#I TURNED THE WRONG WAY ROUND DEAR CALM THYSELF

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

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A man turns the wrong way for five seconds-

[peachbear88]

Tale as Old as Time (Pt 2)

A/N: Part 2! We're getting there people!

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The metal gates swing open with a rusty whine.

Your eyes snap open and you grab your chamber pot, and club the figure over the head.

"Ow!" The figure exclaims, falling over.

You brandish the pot as menacingly as possible, given the awkward angle.

"Who are you?" You demand, your voice cracking. He rubs the growing lump on his head.

"You hit hard madmoiselle," He responds, ignoring your question. Another set of footsteps, heavier ones echo off the stone tower. You gulp, as the figure arrives to reveal a skinny but tall man wearing what appears to be a gold pendant.

"Don't scare the poor girl Pietro. In fact, you shouldn't even be letting the prisoner out!" The man chided. The blond boy (supposedly) named Pietro laughed, ruffling his hair. He zooms over to where the man is, leaving a faint blue mist behind him.

"What's wrong doc? Scared what'll happen when my sister finds out?" He teases and the doctor shoves him away, wrapping his floating red cloak tighter around him.

"Oh shut up." Pietro turns back to you.

"So. You're the new prisoner." He looks you up and down. You drop the pot and it hits the floor with a loud clang, making him flinch.

"Yep, that's me. Come to kill me at last?" You question, raising your arms as if to embrace death. He bursts into laughter, slapping the tall man on the shoulder.

"Oh man! Strange, did you hear that? She thinks we're going to kill her!" He keeps laughing while the man named Strange rolls his eyes, muttering something about stupid kids.

"So... You're not going to kill me?" You inquire hopefully. Pietro's laughter dies off as he wipes tears from his eyes.

"Kill you? When you could be the one to break the curse? I think not." He shakes his head as if you were the foolish one before thrusting his hand out. "After you."

You walk down the stairs hesitantly, the bright walls of the hallways a stark contrast to your dim cell.

After a few moments, you can't take it anymore, your curiosity getting the best of you.

"What was that you said about a curse?" Pietro instantly pales, shoving you rather forcefully along the hallway.

"Did I say curse? I meant uh-" He stutters, his eyes frantically scanning the area for an excuse. "I mean purse!" He waves the bag in front of your face. "Break the purse!"

You stare at him.

"Break the purse." You repeat skeptically. Strange pushes you along, seemingly in a hurry.

"Oh look! We've arrived at our destination." He pushes the grand golden doors open and your jaw drops. A beautiful, extravagant bedroom lays behind the doors, the ceiling arching up and curving into a golden dome.

"Wow..." You gasp, twirling around in the room.

"Mistress wanted you to have the finest." Strange replies, bowing low. You snort.

"That girl from earlier?" You look him up and down. "No offence but you look more like you should be her master." He opens his mouth to reply but Pietro cuts him off, shoving him out of the room.

"Well, we'll let you get settled! We hope you'll join us for dinner!" With one last shove, the two disappear from the doorway, leaving you to your own devices.

The moment the door slams shut behind them, you scan the room, your eyes landing on the silken sheets adorning the mattress. You make quick work of it, tearing it into long, thin strips.

"Okay. I can work with this."

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A small knock sounds out and you frantically shove the long strip of cloth away.

"Come in!" You call out and a menacing looking woman comes in, followed by a boy around the age of 15, wearing a red and blue costume with what appears to be a spider on it. You gape at the odd duo.

"Is that... A spider?" You murmur and the boy bounds into action, sticking his arm out for you to shake.

"Hi! My name's Peter. Peter Parker." You smile at his bubbly demeanor.

"Y/N." The woman's eyes never leave you, examining you. You shrink under her gaze.

"Right! This is Ms Natasha Romanoff. She may look really scary but she's actually a massive softie." Peter whispers confidentially and Natasha smacks him on the head. You laugh at their familial dynamic.

"It's a pleasure to meet you sweetie," She curtseys and you smile. "Please ignore this dumb child." She gestures to Peter.

"Hey!" He exclaims indignantly. You giggle.

"Well, we came to welcome you to our humble abode. Cup of tea?" She proffers and you smile, accepting it. The scent is heavenly, the right amount of sweetness and bitterness. "I find that a perfect cup of tea is just what we all need when it gets rough."

You smile weakly.

"Thank you. Why are you being so nice to me?" Natasha sighs, watching Peter swing around your room, little webs coming from his wrists.

"Well dear, we're all prisoners here as well. Might as well make the best of it." She shrugs and ushers Peter out of the room, leaving you deep in thought.

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Steve sighs, his feet in Sam's lap, warming his frozen fingers by the fire. The noise of the pub does little to raise his spirits.

