “Her predecessor, the kree Mar-Vell.”
“Ain’t she a woman too?” Fury asks Talos.
“She was,” Talos agrees.
“Huh,” Dorrek says. “Well, not in my universe. Who are you?”
“Who is your mother?” Talos asks.
“Who,” Dorrek repeats, patience seemingly worn thin, “Are. You.”
Talos can see it, how this man would be an emperor.
“Talos,” he introduces, holding out a hand that he allows to return to its natural state, before gesturing to Fury. “Nicholas.”
“Fury,” Fury corrects. “Just Fury.”
Dorrek glances over. “Oh. You’re white in my universe.”
Fury’s eyebrows raise.
“This is good, anyway,” Dorrek says, showing his teeth in his smile. “You can help me.”
“Help you?” Fury questions, judgement written into every movement.
“Nicholas,” Talos chastises. Then, to Dorrek, “What do you need our help with?”
“Bit of a long story,” Dorrek starts, spreading his hands.
“Try me,” Fury orders.
“Right. So.” Dorrek gestures with his hands. “There’s this thing, it’s called the Nyar-- the Ny-- Sorry, we’ve been calling it the Nyan Cat, because it’s hard to pronounce. The Nyarlathotep? It’s this multidimensional thing, right, one of Lovecraft’s, unfortunately. It, like, absorbs things and then takes their forms to use their powers, so it started dragging all the most powerful creatures in the multiverse to it-- Don’t worry, neither of you make the cut-- Unfortunately, my husband did, and a few of my friends, so there was this big fight, and this baby--” He pats his sword a few times, “--killed the Cat, but it exploded and sent all the multidimensional people randomly across all the universes. I’m not a multiversal creature, I was just home, but after a couple of days where no one else had come home I figured things had gone wrong and I’m essentially on a fetch quest. This is my first stop - my husband isn’t here, but one of the others are-- That’s how you two can help.” He folds his hands and smiles.
Fury blinks. Talos blinks.
“If… none of the interdimensional creatures are in your dimension,” Fury says, slowly and frowning, “How did you get here?”
“Court magician, husband’s notes, and a whole lot of luck.” Dorrek tilts his hand like it’s nothing. “Mur’gnn sent me to the closest dimension with a misplaced inhabitant, so even if my husband isn’t here, one of my people are.” He turns his eyes to Fury, face not quite cold. “If I could take a guess, I’d assume it’s America Chavez.”
It’s a Tuesday morning, and unlike most Tuesday mornings, there are alarms screaming, and commanders screaming, and a young woman where she absolutely shouldn’t be, also screaming.
“¡QUEDATE!” she screams, pointing at the dozens of soldiers filing in through the doorway who do, indeed, pause at the command, despite her weight being carried almost entirely by her elbow braced on a table. “Stay! Fuckin’-- Stay.”
She pushes herself to standing, arm shaking with the effort.
“Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground or we will shoot,” a voice on the speaker orders.
“I’d like to see you fuckin’ try,” she snarls, hands weakly raising in front of her face, curled into fists.
Fury’s hand closes.
Dorrek’s eyes flick down to the movement. “Should I assume, or should I ask?”
“She’s in custody,” Fury says.
“See, the thing is,” Dorrek says, readjusting again. “She’s, I didn’t want to mention, but I am a king. Emperor, actually. I should be the one to handle her sentence.”
“You’re not a king,” Fury states.
Talos clears his throat.
“He’s a king,” Fury demands.
“Emperor is a better term,” Talos agrees.
“In our universe?” Fury asks.
“Not yet,” Talos admits, “But he is prophesied.”
“I am prophesied,” Dorrek agrees. “So can I have America?”
“Is she a Skrull?” Fury asks.
“No--”
“Then she’s not your subject.”
Dorrek sighs. “I am King/Emperor of more than the Skrulls. King of Space, to be entirely honest. And America Chavez is a space being-- Actually, her home dimension is mine. A step-dimension, if you will.”
Fury frowns. “What?”
“My husband created her dimension,” Dorrek explains. “She’s one of his, uh… She’s one of his, which means she’s one of mine.”
“One of his what,” Fury demands.
“Nicholas,” Talos chastises again.
“It’s fine,” Dorrek tells Talos. “Uh, it’s a magic thing. Energies and time travel and deity-hood. I’d explain if I could, honest.” He twists one of his rings and blue embers spiral out for just a moment.
Fury sighs and pinches his nose. “I can’t let you take her without any proof.”
“What more proof do you need?” Talos snaps. “Dorrek is a hybrid, wielding the Sword of Kings--”
“Teddy,” Dorrek corrects mildly.
“Assuming he’s telling the truth about being from another dimension, Theodore--”
“Teddy,” Dorrek repeats.
“--certainly isn’t when it comes to his affiliation with America.”
Talos throws up his hands. “Dorrek-- Teddy, rather, sorry-- deserves the chance to speak with her, at least.”
Fury gives him a look. “Why.”
“Alright,” Dorrek says, standing, “seems like you guys have some stuff to talk about, I’m just gonna--” He gestures over his shoulder with both thumbs. “Be back in ten?”
It’s a three hour trip to the remains of New Asgard. Bucky drives, staring out the windscreen, mechanical with the remnants of the Soldier. Steve sits in the passenger side, a notebook in his lap where he sketches Bucky’s profile. Before the serum, he got carsick. Cars are faster now, more closed in, but he hasn’t vomited in years.
