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Tony Stark looks around slowly at the teenagers sitting in desks before him, letting the atmosphere build as he takes in each individual kid.
Some of them he recognizes; Roy Harper, for example, he’s had since his first year at Wayne’s School for the Magically Gifted. Others are kids he’s seen in passing, that he recognizes dimly, kids he’s seen in the hallways, but can’t quite put a name to.
Then of course, there are ones like Dick Grayson, orphans who are technically Bruce Wayne’s wards, and live on campus.
“Welcome to Science and Tech in a Magic World,” he says finally, leaning back against his desk. “Most of you know me as the ‘explosion’ guy. Technically, however, I’m the only Grand Master Artificer in the United States. I’m one of only six worldwide.”
He folds his arms across his chest, staring at the kids again, seeing who’s paying attention, who looks bored, and who’s studying schedules. He notes them, carefully, before continuing.
“Most students who come through my door feel like science has no place in a school designed to teach you how to control your innate magic. That there’s nothing science can do that magic can’t do easier. I’m here to tell you, you’re wrong. You’re also either uneducated, or an idiot,” he says bluntly. “Most of you arrive here by car, which is science. Our kitchens use normal electric stoves, which are science. Hell, the lights in this classroom come from a power plant, which is all science.
“Now, that’s not to say that magic and science can’t coexist,” he adds, softening his tone somewhat. “They aren’t ‘opposites’, no matter what some old hag or wrinkly geezer might try to tell you. They’re complimentary. For example…”
He claps his hands twice, and the wall behind him goes opaque, before some of the blueprints and schematics for the year appear, red and gold writing flashing in bursts, formulae and scale markings appearing and disappearing at a lightning pace.
“This? Science, and magic. Science powered by magic, and magic applied with science. Most of you here aren’t artificers; most of you probably won’t even care to figure out the difference between the internal combustion engine, hydrogen based engines, or thermoelectric engines. But,” he adds, smiling to soften his words a bit. “This class is going to teach you how to use the technology artificers make, and how to counter them if necessary. For some of you, you’re here to see what I manage to blow up this year. And children, let me tell you… You won’t be disappointed.”
Steve smiles at the students, most of whom are awkwardly standing huddled around the door, staring at the few higher level students who are already making themselves comfortable on the multitude of chairs, couches, and bean bags that make up his classroom.
“It’s alright, guys,” he says, chuckling as he motions them inside. “C’mon in. I promise, none of the seats bite.”
It’s one of the permanent residents who takes the first tentative steps inside. Tim, Steve’s pretty sure, Tim… something. So Steve smiles broadly.
“Hey, Tim. Sit wherever you want.”
Slowly, the others start coming in too, sitting down next to some of Steve’s regular students, like Cass, and Clint. He gives them a few minutes to get themselves sorted, and make themselves comfortable, before he speaks again.
“So, most of you here know who I am,” he starts, no bragging or pride in his voice. “I’m one of the few survivors of the WWII Philosopher’s Stone Experiments, and some of your parents and grandparents probably grew up watching my after-school specials. Which is why some of you probably signed up for this class out of curiosity, more than anything else. Afterall… what’s a guy like me doing teaching an Art and Magic class?”
He sighs, sitting down in his big armchair, before looking around at the students. “Well, I’m gonna be honest with you kids: fighting is something I do because sometimes it’s necessary. And yes, I am technically a Master Biomancer. However, that’s not all I am, or even how I got my start. When I was your age, when I was still small and shrimpy and suffering from about ten different health defects… I was what was, back then, known as a Material Mage, with a speciality in transmuting plant life into paints. Some of my artwork is still kicking around in a few museums,” he says, chuckling again. “Now, for today, we’re just gonna get a feel for what you might like to try. This isn’t a ‘pass/fail’ class, there’s no grades here; this class is more for you to learn skills that help relax you, that help you do something creative.
“And before anyone jumps in with their magic not being ‘meant’ for creativity… Let me tell you that in close to a hundred years, I have never once seen any type of magic that can’t be used for an artistic purpose,” he says, letting his voice get serious, as he looks each student in the eye in turn. “And that’s the purpose of this class. I can’t tell you how many kids I’ve had come through that door right there, and tell me that their magic is only destructive. That you can’t ‘create’ as a Pyrokinetic, or a Metallurgist, or a Tempestrist, or a Kineticist. But each and every year, every student who walked through that door at the start, walks out knowing that they can create with their magic, no matter what it is.”
He lets the seriousness fall from his voice, lets himself smile as he stares around at the group of seventeen kids. He knows a lot of them -like Cass -have a magic that’s typically categorized as dangerous, or destructive.
And all he can think is how much he loves his job.
“Let’s get started, huh? Tim, let’s start with you. You’re a Technomancer, right?”
Bucky doesn’t have a ‘classroom’. It always makes things awkward when new students -or new to his course -file in, and stand awkwardly by the door, staring at the gymnasium.
He hates the beginning of the year. Honestly, he isn’t a huge fan of the whole ‘teaching’ thing to begin with; he’s not here to teach, he’s here to give these kids the skills they need to avoid becoming him. And he understands the necessity, understands that at least a few of these kids will only survive to old age because of what he teaches.