"How could she possibly reject me? The most handsome man in the village!" He sighs again while Sam massages his feet. Sam throws the feet off his lap.

"Gosh it disturbs me to see you Steve,"

"Looking so down in the dumps."

"Every guy here'd love to me you Steve!"

"Even when taking your lumps." He cries, massaging Steve's ears.

"There's no man in town as admired as you,"

"You're everyone's favorite guy."

"Everyone's awed and inspired by you,"

"And it's not very hard to see why."

He drops a few coins into the bar musicians hand.

"No one's slick as Rogers,"

"No one's quick as Rogers,"

"No one's neck's as incredibly thick as Rogers!' He exclaims, twisting the neck of a rather large man rather violently, a large crack echoing around the pub.

"For there's no man in town half as manly."

"Perfect, a pure paragon!" The fair girls pipe up from behind Sam. He hops onto the bar, sitting in between 3 very drunk men.

"You can ask any Tom, Dick or Stanley,"

"And they'll tell you whose team they'd prefer to be on..." He slaps them on the back of their heads, giving them a pointed stare until they catch on.

"Who plays..."

"Darts like Rogers!'

"Who breaks..."

"Hearts like Rogers!"

"Who's much more than the sum of his parts like Rogers!"

Steve warms up to the attention, flashing a debonair smile at everyone.

"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating!"

"My what a guy, that Rogers!" The people cry, raising their mugs and splatters beer everywhere.

"I needed encouragement,"

"Thank you, Sam." He exclaims, slapping Sam on the shoulders.

"Well there's no one as easy to bolster as you!" He wraps Steve in a tight embrace for a bit too long.

"Too much?"

"Yep." They disentangle their limbs from each other.

"No one the fights like Rogers,"

"Douses lights like Rogers." To emphasize their point, Steve licks both his hands and slaps them onto the candles, extinguishing them with a satisfying hiss.

"In a wrestling match, nobody bites like Rogers!" Sam pulls his shirt up to reveal a deep bite on his abdomen. A few people squeal.

"When I hunt, I sneak up with my quiver,"

"And beasts of the field say a prayer."

"First I carefully aim for the liver,"

"Then I shoot from behind."

"Is that fair?" Sam pipes up.

"I don't care."

"No one hits like Rogers,"

"Matches wits like Rogers,"

"In a spitting match, nobody spits like Rogers!"

"I'm especially good at expectorating!" He throws his head back and hocks up a good chunk of spit which lands in the pot Sam is holding.

"Ten points for Rogers!"

"When I was a lad, I ate four dozen eggs,"

"Every morning to help me get large." He grabs nearby woman by the waist and lifts her onto his right arm. The fair girls swoon.

"And now that I'm grown, I eat five dozen eggs,"

"So I'm roughly the size of a barge!" He slowly grabs Sam and lifts him onto his left arm, making the crowd gasp.

Steve drops them both and jumps onto the long table, tap dancing with the two other ladies. Sam grabs decorative swords and tosses them to a few men while Steve keeps dancing. They jump onto the table, brandishing their swords menacingly. The ladies jump out of the way as Steve draws his own sword. He clubs one over the head, spinning around and pretends to stab another dramatically. With a large flourish, he raises the sword to mimic the mural of himself on the wall behind him.

"Who has brains like Rogers?"

"Entertains like Rogers?" Sam belts out but Steve pushes him aside.

"Who can make up these endless refrains like Rogers?" Steve bellows, raising his arms.

"I use antlers in all of my decorating."

"Say it again!"

"Who's a man among men?"

"Who's the super success?"

"Don't you know? Can't you guess?"

"Ask his fans and his five hangers-on."

"There's just one guy in town,"

"Who's got all of it down..."

"And his name's S-T- Uh... I believe it's a D after?" Sam begins tentatively as Steve glares at him. "It just occurred to me that I'm illiterate, and I've never actually had to spell it out loud before..."

"Steve Rogers!"

The crowd bursts into a final round of applause, settling down as they dive deep into the hazy fumes of alcohol again.

"Ah, thank you Sam! I don't know what I'd do without you." Steve exclaims, plopping back down into his cushioned armchair. "How is it no woman has picked you up yet?"

"Well, I've been told I'm clingy but I don't really get it." Sam mutters obliviously, his arms draped around Steve's shoulders. Steve nods awkwardly.

A loud bang echoes into the pub and Tony comes rushing in, disheveled.

"You must help me! She's got Y/N! Please, you must help!" He cries, falling to his knees. Steve stays back while Sam rushes forwards.

"Tony, calm yourself. Who's got Y/N?" He asks soothingly.

When Tony looks back up, fear shines through his glassy eyes.

"The witch."

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