They drive past the sign - New Asgard, California - and keep driving until they find the kid, standing at the base of a grand tree, shovel in hand. They’ve dropped their jacket, left in just a black singlet, hair whipping around their shoulders with the icy wind.
“Lovely place,” they greet. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting Oklahoma; I’m used to Norway.”
Steve gets out of the car. Bucky follows, but just stays leaning against the driver’s side - he’s never liked leaving an exit uncovered.
The kid lets Steve approach, watching with cold eyes. “Careful,” they say after a moment, when Steve’s apparently gotten close enough.
Steve stops. “You are him, aren’t you?”
The kid raises an eyebrow.
“Loki,” Steve explains. “Thor’s brother.”
Loki doesn’t nod, but Steve can see the soft mourning in his eyes as he looks over New Asgard. “Osborn, I assume?”
Steve slowly shakes his head. “The-- The civil war. Between us, the Avengers. Bucky and I-- Years now. Wanda’s gone, we never-- She vanished from the Raft before I got to her. Sam is, is with Wakanda. Bruce and Thor came home with all their people, but… they refused to sign the Accords, of course they did.”
Loki stares at him for a long moment. “Mimir’s mildew, you’re angsty, aren’t you?”
Steve almost laughs. Shrugs a shoulder. “I guess.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” Loki sighs. “You can stay, I suppose, but take care not to step in the spell.”
Steve steps back, finally recognising the tracks of dirt at his feet: a circular pentagram of some kind, with delicate knots surrounding the roots of the grand tree.
Loki lays his shovel down, sits cross legged, and waits.
Dorrek sits back down about seven minutes later, when Talos and Fury are peacefully finishing their coffee.
“What were you doing?” Fury asks.
“Calling my mom,” Dorrek answers. “Checking that I did need to find America. I do.”
“Ah,” Talos says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Because you won’t let me,” Dorrek says. “Damn.”
They sit quietly. Dorrek taps his fingers against the hilt of the Sword.
“What did she do?” Dorrek asks, vaguely curious rather than accusatory. “To be held by Nick Fury? Wait, is it SHIELD or SWORD in this universe? Or STRIKE? I always get them confused.”
“SHIELD,” Fury promises. “She infiltrated a facility.”
“Hm,” Dorrek says, eyes distant. “Not surprising.” He drums his fingers against the hilt of the Sword a few times more. Finally decides, “Alright. I’ll try to find my husband, I guess. Few questions before I go?”
“A trade,” Talos suggests. “Information for information.”
Dorrek shrugs. “Alright. You first.”
“What rules do we have to follow to not blow up the multiverse?” Fury starts. “Since apparently folks are crossing over willy-nilly.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Dorrek promises, “Barely any risks in comparison to, like, time travel. I literally just chatted to myself over the phone. Try not to go insane when faced with an infinite multiverse; maybe keep an eye on your Scarlet Witch.” (Fury twitches.) “What year is it?”
“2018. Why are you only looking for your husband?”
“He’ll be able to get everyone else back on his own. Does this universe have Avengers? Hulk?”
“It does--”
“Great,” Dorrek interrupts, smiling with all his teeth, sharp. He stands, sheathing the Sword, and stretches. “Glad to hear it. Have fun, you two. I’ll go, you know, go find my husband.” He starts out into the flow of the street, pulling his hand through his hair and vanishing into the crowd.
“Oh,” Fury groans, rubbing a hand over his one eye, “we’re fucked.”
Talos takes a sip of his tea.
As she has for the past three days, Chavez paces like a caged animal. Peggy and Jen watch her; Jen’s small at the moment, but dressed in her workout gear, prepared to hulk out. Jen’s got good instincts with this kind of stuff, that weird sixth sense and the way she looks at nothing sometimes, so Peggy follows her lead, keeping Excalibur at her side.
Chavez paces. Her hands clench and unclench.
“I don’t like this,” Peggy mutters. “Something’s wrong here, can’t you tell?”
“Matt would definitely agree with you,” Jen offers. “And now this conversation won’t pass the Bechdel test.”
Peggy rolls her eyes. “Your boyfriend’s superstitions are none of my concern.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jen assures.
“Nick’s ruined everything,” Nat declares, walking in through the sliding open doors with her phone in hand. “Expect hostiles within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Fuck my life,” Jen groans, rubbing her face. “I have a date this afternoon.”
“Not anymore, we’re doing overtime.” Nat’s bubblegum pops as she returns to her laptop.
“See if Jane can fill in,” Peggy orders.
Nat pops her bubblegum again. Follows Peggy’s orders nonetheless.
“I’ll try talking to Chavez again,” Peggy decides. “See if she knows anything about our incoming. Anything on Riri or Clint?”
“Riri’s got exams, Clint fell off the radar in Bolivia,” Nat answers immediately.
“Go,” Jen orders, ushering Peggy forward. “We can hold down the fort until everything inevitably goes wrong.”
Peggy goes, taking the time walking up to analyse Chavez: she’s young, not quite a teen anymore but not an adult, with scrapes on her knuckles, sharpie doodles on her shoes, her jacket, tight shorts and knee pads that don’t quite manage to hide the battle scars on her shins.
She looks like a fighter. Like Steve.
“Hello,” Peggy greets.
Chavez tilts her head, but doesn’t growl like she has with the last few guards.
