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banchovt · 1 year ago

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Episode 2: A New World.

After the battle with The Hands I found an empty alley with no one around or cameras. I was able to return to normal; returning to normal was pretty easy. All I had to do was press down on the button to reset the driver. Ones, I was back to normal all the injuries I sustained healed; however I felt incredibly sore, and hungry. I was starving, I ran into the first restaurant I could find before I went back to my hotel. After, I arrived at my room and I went straight to my bed; I instantly passed out. When I woke up at 12:00 PM Japanese standard time. I felt great, like I had slept for years.

I walked down to the lobby, and went to a local restaurant for lunch. I sat at a table and looked through the menu before pressing the button to order. As I waited, I ran through my phone looking at Twitter. The top trending topic was a terrorist attack in Japan. I was looking through the feed and all the articles reported over two costumed individuals causing mass terror at a stage show. One was dressed as a monster and the other was dressed like a Yankee dressed in red with white helmet. The article continued stating that the two individuals began fighting each other; ending with one of the bombs that they had gone off killing the individual dressed as a monster. The article ended with the metropolitan police still investigating the scene. The next article stated that they’re on the lookout for the red dressed yankee, and any information the general public may have.

As I was looking through the various articles reporting on the incident. I couldn’t find one that used any statements from the surviving victims; only their photos were released. Any statements released made the victims seem like they all had massive psychiatric breakdowns. Making the incident look like it was a terrorist attack, over what it really was. An attack from something from beyond.

As I continued scrolling through the various feeds. I heard a small cough in the seats in front of me. There sat the girl who gave me the watch, Neko Modoki. Just like how she disappeared, she reapered in front me. She was looking at the menu, keeping her eyes glued on to the steak set meal. I opened my mouth and asked “would you like the Steak Set?”. As soon as I asked she immediately responded with, “Yes, please!” Her eyes were shining in glee, I pressed the button on the table to inform the waitress that I was ready to order. I informed her that I’d like the Breakfast set and the Steak meal set. I asked if I could have a coffee. The waitress informed me that I could get my own drink, and pointed me to a drink bar. I walked to the drink bar and grabbed a coffee cup and filled it with fresh black coffee. I saw the pink haired girl had grabbed a glass filled with ice and a dark fizzy drink. She walked back to the table and began drinking slowly from her straw.

I walked back with my cup of coffee and sat back across from her. As I took a sip from my coffee cup. Modoki spoke up and started the long awaited conversation: who was she, what's happening in my world, and what was the watch on my wrist? She told me a couple of things that were hard to wrap around my head.

Modoki told me that she was from another world. Well another dimension, a different version of Earth. One that's more advanced. She came after she had noticed an anomaly in her lab from something that struck my Earth. Something that had the energy level that could ripple across dimensions. She told me that her civilization had laws about interfering with other worlds, but her curiosity got the better of her. She decided to break that one law and travel to this dimension and what she found was beyond her wildest dreams.

What she found in the smoldering crater was a robotic being with technological specs that were eons beyond even her world could build. The machine was torn apart with only its head intact. She informed me that the robot could only respond in morse code. It warned her that they needed to escape before they came.The moment the message was transmitted, a beam of red light shot down from the sky falling directly on top of her and the robotic being. Before that could happen Modoki instantly teleported herself back to her world with the mechanical being. She could only speculate that the beam of light was intended to destroy the machine.

After she had returned to her world, the machine introduced itself as Unit R-999; She nicknamed it Rine. Rine informed her of an invasion that would soon arrive upon my world. She had informed Rine that she could not do anything for my world. She did more than she was supposed to or even allowed. Rine corresponded with a champion that would protect it. Rine instructed her in building a watch loaded with both technology from her advanced world and Rines. Once the watch was completed Rine opened its chest showing a red gem that would be the centerpiece of the watch; and what would power it. The gears on the watch began to turn and reverberated as a bright red light broke out from it. Rine had told her that she would need to find a worthy champion who will carry a power greater than anyone has seen before as it shut down.

She ended her story by taking some ice from an ice filled cup and began munching on them like chips. I had more questions as to where the robot came from and what was it built for? As the flood of questions began to spew from my mouth; our food had arrived. I decided to ask my questions after we ate our meal.

After finishing our individual meals. I was ready to ask my questions, but before I could ask. I saw her press the button in a blink of an eye and with the button press, the waitress returned. She ordered another 5 additional steak meal sets. I was surprised that she could still eat more, let alone 5 more meals. I asked her if there was anything else I should know about the watch and my transformation. She replied with, “I know as much about that watch as you.” I was astonished and replied, “didn’t you make the watch?” she replied with a sigh,”Yes I did”. She shook her finger as she continued on, “You have to remember, I was instructed by that machine. A machine not from your world or mine to build it.” She sat back arching her neck to the ceiling, “ I worked on it and made it, but when that gem was added on. It's like it evolved”. My eyebrow raised as I asked, “It evolved?” She laughed as she responded, “it's crazy isn’t it? That gem evolved, something I built” before she could continue with the conversation the next 5 meals she had ordered had arrived.

Our conversation ended with her informing me that I didn’t need to worry about any new invaders at this time. She reported that setup a barrier and that it would hold for a year; giving me time to understand how to use the Imagine Driver. She left, informing me that she will be in contact. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared. The only thing that amazed me more than her disappearance was the check she left me with. All I could do was laugh as I pulled out the remaining yen I had to my name.

No other incidents occurred as my trip was coming to a close. I waved goodbye to Tokyo to Japan as my plane departed back to the states, and I began my training arc with Imagine Driver (IM).

Once I returned back to my headquarters IE my condo. I began working to understand the limits of what IM can do and how long my transformation would last. I drove to an empty field 6 hrs away from where I lived with nothing but fresh air, dry grass, and the wonderful view of the foothill; which meant I had to be extra careful not to start a fire. I looked around to make sure I was completely alone; with no one insight I shouted with all my might, “IMAGINE DRIVER!” My watch transformed from its base form to its wheel form with its digital button at the top saying Breaking Out Initiated!

I placed the wheel at the pit of the shoulder and drove it down my arm spinning the wheel. The wheel spun intensely. I struck the button with force that would break glass thus starting the transformation mode shooting me forward into a red wall. As I broke through the illusionary wall; I transformed into the masked hero dressed in red, Imagine Driver Bancho.

The last time I was transformed I had adrenaline running through my veins and urgency; I hadn’t realized that I was now a hero. That was something akin to a Power Ranger, or a Kamen Rider. A new sense of excitement began to well up inside of me.The excitement poured out from me springing me into quick little victory jumps. I wondered if this is how the kids from Big Bad Beetleborgs felt when they had their wish granted to become heroes.

After some brief moments of joy, I started to settle down and got to business. It was time for me to start testing the limitations of my abilities and the length of my transformation. I started my tests at 1:45pm and started my timer at the exact time. I needed an accurate measurement of how long my transformation would hold. I couldn’t make a mistake when it came to it. My world would be invaded soon and I didn’t want a repeat of my first transformation.

The 1st thing I needed to do was a speed test. The professor had previously told me that armor stats weren’t in speed, but strength. However, I had to test how fast I actually was compared to my normal sprinting speed. I took my mark and shot forward with everything I had. However my speed was slightly better than my own, but I didn’t think too much about it. I just kept running until I felt tired; by two O’Clock I had run 5 miles. I found myself near the base of the foothills. My speed may not have been the best, but my endurance was godly.

Next I need to test my strength. I knew I was incredibly strong. However, I didn’t know how strong I really was. I looked around to see what I could test it on, but all I could find was a boulder and the hill itself; and I didn’t think I could measure my strength by punching a hill. So I decided to go for the boulder. I took a random stance and first tapped the boulder with a light punch. What I couldn’t believe was that the littlest tap pushed the boulder forward. It was like a cat tapping on a ball of yarn, it felt like nothing. I tried punching it harder a second time. My fist went through the boulder like it was paper. That’s when something in me snapped within me. As I began to run a mock smashing and breaking everything around me like a toddler breaking their toys.

Everything within my grasp was a toy; Trees felt like chopsticks as they snapped them with my grip; I held boulders in my hand like they were softballs; and I tossed them like bowling balls down a bowling lane. By the time I realized the path of destruction that I’ve caused, 30 minutes had passed and I was still fully transformed. It was safe to say that my transformation could last upwards and up to 45 minutes. The clock was still ticking and I have not reverted back. I was getting ready to head back, when I heard yelling in the distance. I looked around to find where the voice was coming from, but I couldn't locate it. I was going half crazy trying to find the location of the voice when, “If you're going to play the hero. I’ll give you a hand.” It was Professor.

All of the sudden a heads up display lit up on the inside of my mask with an arrow pointing the way. I didn’t think much of it, I just began running with everything that I had. I wasn’t going any faster, but the professor shouted,”Jump!” My body responded to her shout and leapt forward. My body shot up into the air. It felt like I was flying, I moved faster through the air than I would have done running, but I didn't prepare for the landing. In the words of a pro skater, I ate big time bro. I left a skid mark of dirt on the ground. The professor asked as I was stumbling back to my feet, “that was a nasty fall, you good?”. I replied, “Ya, I’m good, didn't feel a thing.” As I finally stood up right, I looked up towards the direction the arrow was pointing. Where I saw the dangling figure on a cliff holding on to deer life.

“Shit” I shouted, “What do I do?”. “You’re the hero, figure it out?” the professor retorted. I was freaking out, as I tried to figure out what I could do to save the person from pending their doom. All I could think; all I could do was just jump. I jumped as high as my legs could take me. My body flew atop the cliff face like a rocket shooting off into space. As I reached the person, I noticed the pace of my ascent wasn’t slowing down. I stuck my hand out into the cliff and dug my fingers into bedrock; it slowed me down enough to be near them. I was still more than a couple of meters away from them.

I made my way to them by climbing like a gargoyle. Digging, my fingers into the cliff side moving slowly, but keeping my eyes dead set on them. I was no more than mere meters away from them as I called out to them, “You, person hanging on by thread I’m here to rescue you”. In retrospect I could have come up with a better opening line as the hero that arrived to rescue his first civilian; but I wasn't as prepared as thought I'd be.They turned their heads from looking up, and looked down towards me. In a panicked voice, “Who.. Wh..Who are you?”. I dug my feet straight into the wall. Once, I knew I had a solid grasp of it. My hand let go of the wall that it had a firm grip on. As I struck a pose my arms folded and my feet firmly stuck to the cliff proclaiming, “I’m the Hero of Justice, Chivalrous man dressed in red. THE IMAGINE DRIVER; BANHOU!”

They stared at me in a stupefied look as they uttered, “Whooo!?” The single utterance took the wind out of my sail. All I could respond with was, “I’m here to save you. Just keep holding on.” I returned to my climbing position and continued my ascension. As I was getting closer to them; a strong gust of wind descended on the cliff side. The wind felt like it was trying to throw us off the cliff.

I began to worry thinking that they didn’t have much time, so I started rushing to them. They began to panic with the gust of winds crashing on the cliff side like tidal waves. They began shouting in a panic, “hurry, hurry please! I can’t hold on much longer!” They began to wiggle and trash while holding on. “What’s your name!” I shouted. They responded with, “What?!”. I repeated myself, “What’s your name?”. They responded with, “why are you asking now? Can't you see my life in danger?. “I know” I responded, “I just feel like it's important to know, who am I saving?” They shouted back, “Does it really matter!?. “Yes!” I shouted, “Now talk!”. They started talking, “My name is Rachel," “Hi Rachel,” I responded. They continued with “I’m an engineer, and my favorite fruit is strawberries” . They continued on talking about themselves, their voices and actions started to relax. They were no longer panicking.

As I finally got close enough to grab them. The wind hit the cliff side like a wall pushing them off. I acted quickly and grabbed them, losing my position on the cliff. We began to fall together, I held their head to my chest as we fell. I was trying to think of a method to safely land on the ground, but nothing came to mind. My first mission as a hero is going to end with the death of a civilian. I tried my best to make sure that I took the full brunt of the force the closer we arrived to the ground. When the professor finally shouted at the top of her lungs “use your coat!” with those words I took to action. I let go of Rachel for a split second; it took off my coat grabbing the sleeves with one hand, and then grabbing Rachel with the other. My coat quickly caught the wind and began to work as a parachute, slowing our descent.

We finally landed safely, I let go of Rachel. They dropped on the floor holding their chest breathing heavily. “As far as 1st rescues go. I feel like that went without a hitch” I said trying to break the silence. “Are you crazy!?” Rachel shouted. I responded, “Ya kind of? Anyways, you're safe now” I said while doing a Kamane Ridder-ech pose. They stared daggers into me, as if they were ready to kill me. “Well then Rachel.” I said, “Do you have your phone?” She looked at me weirdly, “No, why?”. I sighed and said, “Well this isn’t going to earn me any points, but..” I picked them up like a princess and told them not to bite their tongue. I started to make small leaps forward.

After five minutes of leaping through the hills and trees. I finally found a gas station, and landed there safely. I gently dropped Rachel onto her feet, she stood for less then a second before falling on her knees like a newborn doe. I walked toward the gas station attendant staring weirdly as if they had seen the most insane spectacle in their lives. I asked them, “ Umm.. sorry for popping out of nowhere there. Do you have a phone? Or landline? I need to call an Ambulance to check on that lady over there”. The attendant looked at me wide eyed and said, “Yes, is that lady going to be ok?” they pointed at Rachel who was still on her knees in a daze. “I hope so, but she did fall off a cliff and uhhh, she looks ok?” I responded. “However” I stated “I’m just a guy in a biker helmet with a red coat. So can you call the Ambulance?” The gas attendant began to call the ambulance.

