Infinity Era

by JDPrime22

Chapter 79 – Somewhere Safe

It was a long and silent flight. The only sound was that of the constant whirring of the Zephyr One tearing through the clouds of white, breaking through to open airs and unveiling nothing to all. The camouflage kept the massive jet hidden from the world, from any extraterrestrial eye hoping to find them. The inhabitants within were silent, though.

Way too quiet.

There wasn’t much to talk about.

Piper and Davis took over the flight of the Zephyr from Phil Coulson, allowing the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to converse with the Avengers. With everyone. Bustling about, being the only inhabitants within the jet to be moving, working, still seemingly alive were the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Some of them. From the eight surviving S.H.I.E.L.D. agents returning to their stations to guide the Zephyr through the skies, to Piper and Davis piloting, and even to Fitz and Simmons going back and forth and offering the wounded with first aid, everyone else within S.H.I.E.L.D. were frozen where they stood.

Dead silence all around.

Daisy Johnson hung with Melinda May, both women leaning heavily against the Zephyr’s padded walls, arms crossed, staring forward and nowhere else. Agent Peterson, Deathlok, sat alongside Lance Hunter and Bobbie Morse, the two disavowed agents removing their bloody and tattered armor stuck to their bodies. Hunter removed the armored S.H.I.E.L.D. mask from his face, practically gasping for air, his face as ripe as a tomato. Bobbi turned to her husband, placing a bandaged hand on his shoulder for comfort. Both for him and herself. Lance accepted it either way.

Mack and Yo-Yo stood silently away from the group, conversing with one another, Alphonso asking her if she was all right again and again. Elena assured him she was, not a thing on that battlefield having scraped her. Deke stumbled almost aimlessly, following alongside Fitz and Simmons as the two newly-weds dropped by Danny Rand and the rest of the Defenders.

The Iron Fist had lost his button up shirt long ago, as well as his voice and sense of reason. Several scratches—some minor and a few very serious—as well as numerous bite marks painted his naked chest, Fitz and Simmons gently cleansing the wounds on his bodies, cleaning off the blood, and doing everything in their power to keep Danny Rand alive. He didn’t want to live. Neither he, nor Jessica, nor Cage, not even Murdock found much reason to anymore.

They were all still reeling, still trying to come to terms with the words that left Doctor Stephen Strange’s lips. How everyone in the Sanctum Sanctorum, everyone the Masters of the Mystic Arts vowed to protect, were killed. Slaughtered like cattle. All of their friends… family… everything they had left that kept them tied down to the real world.

Gone. Just like that.

Matthew Murdock’s Daredevil mask sat between his legs, between his palms, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sitting silently, staring somberly at nothing. A S.H.I.E.L.D. medic was busy tending to Jessica’s wound on her abdomen, treating the severe cut as delicately as she could. Jones hissed, painful tears boiling in her eyes. Not from the pain in her gut. Not from the skin being sewn together. But from her heart. Where it hurt the most to know Trish was gone. Jessica Jones closed her eyes and laid her head back against the Zephyr’s walls.

Luke Cage stood with no wounds, no injuries, just cuts and tears on his favorite yellow shirt. But deep down he hurt just as much as everyone else, probably even more so. Wherever he looked, his eyes would always trail further right to the corner within the Zephyr One, to see the “Sorcerer Supreme” sitting on the floor, face in his shivering hand, refusing to meet anyone’s stare. Especially theirs.

He refused help from any medic, knowing his wounds didn’t need to be treated. He felt so completely and utterly small in his current state, cuddled up in the corner with only the Cloak of Levitation to keep him company, to be the only one to lay their hands on his shoulders. Or in the Cloak’s case, be that fabric on his shoulders. Doctor Strange thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, but from what he saw, the looks on their faces when he gave the truth… somehow that hurt more than what was to come. Stephen remained silent, obscure, and refused help from any medic.

Robbie Reyes kept his arms crossed, eyes lingering on the tormented soul lying on the bench mere yards away from him. James Buchanan Barnes sat with one arm pressed firmly against the bench, his right arm. The other was gone, just shredded metal on the stump that was once his left arm. Simmons and Elena came by his side momentarily, assuring Bucky that S.H.I.E.L.D. would more than accommodate for his missing limb, asking the man if it hurt. Barnes just shook his head, assuring them it didn’t. He couldn’t feel a thing even when he still had the arm.