“Are you feeling alright?” Peggy starts. “Do you know why you passed out?”
“Multidimensional strain,” Chavez answers through the glass. “Happens when you don’t have safe passage. I’m fine now. What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you could tell us who’s coming for you,” Peggy answers.
Chavez shrugs. “Beats me.”
Peggy sighs. “Ms Chavez, you don’t have anyone that would come for you?”
Chavez slams her palms into the glass, bracing her weight on it. “My family is dead, vieja. And even if I did know, why would I tell you? You’re the one keeping me here.”
“You broke into a secure government building,” Peggy points out.
“Bah,” Chavez says. “You don’t care.”
“Excuse you?”
“You don’t,” Chavez repeats. “I’ve met a hundred of you, Capitana. You don’t care about your government, you just want purpose.”
Peggy squints. Chavez tilts her head, challenging, just like Steve used to.
Chavez flicks her eyes up to the door above Peggy. Flicks them back to her. Raises her hands and backs away. “Not that it matters.” She glances at her wrist with a frown. “What’s keeping my powers? Is it the glass?”
Peggy takes the change of subject thankfully. “Hulk’s cousin - Dr. Banner, his name is - He found a form of radiation that keeps most mutations at bay, and there’s magic reinforcements, just to cover all our bases.”
Chavez’s eyes snap to her. “This was to hold the Scarlet Witch?”
“You know her?”
“Does she have children?” Chavez demands.
“She vanished before she could,” Peggy answers simply.
“Hm,” Chavez says.
“Peg!” Jen calls, gesturing her over.
Chavez smiles. “Not long now.”
Peggy jogs back over to Nat and Jen. “What’s going on?”
“Thor is busy,” Nat starts, tapping her nail against the messagebox on the side of her screen. “Something going on with the World Tree, weird spell energy, I don’t know.”
“And something just slipped through the Helicarrier shields,” Jen adds.
“Not something,” a voice behind them corrects.
They all whirl at once; Nat’s got her widow bites engaged and aimed, Peggy draws Excalibur. Jen doesn’t hulk out, but green tints her neck briefly.
The man-- hulk-- thing raises his (its?) clawed hands. “Hey, I’m not looking for a fight.”
“¡Principito!” Chavez yells.
“Hi, America,” he calls, not looking away from Peggy and Nat.
“You two are familiar,” Nat notes.
“Where’s Billy?!” Chavez calls.
“Don’t know yet, he hasn’t come home,” he answers. To Nat, “We’re acquainted.” Purple eyes flick to the control panel beside Nat’s laptop. “What do I have to do to get to that? I just want America, then we’ll be on our way.”
“You’d probably have to go through us,” Nat answers.
“Damn.”
“Why have you come for her?” Peggy asks, not lowering Excalibur.
“She’s my friend,” he answers.
“No, I’m not!” Chavez yells.
“She can get me to my husband,” he corrects. “And she’s my friend.”
Peggy wavers.
“I don’t want to fight,” he repeats. “I just want to go home.”
Peggy sighs. “We can’t let you take her, you know that.”
He sighs too. “Nothing could ever be easy.” He holds out his clawed hand, and in a burst of light, a glowing broadsword forms in his fist.
“Teddy!” Chavez calls, and Teddy looks over, and that’s the moment Nat chooses to strike.
“And everything inevitably goes wrong,” Jen mutters. “Peg?”
“On my signal,” Peggy orders, and charges.
A wall of green interrupts the widow bites, but it’s not until it moves that Peggy recognises it as a wing that must have been folded under the cape. She drives Excalibur underneath and earns a sharp clang as Teddy blocks it with his own sword.
Super strength, then. Great.
Peggy growls and pushes, and Teddy backs away, disengaging to raise his second wing and block Nat’s attempt at his torso.
“Pin him down, pin him down,” Nat mutters, but he kicks her away, taking to the air, and when Peggy steps closer to the control panel, he smiles down at her and starts in the opposite direction, towards the chamber.
“Fuck,” Nat snaps.
“Jen,” Peggy orders, already running after him as he lands on the top of the cell, wings vanishing back under his cape, sword falling into the abyss of the sky below. He drags his claws against the metal, and Peggy’s not quite acquainted with the technology of this century yet, but she recognises the sparks probably aren’t a great sign. She leaps up, grabbing Teddy’s ankle and dragging him down, trusting that he’ll extend his wings to have them crash into the ground rather than fall into the sky.
Boom.
He lands on top of her, digging his claws into the back of her shoulders, teeth bared.
Boom.
And that’s when the Hulk roars. Peggy smiles; Teddy looks up with wide eyes; there’s the barest breach of green in Peggy’s peripheral and--
BOOM!
--glass shatters--
--a flash of red/blue/white--
--and the Hulk’s arms, massive and green and bearing down on Teddy underneath her, are stopped. Chavez grits her teeth, knees bent with the effort of holding back the Hulk’s rageful strength. “All good, Principito?”
Teddy gives her a weak thumbs-up.
The Hulk roars. Chavez doesn’t quake. “Sorry, Señora.”
And she starts to straighten, pushing against the Hulk, further and further until she’s braced enough to kick the Hulk in the chest and send her flying into the control panel.