After some time the ambulance arrived and checked on her. I made sure to stick around until I knew she was ok. “Take care of her” I told the paramedics as I began to take my position and make my exit. “Wait” someone shouted from the ambulance. I turned back and saw one of the paramedics running towards me, “wait!” they shouted. “ What's your name!?” they asked. I looked at them and looked back at the ambulance; and saw Rachel laying on the gurney all packed up. I began to take a pose and state my name with gusto, “ I’m the Hero of Justice. Garbed in Crimson. The one that imagines a bright future for all! The IMAGINE DRIVER! BANCHO!” They looked at me weirdly like they saw something outrageous. After a brief second they burst out laughing, I was taken back by the reaction; but I can understand based on my stylish actions. “Bancho. I’ll remember that.” giggling as they responded. I took off after that interaction making my way back to my car.

The professor spoke to me while I Jumped forward, “Good job today Geo” she stated. I responded, “Was that alright professor? I felt like that could have gone better.” She responded with a light giggle, “Do you think the heroes you’ve read about, in your comics. Would they have done as you did their first time?” I responded immediately with, “Yes! They would have done a better job saving her then me”. Professor took a brief moment before responding, “then you're going to have to train more and learn how to use the [Driver] and unlock all its secrets.” she continued on, “We have 1 year before the barrier falls, and as far as we know [The hands] was the only one that made it through.” I took a deep breath. Before I could respond the professor added, “the Imagine Gem chose you, have some confidence.”

#vtuber lore #vtuber #kamen rider #masked hero #Banchō

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omnilabsolutions · 3 years ago

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crossstitchworld · 5 years ago

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I made a periodic table for my mass spec lab, gifted on my first day back after my redeployment to a COVID testing lab ended! by idontknowuugh

#cross stitch #xstitch #crafts #handcrafted #diy #handmade #embroidery #x stitch

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 5 years ago

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It’s This Jealousy

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: I got tagged in this post right here by @starkerscoop and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get my hands on it. It got a little smutty at the end - hope you don’t mind! (& @send-me-your-hcs asked for a tag, too!) Warnings: masturbation Summary:

It's this jealousy Oh, and I just can't believe In this jealousy This jealousy for you

At the ripe age of 49, Tony never imagined he’d be best friends with an 18-year-old. After all the mess with Steve and Bucky, things were a little strained between Rhodey and Tony. It wasn’t anything personal, there were just lots of things between them now, the leg braces he worked constantly to improve not even close to the only thing. With Peter, Tony could simply be. Their shared history wasn’t filled with anything other than a little tension and some misplaced control on Tony’s part.

The more Tony started to see Peter as the intelligent person he was and not the kid he always made him out to be, the more he wanted to have the younger man around. There was something in the way he tilted his head to ask questions and babbled incessantly that Tony just felt drawn to. Try as he might, there was no escaping the magnetic pull that drew him more towards Peter every single day.

It wasn’t subtle, either – the way they just seemed to fit. Peter moved into Avenger’s tower after graduating; the transition from part time to full time was and easy one, he fit right in with everyone – especially Tony. It didn’t take long for the two of them to break off and head for the lab together or be found in the living room pressed together from shoulder to hip talking quietly amongst themselves.

If someone was looking for Tony, they always pointed him in Peter’s direction. There weren’t many times throughout the day that they weren’t together. Tony appreciated Peter’s brain – he thought from all angles and wasn’t afraid to be wrong. There were many times when Peter taught Tony something new or made him go back and look at things from a totally different perspective.

Just the other day, Tony sat with his head in his hands, the nanotech and its housing unit he’d been trying to manipulate for the last hour sitting uselessly on the desk. A soft touch on his shoulder had him looking up, a smile overtaking his face for the first time all day. “Hey, kid,” Tony said in greeting, his hand coming up to hold Peter’s to his shoulder for a moment. “Training go well?”

He’d been trying to update his suit, so he stepped out of the group training for the day. The transition from the mechanism on his chest to the full suit was still too slow – he needed at least another second off of the total time. The headache didn’t seem worth it at that point, though – he should have worked the frustrations out. His head ached and he wanted to pull the freshly showered Peter Parker closer to him more than usual.

When Tony let go of Peter’s hand, he was surprised to find that Peter didn’t move his hand from its place on his shoulder. In fact, the fingers there dug in, the tips moving up and down the line of muscle. He tried not to move – the last thing he wanted to do was scare the kid away; the touch felt amazing. It was almost enough to make the collection of useless tech below him not matter. Almost.

“It did – the new adjustments you made to the aiming system did a world of good. I was moving so fast today,” Peter answered, his voice excited. Tony forced himself to settle on the slightest flash of a smile – Peter loved being a superhero, it was so insanely obvious. More often times than not, Tony found himself working on Peter’s suit just to see the astonishing smile on his face – the very one that was beaming back at him right now.

Tony picked up the small screwdriver he’d been using to mess with the back paneling, his face burning a little from the rush of affection that washed over him. It didn’t make sense, feeling like a schoolboy with a crush. But he couldn’t help it – Peter was so wholesome and filled with excitability and life; it was hard not to be drawn to it. “Bummed I missed it. I’ll pull the data from EDITH later – we can do a little data spec. I’ll see it in real time that way.”

He heard Peter suck in a breath, then saw the smile on his face grow wider. “That sounds like a good idea. I also brought some new ideas for the next evolution of web fluid. I’m so close to a breakthrough.” He went about taking his StarkPad and old-fashioned spiral notebook out of his backpack, excitement written all over his face.

Sitting down next to him (instead of across from him like not too long ago) Peter leaned into Tony’s space, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s this,” Peter remarked, pointing to the external structure. “The adjustments you made on the shooters was in the programming. I don’t think it’s a mass thing, either. I think it’s in the transition.” To Tony’s surprise, he opened his notebook and pointed to a couple different equations. “I ran these this morning when I saw what you were looking at yesterday.”

Peter’s cheeks were red, and his body radiated the kind of heat that shouldn’t have been natural. It made his entire right side warm, the bare skin of his forearms prickling from the contact. Letting his eyes roam over the work, Tony leaned into him – an arm wrapping around his shoulder. “This is good stuff, Pete. I think I know exactly where to go now.” He kept his arm there for a few minutes, the two of them still lightly discussing the numbers and what brought Peter down that path.

A week later, his suit was ruining faster than ever before. Every time he punched the mechanism and the nanotech did its thing, Tony felt a warm drip of pride in the middle of his core – the little bits of attraction he’d been trying to hide getting harder and harder to ignore.

Especially because Peter seemed to think that their friendship came with an all access pass – to him, to the never-ending stream of thoughts that ran through his head, hell, to Tony’s things. Many times, he’d come back from a meeting and find Peter passed out on the edge of his bed, the huge TV dialed in to some anime show he couldn’t force himself to get into. He never did anything about it – how could he? Most of his daydreams revolved around that very instance.

After a few weeks, Peter started to talk – like, really talk. He started with the story of how his parents died and the struggle it was to get used to living with May and Ben. Peter talked about the things he missed because he didn’t have parents in his life, no matter how much his aunt and uncle tried.

The more time they spent together, the more Peter let himself be free with his words. Tony knew what type of shampoo he preferred, how many times May walked in on him naked or unclothed, and all the different fanfictions currently all the rage.

They were close – plain and simple. There were a few times when their closeness seemed like it might be something else, but neither man acted upon it. Tony didn’t want to apply undue pressure to a situation that only few people his age were interested in. He didn’t know much about Peter’s thoughts on that matter – it was the one thing they didn’t talk about.

MJ quickly became a topic that strictly stayed in the friend pile, Peter’s interest in her weaning significantly after some sort of mishap during their trip to Europe.

Tony spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom the entire week Peter was gone, his mind and body exhausted from all the work he managed to get done in the comfort of his king-sized bed. He didn’t talk to anyone, Tony keenly aware that his behavior was not appropriate for an almost 50-year-old person.

He could never admit that Peter coming back was the best day of the entire summer – the two of them quickly catching up on his use of EDITH and the different aspects of the new suit he wanted to start working on for his patrols back in the city. It seemed like nothing changed between them – but relationships or anything related weren’t brought up again.

The idea that he wasn’t approachable in that area made his jaw clench. His history didn’t lend itself to a positive image, he could admit that. There were a few years when things were so out of whack that only going from one thing to the next could satisfy him. After the cave, Tony figured the person closest to him when he got back was the answer. The try he applied to his relationship with Pepper wasn’t lacking, they were simply better off as friends.

It smarted a little – how perceptive Peter was. If the reason he didn’t approach Tony was because of his past, he couldn’t begrudge Peter one single bit. The kid was smart and understood that bad habits weren’t to be repeated. Too bad Tony’s history wasn’t anything like the way he currently felt and thought.

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Walking into the kitchen in the common area of the tower, Tony quirked a brow at the congregation of Steve Rogers, Wanda, Bucky, and Peter – they all looked up at him when they realized he was in the room. Peter’s cheeks colored, his eyes drifting down to the hands knit together in front of him. The rest of the adults at the table were looking at him with looks of curiosity and interest – Tony almost certain he could feel Wanda picking around in his brain, or something.

“Tony!” Peter exclaimed, one of his hands moving quickly to cover his mouth. It would have been comical if Tony didn’t know the kid so well. Peter didn’t do so well with lying or bending the truth – his face and expressive eyes gave him away. Staring at him now, Tony wondered what kind of snake pit he walked into. He gave the group a swift nod but didn’t stop to join them – he didn’t need spider senses to understand the prickly sensation on the back of his neck.

He was quick to get the hell out of dodge, a water bottle in his hand – the thought of making a sandwich quickly abandoned when all of the eyes in the room followed his every movement. Settling onto the couch, Tony put a random Netflix show on and turned up the volume – his ears ringing from the overdrive of his thoughts. Whatever they were talking about, he suspected it might have something to do with him.

It didn’t stay a mystery long. Tony saw Steve approaching him from the laid-back position he let himself curl into on the couch. Queer Eye sucked him in, so he let his brain check out, his body relaxing with the rest of him. The second he saw Steve, though, he sat up – the prickly sensation returning to his skin. He felt like he might throw up all over his fancy shoes, the thought that maybe throwing up would be a little less painful than whatever Steve might have to say crossed his mind.

“So – “ Steve started, his arms folding across his chest as he settled into the empty part of the couch. “I had a surprising conversation with Peter. Or well, he asked some surprising questions. Are things okay between the two of you?” Steve’s voice sounded a little patronizing – the big brother act something Tony could never get behind. At least he was here talking to him, though – it didn’t seem right to begrudge him that.

“What are you talking about, Rogers? I don’t know what kind of questions he asked you to know what you’re referring to. The last time I saw Peter, he was smiling over a beaker of web fluid.” Tony pressed himself against the side of the couch, the softness of it aggravating. In that moment, he wanted weight – something to ground him to this weird conversation.

In another life, Tony would’ve appreciated the tilt of Steve’s head, the curious look in his eye not the worst thing to look at. He knew what it was like to take on Bucky, though – he’d never win that fight alone. Shaking his head of the thought, he focused on Steve and the words it seemed he was trying to find. “He was asking about pleasuring himself. We all assumed you two were good in that department.”

Tony sucked in a breath, his eye bulging. “Pleasuring himself – what? Steve, we’re not together.” The words felt weird coming out of his mouth, like they were trying their hardest to cling to the surface of his tongue and not be spoken; speaking them made it true. Running a hand through his hair, Tony wished that the couch would open up and swallow him whole.

The emotions that swarmed around him made it hard to pay attention to anything else Steve said – his head nodding, but his brain not really processing anything. All he could think about was the fact that Peter went to Steve Rogers of all people to ask about the most personal of matters. Tony was good enough for everything except carnality – what a joy that was to learn. Without much thought, Tony got up, not really giving two shits about the still talking Steve gaping at him from the couch.

He took refuge in the lab – the sight and smell of familiar things enough to calm him down slightly. “FRIDAY, play some classic rock, will you? KISS, maybe.” Tony said absentmindedly – music would drown out the bottomless pit of things that only made him angry. His understanding of how irrational it was to be as angry and jealous and upset about something that wasn’t even his business made it all a little worse.

A whoosh of the door opening a little while later brought Tony out of the trance that he blissfully slipped into. Not thinking was a lot better than the war of emotions that threatened to consume him. His eyes caught Peter’s, his exterior softening for a second – his presence was soothing, even now.

Remembering Steve’s mistake and the weird feeling of betrayal, Tony lowered his eyes quickly – it would take ignoring the soft look in Peter’s eye to keep firm to his resolve to be mad.

“Tony – I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Peter approached him like one would a wounded animal, slowly and with caution. He wondered if Steve was supposed to tell Tony about Peter’s questions – if he was betraying the kid’s trust to set the record straight. His blood felt like it was boiling – the direction of his thoughts not very productive in deactivating the bomb that was ticking down, each second a little closer to explosion.

He felt himself huff out a sarcastic laugh, his emotions getting the best of him. “Well, you found me. Now what?” Tony’s voice was harder than he ever wanted to use towards Peter – the pitch of it sending a shiver of shame down his spine. The subtle change in the room wasn’t missed – so he let the feeling take hold; what did he really have to lose?

“What? Tony, I – “ Peter spluttered, words not coming despite his demand for them.

“You what? You’ve told me your entire life story, every little intimate detail, but you seek out Steve Rogers for sex advice? I don’t get you, Peter – a little piece of me is licking a wound. It kind of feels a little like betrayal.” Tony inwardly cringed, his own desperation so very evident. The dam inside of him was broken – there seemed to really be no going back. “I’m good enough for everything but this?”