Doesn’t mean it doesn’t kill a part of him every time.
“Most of you know who I am,” he says, his voice monotone. He’s never managed the friendliness of Steve, or even the ‘fun’ of Stark. He’s given up trying. “For the few of you who have parents who aren’t Magic, I’m the Winter Soldier. I spent fifty years as a prisoner of Hydra, having my brain ripped apart by telepaths, and my body torn apart by Biomancers.”
He pulls himself to his feet, feeling the weight of his vibranium arm tugging at his side. He ignores it, with decades of practice, and walks closer to the students. There’s a few familiar faces -Jason takes this class every year, would take it twice a day if Wayne would let him -but he’s never been great with names.
Most of them look scared. Which is fair; he knows the horror stories people tell of his class. There’s a reason Dr. Cho, the Healer, has an office right beside his, at the back of the gym.
“I’m not like most of the other teachers here,” he says bluntly. “I’m not here to hold your hand through learning how to control your Magic. I’m not here to teach you party tricks, or explain to you how your magic works. I’m here for one reason: to teach you how to fight like your life depends on it. Because for a lot of you, some day, it will.”
He looks around at each of the students, letting his eyes drift over them as he catalogs what he sees. A few of them look about ready to piss their pants. Most of them look uncomfortable. Jason and Natalia -who came to Wayne’s little haven already scarred and damaged almost beyond repair -don’t look like anything at all.
“I’m here to teach you how to kill. How to use your Magic in the most lethal ways possible. What you decide to do with that teaching? Up to you,” he says, shrugging his flesh arm a bit. “I’ve had more than a few students who I’ve had to hunt down for the Council after they decided to ‘have some fun’ with the normies. But I’d rather have to kill a few of you, then to have the majority of you die when Hydra, or Thanos comes for you.
“Because make no mistake: most of you will have to fight to save your life. Whether you serve with Shield, and fight on the front lines, or whether you’re just interesting enough for Schmidtt or Thanos to take a personal interest in you… Anyone who leaves this school is taking their lives into their own hands. My job is to make sure that your hands know how to kill.”
One girl, a blonde wearing a purple hoodie, blanches at that. Another boy looks like he might puke.
Not too bad, really; nobody actually pukes, which is always a plus.
“Alright. Those of you with Magic ranked on the ‘P’ scale -” The Mage equivalent of a nuke. “-go stand on the blue line.” Where Jason is already standing. “Everybody with an ‘F’ rank -” Reactive Magic, still capable of violence, but not always. “-on the green line. And everybody with a C -” Magic that has very little violent, or aggressive capabilities. “-on the red line.”
He watches as the kids start sorting themselves out, most of them standing on the green line. Two kids that Bucky doesn’t recognize join Jason on the blue line. Natalia and three others stand on the red line.
“Natalia,” Bucky calls out, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice. The red-headed girl looks up at him, and gives him a pretty smile that’s all teeth, a pretty smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “We’ve been through this. This is… what, your third year? Blue line.”
“But I’m a C, Mr. Barnes,” she says coyly. “All of my paperwork says so.”
Bucky scoffs loudly. “Yeah, ‘cause the Council and their bureaucrats are idiots, and Wayne and I are still fighting that. Blue line, and I don’t want to repeat this conversation next year.”
As the girl moves towards the blue line, giving Jason a small, but real smile as she slides in next to him, Bucky looks over his students one more time, before he turns his back on them.
“Jarvis,” he calls out, waiting a moment for the lights to flicker. “Start the alleyway kidnapping run.”
Selina finishes putting the last minute touches onto the display board, swiping away a few things that she probably won’t use, and adding some small touches that will make things easier now that she knows which students she’s going to have.
Some of them are repeaters; with so few staff, and only a hundred and fifty students, there’s not a lot of time for structured, age- or grade-based classes. So instead, it’s just… two hours of trying to figure out where everyone is, then working with them as much as she can to help them advance.
Finally, hearing the shifting of feet, and the quiet murmuring start, she turns around. Gives the students a big smile.
“Hi. My name is Selina. Most of you probably have no idea who I am,” she says, putting as much warmth into her voice as she can; a lot of these kids are coming here from Stark or Barnes’ class, and she needs them calm to do her best work.
“Now, I know most of you are here because your Magic tends to be more…” She makes it a point to look thoughtful, staring at the ceiling, and all the other small tricks she’s learned to make people feel better about themselves. “Subdued, shall we say. We’re not throwing around fireballs, or turning into sixty foot giants, we’re not causing tornados, or parting the oceans.”
She looks around the room, taking in the familiar faces, and taking a moment to memorize the faces of the new students. Barbara, of course, is here every year without fail, and so is Peter. The rest are new, or at least, not students she knows well.
“We’re here because unlike some of the heavy hitters, we have to rely on creative uses of our Magic. We have to learn to sneak, to be… subtle. We will never be the ones battering down a door. We’ll never be the ones splashed across the front of the article for being heroes. We’re the forgotten ones, the ones that nobody knows exists.”