“Holy shit,” Teddy says, before he gets shot in the shoulder and lets out an animalistic yelp, launching back to wrap his wings around himself, blocking Nat’s onslaught of bullets. Peggy scrambles to her feet as America moves in front of Teddy, watching apathetic as bullets fall off her.
“What’s the goal here?” Nat asks when she runs out of bullets. “You’re outnumbered; you can’t win.”
“Oh, arañita,” Chavez says, “We already have.”
She raises her foot. Slams it into the ground, and as it cracks into the shape of a five pointed star, falls through it into endless nothing.
Loki’s eyes open, glowing a familiar forest green. “Oh, here we go.”
“So,” America says as they fall through the nothingness between dimensions. “What took you so long?”
HRINDA
Their fall starts to change direction. Teddy spreads his wings, stretching them from their time wrapped tightly around him. “You hear that?”
America sighs. “Fuckin’ kid.”
Teddy sighs. “I miss my husband.”
The circular pattern Steve’s seated outside of glows, red or gold or green, beautiful and blinding. Steve hears Bucky call out, in that quiet way he always does now, but it’s quickly drowned out by two raised voices, one in rapid Spanish and the other with a familiar exhaustion.
“America,” Loki says, “America--”
“No me interrumpas,” the girl snaps, the one with warm skin and curly hair that tumbles over her shoulders, and despite how different she looks Steve can only see Peggy in the firm line of her shoulders and sharp edge of her voice.
“Loki,” the alien(?) begs, clawed hands curled in his desperation, “Loki, I just want to see my husband. I just want to go home. I have been awake for three days, Loki.”
“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and Steve turns to him, like he always does. He’s curled in on himself, just a little, eyes flickering across the argument, getting louder and louder. “Is this--”
“It’s fine,” Steve promises. “You don’t have to fight them.”
“--you don’t understand, I am going insane here,” Loki hisses. “This place is so fucking depressing!”
“Ay, madre de Dios!” the girl snaps, clipping his ear. “Boohoo, chico, you would have survived another day! Now, who knows how long has passed in Billy’s universe.”
“Let’s just go,” the alien says.
“Yes, Teddy, that is a spectacular idea,” Loki agrees, clapping his hands. Bucky flinches at the noise. “Let’s leave this dramatic hellscape.”
“You’re a spoiled brat,” the girl snaps, before punching the grand tree. Steve staggers backwards as reality itself seems to shift, a glowing star carved out of the air in front of them. “Get in,” she orders, and the alien gratefully trudges through, rubbing his face.
“Goodbye, you two, I’m sorry your lives are this beige,” Loki tells Steve and Bucky with a sharp smile before the girl shoves him through the star and steps through herself, shadow falling back in its place when she does.
There’s no sound of rumbling this time, but Jimmy still notices; it’s hard to miss a star split the sky open, or the people tumbling out of it, screaming at each other all the way.
Jimmy watches them as he works: the first vanishes in a flash of green and reappears on the ground thirty feet below; the second just allows herself to fall, landing on one knee next to the first; the third spreads wings from their back, catching themself in the air just a moment before they would have splatted.
The first of them - a gangly guy with dark hair tickling his shoulders - looks to the right, the left. Falls to his knees with his hands raised to the sky as he screams, “NO! IT’S BEIGE!”
His buddies watch as he doubles over into hysterical wails.
“Why?!” he begs, “All I ask is for some colour; why must I be left to starve in melodramatic monochrome?!”
The girl crosses her arms, taking a long look at the land around them. Jimmy doesn’t bother hiding, and she lingers on him, orders, “Get up, chico.”
The boy sobs. The mutant - green, with warped wings draped on the ground behind them - crouches down and puts their hand on his shoulder. “You’re kind of the definition of melodramatic monochrome, Loki. Green is, unfortunately, a colour.”
Loki wails at the sky.
“¡Basta!” the girl snaps. “¡Levantate! We aren’t alone.” She nods over at Jimmy. He hesitantly nods back.
Loki and the mutant stand, slow. The mutant’s wings mantle, like a scared bird, trying to make itself look bigger, or preparing to fly. It kind of hurts, in that place Jimmy’s tried to kill; his knuckles itch.
“You’re lookin’ for Billy,” he calls, just off a question.
The mutant’s wings drop, draping across the ground again. “You know him?”
Jimmy nods. Buries his pitchfork in the ground and leans against it. “You’re too late,” he tells them. “They’ve already taken ‘im.”
The boy wakes up slow, one eye scrunching open while the other is pressed into the pillow. When it does open, he groans, burying himself in the bed and vaguely raising his hands to his ears.
“No,” he groans.
Jimmy huffs: laughter, almost. The boy groans again and moves to sit up, but Jimmy presses him back down to the bed with a hand on his chest.
“You fell from the sky ‘nd tore up half the damn farm, kid,” Jimmy explains at the boy’s affronted look. “Count it a miracle you ain’t dead.”
The boy’s face turns amused, for some reason. “Trust me, sir, those aren’t in short supply.” But he stays lying down. “Where’s Teddy?”
Jimmy raises his eyebrows. “Like a bear?”
The boy gives him a sharp look. “Teddy is my--” Then, eyes to the clock on the bed stand, the ceiling fan above him, the small stacks of books lined up on the vanity, Jimmy, “What year is it?”
Jimmy tilts his head. “You a time traveller?”
“Time doesn’t exist,” the boy groans, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jimmy decides to allow it, but watches for weakness. “Everything’s always happening all at once. If you’re living inside reality you can’t comprehend that, though.”