Peter’s face fell, his usually bright eyes clouded over by confusion that was swiftly mixing with hurt – it pained Tony on a molecular level, seeing that gorgeous face anything but radiant with happiness. “Steve’s such an asshole,” Peter muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor. Tony wanted to pick Peter’s head up and rub his cheeks until the red hue and shine came back to his face.

“I didn’t come to you because you’re the one driving me crazy – I’ve been so on edge around you and I can’t – there hasn’t been any relief. I thought I’d ask people who are just as souped up as me about it. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me,” Peter admitted quietly, his eyes peeking up to gauge the look on Tony’s face.

Shaking his head, Tony cursed himself for not being the stonewalled person he made himself out to be. The cracks in his armor were ones he couldn’t buff out – no matter how hard he tried. Words he longed to hear sat on his skin, his body trying to decide how to process the stimulus of actually getting the thing he wanted the most.

The few steps it took to close the gap between them felt like miles – Tony couldn’t get his hands on Peter fast enough. “I’m driving you crazy?” Tony mumbled; his hands grabbing Peter’s hips. “You walk into the room and I’m completely lost. I’ve thought about bending you over every one of these tables – kissing you breathless against the damn fridge you lean into and search for food that isn’t there.”

Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, his enhanced strength pulling Tony against him before he knew what happened. There wasn’t any space left between them, their noses brushing with every hitch of breath either man took. “You’re my best friend, Pete – I haven’t wanted to fuck that up.”

Their lips touched then, both of them leaning in to close the distance. Tony’s fingers clenched, the hold on Peter’s hips tightening. The t-shirt Peter was wearing rode up a little, a bare stripe of skin available for his fingers to touch. At first brush, the body against him squirmed, Peter pulling away to let out a soft gasp. “Fuck!” Peter grunted out, his eyes clenching closed.

Tony watched Peter’s reaction, a rush of heat collecting in the boiling pit of his stomach – his cock throbbed against the zipper of his jeans. He’d thought a lot about what Peter would look like in the throes of passion – the sight was exponentially better than anything his brain could dream up. The flush on his cheeks made them seem fuller, the globe of them looking tasty enough to pull into his mouth. Glazed eyes and a hanging jaw had Tony moving – his lips desperate to be pressed against Peter’s once again.

“We should move this elsewhere,” Peter babbled against Tony’s lips, his fingers fisted in the front of Tony’s shirt. “I want to feel your skin, Tony.” His hands were uselessly tugging at the buttons, the fabric of it starting to tear with the force of his grip.

Groaning, Tony forced himself to take a couple of steps out of Peter’s grip completely. It would take too many brain cells to get to the elevator and up to the floor his rooms were on if he were still anyway attached to Peter – his hands achy to touch, to finally feel the thrum of Peter’s heartbeat pulsing in his veins.

“After you,” Tony mumbled, his chest heaving as he watched Peter walk in front of him, the articulation of his step hitched a bit from the stiffness in his pants. His steps were quick and the view from behind was nice – a good enough distraction to get him from the lab, into the elevator, and then down the hall where he grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him along.

The slamming of the door in his bedroom was more satisfying than he figured something small like that had the right to be. Peter’s breath hitched when Tony’s eager fingers slipped under the edge of the soft t-shirt covering the long limbs he’d been thinking about for months. It got caught on Peter’s ear as Tony pulled it off, both of them laughing. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Peter admitted, pupils blown wide.

Tony grinned, the tips of his fingers trailing down the hard planes of Peter’s sides – “It’s real – I’m real,” Tony answered, his hand grabbing Peter’s and placing it over the hardness trying to escape the confines of his jeans. “That’s for you.” He let a chuckle slip, the reaction of Peter’s hand tightening on his crotch surprising him.

They made quick work of clothes after that, Tony kissing him breathless between the unbuttoning of his shirt buttons and the fumbling it took to get shoes, pants, and briefs off. Peter ended up in the middle of the bed, Tony settled between his spread legs. “Touch yourself. Steve may be enhanced, but I know what it’s like to feel good,” Tony’s voice dropped, his eyes wandering over every single inch of Peter stretched out below him.

Peter didn’t wait to do what he said, long fingers wrapping around a thick erection before Tony even finished speaking. His grip was tight, Tony taking stock in the way he slid his hand from the head to the base, and the flick of his wrist on the upstroke. Dark eyelashes flickered, the edges of them just barely moving along the edge of Peter’s cheek.

Without saying anything, Tony let the fingers of his right-hand trail along the inside of Peter’s thighs. He kept the touch light, the skin pebbling with his caress. “The best part of what you’re doing is the build-up. It starts with the littlest itch. You grasp on and try to itch, but the pressure you’re using isn’t enough,” Tony flattened his hand, his palm running down the front of Peter’s balls. They were slightly hairy and drawn up – the sheen of sweat on Peter’s skin telling him just how much Peter seemed to be enjoying the tease.

Gripping both of Peter’s balls in his hand, Tony gave a tug and rolled them between his fingers. “So, you grip a little harder and move your hand a little faster – it’s the sweet combination of pleasure-pain, the relief of almost curing the itch and the slightest dig of your fingernails into your skin.” Tony let his left-hand wrap around his own length, the tip completely drenched in precum.

Tony slipped his hand from Peter’s balls down his perineum and in between his cheeks, his finger tracing around the tight rim of his asshole. Peter’s hand was moving quickly over himself, his eyes wide as he tried to stave off an orgasm and catch every move of Tony’s hand that he could. “You should cum, Pete. Finally scratch that itch.” Tony’s finger pressed ever so slightly against the rim as he spoke, the tip barely slipping inside. “Cum, Pete.”

The clench of Peter’s muscles was almost enough to pull Tony over the edge with him – Peter’s hand was flying over his length, the start of his orgasm splashing against the bottom of his stomach, then pooling between the ab and pec complex up towards his chest. Tony’s name dripped from his lips, Peter’s free hand fumbling around until he grasped bare skin.

It took a couple more strokes for Tony to follow him over the edge, the sight of Peter’s cum coating his own stomach and the blissed-out expression on his face more than enough to fuel Tony’s fire for a long time to come.

Without much thought, Tony collapsed on Peter’s chest, their legs tangling. He didn’t care about the cum that smeared against his skin when he moved in to press a kiss to already swollen lips – Tony hoped to spend many days covered in Peter’s cum and sweat. Now that the dam was broken, there’d be no holding back the feelings he tried his best to keep under control.

Peter’s arms wrapped tightly around him, Tony feeling the boy’s sigh from his position against his chest. His skin was warm and slick – the softness of it a contrast that made Tony want to hunker down and be surrounded by it forever.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #prompts #starkerscoop

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cagestark · 6 years ago

Text

-Defender//4-

Warnings: tony recounts trauma that is very reminiscent of civil war, but just a reminder that this is an Alternate Universe where there are differences between this story and canon.

Read here on AO3.

Training goes well.

Peter meets Black Widow (and she is even more beautiful in person, so beautiful that it’s eerie). She offers him her hand and he shakes it, firm and polite. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve staring at their hands as they clasp together, but if he’s expecting Peter to use his strength on an unenhanced human—not to mention one who has done nothing wrong—he’s got another thing coming.

Just to rub it in, Peter puts on his best respectful veneer when he says: “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Do you hear that, Steve?” The man mutters an I hear it under his breath. “Call me Natasha. They’re calling you Spider-Man, you know that? I guess that makes us of a similar Kingdom and Class.”

Peter feels warmth in his gut, the pleased, tingly feeling of belonging. He has a name like Black Widow or Hawkeye or Iron Man. Fuck. May would tease him without end for that, in between her proud smiles and glistening eyes. “That’s so cool,” Peter says, sounding as star-struck as he feels. “We’re like, the spider subdivision of the Avengers or something. Ancestral Arachnids.”

“Natasha is going to be overseeing your training,” Steve says. He shows no signs of Peter’s unpleasantness earlier in the week, but something about the way those blue eyes track his every movement keeps Peter from letting the man stand at his unprotected back. “She’s one of the best in the field when it comes to hand to hand combat. You more than likely already have the instincts you need if you’re enhanced, so she’s just going to help you learn how to listen to those instincts and hone them, plus run you through our procedures in the field. Sound good?”

It does sound good.

“Do you want to spar, Captain?” Peter asks while Natasha changes into work-out clothes. This time, the other man doesn’t fall for his wide, guileless eyes and the gentle, pubescent sounding voice. He assesses Peter with flat, knowing eyes.

Steve shakes his head. “Busy today, kid. Some other time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Peter promises, flexing the fingers he’d used to crush the other man’s hand. He cracks the joints swiftly.

Natasha isn’t enhanced, so he is careful not to hurt her while they spar, but her depth of knowledge seems endless. She knows techniques from martial arts subdivisions that Peter can’t even pronounce, and Peter watches her every move, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. He loves learning. He loves being useful. He loves the ache in his body after a workout. He loves having a purpose.

“How often does Mr. Stark train?” Peter asks during a water break.

Hawkeye (Clint, as he introduces himself) and Falcon (Sam) are wrapping their knuckles by the water cooler and overhear him ask. Clint snorts. “Tony? He doesn’t. At least, not with us.”

“He comes to the mandatory team exercises every other week. We’d kick him out of those, too, except that it’d be dangerous for us in the field,” Sam admits. “You’ll find that Tony is kind of like the third wheel on our dates with the bad guys, Pete. He tags along or shows up even when we ask him not to. Sometimes he comes in handy, sometimes he gets in the way.”

“But he pays for the tech and the Tower, so try not to piss him off or we’ll all end up out on the streets,” Clint adds. He and Sam touch knuckles.

Peter says nothing—stunned. He might have guessed that with a team leader like Steve, the rest of the team would have the same viewpoints but it’s still…disappointing. The Avengers were his heroes in his teen years, but they’re turning out to just be normal people. Shitty ones, at that. Peter feels another part of his illusioned childhood slip through his fingers.

He trashes it, along with his empty water cup.

“Peter?” Natasha asks. He can tell by the look on her face that she senses his tense mood, her eyes flickering between him and the two older men preparing to spar behind him. “You want to run through things one more time before we call it quits for today?”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little tense in my shoulders,” Peter lies, ignoring the guilt that gnaws at his stomach. He rubs at one trap for effect. “I think I’m going to go stretch and shower and rest—don’t want to pull a muscle, you know.”

“Right,” she says. “Well let me know if you aren’t feeling up to doing more in the morning. You have weeks before you’ll be cleared for fieldwork, so there’s no rush. Here, give me your Starkphone and I’ll program my number into it.”

“I don’t have a Starkphone,” Peter says. He’s never even had a smartphone, much less a STARKphone, the specs of which can’t be compared to anything Apple and Samsung are cooking up in their wildest dreams. They aren’t even mass produced considering their at-cost price is three grand. Peter has two dollars in change in the pocket of his backpack, but that’s it (and it’s mostly pennies). “But if you just tell it to me, I can memorize your number and put it in my track phone when I get upstairs.”

Natasha’s brows draw together. “Tony must be slacking if you don’t have one. He gives every new Avenger the latest model to make sure we’re up to date on the newest tech and able to communicate efficiently—something about how iPhones are the equivalent of chiseling on stone or sending smoke signals. I’ll talk to Tony for you.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t need to make me a phone,” Peter insists. “I have one upstairs that works just fine. Maybe when I start getting paid, I can save up and get one of my own—”

“You don’t have to save up to get Stark tech,” she says, smiling. “It’s free. That’s the perk of having Tony on the team.”

The perk, she says, like Tony’s money is the only thing he has going for him.

“I don’t want it,” Peter says. He puts space between them, jabbing the button for the elevator with more force than necessary. When the doors open to finally take him away from this gym with these people, it feels like he’s watching the pearly gates open for the way relief fills him. “But thanks anyway. I guess I should be thanking Mr. Stark, though, right?”

The doors close on her confused face.

Thirty hours later, Peter is climbing the walls. Figuratively, this time. He feels even less inclined to leave his room now than he had before. He’s already become something of a nocturnal recluse, exiting the kitchen only in the dead of night when he can hear the sounds of the other Avengers sleeping around him. He’s met some of the others who come and go and some who live on the floor: Thor, Wanda, Dr. Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner. There are hushed mentions of another member, Bucky, but Peter never sees him. What hurts most is Tony’s glaring absence. Ever since Peter got the man off, he hasn’t seen a trace of him. Anxiety blooms in his chest like water expanding upon freezing, icy barbs that make it hard to take a full breath. What if Tony is mad at him? What if Peter misinterpreted things between them? What if the dynamic has changed, and now he’s nothing to Mr. Stark but yesterday’s news?

It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened to him.

“Peter?” the disembodied voice with the exaggerated Irish lilt makes him jump.

He clears his throat, out of sorts as it is from disuse. “Yes, Ms. FRIDAY?”

“It’s Mr. Stark, Peter. He wants to know if you’re available to meet him in the lab.”

Peter jams his feet into his shoes without bothering to put on socks.

Tony blinks in surprise at how quickly Peter arrives through the glass door of his lab, eyes scanning up and down Peter’s figure before settling on his face and giving a warm smile. Peter takes the time to assess the older man as well (fair is fair!). Tony looks exhausted, eyes shadowed, hair a mess. He’s wearing the same clothes he was the last time Peter saw him, but it’s been so many days, surely he’s just rewashed and decided to wear the clothes again—right?

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since Peter moved rooms, since the night he ground on the man’s lap until Mr. Stark came in his pants. Just the memory of it (which Peter has revisited several times in his bed, in his shower) makes him flush with phantom arousal. At least he can blame that on the speed he used to get here.

Maybe it should be awkward, but it isn’t. Not on Peter’s end, at least.

