#that sent me to that nest and ofc you take out the medic first but i still go like NO!!! NO!!! LEAVE DOCTOR ALONE!!!!! SHOO!

[automatonknight]

me when i play the class that medics uber and i get. ubered

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part one (prologue) Word count: ±1750 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case that she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part one: Disaster hits the Sullivans, devastating loss ripping the seemingly perfect family apart. The oldest daughter, Abigail, fights to survive the demon attack, all while trying to save her possessed sister.  Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: Child In Time - Deep Purple  Author’s note: The maiden voyage of Supernatural: The Sullivan Series, and I couldn’t be more excited to share it with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank. @coffee-obsessed-writer, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @winchest09, thank you for helping me with this story and for taking it to a higher level. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: the Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Los Angeles, California      July 21st, 2001

     Screams. Horrific, tormenting screams. The kind that causes blood to run cold and hair on the back of the neck to stand up. Desperate cries for help, coming from a broken soul, barely a woman, but certainly not a child anymore, especially not after today. But it isn’t just the pained voice that echoes through the mansion in Brentwood, on the west side of the City of Angels. There are no angels here. On the contrary: the sounds mixing with the anguished voice, is one that comes from the deepest foundations of Hell.       “Abi! Where are you?!”       The call-out is gut-wrenching, and Abigail Sullivan presses her mouth closed firmly, biting on her bottom lip in order not to answer her little sister. She has her back against the French doors between the dining room and the kitchen, a line of salt on the marble floor connecting the frames.      The voice doesn’t sound like Zoë’s. She’s speaking in tongues, pure evil tainting her speech. The battle inside her own body is one she’s destined to lose, but man, she is putting up one hell of a fight. Demon possession is usually pretty straight forward. Black smoke, black eyes, and the host is all but a marionette. It’s rare that someone is able to break through the solid concrete walls that captivate them, but apparently Zoë is giving the bastard some serious competition. Abigail sniffles. That’s my girl.

     Trying to calm herself, the older sister leans her head back against the polished wood, listening to the raging demon. She has to fix this. She has to find a way to expel that thing. This family has lost enough.

     Determined, Abigail moves towards the kitchen cabinets, opening them and looking for anything that could be useful. She clears the storage area under the double sink and pulls up the lid over a secret compartment, exposing a 9mm, several knives, and jars that contain ingredients for basic spell work. Among the items is a flask of Holy water, which she shoves down the front pocket of her jeans. She doesn’t bother to take the handgun or the weapons; she would rather die than have to shoot her own flesh and blood. A bullet or a knife wouldn’t do a demon harm anyway, so instead, she takes a frying pan. It won’t kill anyone, but at least it will slow the son of a bitch down.

     “Oh, Abi…”      Abigail freezes. The trace of Zoë that was audible a minute ago is gone now. It’s the demon who is taunting her, its voice amused, almost singing.      “We used to play this game all the time when we were little, remember?” the dark voice muses.      “You are not my sister, you sick fucker!” she barks back, as she approaches the doors.      “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be cruel; humor me,” the demon tsks. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

     Abigail takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, listening to the sounds in the other room as she leans against the door again. Her heart is beating out of her chest, as if it seems to realize it might stop moments from now. The thing is waiting, and it will rip her apart once it gets the chance. She has to get to the office; it’s her only chance for survival. Dad’s journal and address book might be a way of sending out an S.O.S. signal. There’s a devil’s trap under the circular carpet at the entrance too. If she can capture the demon, they might live another day. Both her and Zo.      With her weapon in her left hand and Holy water in her right, the older Sullivan sister swallows thickly, fearing for her life. The brave young woman takes another second to collect herself. and prepare for what is on the other side. Senses heightened, she waits for the footsteps to pass.      3… 2… 1…

     With a fierce kick, Abigail slams the French door into the intruder’s face, giving herself a small window to make a break for the rotating stairway. With panicked breath, she conquers three risers with each stride, pulling herself up by the guard rail. She almost makes it to the second floor, before a force that defies physics pulls her from her feet and smashes her into the wall. Plaster crumbles on top of her when she hits the ground halfway down the staircase, a jolt of pain cutting through her hip when she lands on the edge of one of the steps.