“1989,” Jimmy answers.
The boy groans. Buries his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he says. Then, through his fingers, “Teddy is my… wife. She’s my wife. Theodora, but everyone calls her Teddy.” He looks up at Jimmy, dark lashes and blue eyes that don’t match his almost tan fingers. “Who… are you?”
“Folks ‘round here call me Jimmy,” he answers, reaching out for the water on the nightstand. “Work as a farmhand for Fred and Lyssa; take care of the kids when they need. And you, now, I guess.”
The boy’s eye tracks his movement as he holds the glass out for him, something unreadable in the crystal colour of his iris.
“...right,” he says, like he doesn’t believe it.
The boy introduces himself as Billy. He happily takes a change of clothes and a shower. Jimmy sits outside the entire time, listening.
“You think I’m going to kill myself,” Billy notes over dinner, when Fred’s in the bathroom and Lyssa’s washing the dishes. The girls are already asleep upstairs.
“I think you’re gonna try to run,” Jimmy corrects. “Which will end up with you dead, since you fell out of the sky less than a week ago, which you should not have survived.”
Billy shrugs. “I wanted to.” He stands, bats off Jimmy’s attempts to help him when he drifts to the side. “If you won’t let me leave, I’ll help you. Around the farm.”
“Like hell,” Jimmy says.
Billy grins with all his teeth.
When Jimmy steps out of the barn, pulling his jacket back on, Billy’s there, looking at him, and Jimmy knows that he knows.
“I was wondering,” Billy says, something of a smile on his face.
“Tell anyone,” Jimmy warns, “Fred, Lyssa, the girls, anyone, and I tell them you’re a mutant. You’ll be registered before you can ever get where the hell you came from.”
Billy looks at him for a long moment. “I’m not a mutant.”
Jimmy scoffs. “You might be able to fool the rest of ‘em, but you can’t fool me, kid.”
Billy blinks. His eyes seem blacker today, almost like a darkening sky before dawn. “I know who you are, James Howlett. Logan.”
Logan freezes.
Billy takes a step back, just small. He takes a deep breath, sighs. “I trust you, and I want you to have a good life.” He smiles, then looks inside the barn. “Hi.”
A familiar bamf, the smell of sulphur. “Hallo.”
“Are you from the future or the past?” Logan asks. He still insists on doing the manual labour, but Billy’s curled up under the dash, visor over his eyes as he works on the machinery. Logan can see his head tilt in the rearview mirror. “Right, right. Time doesn’t exist.”
“A future,” Billy says with a little chuckle.
Logan pulls a chunk out of the engine. “A, not the.”
“A, not the.” Billy agrees.
Logan cleans out a rusted section. “Have we… met? In your future?”
Billy’s hands pause. “Yeah.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah. You tried to kill me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And my mum.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Logan clears his throat. “...Sorry, I guess.”
“No, it’s fine. Kind of justified.” Billy returns to the dash, a light fizzing of controlled fire. “She kind of did a genocide.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Did I… kill your mom?”
“No. I stopped you.”
Logan gives Billy a long look, being all of a hundred pounds and almost sickly pale despite the almost-tan of his skin.
“Doesn’t sound right,” he mutters.
Logan gets Kurt to keep an eye on Billy when he has to leave for the woman on the hill on Friday. Kurt is absolutely delighted, but Billy just frowns and crosses his arms, eyes a little too bright like they are sometimes.
“The woman on the hill,” he says, slowly blinking. “Where is she from?”
“How should I know? She showed up basically overnight.”
“One night the hill is empty,” Kurt agrees, gesturing with his hands and smiling his sharp-toothed smile, “the next… Poof! She is there.”
Billy blinks. “Hm.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Hm?”
“Teddy. Your wife.”
Billy blinks, confusion flickering over his face before it fades into laughter. “Yeah, sure. My Teddy.” He picks up his shovel and drives it into the ground, still a little weak but not aching. “My Teddy is kind. So unerringly kind, and Teddy’s…” He glances at Logan, “...family insists that that kindness is weakness, like keeping that kindness in the face of all the hatred the world can throw at us, like that isn’t what real strength is, you know?”
Logan huffs a little. “You love ‘er?”
Billy smiles. “In every world I’ve seen where there is a Teddy and a Billy, they’re in love. There’s not a world in which we both exist where I don’t love--” He cuts himself off, sighs softly. “Where I don’t love her.”
“Logan,” Billy warns, quiet, from the driver’s of the tractor as Logan manually clears some mottled weeds, “three men just entered Fred and Alyssa’s home.”
They’re not close enough to see the farmhouse. There’s a conviction in Billy’s voice and a shine to his eyes that makes Logan believe him anyway. “What are they doing?”
“They’re looking for me,” Billy says, eyes distant, distant, odd shines to them, like there are stars in his irises. “Amelia heard you, when you said I was a mutant. It took a couple of days, but Fred knows now. He called the registry. They’re here.”
“Then we need to get you out of here,” Logan decides, climbing up into the passenger seat.
“No.”
“Fuck you mean?” Logan demands.
“You’re not ruining your life for me,” Billy orders, touching a hand to Logan’s, his scarred knuckles. “I was never meant to be here, anyway.”