Tony points to the lab table closest to the door where a large box rests. “I am bearing a gift for you, spider-boy.”

“Spider-Man,” Peter amends, already smiling. The difference is amazing and something he didn’t necessarily notice until he saw the man again, until the apathetic listlessness was washed from his skin leaving him feeling refreshed and exuberant. Peter missed him. He tip-toes towards the table, fingers hesitating above the ominous box. “You didn’t need to get me anything, Mr. Stark.”

“I didn’t—I made you something. Big difference. Go ahead, open it.”

With trepidation, Peter opens the box. There is a large mass of dark fabric inside and a smaller, sleek box sitting on top.

“Ta-Da!” Tony says. “Two gifts! I lied. I’m such a liar—”

Tony sways where he stands, like he’s suddenly lost his balance. Peter nearly upends a lab table between them trying to get to the man, watching as he white knuckles the nearest surface to ease himself down into the chair he’d abandoned. The heart in his chest pounds, skipping beats, a horror movie soundtrack that Peter is privy to, but Tony just waves the younger man’s concern away. “Gifts. Don’t worry about me, the look on your face will heal me of all my ailments, clear my skin, water my crops, all the things the kids say these days.”

“Your skin is already clear,” Peter mutters, frowning as he returns to the box and glances in the open lid. His stomach twists as he removes the smaller box. When he opens it, there is the sleekest, thinnest phone starring back at him, nestled in plastic that hugs its smooth curves, midnight blue. When he gingerly takes it from the box and turns it over, he sees the Stark Industries logo on the back and all the breath gets trapped in his lungs. “Mr. Stark—I—”

“I’m going to be honest, your expression isn’t healing me right now. What’s the matter kid? You wanted a different color?”

“I didn’t want one at all—” The look on Tony’s face is some mix between shock and disappointment. “No! I just meant, I mean, of course I want one Mr. Stark, these are the best phones in the world, I’m not just saying that, but I didn’t want you to go through the trouble. I know that these aren’t mass produced.”

“They aren’t,” Tony admits. “I made that one personally last night. Just for you, Pete. One of a kind. Like its owner.”

Peter’s face flushes. “I’ll save up my money and pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it. Get out the next present. Come on, I want you to put it on and make sure it fits.”

Somehow Peter is even more nervous—did Tony buy him clothes? He gets an image in his head of him walking around the penthouse wearing one of Tony’s band-shirts. Surely it would swim on Peter’s thin, petite frame. If he wore nothing underneath it, it’d be perfect access for Tony to come up behind him while Peter is at the counter in the kitchen (making coffee, cooking pop-tarts, who cares), ruck up the hem, and grind his erection against Peter’s bare ass.

Trying to slow his breathing, Peter hopes that his thoughts aren’t written clear as day on his face. When he pulls it from the box, he finds himself holding a jumpsuit made of a material that feels unlike anything he’s touched before: hard like metal, but flexible like fabric. It’s of a blue so dark that it’s nearly black. To match his phone maybe, he thinks. “What is this?” Peter asks. “Pajamas?”

“I’m sorry—pajamas? Jesus, kid, you’re, fuck. You’re really busting my balls today. It’s your suit! Well, the prototype. My struggles right now are just finding a material that’s strong enough to deflect bullets but flexible enough for you to do your creepy-crawly gimmick. Go and try it on, I want you to tell me if it fits.”

Peter sheds his shirt right away only to catch the stricken look on Tony’s face. “I meant go in the bathroom and change, Chippendale, but if—yeah, okay, that works, I’ll just—” he turns around to face the opposite direction. Peter rolls his eyes. His abs might be the one thing he has going for him, and Mr. Stark refuses to look at them now. Great.

He strips to his boxers and begins to tug on the suit, but a problem announces itself immediately. “Mr. Stark, this doesn’t have holes for my hands and feet. I need skin to surface contact for the scopulae to work.”

Tony remains looking resolutely away. “Not anymore. Thanks to all the in-depth scans FRIDAY completed last time you were here, I’ve found a way to recreate your scopulae mechanically. The sensors in the fingers and feet of your suit (and it should fit like a glove, Peter) will activate only when you activate your spider-touch. The suit is just expensive interfacing that will keep you from getting your fingers sawn off or developing frost bite. Are you in it yet? Come on, kid, the anticipation is killing me.”

Peter flexes around to zip himself up and yeah, the suit fits like a glove. The tightest glove he’s ever worn. One that was made for the contours of his body, the flatness of his abs, the bulge of his biceps. “It’s on. You can look.”

Tony spins around on the stool. He eyes Peter from the collar down, and the younger man grows flush, feeling that gaze on him as easily as he’d feel fingers reaching out to caress him. But when Tony fires off a series of technical questions about the fit, it becomes clear that he isn’t checking Peter out. He’s checking out the suit. Which kind of makes Peter even more crazy about him, if such a thing is possible.

“I’ve already tested the things it can and can’t do: it can’t be cut, it can’t be pierced or penetrated. Can’t be burned, though some hazardous materials are corrosive enough to it with long term exposure, so try not to take any lengthy dips in inconveniently placed vats of acids. But I have not yet seen what you can do in it. Let’s take it for a test run, huh kid?”

Tony takes him to the training room, which is empty on a Sunday. The ceilings are high—very high, and Peter scales them with ease. It feels strange at first, not feeling his bare skin on the plaster of the walls and the textured ceiling, but the suit fits so close to him that it’s easy to forget it isn’t his skin. There isn’t any difference in grip that Peter can detect, but he tests it anyway, hanging precariously by one hand.

“Oh no, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, placing the back of his free hand against his forehead like a true damsel in distress. He lets his legs kick a little in the air. “Please, save me!”

“I’m watching you use four fingers and a thumb to stick to a glass window twenty feet off the ground,” Tony calls. “I don’t think you need any saving. Still—this is not an invitation to be scaling my building, understand?”

“I don’t know, it feels pretty inviting to me!”

“Peter Parker—no death-defying circus acts, do you hear me?”

“No promises!”

Tony shakes his head. Peter thinks that he maybe looks a little fond. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

“Dinner plans?” Tony asks as they reenter the lab. He turns away so Peter can strip off the suit, though the younger man rolls his eyes. “I was thinking about ordering in like I always do. I’m feeling like soup though, need something light on my stomach. FRI, baby, what do you recommend?”

“After forty hours of no other sustenance, I’d not recommend anything spicy, high in fiber, or fried.”

“So you’d not recommend anything good, I get it—"

“Forty hours?” Peter asks, nearly tangling himself up in his haste to pull his shirt on over his head. He can’t see Tony’s expression, but his shoulders are hunched, one elbow resting on the table. Even from behind, he looks exhausted. “You can’t do that, Mr. Stark. You need to take breaks.”

“This is my break, kid. FRI, order me some vegetable soup from that vegan place down the street, and get Peter—Pete, what do you want? Does soup sound okay? What am I kidding, you’re enhanced, you need more than that. FRIDAY, find Peter something to eat that’s good for him, I don’t know, I’m hardly role-model material.”

“Soup is fine, Ms. FRIDAY,” Peter insists before the AI can purchase him an entire barbecued pig or something equally ridiculous. If she is anything like her creator, she must have a tendency to go overboard. Out to sea. Past the line of the horizon. “I don’t need anything special. Just a lot of it, if that’s okay.”

They take the soup up in Tony’s penthouse, and it’s the happiest Peter’s felt since being moved down to the Avengers’ communal floor. It feels like nothing has changed when Tony kicks up his socked feet onto the coffee table, takes the soup bowl into his hands and drinks the broth from it. He leaves all the carrots in the bottom, and it should be dorky that Peter finds something like that so fucking endearing.

“How’s it been, living with other superheroes?” Tony asks him, sipping spring water. “Everything you dreamed it would be?”

Peter shrugs, swirling his spoon around his own bowl.

“Not everything you dreamed?” Tony amends.

“I don’t want to badmouth my teammates,” Peter mutters. “We just obviously have different opinions about some important things. But that’s normal right? You put a half dozen people in the same apartment and of course they aren’t always going to agree.”

Tony hums. “You hate how Barton puts the coffee grinds right into the garbage disposal, don’t you? I’ve told him time and time again—”

Peter snorts. “No, that’s not it. It’s…well. It’s you.”

Tony frowns now. His whole demeaner changes, shrinks. With forced humor, he asks: “Me? What’d I do this time?”

“Nothing,” Peter hurries to assure. His face flushes, he wants to press his palms against his burning cheeks, but he doesn’t want to call attention to it. “I guess that’s just where the other Avengers and I disagree. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to cause trouble or to make you feel bad, I just—I wish they treated you better. I wish they saw what an amazing person you are. You know?”

“Maybe you’re just seeing me with rose-tinted glasses, kid,” Tony says, smiling sadly.

“I just see the way you treat me,” Peter admits. “People were always pretending I wasn’t there. When I was sleeping rough, they’d just walk by, turn their heads so we didn’t have to look at each other. So they didn’t have to look at me, I guess. Even working here, not a lot of people pay attention to the Maintenance Department. We’re supposed to be…invisible. You treat me like I’m a human being, though. Like you see me.”

“You are a human being,” says Tony. “And I do see you. I don’t know how anyone could miss you, kid.”

God. Maybe that’s just basic human decency, but Peter hasn’t been shown such a thing in so long that it makes his heart clench, makes his stomach churn and palms go sweaty. He’s filled with such longing that his insides twist. More and more lately, he feels like if he doesn’t have this older man for himself, it might kill him, a desire so keen that it hurts.

“Woah there,” says Tony, reaching out quickly to sit his bowl down on the table. “Don’t give me that look. That look is liable to get us into trouble.”

“What look?” Peter asks, breathily, letting his eyes drag down the man’s body. He licks his lips reflexively—what, they’re dry, okay?

“That look!” Tony says, pointing. “That one right there, the one that says you’re about to eat me whole.”

“Spiders are mostly carnivorous,” Peter says.

Tony laughs, scrubbing at his face with one hand. “Peter, I’m really not known for my self-control—actually I’m sort of famously known for my lack of self-control. Have some mercy on an old man.”

“Who needs self-control,” Peter grumbles. All the things that embarrass him—the kind words, the affectionate touches—sex isn’t really one of them. Peter hasn’t been a virgin in years, and it’s been too long since he had a partner as good as he knows Mr. Stark will be. A partner as incredible as Mr. Stark is. “Besides, I’m twenty years old, I’m not supposed to have good self-control either.”

“How old is that is spider years? Because I think you’ll probably still come out more mature than I am.”

“Spiders aren’t dogs, Mr. Stark—” Peter finds himself inching closer to the man. His skin is so sensitive that he can feel the heat thrown off by Tony’s body. It’s impossible not to know how the older man is affected, not when his heart stutters, his pupils bloom. “You know, I don’t think that soup was enough. Maybe I need something else to fill me up.”

“I’ve heard a lot of dirty talk in my time, kid,” Tony says. Though his voice is unchanged, his breathing is haggard. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“That sounds like permission if I’ve ever heard it,” Peter breathes. In one swift move, he straddles the man’s thigh until it rests between his own, arching his back so that his cock rubs against that muscled leg.

Tony stops breathing. His eyes are half-lidded, the whiskey color turned deeper and darker. He takes several long, slow breaths to calm himself, but Peter doesn’t want that. He wants to see this composed man become the opposite of calm. He slips down off of his perch on the man’s lap and between the parted knees.

“Kid,” Tony says, catching his wrist when it moves towards the man’s belt buckle. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Peter asks.

“I’m exhausted,” the man says, and as he says it, Peter can see it. Between his legs, the man isn’t even hard. He reaches out with one trembling hand and pets at Peter’s hair, traces the shell of his ear with his thumb until Peter shivers, smiling. “I’ve been awake for, FRIDAY—”

“Fifty-one hours, boss.”

Tony points up to the ceiling. “What she said. I don’t think I could get hard even if I tried right now.”

Peter lets his head rest on the man’s thigh, watching carefully to make sure that Tony is okay with the intimacy. Judging by the soft smile, the way his hand comes down to pet at Peter’s curls, Tony’s okay with it. Shuddering at the stimulation on his scalp, Peter wills away the erection between his legs. Now isn’t the time. “Is it normal for you to spend so much time in the lab?”

“Nothing about me is normal, kid.”

“You know what I mean.”

Tony hums. “Sometimes when I have a project deadline, or when something’s caught my interest. After Natasha reminded me that I hadn’t made your phone yet—”

“Natasha?” Peter’s head lifts from the muscular thigh. He grits his teeth, officially adding her to the list of people he can’t trust with Tony’s wellbeing. “I told her not to bother you. It’s not your job to manufacture a phone for me; you’ve already done so much.”

“Just a match on the fire of things I’d do for you, kid,” Tony says. He sounds half asleep, and the sight of the shadows under his eyes reminds Peter that their positions are very backwards. Tony’s eyes blink open when Peter moves away, wide and bloodshot, looking ready to apologize though he’d done nothing wrong.

Peter sits at the opposite end of the couch and pats his lap. “Put your head here.”

“There?” Tony asks, pointing. “What for?”

“Think: why would I put my head in your lap?”

“To suck me off—?”

Peter sucks in breath to laugh and chokes instead, coughing until he’s red in the face. “Save that thought for another time. Just lay down.”

Tony does, gingerly. He lays flat on his back, one of Peter’s thighs cushioning the arch of his neck. It gifts Peter with the most delicious vantage point of the man’s face, even if he looks a little trepidatious. With all the tenderness he has in him, Peter reaches out to stroke the dark hairs off of the man’s forehead. Immediately, Tony’s eyes flutter and he inhales. The billionaire has noble features, even as delicately lined with age as they are. With his nails, Peter softly scratches at the man’s temples where gray hair is sprouting.