     Biting down a cry, she pulls herself together while retrieving the Holy water from her pocket, frantically screwing off the cap. Just in time, because the demon that has nested in her little sister’s body, towers over her, a chilling laugh that is anything but human erupting from Zoë’s throat. Blood has smudged her summer dress, dark red sprayed across her chest and neck. The expression distorts the twenty-one year old’s gentle features beyond recognition and her eyes fade to black.      “Hello, sis,” the demon coos.      Abigail’s lip twitches angrily, opposite of the pain in her teary eyes. “Get out of her, you fucking bastard!” 

     She throws the contents of the silver flask into the demon’s face, exposed skin sizzling when it comes in contact with the fluid. It staggers back, hands going for its face as it screeches in agony. Abigail knows this might be the only opportunity she will get and doesn’t waste a second. As fast as her feet can carry her, she gets up, ignoring the ache in her side, and hastens up the stairs.        This time she does make it to the corridor, dashing towards the office at the far end. She is flanked by walls painted in crimson handprints, puddles of blood staining the polished wooden floors. As she passes the master bedroom, she doesn’t glance inside, not wanting to carve even deeper scars into her heart, but the image of the massacre pushes its way to the foreground anyway. She can’t afford to slow down, though, because she can feel the temperature of the warm Californian home drop at least twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. 

     With her fingers still clamped around the handle of the frying pan, she swings on pure gut, her hunter instincts - which she buried not so long ago - kicking in. The flat surface of the pan hits her demon-infested sister square across the jaw, breaking the skin, and for a moment Abigail feels guilty for hurting her sibling. Drastic measures; it’s all about survival now.      Not daring to look over her shoulder, Abigail rushes into her father’s office, able to tell by the sound of firm footsteps that she’s mere inches from getting tackled. The demon is right on her tail, but when the dark entity is about to cross the room, it runs into an invisible barrier. Confused and frustrated, the creature tries again, without result. Then it scoffs, the mimic so different from Zoë’s.      “Let me guess.” The demon tilts its head, staring down the other Sullivan sister. “There’s a trap underneath this ugly rug, isn’t there?”       “Good luck getting out of that one,” Abigail returns, a trace of victory pulling at the corner of her mouth.       “Oh, I don’t need to,” the demon chuckles, as it begins to stroll along the edge of the cage. “Seems like the only way out is through this door behind me.”      Trying to mask the shake in her limbs from anxiety, Abigail sits down in her dad’s leather office chair, rolling closer to the desk. “We’re on the second floor. I’ve done bigger drops.”      “I bet you did. You’re quite the hunter, aren’t ya? You’ve sent many of my kind back to the basement.” Bitter, the demon narrows its eyes, glaring at her.       “I’m one of the best,” Abigail counters, before she pulls out a drawer and takes out a black leather journal.      “Are you?” the evil creature questions. “Are you really going to leave poor little Zo all alone?”

     The older Sullivan sister tries to ignore the words, but she feels the sharp sting anyway. Focusing on the task at hand, she leafs through the notes in search of a number.      “She’s awake in here, y’know?”      Abigail stops.      “She’s crying hysterically, begging you not to abandon her,” the demon elaborates, clearly enjoying the sight of the hunter crumbling. “Begging me not to rip you to shreds and decorate the chandeliers with your intestines.”      “Shut the fuck up,” Zoë’s sister warns, snapping her fiery eyes at the creature.      But the demon doesn’t yield. It has both ladies right where it wants them.       “Let’s face facts here: you’re as trapped as I am. You’re not gonna leave your only family. And you don’t have what it takes to exorcise me. Not without killing her.”      “Maybe I don’t,” Abigail agrees, picking up the phone on the desk. “But I can call the cavalry.”