“Then I’ll wait and find you--”
“No. No, no. They have a… form of sonic hypnotism that turns my brain into mush and there are two, maybe three people in the world that I won’t ruin if I’m in that state.” Billy’s left joins his right, the ring gleaming on his finger. “I need you to wait for Teddy. Teddy’s the only one I can guarantee will be safe from me, other than my mother and maybe my brother, and they aren’t here.”
Logan almost says you can’t kill me, but then he sees the constellations in Billy’s eyes, the starburst burns on his palms, pale and dark in turn.
They turn on the sound half a kilometre from the farm, and the next coherent thought Logan has is when the sun is starting to dip to the horizon. He’s looking up at the face of a worried Kurt, and it’s realising that he has to explain Billy is gone that does it.
“Teddy?” he asks, nodding to the girl. She’s the darkest of the bunch, closest in looks to Billy, with dark curly hair and dark brown eyes and starbursts across her exposed arms. Her lip turns up into a grimace.
“No,” she snaps. “America.”
“Teddy,” the mutant reports, raising a clawed hand. He’s a metamorph of some kind, apparently, but doesn’t seem particularly inclined to keep his shape at the moment, since even with his peach skin tone, he keeps getting sharper.
Logan does a brief double-take. Then remembers Billy checking the year before reporting Teddy as his wife. How he hadn’t startled or acted strange upon finding Kurt. Stuttering to a stop before saying I love her.
“Huh,” Logan says, and gives Teddy a firm pat on the shoulder. “Good to know the future gets better.”
They all stare at him. America is similar to him, to Laura, wherever she is, with a default angry sneer. The boy blinks with a well-crafted judgemental expression. Teddy just seems exhausted.
Logan clears his throat and points in the direction of the facility. “Billy said you’d be coming. Wanted me to take you to the facility that-a-way. They’ve got some kinda noise thing. Turns your thoughts to putty.”
“I’m familiar,” Teddy says, taking a breath and becoming hulking and green again, arms tucked around his ribs. “It’d be useful to know the exact address, but I can fly over and scout, then report back. Loki, do you have a deafening spell that you can hold while you teleport?”
The boy - Loki - shakes his head. “I’d need to hear my own spellcraft to teleport. If I had a second witch, one of us could hold the silence while the other teleported, since we could ferry conversation between us, but we don’t have a second witch.”
Logan watches with raised eyebrows. This group is familiar with each other, evidently, but he’s surprised at Teddy’s familiarity with command, as well as Loki - who seems like a judgemental brat - easily following the instruction.
America glances down at the inside of her wrist, then across at Teddy’s ring, then squints at the horizon in the direction of the facility Logan knows they’re keeping Billy at.
There’s a very distant boom.
“Uh, gente?” America says, “Guys?” She points over Logan’s shoulder to the blossoming explosion disturbingly near where Billy’s being kept. “Someone’s beat us to it.”
It’s her third universe, she’s pretty sure. Sometimes things get messy, tripped over. She might have bounced through a few on her way out of the Raft; she might have slingshotted through a few trying to escape the Hulk’s cage.
You Wanted too hard, the voice tells her when she’s asleep. It comes with being a reality warper. You’re alright.
He’s a new voice. A witch, like her, she guesses, and he laughs and agrees, like you.
I’m better with dreams, he explains, my memories were/are/will be fuzzy.
Oh, yes, she agrees, mine too. Where are you?
The first night, he sends her a universe of overlapping galaxies, the next a galaxy of overlapping stars, then a constellation, then a star, then, on the sixth night, she helps him out as much as she can and finds a view from a window in a bedroom, the remnants of a crash in farmland, a little house on the hill.
I know where you are, she tells him.
Good thing, that, he tells her. I am going to need someone to tell the others where I
Wanda blinks her eyes awake, rushing to her window to look down over the hill, just in time to see the row of black vans trundle away from the farm at the bottom of the valley.
She finds him in a soundproof room, curled up with his hands over his ears, eyes starry and glazed. She’s turning everyone’s gazes away from herself, so she lets herself pause and look: he’s wrapped up in a thick red cloak, his hair is dark and curled. He might even be Roma, with a not-dissimilar skin tone to her own, and, really, he reminds her of the photos she had of her father, back in Sokovia.
She clears her head of the thought and spots speakers in the corners of the room, vibrating with use.
Hm.
She reaches out and gently touches his mind. It’s delicate, at the moment, defences weak, so she takes a moment to make sure she’s not damaging anything else when she cuts off his hearing.
His thoughts clear, just slightly. Just enough for his panic to take hold with his powers and the room around him explodes.
America looks over. “Uh, gente? Guys?”
Wanda squeals a little, but a red forcefield keeps the shrapnel from crashing into her and the guards around her. She lowers her arms from her head tentatively, and finds him looking around, dazed. His gaze lands on the guards, and he starts, barely giving her the time to reinforce the walls around their minds before he shatters them. She puts them to sleep instead, and feels his hand around her mind before he-- pauses.
“Oh,” he says. “Mami.”
“Um,” Wanda says.
He frowns, but stumbles his way up to her, and she wraps her arms around him when he rests his head on her chest.
“Uh,” Wanda repeats.
“Mami?” He leans back, thoughts still stilted and confused, and squints at her. “Oh.” He groans and rubs his forehead. “Right. Look, Mom-- Wanda, I need, like, some time, maybe, to… get my thoughts…” He gestures vaguely with the hand Wanda’s not holding. “But. Um. You’re from, not here, right?”