“God,” Tony mutters. “That feels good. Never stop.”

“Quit,” Peter says, smiling. “You’re going to make me hard.”

Eyes shut, Tony smiles, baring the prettiest, white teeth. God, there’s nothing about him that Peter would change. Nothing about him that is less than perfect—except for maybe the way he sees himself. How could someone so intelligent be so off base in their self-perception? “Should I talk about something that will turn you off instead?”

“Thanks, but no. You can go to sleep if you want to. You sound really tired.”

“I am really tired,” Tony concedes. His voice is soft and just a little slower than normal. Slurred, drunk with exhaustion. “Shouldn’t sleep though.”

“Why not?”

“I have nightmares,” Tony breathes. Underneath his eyelids, Peter can see his eyes flickering, like he’s watching his nightmares playing out in his mind. The man shivers—honest to God shivers, and Peter’s own senses take notice. Something is upsetting Tony, the goosebumps on his arms say, the anxious twisting of his stomach. Something is scaring him. Help. Protect. “Night terrors, according to FRIDAY. I get violent.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Peter says. Tony’s eyes slit open to stare at him, as if assessing the truth of his statement. “I could snap you in half, remember? I, I could snap Captain America in half, for what it’s worth—”

And the way Tony’s eyes open, shoulders stiffening where they’re pressed against Peter’s thighs, suddenly he knows. He knows that whatever is hurting Mr. Stark goes back to Steve Rogers. Peter strokes through the dark hair, rubbing at one temple with a tender thumb, but Tony’s eyes don’t close again. They stare at the ceiling above them, seeing through it like it isn’t there. Peter feels both hot and cold all over, inside his body and yet far away, watching through the windows of his eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” Peter asks. His mouth feels numb.

“It was my fault,” Tony says, shivering. “There was an altercation, and I made him choose between me or his closest friend. I can’t fault him for not choosing—for choosing Barnes. Some skeletons came out of the closet; I guess Barnes was responsible for my parents’ death—”

“Excuse me?”

“—it’s a long story,” Tony says. His eyes slip shut. “He killed them, but he was brainwashed so, so it doesn’t really count, I guess, does it? That’s what everyone says, what they keep telling me—that he was just as blameless as a gun might have been, he was just a weapon—”

“Tony. Hey. Just take some deep breaths—”

“There was a fight. Me versus them,” Tony continues. Peter’s heart sinks to think of this fragile, unenhanced man having to hold his own against two enhanced super soldiers. The suit had them on more equal footing, but two against one was never fair. Ever. “I was hurt. Very badly.”

Tony takes one of Peter’s hands, spreads open the fingers that melt under his touch. He presses it to the center of his chest and the young man can hardly believe what he’s feeling, isn’t even sure what he’s feeling. There’s a depression in Tony’s chest, centered on his sternum, a hollowness in the shape of a perfect circle. It’s right above his heart.

“What is that?” Peter asks, placing his palm there.

“After my stint in a cave in Afghanistan, I came home with an electromagnetic pacemaker that was keeping me alive and powering the Iron Man suits. During the fight, Steve destroyed it. The suit, it—it felt like a coffin. Hours went by before I was found. I don’t know what was worse: the sound the shield made when it came down on my heart or laying there with the thought of someone peeling open my suit someday and finding my skeleton.”

“Jesus,” Peter mutters.

And they live here. Steve is one floor down from them, probably doing something domestic like making dinner or watching television or doing crunches in his room. How can he show his face here, when he nearly took Tony’s life from him? How can the other Avengers let him? And Barnes—Peter isn’t even prepared to deal with how fucked up Tony having to house his own parents’ murderer is. Because it’s beyond fucked.

Tony rolls onto his side, face toward Peter. It might be arousing under different circumstances, but now it makes Peter curl up over him, removing his palm from the hollow chest and reaching for Tony’s hand. The palm is clammy, but Peter could care less. He squeezes, firm but gentle, and continues to card his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“’m so sorry,” Peter says lowly.

Tony’s eyes are closed, but he still murmurs back, “It’s no big deal. We’ve all made up, now, even Barnes and me. But sometimes—”

“—sometimes you’re still scared.”

Tony brow furrows just the slightest, lines that Peter wants to reach out and smooth away. “No,” he mumbles, more than half asleep now. “No, Stark men don’t get scared…made of iron...”

Peter says nothing. He sits there, stroking the man’s hair until his breathing evens out and his mouth goes slack, and even then Peter can’t bring himself to move. When he speaks, it is quiet, more to himself than to Tony. “You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. I will never let anything happen to you Mr. Stark. You have my word. I will protect you.”

Softly as he can, he maneuvers himself out from underneath the man’s head. There’s an afghan on the back of one armchair (though not the kind Peter’s used to, not the kind his grandmother might have made considering this one feels so soft and rich and new), and he lays it across the man. Oh, if only Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone and Time magazine could see him now, the soft and relaxed expression, the gently parted mouth.

Quiet as a spider mouse, Peter cleans up their mess from dinner so that Tony won’t have to wake up to it. After everything is back where it should be, Peter sits heavily in the armchair by the couch, a silent vigilant.

Tonight, Peter is a dreamcatcher.

When he finally leaves the penthouse and heads back to his own room, the sun is just starting to hint at rising. His own eyes are heavy, and his shoulders bowed with troubles—his own and Tony’s. All of it evaporates when he sees a figure sitting at the window watching the sunrise, a cup of coffee in his hand and the goddamn newspaper beside him, truly a man out of time.

Steve looks at him with all the prim disapproval of an old biddy, as if Peter was walking in with high heels in his hand and no panties on underneath a party dress. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment while the fury builds under Peter’s skin.

“Looking for a fight?” Peter asks, his hands shaking. A normal human might miss it, but Steve doesn’t.

“No,” Steve says. “I’m not going to fight you, Peter.”

“You will. Soon.”

“Not every disagreement has to come to violence.” The magnanimous attitude makes Peter see red, but then he wonders the sound Captain America’s shield makes when it strikes metal and feels cold all over.

“That’s real rich,” Peter mutters. He lifts a hand and flips him off. Steve’s lips get thin—but there’s no satisfaction in it. Giving Captain America the bird is small beans compared to the trauma Tony experienced at the man’s hands.

Peter doesn’t bother looking back.

In the privacy of his room, Peter takes the time to look through his new Starkphone. He discovers that he already has one contact: Tony. Peter rolls over to press his face flat into the mattress and keep from making any embarrassing noises (or at least to keep from making them loud enough for Steve to hear in the main room). His life has taken the strangest detour, and he hopes that whatever the destination may be that it takes ages to get there. He’s enjoying himself far too much. Take the scenic route, fate. Thanks.

Even though Tony is asleep, Peter can’t help but send a quick message and hope that FRIDAY screens his texts and will keep it from waking the exhausted man.

Thanks again for the phone, Mr. Stark. It’s awesome.

He sits his phone aside on the table, telling himself that he won’t check it until the morning.

Peter wakes with the phone pressed flat between his cheek and the pillow, the vibration of an incoming text making his skull buzz. Squinting at the phone, he sees that it’s a nine in the morning, and Tony has just replied to his message.

We’re very even, kid. x

Falling back to sleep takes forever, but the smile that threatens to split his face is worth it.

#starker #cagewrites #longfic

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asidian · 6 years ago

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Week 14: Crawl

February 28, 2038

The room is bathed in harsh white light from the caged bulbs that dangle overhead, and the thrum of machinery almost sounds like the beating of a heart. There’s a surveillance camera in the corner, but cutting the wire was their very first order of business, so it's not surveilling a whole lot of anything anymore.

They’re in the clear.

The floor's black tile, and there are no windows; the air holds an uncomfortable chill. There's only the one computer, projecting its hologram display into midair. Xia is bent over it, frowning at the readouts, but Jacob isn't paying them as much attention as they deserve.

He keeps glancing away, toward the open-topped glass case that's standing less than five feet behind them.

"Room settings," says Xia. "Temp controls, overhead lights."

"What," says Jacob, "they got alien mood lighting or something?"

He doesn't take his eyes off the creature in the glass case. It looks like a formless blob, dormant and benign, all its countless eyes closed. It resembles nothing so much as a three-dimensional black oil slick that occasionally pulses or twitches.

"Check it out," says Xia, and the lights shift to deep, blood red, a sickly shade that spills over the whole room.

"Great," says Jacob. "Cool. Feels like those things're fixing to break through the clouds any second now."

In the glass case, the creature shifts slightly. A limb peels free from its side and then rejoins the central mass. It does not move again.

"Jackpot," says Xia, suddenly — tone bright with victory — and Jacob turns to look.

There up on the screen is the 3D projection of a a grenade — model 6453ix, the kind in Nemesis' launchers — and a series of stats scrolling down the side.

Damage effectiveness: average. Damage permanence: extremely reduced. Reaction: negative. Recollection: high.

Xia flips the page, and a force blast device shows up on the screen, the kind that Chroma's sniper used to have before her suit got trashed. Next up are Hurricane's blades, and Justice's sideguns, and on, and on.

"Guess we know why they kept the thing," says Jacob, voice low.

"Yeah," says Xia. "They musta been testing its regen the whole time."

The holo-projection keeps going, as Xia scrolls through: past an electro-shock device that's still in testing, and Sandstorm's laser axe, and Sentinel's stun bolts.

There's a soft squishing sound behind them, as the creature shifts again in its tank.

The next weapon on the screen is something that Jacob doesn't recognize.

Model 9873ig, it's labeled, and it looks like a small box with a circle imprinted on the front. The stats scroll down the side: highly effective, in every category.

"Yeah," says Jacob, "but what's it do?"

Xia keeps scrolling, down past the stats, to the chunk of text underneath. It's classified as a sonic weapon, designed to scramble the harbingers' mental patterns and incapacitate their ability to project disruptions. It sounds good. It sounds great, actually. Which is why he doesn't get it when they reach the bottom and find the flashing red text that reads PROJECT: DISCONTINUED.

"What gives?" says Jacob, frowning.

He's skimmed through most of it already, but he skips back up again and starts to read in earnest.

"Wasn't stable," says Xia. "That sucks."

"Jesus," says Jacob, still reading. "Three casualties?"

He shares a glance with Xia; her eyebrows are drawn down, mouth curved into a frown.

"How the hell didn't we hear about this?"

Jacob looks back up at the holo-display — keeps reading, eyes flying over the words. And suddenly, he knows.

"We did," he croaks. "Check out the date."

It's up there, right next to all the other specs: date of trial. January 15, 2038.

It's the day Chroma crashed and burned. Three suits, wrecked beyond repair. Three pilots killed, and the rest of the team in the hospital. It had been all over the news.

Every report had said that the harbingers' disruptions had just been too loud that day — those whispers in the back of their minds a little too much. The mental break was a tragedy, and the resulting deaths an even worse one.

But the test results are hovering up in the air, clear as day: model 9873ig, responsible for the same number of deaths, on the same date. Jacob keeps reading, and reading, and sure enough, there it is — the monetary value of the damages done, calling out Chroma's suits by name.

He kind of wants to puke. The red light's giving him a headache.

Behind him, there's a squish as the creature shifts again, but Jacob doesn't turn to look. He feels frozen in place, incapable of moving.

"This," says Jacob. "They."

"They covered it up," says Xia, voice tight.

Jacob opens his mouth to respond, not entirely sure what he means to say. He never finds out, because that's when he feels a touch, almost gentle, against his left leg.

When he looks down, his brain won't quite process what it's seeing for a second.

The creature has crawled out of its enclosure. Its eyes are open, dozens and dozens of them, liquid black. Its wings beat weakly at the air, gaunt and gangly things. A mouth opens along the side of it, and another along the back, revealing rows upon rows of gleaming white teeth, and where its tendril brushes, the fabric of Jacob's flight suit dissolves and begins to melt away like cotton candy in water.

He yelps and jerks backward — falls against Xia, who says, "What the hell?"

He can tell when she catches sight of it, by the sharp inhale that follows — by the way her hands catch at his shoulder, to haul him out of range.

"When did it get out?!" she says.

"I don't know," says Jacob. "I was looking at the readouts!"

The creature crawls forward across the floor. A limb extends from inside of it, and then another, long and spindly, black like fresh asphalt. Everywhere it touches, the title is eaten away, a bit at a time.

The backdrop behind the text on the holo-display flashes red. A woman’s voice, calm and pre-recorded, says, “Time limit exceeded. Return subject to enclosure or assure personnel security.”

The creature levers itself up — flaps harder, and lists into the air.

Jacob reaches to eject his blades from their wrist mounts, by instinct, but his suit’s half a building away, in the hangar, and the blades are with it.

“Go,” says Xia, and shoves him toward the vent they came through.

“Dude,” says Jacob, “The lights.”

“Go,” says Xia again, and hauls him away by the arm.

The woman’s voice speaks again, calm and flat. “Subject displays signs of agitation. Engage shields or begin sedation immediately.”

There’s no time to go.

The creature makes an odd, prolonged hissing noise, like steam escaping; a thin black tendril slips from the glistening surface of its flesh and whips toward Jacob, wrapping around his ankle.

Pain shoots through him, sharp and bright and sudden; he yelps and goes down, smacking hard against the tile. In the back of his mind, those hushed whispers begin, the nightmare words that sound too much like what he tells himself late at night, lying in his bunk bed when sleep won’t come.

He shoves them down and away, like he always does — just has time to think, frantically, that they should have come armed, borrowed something from R&D. They’re gonna die here, and that’s how they’ll go down in history, the only Tenno pilots to ever bite it in the biotech wing.

