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He blinks back into a harshly lit world, his head pounding and eyes burning, and smells the odor of burnt metal hanging in the air.
Dry wind instantly scours his skin, exacerbating the pain in every fiber of his being, in every shrieking muscle.
Blinks, out of a scream.
Why was he screaming?
Why is that the only thing he can remember?
Why is he..
He's slowly falling.
First, his knees buckle.
He starts to tremble and shake, then the shake travels up his body.
Up to his arms.
He looks down at them, and he's wearing something.
Wearing some sort of suit. A protective suit that covers his arms.
Or armor?
He doesn't know.
But they're covered, and they're shaking.
So then his whole body is shaking.
Shaking, and shaking some more.
He falls to his knees, grunting.
Hitting sand.
He hits sand.
Why is he kneeling in the sand?
Where is he?
Eventually his knees give out, and he collapses face-first into it.
It's a rough sand, not loose, but coarse and getting in his nose and his hair.
He breathes again.
Tries to remember anything.
Can't.
Can't remember jack shit about anything besides coming out of a scream, and being here.
He tries to fight off a panic and quickly realizes he does remember some feelings at least: scorching heat against his neck, pressure against him, a soft whisper in his ear and scratchy voices itching it as they were lost to static.
And that this gap doesn’t feel natural at all.
It’s unsettling how quickly those thoughts come to him, cold and raw.
But otherwise, it’s waking up here, and somehow still standing, like he was plucked out of line at military school.
Military?
He reaches up, feels a hat on his head.
So, carefully, as his body remains in aching pain, every joint and muscle burning him up, like his body knows what his mind does not, he sits himself back up, feels the..
The red sand falls out of his hair, his eyes, his hands.
He takes the hat off, brings it in front of him, and sees it's a beret.
It's a military beret.
Black, with a little cover jutting out.
He brushes it off, turning it, looking for any insignia.
There's none that he recognizes.
Would he even recognize it?
Closing his eyes, he takes one more deep breath.
Steadying himself, waiting.
And then opens them back up, and stands all the way up.
Looks straight up.
And is horrified.
There's a red sun, and that instantly doesn't feel right.
It's blood red, with flares pouring off it into thin air.
Swirls of molten glass across its surface.
It’s almost humming too, adding an ambient noise to the hostile atmosphere.
To a sky that seems unstable too.
That unsettling feeling extends to the rock formation he sees over the dune, unnatural and jagged, shining in the distance, oily and odd streaks, like a mirage.
So he turns back to the sky.
The sun is twice as large as he’s used to, twice as imposing, and it’s distorting what else he can see of that horizon.
It's caking the entire dusty landscape in an acrid glow.
A harsh orange maybe, filled with twisty clouds that line a sky that doesn’t seem like anything he’s ever seen before.
It's not his sun.
It’s not his sky.
He averts his eyes. Tries to look back at the ground.
Feels something pulling him to lean down, carefully, slowly, to the ground and pick up the sand.
Try to see if it's actually red sand or if that’s just the sun’s reflection, which is fast burning a hole in him already.
He shouldn't be wearing this much clothing in this heat.
He never used to.
But he's running the grains of sand in his hand, twisting his head, twisting his hands, feeling its texture.
And it's still very alien.
It doesn't feel right at all.
Something in his head is telling him it's not.
He wishes he could break through his head.
Wishes that he could remember why he was screaming, why his body's aches are starting to make him feel woozy again, and he's quickly wobbling just a bit as he rises to his feet again.
So he turns around, and sees a rocky outcropping.
Good.
Shade.
A place to sit.
He walks.
It's a heavy sand too. Because of course it is.
It can't be easy.
But, one step after another, after another, and he’s making his way through it, and the sky is as red as the sun.
Or maybe less red, more orange.
He still can’t quite tell.
It’s like a desert.
Like he's stuck in some fucked up desert.
Each step pounds in him, pounds in his chest, his feet, and his knees, but he makes them.
Reaches the rock, reaches out to feel it, and it feels cool, and the shade promises relief.
Relief from the blood.
So he holds on to it, with as tight a grip as he can muster, and lowers himself down.