She gives him a long look, but starts on her way to the door, delicately wrapping an arm around him as he leans against her. “Yes.”
“Right. Me too. Twinning.” He laughs a little, then blinks a few times and glances back at the wreckage behind him. “Where are we?”
“A facility. Owned by the Mutant Registration Committee, to hold mutants.”
“We aren’t mutants,” he grumbles, but refocuses. “Look, Mami--”
“I cannot be older than you,” Wanda interrupts.
“That’s just the-- I’m from somewhere else, like you, where, like, you…” He trails off and surveys the scene again, a light divot between his eyebrows.
“Just.” Wanda pulls him towards the door again, and he stumbles along, a bit more motor control than a minute ago. “I-- How?”
He looks at her. “So, when a man and a woman love each other very much…”
“Oh my god,” Wanda groans.
“When a man and a woman love each other very much,” he continues, “and the woman is a reality warping witch, and, and the man is a synthezoid. And, um, dead. When they love each other very much, and she’s also going through a bit of a grief-fueled mental break. There’s a demon involved. Devil? They’re different things in D&D.”
“Now you’re just teasing,” she notes.
“No, this is what really… You had, like, a bit of a mental break, and… this was before M-Day, so maybe Erik was involved, whatever, it doesn’t really matter. You wanted kids. Or, the devil I mentioned wanted you to want kids. But you Wanted kids, so me and my brother came into existence, but we were, like, demon babies, because… I mentioned the devil, right? Anyway, we were, but Mephisto. Or Panda-- Penno-- Panamana-- Pando--” He cuts himself off and sighs, rubbing his face again. “So, when a man and a woman--”
The roof gets ripped off the building, and Wanda throws up a shield just above his star-speckled umbrella. The rubble that falls from the roof bounces off Wanda’s shield and tumbles off like rain from his umbrella.
“Hi, America,” he calls.
“Billy,” the woman calls back.
“I would have called you Tommy,” Wanda notes.
“Is Tommy here?” Billy asks America. “Is Teddy?”
America’s thoughts figure out the issue clearly enough and she gently tosses the roof out of sight before swooping down to land beside Wanda and Billy. “Tommy is his twin. Teddy is his husband.”
“Twins,” Wanda repeats, something warm in her chest.
“Teddy is on his way,” America promises, brushing Billy’s hair behind his ear. “So is--”
Wanda shrieks and grabs Billy to her as someone appears in a flash of green.
“Demiurge!” they greet. “Witch!”
“Ugh,” Billy sighs. “I want my Teddy.”
“Don’t Want too hard,” the teleporter jokes, reaching out for Billy before Wanda growls and pulls him further away. Their hand pauses, draws back to their chest. “Alright. Touchy.”
“I’m sorry, isn’t he a bit young for a husband?” Wanda hisses to America.
“I guess the motherliness is a universal constant,” America grunts, arms crossed. “Far as I know, it was a spur of the moment thing; Teddy was getting summoned to rule the Skrull/Kree empire, had twenty minutes left, that kind of thing.”
Wanda gives her a long look, then follows after Billy as he grins and floats up into the air, colliding with a green figure carrying Logan, from the farm. Wanda catches him when the man who must be Teddy drops him in favour of cupping Billy’s face and pulling him into a kiss.
“Hello, Logan,” Wanda greets, cushioning his descent.
“Wendy?” he asks, frowning. “You know Billy?”
Wanda looks up at where Billy and Teddy are floating, wrapped up in Billy’s magic, foreheads touching. Billy’s hijacking Teddy’s thoughts, using them to reorient his own. Wanda smiles at it, settles herself and Logan beside America. “I do. He’s a talented young man.”
“You teach him everything he knows,” the teleporter explains, picking at the liner at the corner of their eye.
“You teach him all the magic he knows,” America corrects.
“That I didn’t teach him first,” the teleporter finishes.
“I’m confused,” Logan says. “Are all of you from a future?”
“Sí,” America says. Then, with a glance at Wanda, “You from… further than 1989?”
“2016,” Wanda confirms. “I think.”
“Still a ways from our future,” America notes. “Are you two done?”
Billy mutters something insulting under his breath, but lands beside Wanda and spreads his hands. “Don’t want to rush this kind of thing, or I’ll be turning people into newts accidentally, you know that.”
Teddy nods at Wanda with a grin. “Did you get displaced too?”
“No, she’s close, but didn’t quite make the cut,” Billy explains. “Loki and I are both gods, and America is a unique singularity. A Wanda or two made it, but not her.”
Wanda gives Logan a small smile. “I’ve been moving around for a while.”
“He didn’t kill you,” Logan notes.
“She’s my mother,” Billy explains happily. “Loki, help me with the spell?”
The teleporter - Loki, it’s easy to see with the name - gives Billy a thumbs-up and starts towards the exploded building, waving a hand: the flames turn green, then die down entirely.
Logan crosses his arms. “Someone feel like explaining?”
“Uh,” Teddy says, and steps to the side, between Logan and Billy.
“The Nyan Cat kidnapped us to clone us, exploded when it died, tossing us to random universes, where we all got summarily trapped,” America explains, looking over her shoulder.
“The Nyan Cat?” Wanda asks.
“I’m not apologising for keeping Billy in my eyeline,” Logan snaps.
“That is a way better way of explaining it,” Teddy mutters.