Then Xia’s there, gloved hands curled around the metal pole that was holding a boatload of wires aloft for the banks of monitors along the wall, and she’s swinging it like a baseball bat, straight at the creature. The metal connects with the black flesh, and the creature screeches and ripples; its tendril withdraws from his ankle, and the voices withdraw from his mind.

Xia hits it again, and again; the impact against the floor sounds loud enough to break the universe.

There are voices outside in the corridor now, tense and alert, and Xia drops the metal pole to let it clatter on the floor.

She holds a hand out to Jacob, and he grabs hold and hauls himself to his feet.

This time, she doesn’t have to tell him to get moving. She dives for the vent, and he’s just a second behind, pulling it into place after him. He can hear the beeping of the door’s security panel as someone punches in the access code, then the whoosh of the door sliding open. Shouts of alarm follow immediately. "Security!" a man is saying. "I need security in here right now!"

It’s twenty seconds before the gunfire starts, a rapid staccato that sounds like a machine gun echoing out behind them.

Jacob ducks his head and keeps going, hardly daring to breathe. Ahead of him, Xia rounds a corner in the vents and he turns to follow. His ankle burns, sharp and throbbing; the metal under his palms seems to make far, far too much noise as they pass.

They crawl, and crawl, and crawl; they can’t hear anything behind them anymore, but they left the screen as they’d set it, light settings and temp settings and the damning evidence of what had happened to Chroma. They have maybe minutes before the commotion calms down enough for security to realize the only way in was the vents.

“Here,” says Jacob, as they pass another offshoot. “Here, turn.”

Xia does — takes a hard left away from biotech and into R&D. They know the way to Yoshioka’s lab like the back of their hands, and half a minute later, Xia hauls aside a ceiling panel and they drop down onto the metal table one at a time, then slide it back into place.

Jacob strains his ears for sounds of pursuit — catches nothing. Beside him, Xia’s eyes are wide and a little wild, glasses askew, a smudge of dust streaked along one cheek bone.

He catches her gaze for a minute and holds it — reads in her expression the not-quite panic that’s charging through his mind like the rogue robot in some sci-fi thriller.

Move, Jacob tells himself, and forces his feet to take one step, and then another. His ankle still burns, but it holds his weight, and that’s the important thing.

“Hey,” he manages, voice shaky and kind of strange. “Only in trouble if we get caught. Right?”

Xia opens her mouth, like she’s searching for the words. Then she nods, tight.

“Yeah,” she says. “So come on already.” She hauls open the door into the hallway. “Let’s not get caught.”

#jacob cross #Xia Igarashi #my ocs #the way the world ends

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pinersyn · 3 years ago

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wanna-see-my-lease · 8 years ago

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Can you do 52 with Derek Morgan please?

Mass Spec

Masterlist

Show: Criminal Minds

Summary: Who knew that being a forensic scientist with the FBI would have so many perks?

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Starts off as angst and ends in fluff!

Word Count: 395

Reading Time: 1+ minutes-ish

Request: Requests are open - check out the prompts list here.

Prompt: #52: “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

A/N: ♥ Feedback is always welcomed and requests are open XoX

Tags: @emilyymichelle @lucifersagents @of-badges-and-guns

You were frustrated as you ran through your lab trying to get the Mass Spectrometer which is a Shimadzu GC-MS with autosampler to work. It was a fickle thing and didn’t always like to work when you wanted it too - so that meant that you had to adjust it yet again. You lab was right next to Garcia’s and you were sent evidence when the team wanted it processed or double checked against the forensic team they were working with. It wasn’t too bad a of a job and most of the time you ended up working with Garcia.

As you were knelt down and under the Mass Spec you were working away on getting it fine tuned again. Your bluetooth went off signalling you had a phone call. Throwing your head back in frustration you accidentally hit it off the table as you answered the phone, “Ow, ow, ow, what?” You answered as you rubbed your head, sitting flat on your butt.

“You okay babygirl?” Morgan’s voice sounded through your bluetooth. You could tell that he was concerned just by the tone he used.

You shook your head, “Was working on the Mass Spec when you called.” You stated as you stood up and sighed, “He needs only the best to keep his motor running and to stay tuned – and this girl know only what he needs to keep him at his best.” You made your way over to your computer, “But I know you’re calling about the paint chips you sent over. I created a cross section to go with a transmission spectrum to give more reproducible results. After doing that I ran the paint through the LIBS spectrum and attempted at mapping the layers using the FTIR spectra to try and find a match in the PDQ…”

“You know I love it when you talk that way,” Morgan chuckled. “But lets put this into English terms, mama. What did ya magic fingers find?”

“Your gonna be looking for a 2006 Dodge Charger, Midnight blue. I already sent it over to Garcia to narrow down your unsub list based on my findings.”

“Y/N, I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You know that right?”

“Does this mean your taking me to dinner when you get back?” You smirked as you looked back over at your Mass Sepctrometer.

“You know it hot stuff.”

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #morgan x reader

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omnilabsolutions · 4 years ago

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scientifically-strange · 8 years ago

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Drabble idea, Bucky has been the winter soldier and he's fine now. But then they find out that Danny has been missing and when they find him he's winter soldier 2.0.

So I was writing this and I was almost done with it but then I went back and read the prompt again and realized I had written something that was sort of right but not really so here’s take two

--------------

Bucky had gotten along with Danny from the very first time the boy had awkwardly said hi to him. Sure, he had done most of the talking, but Bucky was an emotionally stunted ex-assassin, so that wasn’t really a surprise. And for Danny it hadn’t really been a problem. Bucky had trouble connecting to people sometimes, and was probably shit for comforting someone, but he was a damn good listener. And he may be bad with words, but he made up for it with his actions. When Danny said he wanted to try a new hair style, he had left a hair magazine on the coffee table. When he casually mentioned the stomach problems he’d been having, Bucky had gotten him food that was supposed to help with that. When Danny said he wanted to get better, Bucky was there to help him train.

None of that mattered now, though. Because Danny was gone.

Jazz had called Sam, because he apparently has real friends that don’t dress up for Halloween every night to punch douche bags in the face. She had sounded worried, asking about Danny, if he was still there of not. Sam had told her no, that he had left a couple days prior and had thought he was safely at home.

Now there was an unspoken, world wide search going on for the kid. Hell, they were even having Thor check the Ghost Zone just in case Danny took a detour and got stuck or something.

Bucky felt like he was running in circles, and he knew the others did too. But Bucky actually liked Danny as a person, considered him a friend and definitely one of the smartest people he knew.

But he was just a kid. A fucking teenager. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he wasn’t going to come out the same way. But that wasn’t going to stop them from looking, and Bucky doubted anything would.

They searched high and low, even in places he was mostly likely going to be. Like the fucking desert, or Arizona. He also hates Florida, for whatever reason, but says that it’s literal hell one earth (Save for NASA, of course). He wasn’t anywhere.

But when he was ready he sure let them know it.

Danny had been missing for almost a month when they finally found him again. Or, rather he found them. Bucky had been searching through the sewers for the third time that week looking for his new friend when he realized they had looked everywhere but one place.

He was regretting the sewers now.

He quickly climbed out, running past civilians and cars until he made it back to his bike. He hooked his Stark Phone to the jack and called all of the Avengers, because if Bucky was right then they were fucking screwed.

-----------------

Brest was, compared to some of France’s major cities, pretty deserted. The place had 50,000 or so people living there, and there were large castles and other similar looking structures. None of the public seemed to notice or care, but that was the thing about Hydra. They were good at blending in.

Bucky remembered being held in the basement lab of the smaller building attached to the main section of the Château de Brest. There was more lab equipment down there than the bank vault he had stayed in in D.C., and in some cases, smarter people. Some always seemed to forget that when Bucky had been captured, it had been by Hydra, and while they had aimed at America first, they were very much an international power. Meaning they had put Bucky wherever they needed him to be.

Sometimes that meant in the basement of some ancient castle.

Despite it’s popularity, the castle’s defenses were ridiculously easy to get through. The cameras seemed to be pointed away from windows and doors, and there was a severe lack of guards on the inside.

“Something is wrong,” he said quietly, looking around for any sign of life. This place was clean. Almost too clean. Usually, with castles, there was a sort of permanent layer of dirt within the rocks. It helped with authenticity, and was an absolute bitch to clean. Nobody was ever able to clean stone. Not all the way, anyway. There was always some speck of something left behind. Hopefully there would be a piece of Danny somewhere that could show them the way to their beloved child Avenger.

Steve was close to Bucky as he led them down to the labs. He knew more from muscle than actual recollection that this was the direction to go. Bucky knew Steve was worried about his mental state, what with coming back to one of the many places that held him against his will, but he wasn’t too close. Not enough to make Bucky uncomfortable, but if he needed support, his friend was there. Bucky really appreciated that, because he didn’t know how he would respond when he walked through those doors.

He sighed, looking at the walls as they descended the stairs, trailing his fingers against the wall until he felt it.

He stopped dead in his tracks and traced a crack in the stone, his finger coming back with a spec of green on it. He examined it further, noticing the dent in it. It wasn’t just some crack in the wall. There had been a struggle here.

“We’re on the right track,” Bucky told them.

“How did you know to even come to this one?” Clint asked him from behind Steve. Bucky shrugged.

“Low surveillance, best lab equipment, quiet town, and the fact that this place has been closed for a month for no reason at all. It’s a perfect hiding spot for a kidnapped superhero.”

Clint nodded, looking around with his bow at the ready as he followed the super soldiers all the way down, being stopped only by a large, metal door with a scanner next to it.

“The dust has been wiped away,” Clint said, looking at the floor and the scanner. “Someone’s been here recently.”

“Or are already inside,” Natasha added.

Bucky sighed, starring at his metal fingers as they whirred in harmony before looking back to the team that had accepted him as their own.

“It would be rude not to knock, right?” He asked. That was the only warning they got as Bucky swung his arm as hard as he could at the door, prying it open with the metal appendage. Once he got a little bit of it open, Steve forced his fingers through as well and started pulling. From there it didn’t take long for the door to come open, and the alarm on the other side to start blaring in their ears.

“We have to move-” Bucky started saying to them, but was cut off by the thundering footsteps behind him. He turned around, only to see dozens, maybe even hundreds of guards, all armed to the teeth and fully loaded. It was like a small army, all centered in this one room. This only proved that Danny, or something or someone equally as powerful was behind the mass of bodies.

Bucky was the first to strike, and once he started, he didn’t stop. Couldn't stop, really. He saw red, and let his mind go blank. His heart felt void of emotion as he pounded into breakable faces with his metal arm, dropping bodies left and right with the other Avengers right behind him, fighting their way through all of this.

Bucky knew the way. He just needed an opening. He looked around, trying to find anything he could use to get passed them. And then it hit him.

Or, almost did, at least.

Thor’s hammer, whose name Bucky still couldn’t pronounce, barreled through Hydra agents like they were bowling pins, and while Bucky had always been skeptical of the actual magic that the hammer held, it was probably his best option.

“Thor!” He called, just as he was catching his hammer again. The blonde’s head snapped his way. “Throw it over there!” He pointed to a corridor behind Bucky where the chair was.

Thor didn’t nod or hesitate in any way. No, he just chucked it straight to Bucky, who dodged in a split second, and grabbed onto the handle in the next. It all happened so fast that even as he was letting go of the hammer, he was still processing the fact that he had just been dragged through a hoard of evil fuckfaces by it. But a path had cleared and he was where he needed to be, and that was all that mattered. The others could handle the hoards, he was sure of it. But he needed to get down there.

The minute the corridor opened up, he didn’t waste any time killing the scientists. There was probably a better moral way to do that, but they’re Nazi’s and therefore not people. He was sure Steve and the others could live with that reasoning. Plus they took the kid, so that already made the braniacs on their shitlist.

He moved like as swift as water, knocking down the other door where the chair and his cryochamber were at.

His stomach dropped when he saw who was residing in his old chair that he had long since abandoned.

The screams that filled the room were unearthly, and thankfully stopped when Bucky snapped the one scientist’s neck and sent his metal fist through the control panels. The small of ozone was thick in the air and was almost enough to give him a panic attack. He grabbed his head, trying to block out all of the painful memories as they rose to the surface.

After doing that weird breathing routine Sam had showed him he stumbled over to Danny. His eyes were closed and he was held down with heavy straps that were built to hold him.

He peeled away the locks on the restraints and freed Danny, who, unfortunately for Bucky, was a light sleeper.

In a flash he was on his back, Danny’s hand at his throat and gleaming green eyes. Bucky gasped for air, prying at the fingers squeezing his windpipe.

“D...Danny,” he choked out. “I...It’s...us.”

The fingers loosened slightly, Danny looking at him, confused. After a few moments he stood up, leaving Bucky’s throat all together. Bucky shakily stood up after him, slowly and steadily.

“Come on, Danny, let’s take you home,” Bucky said. Danny turned to him, toxic eyes now desperate for answers.

“Who’s Danny?”

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creativitytoexplore · 5 years ago

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Doors Opening on the Left by Raima Larter https://ift.tt/2zDWjfr Jason is a chemist specialising in racemization, a technique vital to defeat the lethal virus spreading across South America, but there are mysterious side-effects; by Raima Larter.