     Her finger has stopped at two initials, scribbled down on one of the first pages by her Dad. He never wrote down hunters’ names, not wanting to expose them, should the book fall into the wrong hands. Several numbers of old burner phones are crossed out, but the last one isn’t. It’s the number Abigail dials. Without giving the demon the satisfaction of witnessing her despair, she prays for the call to go through. The phone rings three times, four times, causing her to swallow apprehensively. Goddamnit, pick up the phone.      “Hello?”      A sigh of relief slips from her lips. “It’s Abi. I need you to drop everything and get to L.A. as fast as possible.”      “What’s going on?”      “It’s my sister, Zo, she’s–”

     She glances over the desk, watching the person in question staring back. For a second, Zoë seems to be fine: smiling eyes, bright and full of life. Like nothing happened, like their lives are exactly the way they were an hour ago: carefree, peaceful, optimistic. No tears on their faces, no blood on their hands. But then her Zoë’s mouth pulls into a smirk, a smirk that isn’t hers. Her baby sister laughs then, the sound of several dark voices erupting from her throat. Her brown eyes flick to black and little Zo is gone. Goosebumps run up Abigail’s arm and settles in the back of her neck, tears threatening to come down her cheeks.      Abigail tries to compose herself, making sure the words will come out steady when she speaks again. But watching the definition of evil taking full advantage of the person who occupies such a huge space in her heart, is crippling. Acknowledging her family will never be the same again causes her voice to waver.      “She’s possessed, John.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter two here!

[avengershumanresources]

Dust to Dust (12)

Summary: Where did Hydra come from? An idea? A twisted dream? For an organization that spans centuries, it kept relatively quiet until contemporary times.The Super Soldier serum wasn’t dreamt up over night, but was the product of numerous experiments both unethical and violent over the course of the century. It was going to be the end of all conflicts between good and evil. Scientists died trying to determine the next level of the serum, only for it to be stolen by enemies. Back and forth until one side had the advantage.

Mabel Foster was everything the ideal woman should be in 1914. She was well brought-up, wealthy, educated and the heiress to a large fortune. When her father died in a much publicized U-boat attack by the Germans, Mabel made a decision that changed the course of history by enlisting in the French Army during WWI.

After an ambush gone bad, Mabel found herself captured by an early group of Hydra.100 years later she’s discovered in a desolate Hydra base and is taken by the Avengers for safe-keeping and questioning. Little do they realize that all of their destinies and pasts are directly connected through the nest that Hydra weaved.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC (Original Female Character)

Rating/Warnings: Mature- Graphic violence, torture, PTSD, smut

“No, I’ll stand my ground.  Won’t get turned around.  

And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down,

but I’ll stand my ground and I won’t back down.”

-Tom Petty (Won't Back Down)

Before she met Joseph Rogers, Mabel spent a lot of time with a French soldier named Jacob.  

He’d sat next to her on the train when they’d departed from Paris in 1914, rambling on about being a hero and ending the war before the next winter. 

Mabel had sat quietly and listened, still trying to assume the personage of Pierre Garnier before they reached the camps and nervously fidgeting with the coat Marie had given her .  

Jacob had lost a lot of friends in the field.  Mabel thought that was his downfall.  She reasoned that the less people one grew close to, the less likely the hurt will be when they inevitably die.  

She brought this up in the mess a few months after they’d gone to the line and Jacob laughed, nearly choking on his dinner.  

“What’s so funny about that?” she’d asked him, taking a sip of the red wine a local priest had given the small unit as a gift.  

“It’s so dour,” he’d explained.  “Everyone dies in the end.  Whether you’re 100 or 10, you’re going to die.  Do you not make friends in your childhood or throughout life?”

She took a bite out of a piece of bread in lieu of answering the question.  Her mind drifted to Marie and the real Pierre, two friends who’d risked a lot to let her go on this suicide mission.