Lowers down, and feels better the instant the shade covers him.
He grunts, and groans just a little bit, as he turns back around, fully under it now.
And sits.
And waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Waits for his memory to come back.
Waits for someone else to show up.
Waits for any of this to make a lick of sense, honestly.
He doesn't know where he is, but it sure as shit ain't Earth.
He knows that much.
Whatever else is going on, he knows that.
Knows from the beret and suit, armor, almost, that he's probably a soldier of some kind.
From the instinctive way the cap sits, like it's a familiar outfit.
From the rigid way he’s sitting, scanning outwards as he does.
The way his hands are clenching and relaxing.
The way the ache now seems concentrated in his shoulder.
The way his chest feels like it’s missing something, or used to miss something at least.
Or he could just be a fighter.
Either’s accurate.
Muscle memory responding when his real memory falters.
He also knows he has something on his arm, or at least a holder for something.
Reaches down to his pants and feels a pistol.
Feels its refreshing cool texture.
Grabs it, pulls it up close, and decides to hold onto it.
Just rests it on his knee, keeping it up with his other one.
Keeping them both ready to move.
Because something still feels wrong.
Somewhere in his gut.
He looks out at the sky, looks at the beams dancing in it, on the horizon, and just breathes.
Breathes deeply.
Some old training.
Can't even remember his fucking name but can remember training.
So he breathes in and out.
In and out.
In and out.
He's on tour of some kind.
He's got a crew or a team.
If he's gone missing, like it seems like he has, they'll come find him. They’ll jog his…
There's a sudden crash of lightning in the sky.
So he's glad he's under the rock. Under some form of cover.
He waits for the rain to follow, but none comes.
Nothing comes.
At all.
Except a sound.
The sound of footsteps far off, over the dune
He dares to look up as they hit the top.
It's a woman, and she’s moving with a restless energy, fingers twitching at her sides.
Eyes darting around her new environment, scanning for threats.
There’s a visible tension in her shoulders, even from here, and he wonders if that carries up to her jaw, if it rests at the core of her very being.
It’s something about the way she walks that hits him as she nears him.
What also hits him is that she is
A very attractive woman.
She's also in some form of armor, with some red emblem on its arm.
So... despite his best judgment, he gets up from his safety.
Still keeping his pistol by his side, of course.
But he gets out from under his shelter and tries to make it very obvious as he does, kicking sand and the like.
Decides to yell too, once he's fully back in the burning glow.
"Hello?" He yells over as she's paused now. Stopped herself at the noise.
"Hello?" A voice says back, soft but coarse, with a hint of an accent.
She's wearing some sort of bag as well.
Something that's making a humming noise as he walks over to her.
"Who are you? Where are we?" He asks this strange woman, who's meeting his eye.
She has short dark hair, sad eyes, and a disposition that he can't read. Furtive glances, maybe a bit of self-preservation.
"I don't know," She breaks the silence. "I don't know who I am. Or what this is?" She glances back at the bag.
"That makes two of us." He sighs heavily.
There's sadness in both of them.
"Where did you get that gun?" She asks, looking down, suddenly a bit more fearful.
"I woke up with it."
Feels like the best way to describe it.
"Who gave it to you?" She's a bit frantic now.
"I guess I did. Why? I'm not going to shoot you. I don't even know who you are..."
Come on, sure, he might look evil, and..
He sees a flash of a home.
Screams out in pain.
What??
"What was that?" He asks.
"What?" She's confused. "I didn't do anything..."
"Are you sure? Because that thing... why am I seeing things? Who are you?"
"I don't know." She's defensive, and he really doesn't want to fight, but his head is pounding, and it all got worse when she showed up.
She hits a button, and a black mask quickly drops down, her eyes no longer visible.
It's sleek.
And just a bit too familiar.
"Okay, no need to do that. We're both adults, presumably." He says, trying to diffuse this situation.
"Are we?" The voice is modulated. "You have a gun."
"And you have a suit of some kind."
"To protect myself."
"From what? It's empty here."
"No, it's not. There are creatures. Monsters. Crawling through the sand with long limbs and horrifying eyes. Jaws that could eat a person whole. Silent assassins. How do I know you're not one of them? That they can’t shape-shift too?"