Reyes felt that power within him, that ancient evil conflicting with himself. Deep down, Robbie knew that Barnes—the Winter Soldier—had committed horrific crimes throughout history, and deserved death just as much as those scumbags on the streets that the Spirit had no problem taking care of. Hell, even the Ghost Rider agreed with him… at first. But all it took, all it really took was just a single glance into his eyes, an understanding of the man’s soul to know what had happened to him. To know of his torment. His pain. His past.

His innocence.

The Winter Soldier was definitely someone new for Robbie Reyes. Frank Castle on the other hand… wasn’t. His story hit right at him for Reyes, just one look from the Spirit telling Reyes all he needed to know about Frank Castle. The Punisher. In many ways, he was just like him. Lost those close to him, taking revenge on the scum and villainy that didn’t deserve any mercy. If anything, the Ghost Rider would have stared onto Castle with as much mutual understanding and respect as the Punisher would have given it. If he would have given it.

Frank Castle sat and stared at nothing, listening to nobody, blocked everything out except the constant ringing in his ears. His face, arms, armored chest and body, white skull, pretty much everything… dripped red. Black and red, the alien and his own blood mixed together and painted on his worn and weary body. His armor was nearly torn, the only thing left in his arsenal being that pistol gripped tightly in his right hand. The slide was pulled back, an empty magazine hanging in the gun. Castle didn’t even seem to notice. His shell-shocked expression and heavy breathing stared only ahead, out the window and towards the passing clouds. He could only see the fire.

The Guardians of the Galaxy were uncharacteristically quiet, as well. After hearing word from Rocket about the fate of the Milano, all chances of leaving Earth were pretty much gone. Meaning they were stuck there. Meaning there was no leaving until the war was over. Until Thanos was defeated once and for all. But for whatever reason—whatever godforsaken reason—that dragon just came out of nowhere and destroyed the Golden City of Wakanda, leaving the nation defenseless.

Leaving the Soul Stone defenseless.

The dreaded realization was on everybody’s minds. Tony Stark and his fellow Avengers specifically, Peter Parker right by the Iron Man’s side on the cold, metal bench. The cargo hold for the Zephyr One was spacious enough to hold all of them, but all Peter could feel were the walls of silence closing in on him. James Rhodes was in a similar boat, stomping across the Zephyr’s floor in his hulking War Machine armor, not knowing when to stop. As for Thor and Loki, the two Asgardians sat together on the cold, hard bench, right next to Stark and Parker.

Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff were in similar positions. Both trying to recover from their wounds while also trying to understand the situation, how the plan and the mission had all completely fallen apart. Technically, none of them could have seen it coming. None of them could have expected the dragon crashing into Wakanda, nor could they fight against the hordes of Hell itself. The hordes that seemed scarily familiar the more the Avengers thought about it. And all they could do was think about it, sitting on that same metal bench and staring ahead.

All of them staring at the Hulk. He sat near the cargo’s wall, gazing to the floor, his feet, shifting his eyes to Natasha every now and again and huffing whenever her eyes met his own. A conflicted warrior, a tortured mind, all trapped and fighting for control in the same body. Hulk was holding the wheel currently, but Natasha didn’t see the beast in his eyes. She saw the human concern only belonging to Bruce Banner. And he suffered. Like all of them.

But perhaps no one suffered more than King T’Challa. Even that title held very little meaning to him anymore, the Black Panther sitting and staring aimlessly to the floor. A king without a kingdom. By his side, his little sister Shuri clung onto him. She was not herself. Usually, she and her brother loved to poke fun at each other, laughed at each other, enjoyed everything a brother and sister could hold. All they could hold was one another now, neither one particularly smiling or finding reason to. Shuri played with the necklace her mother gave her, rubbing the gold and vibranium between her fingers, staring at the floor alongside her brother. Her head rested on his shoulder, hand over his. Both silent.

Too silent.

Steve Rogers was never used to it.

Neither was Phil Coulson.