Jason boarded the train at the Medical Center Station, took a seat about halfway back from the door, and looked around. The usual morning crowd. Later, he would wonder why everything had seemed so normal that day, when it was anything but. He stifled a yawn and glanced at his phone. Nearly ten a.m. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. A melodic bonging came over the speaker and the train doors slid shut as a robotic female voice announced, "Doors closing." The train lurched into motion and Jason yawned again. He wanted, desperately, to be home, tucked into his own bed. Yes, his own empty bed, but that's the way it had been since he got this job, and how it was bound to stay. Who had time for dating? He hadn't even had friends over yet, despite having lived there for almost a year. For one thing, he had only the one chair, a pathetic frayed lawn chair he'd found discarded on a curb. No time for furniture-shopping, either. The chair sat next to his one other piece of furniture, a battered card table where he slurped down Cup o' Noodles every evening while streaming late-night talk shows on his laptop. Jason rubbed absent-mindedly at his bandaged left index finger. He'd cut it on a broken centrifuge tube a few hours before. No big deal, just a small amount of lost sample. After leaning his head against the window, he gazed at his reflection in the fogged-over glass. He looked tired, which made sense: he was tired after pulling another all-nighter, racing to get his part of the project finished before Dr. Murphy lost it. "The Director needs that data," she'd said as he'd left the lab that morning. She gave him her usual tight-lipped smile, but he knew what was behind it. "I'm sorry about the rush." He'd nodded and forced himself to smile politely (despite her lying). She wasn't sorry. Jason's team at the National Institute of Health was trying to develop a drug protocol to combat the Janusid virus. Janusid was spreading rapidly across South America, killing everything in its path. Like most viruses, Janusid attacked by injecting its DNA, coiled inside a hard protein shell, into an unwitting host. It had swept across the southern continent in less than a month, killing every person and animal it infected. So far, nothing had been found that could stop it. He'd already worked a string of ten-hour days, with a few eleven- or twelve-hour ones thrown in, and he almost had enough of the agent made. If the centrifuge tube hadn't broken, he might have even finished today. Now, the last test would have to wait until later, when his current batch had finished processing. The train jostled, picked up speed, and was soon soaring out of the tunnel and onto the above-ground section of the track. Morning sun slanted through the far window and across the car, producing a reflection of the passengers in the glass. In the reflection, a guy was seated up front in the handicapped-only seat. Jason hadn't noticed the man when he'd boarded the train. The man had a newspaper opened up, obscuring his face, and seemed intent on reading something. Jason scanned the backward print on the newspaper reflection, trying to decipher the headline. The letters were almost too small to read from where he sat, plus they were backward, of course. His gaze flitted back and forth, untangling first the word "Congress," and then a word that looked like "Legislation." That was when he noticed the girl. He hadn't seen her before either, but there she suddenly was, seated next to the guy with the newspaper. She caught his eye and smiled. He looked toward her, planning to nod good morning, but the handicapped seat was empty. No girl. No guy with a newspaper. Jason looked quickly back toward the window, trembling now. The reflection hadn't changed: the attractive girl was still there, next to the newspaper guy. The girl grinned at him again, and nudged her elbow into the man. The newspaper guy folded down a corner of his paper and peered around it at Jason. The man nodded at the girl, then folded the newspaper into a small rectangle, tucked it into a briefcase and stood, grabbing hold of a silvery metal pole. He swayed as the train rumbled down the tracks. The girl scooted forward on her seat, as if preparing to stand. All the while, Jason's heart beat faster and faster. After a couple of minutes, the train slowed, brakes squealing, rocking side to side as they pulled into the next station. A bong came over the intercom. "Doors opening on the left." Hairs spiked to attention on the back of Jason's neck. He focused intently on the reflected image of the two people. He didn't want to look away, but quickly glanced toward the handicapped seat. Still nothing. No man grasping the strap, no girl getting up from her seat. Jason leapt to his feet and leaned to peer at the reflection in the window. There they were, both of them, the man and the girl. Jason tried to keep the images in view, but the two mirror-image people were stepping off the train and onto the mirror-image platform. A bonging sound came over the intercom. "Doors closing." Jason bolted for the door. He jumped out as the doors slid closed behind him. He looked around at the empty platform. No man. No girl. No sounds but for the hum of the idling train and the distant murmur of traffic. He looked back toward the train. A woman in a torn knit hat stared at him through the glass, frowning. She was surrounded by empty seats, the only person in the car. As the train pulled away, Jason became aware of pressure in his bandaged finger. He yanked the gauze and tape off, revealing what had once been a tiny cut. Now his entire finger was an angry, throbbing red. He stared at the pulsating wound for a long moment, a strange tingly warmth creeping up his left arm. The sight of his hand mesmerized him and he was unable to look away. It didn't seem like his own hand. He saw it there, at the end of his arm, but it seemed the hand belonged to someone else. He was so focused on that weird hand that he startled and jumped back when the next train pulled into the station. Jason shook his head to clear his panicky thoughts, and boarded the train. This time, he checked the reflection in the glass first, to make sure no more odd people were there this time. Wherever "there" was.

The next day, after he'd slept a solid fifteen hours, Jason headed back to the lab. As he made his way to the building from the Metro station, he thought about the strange mirror-image people from the day before. Clearly a hallucination. Probably induced by sleep-deprivation or deep fatigue and overwork. His injured finger had stopped throbbing and seemed to be healing. He unwrapped the bandage and checked again. The cut was small, nothing at all really. Nevertheless, when he got in, he changed the dressing using the lab's first aid kit, just to be sure it kept healing. He got to work, preparing what he hoped was his last batch of racemization agent. On his way to the cold room, he ran into David. "Hey," Jason said. "How's it going?" David, another tech from the lab down the hall, wore his usual red bandana, tied around his head in an attempt to cover his thinning hair. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his somewhat grubby lab coat. "It's going," he said. "Get your magic stuff made?" "Almost. I thought I'd have it last night, but the vial broke just as I was removing the sample from the centrifuge." He held up his bandaged left finger as he yanked the cold room door open with his other hand. "Lost a whole day." David followed Jason into the refrigerated space. "Do you think Murphy will make you lead author this time?" Jason snorted. "Hardly. You know a lab head would never make a tech lead author. I'll be lucky if she puts my name on the paper at all." Jason had lost track of how many days he'd shuttled between the exhaust hood, the cold room, the centrifuge, and the mass spec, all the while trying to make enough racemization agent, the substance that would not only defeat Janusid but secure him at least co-authorship. Jason had never been lead author on any scientific paper, and he didn't want to believe it could happen this time - but, the truth was, it could happen this time. Racemization was Jason's specialty, after all. Give him any polymeric substance, even a protein coating like that on a virus, and he could reverse its stereochemistry and crack the thing open like an egg. The trick was to create the right stereoisomer of a substance that could bind to the polymer and create its mirror-image - a molecule with the same formula but a mirror-reversed structure. If you could hold the result up to a tiny molecular-sized mirror, its reflection would be identical to the original. That afternoon, when Jason found that the last batch of racemization agent was ready, he tested it, as he always did, on a sample of the virus. He was careful to use the clean-room protocols, necessary to prevent accidental infection. They weren't one-hundred percent effective, but they were the best the industry offered. The results looked promising, so he hurried down the hallway to Murphy's office. She was seated at her desk, tapping rapidly at her keyboard. The desk was piled high with toppling stacks of paper. Her sleeves were rolled above her wrists as she frowned through her glasses at the computer screen. He knocked on the doorjamb. "Dr. Murphy?" She flinched back, her hands still hovering over the keyboard. When she saw him, her eyes widened and one hand flew to her chest. "Jason!" She laughed nervously. "I didn't hear you come in. What can I do for you?" He waved the printout from his final test toward her. "That last batch seemed to do the trick. Results look perfect." She brought her hands to her face and leaned back in the chair. "Thank God," she said, then laughed. "Or thank you, I guess." She walked around the desk and peered at his printout. "This looks fantastic. I was just about to go to the All Hands meeting - the director is going to be thrilled." She plucked her lab coat from a hook on the wall and headed for the door, then turned back to him. "Coming?" Jason grinned and followed her through the hallways, down an elevator and into the large auditorium. Several hundred scientists, most clad in white lab coats, were already there. Dr. Murphy took a seat next to another lab head, but Jason went to the row of chairs pushed up against the wall. Every chair along the wall was occupied by techs and low-level staff. He knew the protocol. He knew where the peons sat and he also knew that no one who sat in a wall chair had ever had lead authorship on a paper. If you reached that level of accomplishment, you'd not only get first authorship, you'd get your own lab. You'd be someone like Dr. Murphy, not someone like Jason. David was already there and lifted his eyebrows as Jason sat down next to him. "So? Did you do it?" Jason tried to suppress his smile, but it didn't work. "Yep," he said, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. David broke into a huge grin. "Awesome. If this doesn't get you first authorship, nothing will." Jason shook his head as he flipped to a blank page in the notebook. "Well, nothing will then. You know as well as I she's not going to do it." He scribbled the date at the top of the page, followed by "All Hands Mtg," and prepared to take notes. Dr. Murphy turned toward Jason and David and smiled, waving the printout he'd given her in the air. Jason knew she would, as she always did, claim that "her lab" had achieved the desired outcome. She would claim his results as hers. She might name him, or even thank him when she got a turn to speak, but that was all the acknowledgment he was likely to get. After all, Murphy knew the protocol, too. Jason tried to squash the flare of jealousy. Without Dr. Murphy, he would not even be here. She had been the one to come up with the idea, and she had been the one to persuade the scientific board, the big-wigs who sat at the table at the front of the auditorium, that her lab should be allowed to try this approach. The Director himself sat at the table at the front. He wore a suit, unlike most of the people in the room. Next to him sat his Deputy, tapping a pen nervously on the table and glancing repeatedly at his cell phone. At the table were several other people Jason knew only by their photos on the agency website. Every one of them had a title with at least four words in it: Assistant Director of Something-Or-Other. After the Director called the meeting to order, he asked Murphy to come forward. She approached the microphone that had been set up in the aisle next to the wall chairs. "As I explained in our last All Hands meeting," Dr. Murphy said into the mic, "changing the stereochemistry of the virus coating should make it vulnerable to attack by a standard anti-viral." She turned to look at the auditorium full of scientists. "Many people in this room could help with that second step." She smiled, and held up the sheaf of papers Jason had given her. "I'm happy to report that my group has succeeded in developing a racemization reagent that will crack open the protein coating on Janusid." She waved the papers and smiled more broadly. "Our results are very promising. Preliminary tests show that we've done it. It works!" Jason gripped the pen so hard his hand ached. He scribbled furiously. "My group," and "our results," and "we've done it." David nudged him with an elbow. "Hey man," he whispered. "Since when did you become left-handed?" Jason stared at the pen, gripped tightly in his left hand. He'd been right-handed his entire life, so why - and how - was he now writing with his left? His bandaged finger began to throb and that tingly warmth crept up his arm again. He clenched his fist so hard his fingernails bit into his palm. He wanted to jump up and shout that he was the one who had succeeded, not some nebulous "we" that Murphy gave all the credit to, but he shoved both his hands beneath his thighs and clamped his teeth together. David kept giving him odd looks, but Jason refused to meet his gaze. The Director leaned back in his chair, index fingers steepled together. He was silent for a moment, swiveling back and forth, one toe pressed to the floor. It took only a few seconds for him to swivel to his Deputy and say, "Let's do it." Only then did Dr. Murphy turn toward Jason, smiling. David stood up quickly and reached to shake his hand. "Congratulations," he said. "I guess." The tingly warmth surged up Jason's left arm and into his chest as David pumped his right hand up and down. The tingle squeezed Jason's heart as if it were caught in the grip of a giant python. He tried to say thanks to David, but all that came out was an unrecognizable growl. Dr. Murphy fought her way through a crowd of people gathered around the Director's table. "Jason! There you are. We've just been given our marching orders. We'll need a large batch of your reagent asap." She gave him a sympathetic look. "The other labs are ready to move to Phase Two as soon as we can supply them with the racemization agent. I know you've been working really hard already, but we need to double our efforts now." David stepped between Dr. Murphy and Jason. "I can help. Just show me how to make the stuff, and we can do it together." Dr. Murphy smiled broadly. "Why thank you," she said, and turned to look around the room. "Let me just check with your boss to make sure it's okay -" "Oh, it's okay," David said. "I'm not working on anything important at the moment." She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Jason can show you the protocol, but if you don't mind, I'll just double-check with your boss. Don't want to step on any toes, you know." She gave him a tight smile. Jason and David spent the rest of the week preparing a large batch of racemization agent. Late Thursday night, they put the last portion in the drying oven. "There," Jason said. "Now we just wait thirty minutes or so and we'll be done." David yawned widely. "I'm beat. Want some coffee?" Jason glanced at the clock on the wall. "I doubt the cafeteria is still open." "There are those machines downstairs," David said, already heading for the door. They pounded down the metal steps, round and round the stairwells, and made their way to the basement vending machine room. Soon, they were seated at a battered white table, sipping at paper cups of coffee. "Gah," David said, making a face. "This stuff is awful." Jason laughed and reached for his cup. "It was your suggestion." David gestured at Jason's bandaged finger. "What did you do to your hand?" Jason shook his head. "Nothing. Just a broken vial a few days ago." David sipped, staring at Jason for a long moment. "Was that before or after you suddenly became left-handed?" Jason sat back in his chair. "What -?" "What's going on, dude? You've been doing everything in the lab with your left hand all week. I'm certain you were right-handed before." Jason sighed. "Okay. Something happened. I don't know what it was, but it may have been related to this cut. I may have got some racemization agent in it." He gave him a weak smile. "Either that or I got infected by the virus." David shook his head. "Not possible. You'd be dead by now." "No kidding." He wanted to tell David about all of it - the mirror-image people on the train, the wave of energy he sometimes felt pulsing up his arm - but he didn't dare. "Obviously it wasn't the virus," David said, sipping at the coffee again, "But if it was your reagent, that might explain some things." "What do you mean?" "You know - it racemizes things, right? Maybe you got some of it into your finger and it racemized the molecules in your hand." "Oh come on - so that would make me left-handed instead of right-handed?" David shrugged. "Maybe." He gazed silently at Jason for a full minute. "So, did you report it?" "Report what?" "The broken tube, the possible contamination - you know the rules." Jason sighed. "I didn't have time. You know how long those reports take. Besides, it would slow everything down and we just don't have time for that kind of crap right now." David downed the last of his coffee. "Did you ever see that show about the dude who started cooking meth? Heisenberg or something." "Yeah. Wasn't he a high school chem teacher?" "Yep. Lower than the low." David paused, not meeting Jason's gaze. "Do you think we all have it in us to go bad like that?" "Sure, maybe. I - I don't know." What was David accusing him of? "You know, like there's someone in you who's actually evil and something happens to spring it free." "Like Dr. Jekyll? Or, wait - was it Mr. Hyde that was the bad guy?" David laughed. "Dude, it's always the scientist that's mad." By Friday afternoon, they were nearly finished, and Dr. Murphy told Jason he could leave early. "You and David have done a great job, Jason," she said. "Time to get some rest. You look tired." Her words surprised him. He'd had plenty of sleep and he felt great. Better than he'd felt in years, actually. "I look tired?" "You do." She clapped him on the left shoulder, which sent a jarring sensation down his arm and into his hand. His bandaged finger throbbed with a tingly warmth. "I wouldn't doubt," she said, "you'll need a few days to get caught up on your sleep." "You're probably right." He knew he should talk to her about writing up their results, ask her what the chances were that he would get first authorship, but instead he grabbed his jacket and turned away. "See you Monday?" he asked, the flare of anger sweeping through his entire body. "Sure thing," she said, her attention distracted again by the printout of his latest results. She didn't even seem to see him standing there, so he turned and left, nearly colliding with David on his way out. "Leaving so soon?" David asked, holding a tray of centrifuge tubes. "Murphy sent me home." He nodded at the tray. "I assume you can finish up?" "Sure thing. See if you can get some sleep, man. You look awful." Jason gave him a weak smile, left the building and was soon ascending the escalator to the Metro platform. As luck would have it, the train was pulling into the station. He boarded the nearly-empty train, which seemed as normal as it had all week. He slid into a window seat and turned to gaze at the glass. He could see himself reflected there again. He inspected his mirror-reversed self. He looked like he always looked in photos, but there seemed to be something new there - a darkness in his eyes. Maybe it was the fatigue Dr. Murphy had noticed, but it struck him as sinister. He looked away. The train car was completely empty - it was only three o'clock, not yet rush hour. When he glanced back at the window, he saw them: the man with the newspaper and the girl seated beside him, both of them, again, in the handicapped-only seat. Jason quickly swiveled his head, looking for the pair in the flesh, but they weren't there. Of course. He looked back at the glass. The girl smiled at him and lifted a hand in a little wave, then held her index finger upward. She looked at her own finger, lifted her eyebrows at him, and nudged her elbow into the man with the newspaper. He lowered the paper and peered at Jason. A smile crossed the man's face and the two of them, the man and the girl, began to laugh. It was a silent laugh, no sound. Jason's reflection, his doppelganger, lifted his hand. In the reflection, his previously-bandaged left finger had somehow become unbandaged - but only in the reflection. Jason stared at his hands lying in his lap, the bandage still in place. He looked at the window again. The doppelganger's angry-red finger pointed upward. Jason could almost see it throbbing, but he felt no pain in the hand that lay motionless in his lap. The doppelganger made eye contact with Jason. It wasn't at all like Jason seeing himself in the mirror. It was another person there, a person who looked just like him, but reversed. The doppelganger stood and moved quickly toward the door. A great force pulled on Jason's chest, as if his heart was trying to escape from his ribcage. He realized what it was: this mirror-self, the one in the glass, was trying to pull him into the mirror-reversed world, and it seemed to be succeeding. Jason felt as if he was being torn in half. The man in the handicapped seat folded the newspaper and held it out toward Jason. The headline was, as before, completely backward, but said something different this time. Jason struggled against the force tugging at him and tried to decipher the jumble of letters, "!SUOIROTCIV DISUNAJ :NOW ELTTAB TSRIF" This must be a clue about what was happening to him, but what in the world did it mean? The girl stood up. Jason thought about his empty bed at home, that forlorn mattress on the floor. He thought about what he thought he'd wanted - first authorship on a paper - and it seemed, suddenly, to mean nothing at all to him. This place, these weird mirror people - they had something to do with the virus. Jason was sure of it. He didn't know how he was sure - he just was. The man with the newspaper waved it at Jason, pointing to the headline. The girl smiled at Jason and, more than he'd ever wanted anything, he wanted to be with this girl. Jason knew he didn't really want the girl; it was the doppelganger that wanted her. He knew that the small cut on his finger was, somehow, involved with this desire, but was it really like a Mr. Hyde inside him was taking over? Maybe David was right. Maybe the racemization agent had affected his body. The tingly warmth was seeping through his entire body and he'd never felt such pleasure. The man with the newspaper stood, folded his mirror-reversed paper into a small rectangle and tossed it onto the seat. The three - girl, newspaper man, and doppelganger - stepped to the door. It slid open and they exited the train. Jason, shaking, watched them go. His energy drained away, as if the doppelganger was stealing his life force. The three stood on the platform as the train began to move. In small jerking motions it accelerated, then entered the tunnel, blocking out the light that had created those images in the glass. Jason twisted in his seat and looked toward the handicapped seat. Nothing. No people, and no newspaper. Jason felt the tingly warmth drain away, and he was left with only the usual despair of his life. His arms went limp, but as the train rumbled down the track, his energy began to return, as if he was somehow reeling in the tendrils of life energy the doppelganger had tried to steal from him. When he got home and unlocked his door, the sight of that frayed lawn chair and his collection of empty Cup o' Noodles containers nearly deflated him again. But he sat down and began scribbling letters from memory, trying to figure out what the backward newspaper had said. It took him awhile to remember the jumbled headline, but when he did, he realized it was simply backward words: FIRST BATTLE WON: JANUSID VICTORIOUS! By the time he made it to bed, thoroughly exhausted, he knew what he had to do. The next day, Saturday, he returned to the cold room and retrieved a vial of the racemization agent and a box of syringes. As he walked out into the hallway, there was David, who nodded at the things in Jason's hands. "What're you doing?" Jason trembled, wanting to tell him everything, but how could he explain this? "Listen. I need you to help me with something." David frowned. "Sure, man. Anything." Jason hurried back into the lab, David on his heels, and rummaged through a drawer for a sticky note pad. He scribbled a phone number on it and shoved the pad toward David. "If something happens to me, I need you to call my parents. Tell them - well, that this was the only way I knew to beat Janusid. Tell them that." Jason grabbed the syringes and the racemization agent and sprinted toward the hallway. "I don't understand," David yelled behind him. "What are you talking about?" Jason ran to the Metro station and waited impatiently for the train. When it finally arrived, he boarded, the train took off, exited the tunnel and, soon, a beam of light slanted across the car. And then there they were as before, the man and the girl. Both of them gave him a curious look. They seemed almost frightened. The man had a newspaper - as usual. He held it up toward Jason. Bold letters, all backward, stretched across the page. Jason laughed as he quickly deciphered it, not even needing pencil and paper this time: "ENEMY ENGAGED: MASSIVE CASUALTIES EXPECTED." Jason might never get credit for what he was about to do, but so be it. Not getting credit seemed the least of his concerns now, considering he might not ever get back. He pulled out the first syringe and injected his left upper arm. A burst of energy surged into his shoulder and through his body. If his magic stuff, the racemization agent, could mirror-reverse a protein coating, what might it do to a whole body in the mirror image world? He could feel it working. He gazed at his reflection in the glass and then, as if merely taking a step forward, he was on the other side, looking back at himself. Jason believed in the empirical approach, and the only thing left to do was try it. He had two more syringes in the bag, already prepared. Janusid might think it knew how to beat them, but it had never tangled with someone like Jason. The robotic voice came over the intercom: Doors opening on the left. The girl and the man rushed out to the mirror-image platform. Jason and his doppelganger reached into the bag, pulled out the remaining syringes and, holding one in each hand, leaped through the doors, in hot pursuit of them.