There's a screech far off to prove her point.
"Because I'm a human. Are you?" He questions.
"Am I human? Of course I'm fucking human."
The voice that comes out is not.
"Are you even real?" She asks again.
"I am. Are you? What is?" He gestures, and he knows the whole thing can be seen.
"What I need to do to survive. Obviously, you don't get it."
She's shaking her head.
"Look, just get out of my way. Something is going on here. I'll find out, come back and tell you." She’s trying to order him.
"Oh, and leave me to die from these supposed monsters? Nope, I'm coming with." He re-grabs his pistol, almost clocking it.
She disappears.
Out of sight in a flash.
"Okay, very funny, whoever you are. Come back." He says, into the air.
And he gets socked in the jaw.
Close, like..
He reaches out, hits back, and feels something.
"What the fuck." He whispers.
"Ouch." He hears.
And she's right back in front of him.
Hands on her knees.
"You can't just let me go?" She's asking.
Voice coming out warbled.
"Why did you hit me?" He's baffled.
And then she's vanishing, and he's holding the pistol with one hand, waiting for a punch.
Which something tells him is coming to his left, so he puts up his left hand, and
Catches it.
Feels an umph and hears something.
Punches back, quickly re-holstering the gun.
Decides it's a fist fight.
Feels his hand suddenly let go of something, and then feels himself almost fall into the air.
Stops himself to turn around and parry a shadow blow.
He has no idea how he's countering now, but he is.
Feels a punch coming, stops it.
Feels something telling him to punch, and he does, and feels something give.
He's fighting a ghost.
He's fighting a ghost, and he's holding his own.
The woman reappears, lobs one that he can see coming, and he fires one right back, and they daze each other.
"Let me go." She's saying, with rage in her voice.
"I can't let you do that if you're going to let me die." He fires back.
They move into close-quarter combat then.
Block
Block
Parry
Counter
Counter
Punch
It's a rhythm that quickly develops.
They're catching each other, and while he can't see her eyes, he knows she can see his.
Can see the fight, and the grit in them.
Can see that he won't back down.
She kicks his leg out, right after he swears something does click.
He's thrust to the ground, instantly.
Tries to get up, but just feels her knees on his chest. Looks up again, and her unmasked face is staring down at him.
God, she’s gorgeous.
"Listen, I love where this is going. But can you please remove your knee first?" He tries…
She socks him in the jaw. Draws blood.
"Ouch. I deserved that, but still, ouch. Can we just talk? With words instead of fists?"
"Why would I talk to you? Literally what reason do I have?"
And he's staring into her eyes, and she's staring into his, and they're both sensing something familiar.
And then there's a loud crash.
And Ava falls right into his arms.
"John." She's teary.
"Ava. Ava. Oh my God." Walker's holding her so tight, making sure she doesn't phase out, trying to apply pressure where he can.
"I'm so sorry. I am so sorry, Ava." He kisses her forehead, her sweaty hair.
"Don't, John. Don't. God, what..." She stops, trying to hide the tears.
"I don't know. We didn't stop it in time, obviously. Did we, did we die?" He asks.
"I guess we did. I know…Scott got away. I hope Cassie was able to too. They were going to try to, at least. John, I should've brought..."
"I don't have the suit. I was doomed to die, as the failure once more." John muses, shaking his head.
Then it hits him.
"You could've, you should've gone, Ava. You should've gone with them and survived it. Why didn't you?"
"Because it's you. I wasn't going to let you die, alone, dumbass."
The generosity hits him, oddly fast.
"Thank you." He's tearing up, and they're squeezing each other tight once more.
He's in an alien world with barely any memory, but he has Ava.
Ava's alive.
Or at least with him.
She's with him.
The bright blue was turning into a fiery orange.
It crackled and snapped with clear dividing lines.
The multiverse.
Every universe she’d been quickly introduced to, every version of heroes and warriors. Every hope she’d had, every memory.
It was over.
"John," Ava said, removing her mask.
She didn't want to die with it on.
"Ava," He ran towards her, trying to turn her attention away from the burning around them.