She smiles at each student as she moves through the rows. “And that… is part of our Magic. That’s part of our safety. We’re the spiders that no one sees until it’s too late. We’re the snake in the grass that they never see coming. By the time they realize we’re there… it’s too late for them to escape our web. And we’re gone before they can put a face to us.
“This class is… different from the rest of the classes you’ll take here. We’ll use your Magic, of course; you’re all here because your Magic lends itself to subtlety,” she says, waving her hand almost dismissively, in a move she’s practiced to perfection to look like the epitome of casual. “But I will teach you how to be invisible until the moment you decide to strike. I’ll teach you to blend in, so that everyone sees you, but no one can remember a thing about you. That is where our safety lies. That’s where our strength is.”
By the time she’s finished, she’s back at her desk, just as she’d planned. She slides into her chair, pulling it closer to the desk as she smiles at all of her students.
“Now. Who’d like to learn to be invisible?”
Helen Cho smiles over at Dr. Banner as he awkwardly maneuvers his way through her infirmary, his arms full of books as he tries to walk and read at the same time.
“Find anything interesting, Dr. Banner?” she asks, unable to keep the slight chuckle from her voice.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, uh…” His eyes fade from white back to a rich chocolate brown, although it takes a second for him to find and focus on her. “I found a book on nuclear degeneration and how we can apply that to our own cellular degeneration. I thought, with some of the students whose Magic is rapidly degenerating their cellular structure -like Jason and Wanda -we could theoretically turn the energy from that degeneration into…”
Helen smiles, listening as intently as she can, even if she doesn’t hold out much hope on this latest theory.
It’s one of two reasons Dr. Banner is assigned to her infirmary, after all; he can see on the microscopic, x-ray, and infrared levels, making him absolutely invaluable when a student comes in dying of their own Magic, and every second counts.
Of course, that reason is just a very ideal side effect to the real reason Dr. Banner follows her everywhere, even on the school grounds.
As one of only two Healing Mages in the world that they know of… Helen is by far the most valuable resource in the entirety of the school. Dr. Banner is there to ensure that no matter what else happens, the Hulk will get Helen out alive. Many of the students have the capability of leveling a building, and no one is willing to lose her because of a hurt student.
Conversely, however, Helen isn’t willing to sit in a glass room like a delicate flower, and not use her Magic, because that same Magic is too valuable to risk. Dr. Banner is the compromise.
“And that’s why I wanted to ask Jason if he’d be willing to let me draw some blood after classes today,” Dr. Banner finishes, looking eager. “If this works… Even if it only partially works… We could lower his degeneration by a quarter. Enough to significantly reduce his pain, even if nothing else. Then, if it works on him, we might be able to apply the same principle to Wanda.”
Helen smiles softly, unable to help herself. Even if it’s not exactly the position either of them saw themselves in when they were students… they both still have the opportunity to help. They can still save some people, like they couldn’t save their loved ones.
“I’ll call him down after classes end, and we can ask him.”
Bruce Wayne watches as his staff finds their spots in the couches and chairs of the teacher’s lounge, falling into the same little groups as they do every year. Hell, for a lot of them, today is no different than yesterday; at least half the staff live on the grounds full time, along with roughly a quarter of the students, so for many of them, it’s just a few new faces.
Rogers immediately belines for Barnes, and the two of them claim the couch in the corner.
Stark and Banner start talking before they’ve even sat down at the table, although -per usual -Stark does most of the talking, while Banner occasionally throws out ideas.
Dr. Cho, and Kent -one of the few non-Magics at the school -are talking quietly by the coffee pot.
Selina grins at him over the fridge door, before sitting down next to Isley, the two women talking pleasantly, but quietly enough that they can’t be overheard.
It’s always… difficult, the first day of a new year. Some of the students don’t come back. New students are introduced to a dangerous new world. Old students come back harder, or more broken after time spent Outside.
And part of Bruce wants to go inside; wants to chat with people he considers friends, wants to relax and let the stresses of the day go.
He can’t. He knows that. Thirteen students were no-shows today, on top of the three Bruce knew weren’t coming back, and the two who died. He needs to track them down, and figure out if it’s because they didn’t want to come back, or if their parents won’t let them. If they’ve been taken. Or if they’ve just simply joined the other side.
There’s not much he can do, of course; even if they’ve been kidnapped by Thanos, or Joker, Hydra or the League of Shadows. He doesn’t have the manpower to send someone after missing students, unless they’re high enough on the ranking scale to be considered dangerous to humanity as a whole.
He has enough Magic to hold the school grounds secure; he has enough to make sure no one can come in or out without his knowing. He can’t extend that any further. And some of those students…
He looks at Barnes. Looks at Stark. Looks at Kent. Looks at Selina.
At least two of them will be sent out to try and find their former students. Odds are good at least one of them will have to kill a child they taught. And it’s not fair of Bruce to ask it of them, but…
He can’t go himself. It needs to be done, someone has to do it, and Bruce can’t leave the grounds or he runs the risk of losing everything.
So instead of sitting with his friends, and trying to relax after the first day of a new year…
He silently goes back to his office, and starts the painstaking job of tracking down the missing students.