Both remained near the cockpit, Phil watching Piper and Davis pilot while simultaneously gazing to his phone every now and again. Resting against the wall of the Zephyr, back to it, palms resting on his belt, and saddened eyes gazing to the floor, Steve Rogers let that silence utterly fill him. Change him. Force him to accept the fact that they lost. That Wakanda was taken. That a dragon fell from the sky and destroyed the city in one breath.

Leaving a defenseless nation, a plane full of soldiers, and one battered man thinking what could have been done.

They had been flying for a really long time. Steve lifted his eyes, turning them to Coulson’s backside. “Where are we going, Phil?” Steve asked. His voice was soft, almost a pained whisper. Nearly everyone in the Zephyr turned to him.

Sighing, Phil gazed onto the face of phone, reading the confirmation and pocketing it away. With his hand resting on the cockpit’s hand rest, eyes gazing out into the wild, blue sky, Coulson said all he could, offer the only bit of condolence for the tragedy that had struck not only him… but everyone he loved and cared for. His team. His friends. His family.

All he said was, “Somewhere safe.”

The massive Helicarrier appeared out of thin air the moment after he uttered those words.

And everyone saw it. Saw as they flew right into its awaiting ramp.

The doors behind him slid open and Nick Fury spun around to be greeted with several familiar faces.

Maria Hill did the same, a slick smile somehow finding its way onto her face when she spotted Phil Coulson stepping forward with Captain America right by his side. Just like old time. Just like better times. And with them came an army.

Led by the survivors of S.H.I.E.L.D. from the Battle of Wakanda, the eight soldiers dispersed to be treated for their wounds by more medical staff within the Helicarrier. Piper and Davis joined them, taken alongside Fitz, Simmons, Deke, Mack, Yo-Yo, Hunter, and Morse to the medical bay. Those wounded were taken as well, Bucky Barnes limping with aid from Agent Peterson. Bucky and Deathlok walked side by side, being the last in the medical bay. Leaving the rest to confront…

Phil cut the distance and hugged Fury, both men slapping each other on the back. No need for formalities. No need for handshakes. Family didn’t do that. Nick was already smiling by the time he and Phil broke apart, but he almost lost that smile when the next several faces emerged behind him. Faces belonging to the founding fathers of the Avengers, as well as the mother. Some young, new faces as well, all welcome if to be willing and able to stand against tyranny.

It was like it almost wasn’t real, seeing Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner—albeit as the Hulk, still somehow remaining calm—Thor, and Tony Stark all together again. Clint unfortunately wasn’t available at the moment, but Fury would give him his peace. His mind was still reeling on the fact that Loki was standing alongside the Avengers.

And with them… so many more.

Matthew Murdock, Danny Rand, Jessica Jones, and Luke Cage all stood together, all stared together onto the man with the swaying black trench coat and patch over his eye. Fury studied them momentarily, moving on shortly to the next bunch of a-holes. The Guardians of the Galaxy stared at Fury as he swiftly strutted past them, his lone, lingering eye remaining on Rocket and Groot only momentarily. The man covered in blood and grime caught Fury’s attention, Frank Castle barely giving him the pleasure. He sneered his way, both men sending a glare to one another before breaking off. He sent a firm nod to both Sam Wilson and James Rhodes, both men returning it. Nick paused at Melinda May and Daisy Johnson, smiling to the two loyal agents. They smiled back, each giving Fury a hug. He returned them wholeheartedly.

When Fury broke away, his eye fell to T’Challa and Shuri, and he froze. Already hearing the news. Already receiving the worst of it from Coulson. He sighed, meeting their gazes when they finally lifted their eyes to him. And in the corner of his vision, Fury could see Doctor Strange watching him from afar, Nick sending him a glance before eventually turning it to his team.

His old… old team.

With them was a young man wearing a spider-themed outfit, the kid Fury presumed was “Spider-Man”. He almost scoffed at that, eye lingering on the bemused Robbie Reyes before finally settling on the original, founding members of the Avengers.

Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow, and Hulk. Almost all of them were there.

And it was all Nick Fury could have asked for.

Finally breaking the silence, Fury settled his eye on Steve Rogers only, smirking the First Avenger’s way. Steve didn’t even move, not having the strength to do so. Not that time.

“Rest up. We got a war ahead of us, Captain,” Fury stated, facing away and towards the world beyond the Helicarrier’s glass windshield.

Even after, a part of Steve felt like he still wouldn’t have that strength.