"We failed. The New Avengers... we couldn't win." She was tearing up.
Hated to do it, but the literal universe was collapsing, and fuck it, they had failed.
Thor was right.
They had needed a miracle.
They hadn't gotten it.
They weren't coming home.
She'd gone from a lab experiment to mercenary to Avenger to failed Avenger.
She'd only ever had brief respites for her entire life.
Scott's kindness.
The New Avengers, as corny as it was.
And it was corny. Too corny for her at times.
But it... it was almost a family, in a way.
She had Bill, but these people- it was nice.
So she'd die with John Walker, the exiled Captain America.
The man she had grown to oddly care for.
Deeply care for, considering she'd figured he'd leave them to die at the start.
That he'd murdered in cold blood before.
But... that... that wasn't the John Walker she knew.
He was a cocky prick sometimes, never without a bit of an attitude, but it’s not like she was any different, not like that’s not how they began their relationship, but he cared. He tried to do the right thing.
He was the one who helped her, after all.
Understood her.
Tried to help with her phasing.
The others all had ties to the old Captain too. His best friend, his other best friend's sister and father, or father figure?
But John only knew the new Cap.
She didn't know any of them.
So maybe they had become sparring partners.
Maybe he'd find her, or she'd find him, sitting outside at the Tower late at night.
Maybe they both could’ve walked away, but always ended up finding each other in those lonely times, stubbornly refusing to let each other face their demons, hauntings alone.
And they both had plenty of those.
So at least she deeply cared for the man she'd be with at the end.
"Ava." He caught her, turning to shield her from the universal collapse.
"It's not okay. But it's....I shouldn't have expected anything less. Ever." She shook her head.
Turned to try and meet his eyes, one final time. Before the end.
"Ava, don't." He started.
"You asshole. I wasn't going to say anything dumb or just stare at our impending failure. Not without saying this first."
She paused as long as she could.
"John Walker, Secret Agent Man, man who almost let us die, I love you."
His face melted.
"I love you too, Ghost lady. Ava Starr."
And they'd kissed for the first time, and then the multiverse collapsed.
She's steadied her breathing and her phasing, and she's remembering a bit more now.
'That asshole." She mumbles.
"Who?"
"Don't you remember? It was Doom all along. He was the one trying to tear it apart. We should've seen it coming, and frankly, I'm embarrassed to have fallen for it. But he was like super evil all along." She props herself up.
"Oh, yeah, kind of dumb that we didn't." John laughs. "But come on, you and me, I think we can take him."
"Yeah?" She's flirty, but the scale of the fight is a bit of a weight.
"Yeah. I'll punch him, you phase in, bam." John punches the air.
"It's a lot more complicated than that." Ava laughs.
"Well, we'll figure it out." He smiles.
And they're leaning in and kissing again.
She likes that they got to stay alive for this.
They kiss until she hears footsteps approaching over the dune.
"Oh great. You already remembered. Took you long enough." The voice laughs.
Ava lets go of John, turns, and sees Yelena standing there. Her own gun in hand.
"Yelena?" She’s only a bit baffled.
"Yes, it's me. Big whoop. I'm glad you and Walker picked up right where you left off."
She grows serious after a moment.
"The others...well, some of them came back quickly. The rest are being held hostage. So we're going to rescue them, kill Doom. Be the New Avengers. Are you guys coming or are we going to have to pick you up on the way back?" She's laughing, but there is an edge there.
Ava leaps up from John’s embrace.
He groans, and Ava forgot she was leaning so heavily on him.
But after a second, she’s on her feet, dusting herself off, and sliding on her mask.
"I'm in." She says.
"Great. Walker." Yelena offers.
Ava feels a hand behind her, so she grabs it and pulls Walker up.
"I'm down to kill him. Actually avenge everyone. Think we can bring them back again?"
Ava squeezes his hand silently, knowing he's thinking of his son.
"Maybe. Worked last time." Yelena shrugs.
"Come on." She's waving them up.
Ava turns back to Walker. "We'll pick that up later. Don't die before."
"Wasn't planning on it." He laughs, and hand in hand, they climb out of the makeshift arena to face off against Doom once more.