#FICTION on the WEB short stories

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poojaranjane301-blog · 7 years ago

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Some of the major players operating in the global molecular spectroscopy market are ABB, Avantes, Block Engineering, Carl Zeiss Spectroscopy GmbH, Cobalt Light Systems Ltd, Galaxy Scientific, Gasera, Ibsen Photonics, Industrial Test Systems, Inc., Kaiser Optical Systems, Inc., Keit Spectrometers, Magritek, EMD Millipore Corporation, PerkinElmer Inc., Raptor Photonics PLC, Shimadzu Corporation, Spectral Evolution, Viavi Solutions, WITec GmbH, B&W Tek, StellarNet, Si-WareSystems, Foss, Jasco, Inc. and, Jeol Ltd. among others.

Bruker:

Bruker Corporation was incorporated in 1960 and is headquartered in Billerica, U.S. The company manufactures scientific instruments to focus on the needs of customers in the life science, pharmaceutical, biotechnology,clinical and molecular diagnostics research, as well as in materials and chemical analysis in various industries and government applications. The company’s technology platforms include magnetic resonance technologies, mass spectrometry technologies, gas chromatography technologies, X-ray technologies, spark optical emission spectroscopy, atomic force microscopy, stylus and optical metrology technology, and infrared and Raman molecular spectroscopy technologies.

Recent Developments:

In May 2016, Bruker launched the EMX nanosystem at the 56th annual Experimental Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Conference(ENC). EMXnano is the first high-performance benchtop EPR (electron para magnetic resonance) instrument, making research-grade EPR capabilities accessible to a broader range of scientists.

In April 2015, Bruker launched the compact research grade Raman microscope SENTERRA II replacing the successful former model SENTERRA. The SENTERRA II defines a new level of performance and user friendliness inits class of compact Raman microscopes.

In March 2015, Bruker launched the first next generation,hand-held Raman spectrometer with patented fluorescence mitigation SSE (Sequentially Shifted Excitation) Bravo.

Thermofisher Scientific:

Thermo Fisher Scientific, Inc. was founded in the year 2006 through the merger of Thermo Electron and Fisher Scientific. It is headquartered at Waltham, U.S. Thermo Fisher Scientific, Inc. provides analytical instruments,equipment, reagents and consumables, software and services for research, analysis, discovery and diagnostics.

Recent Developments:

In May 2016, Thermo Fisher Scientific, Inc. announced the launch of its new Nicolet iS5NFT-NIR spectrometer. This spectrometer has allowed the company to target small business owners, technicians, laboratory managers and method developers, as this product is designed to bring rapid and reliable analysis for quality control and material verification.

In May 2016, Thermo Fisher Scientific, Inc.announced the launch of its new NanoDropOne and NanoDropOneC UV-Vis microvolumespectrophotometers. This spectrometer has allowed the company to target Life scientists who work with DNA, RNA and proteins, as this product help them to make educated decisions about sample suitability.

In May 2016, Thermo Fisher Scientific, Inc.announced the launch of its new GENESYS 30visible-range spectrophoto meter. This spectrometer has allowed the company to target lab managers and instructors looking for ease of operation and superior photometric performance in a single instrument.

Agilent Technologies:

Agilent Technologies provides core bio-analytical and electronic measurement solutions to the life sciences, chemical analysis, communications and electronics, diagnostics and genomics industries.

Recent Developments:

In June 2016, Agilent Technologies launched new solutions for pharma, biopharma, metabolomics and environmental researchers across mass spec portfolio.

In May 2016, Agilent Technologies introduced new atomic spectroscopy platform for multiple analytical applications.

In April 2015, Agilent Technologies Inc. Introduced the Agilent 6545 Q-TOF mass spectrometry system, designed to provide added sensitivity for routine analyses.

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Segmentation of Global Molecular Spectroscopy Market

Technology

Type

Application

Geography

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

MARKET SEGMENTATION

MARKET OVERVIEW

EXECUTIVE LANDSCAPE

PREMIUM INSIGHTS

GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY TYPE

6.1. OVERVIEW

6.2. GLOBAL NMR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY PRODUCT TYPE

6.3. GLOBAL UV-VISIBLE SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY PRODUCT TYPE

6.4. GLOBAL INFRARED (IR) SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY PRODUCT TYPE

6.5. GLOBAL INFRARED (IR) SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY SPECTRUM

6.6. GLOBAL NEAR INFRARED (NIR) SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY PRODUCT TYPE

6.7. GLOBAL RAMAN SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY PRODUCT TYPE

6.8. GLOBAL RAMAN SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY SAMPLING TECHNOLOGY

GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY APPLICATION

7.1. OVERVIEW

7.2. GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, IN PHARMACEUTICALS

7.3. GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, IN ACADEMY AND RESEARCH

7.4. GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, IN BIOTECHNOLOGY

7.5. GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, IN FOOD AND BEVERAGES

7.6. GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, IN ENVIRONMENTAL TESTING

GLOBAL MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, BY GEOGRAPHY

8.1. OVERVIEW

8.2. NORTH AMERICA MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET

8.3. EUROPE MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET

8.4. ASIA-PACIFIC MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET

8.5. AUSTRALIA MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET

8.6. SOUTH AMERICA MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET

MOLECULAR SPECTROSCOPY MARKET, COMPANY SHARE ANALYSIS

COMPANY PROFILES

10.1. AGILENT TECHNOLOGIES, INC.

10.2. AVANTES

10.3. THE ABB GROUP

10.4. THE BRUKER CORPORATION 10.5. FOSS

10.6. JASCO, INC.

OTHER REPORTS

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