They pause for a long moment.
“Can you explain to me how Billy came to be?” Wanda asks Teddy.
“No,” he says, “America?”
She shakes her head, a bit disbelieving.
“Spell’s done!” Billy announces a couple minutes later. He appears with the whisper of teleport on the wind and stars tailing the end of his cape. “America, you’re… here.” He positions her at the centre of the drawn star on the ground. “Just make a portal matching the star’s dimensions, and we’re good.”
“Teddy, say goodbye to this obnoxiously beige world,” Loki calls, delight patterning his voice.
Billy laughs a little bit, pausing with a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “I’m sending you back to your home dimension, Wanda.”
Wanda shakes her head, fast. “No, no. I…”
“Wanda,” Billy interrupts. “You’re a runner. It’s in our blood.” He smiles, something sad. “I’ve had to train myself out of it, so I can be the Demiurge. I think… I think it’s best for you to… learn to swim, instead of just teleporting out of the deep end.”
“You’re terrible at metaphors,” Wanda whispers.
Billy smiles.
Logan watches Billy, content and confident. He’s dancing with energy, making Logan’s hair stand on end, cape flowing behind him in a nonexistent wind.
“Guess this is it,” Logan notes, arms crossed.
Billy smiles. Light seems to be spilling out of his skin, and it’s clear why his eyes don’t match his skin and hair, now. “You deserve better than this, Logan.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You deserve better than people who hate you for existing,” Billy tells him, voice laced with ethereal birdsong. “It gets better than this, Logan. I promise. Worse too, but not as much as better.”
Logan blinks. “I’m used to this, kid.”
Billy’s eyes glint, like he’s laughing.
Billy holds America’s hand. “On three.”
“One,” America says, “Two. Three.” She slams her foot against the ground, and the star glows white.
Billy opens his eyes, and they’re filled with overlapping galaxies. “I want everyone to go home.”
It’s another Saturday, so Fury is seated in the cafe, a coffee in front of him and Talos’ tea steaming beside a slice of mud cake. Talos has reported he’s going to be late, so he’s not surprised by the empty seat opposite him.
He takes a long sip of his coffee. “Out with it, Captain.”
Peggy’s dressed casually; her hair is done up in a bun, and she’s wearing one of Nat’s hoodies, leggings and climbing boots. There’s a shimmer by her side, too: Excalibur, magically cloaked.
She touches her hand to the table, motorbike gloves. “I’m quitting.”
Fury puts his cup down. “I’m sorry?"
She crosses her arms. “You acquainted me with this century, Nick. I’m grateful for that. But I am not going to continue to fight for a cause I don’t believe in. I need to… figure out what I do believe in. Who I am when I don’t have a shield.”
“I’ll find you,” Fury warns.
“Only if she’s alone,” Nat purrs from behind his ear, and by the time it occurs to him to look back at Peggy, both of them are already gone.
They return to their apartment. Steve unlocks the door; Bucky secures the perimeter. A familiar silent dance. Bucky re-locks the window in the living room; Steve checks for anything changed around the apartment. Steve answers the knock at the door; Bucky grabs for the gun hidden in the wall.
Steve freezes, the chain on the door taught.
Wanda looks better. She has braids in her hair and fat on her cheeks. She smiles, just enough to reveal her crooked tooth, and blinks her dark lashes.
“I’m sorry to… not call ahead,” is the first thing Wanda says to him in five years. “I didn’t have your number.”
Steve just stares. He can’t summon his voice from his chest.
“I… thought it was time to stop running,” Wanda says, and she sounds older, too: her voice is deeper, lilting with an accent she’d worked out of, before Lagos. There’s a softer edge to it, like Steve’s mother, back in the depression. “To come back home.”
“Ved’ma?” Bucky whispers.
“That’s not a polite word,” Wanda laughs. Her laugh isn’t without weight, but it’s easy. So much easier than the haunted eyes Steve saw in the security footage.
She looks down, bites her lip. Her voice wavers when she breathes, “I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have… I ran. I understand.”
Steve unlocks the chain and rushes out the door, wrapping Wanda up in his arms, burying his face in her braids.
“Oh, Wanda,” he breathes, thinks, lets her pick up. “You came home.”
Logan wakes up. There’s salt on the wind, he can smell it; can hear the waves too, maybe a couple of blocks away. It’s cooler than it was at Fred and Lyssa’s farm, even with a warm body pressed against his back.
“Hallo,” is whispered against his ear. “Didn’t expect a visit from you.”
“Kurt?” Logan asks, delicately turning. Kurt lifts his hand to allow it, but rests it back over Logan’s side when he resettles. He’s in a wife beater that looks like Logan’s, boxers. His bright yellow eyes squint with his happiness.
Logan frowns. Sniffs the air again. “Smells like a hotel. Where are we?"
“Ferienwohnung Strodtmann,” Kurt answers. “Just off the Danmark border. Ocean is a teleport away east. How did you find me? I thought you were staying at the farm for longer.”
“Yeah, well.” Logan rubs his thumb against the felt of Kurt’s cheek. “I’m home.”
“So,” Billy says when they thump back into reality, floating above the ground with one hand holding America’s and one hand on his hip, “what took you all so long?”
“Loki,” America says.
“Loki,” Teddy says.
“Look,” Loki says, “none of you were there, you don’t understand the absolute despondency that is beige--”