There was no doubt they’d worry, no doubt they’d fear for her safety between letters and photographs…

“You’re something else, Garnier,” Jacob had patted her shoulder and took another swig of wine.  “Perhaps that cold attitude will end up saving us all.”

The French news was playing when Mabel walked into the common area a day before she was supposed to leave for the city.

“...the French government has ordered a mandatory evacuation of the city center and the areas outlined in red, those in yellow zones should be prepared for evacuation if the order comes.”  

She plucked an apple off of a nearby table and hovered behind the sofa, watching the screen intently with Tony and Sam.  

“Another attack?” she questioned, earning an affirmative grunt from Sam.  

“So far, no one is taking credit for the attack.  Authorities have begun a list of suspected groups and will be reaching out to the UN and the Avengers for feedback as soon as possible.”

The image cut away from a female reporter to a burning building at the center of the city.  

“Musee d’historie de la medecine,” she realized out loud, recognizing the familiar structure of the small building from her history catch-up readings.  

“Have you been there?” Tony’s gaze flickered in her direction and she shook her head.

“I read about it,” she replied with a shake of her head.  “It was made after the war.  1920s, I believe?  It’s not a very popular tourist destination…”

She trailed off, watching the flames in the video lick up the sides of the university building where the small museum was located.  

“It does seem like a very specific attack,” Sam agreed.  “Was there anything controversial or new moved in recently?”

Tony perked up.

“FRIDAY?”

“I’m on it, boss.”

“We still moving to the city?” Sam questioned with a glance in Mabel’s direction and Tony nodded.

“I think we might need to leave today,” he replied, his phone giving a buzz.  “Like, in an hour or so.”

“Think you can move that quickly?” Sam asked the petite blonde and she smiled.

“I believe I can handle it,” she replied, taking the last bite out of her apple and turning on her heel to her room.

Mabel was elated that she was still able to accompany the duo to the city.   She hadn't heard from anyone aside from Tony and Sam for the last few days and she was growing stir crazy.  

She had only one suitcase with a few changes of clothes and a neatly bound book of photographs and letters.  Sam had offered to help her organize her box of memories when he saw the pile on her bed one afternoon.  

Mabel had never been one for material things.  Though before she zipped her bag, she carefully tucked Steve's letters, her watch, and the red scarf neatly in the top of the bag.

Tony mentioned that he'd take care of weapons and pretty much anything else aside from personal belongings.  Mabel thought she was packing fairly heavily, having only used a small bag for food and survival supplies during her years in the field.  

“That's it?” Sam asked when she arrived at the jet an hour later, he raised his brows to his hairline in shock.  She looked at the large duffle he held over his shoulder and shrugged at her tiny suitcase.  

“I have the essentials,” she replied lightly, following him onto the plane and looking around with wide eyes.  

She was, admittedly, wary about the short jet ride to the city.  Sam had given her a few exercises to work through the anxiety and Tony assured her that the jet was significantly safer than commercial planes.

“Early images from the Paris attack are coming in,” Tony announced, climbing onto the plane and holding up a hand.  A holographic screen appeared in front of the trio, revealing a group of masked figures breaking into the museum and igniting the fire.  “The flames just cleared up.  One casualty, a security guard who was trapped.  They're doing an inventory now.”

Mabel swallowed at the image of the young security guard that flickered across the screen.  He didn't look much older than some of the boys she'd commanded.  Such a pointless death during peacetime.  

“Do they think it's connected to the November attack?” Sam questioned, earning a sigh from Tony.  The entire jet seemed to move to life while the pair talked over the details.  The back of the jet sealed up, the engine hummed to life, and the familiar voice of FRIDAY chimed through the speakers.  

Mabel didn't even feel the jet lift from the hanger into the air.  

“Sir, I found something you might be interested in.”  FRIDAY's voice pulled Mabel back into the conversation.  The screen lit up again, revealing an inventory log from the small museum.

“World War 1 research had been sent there to be analyzed and authenticated three days ago.  From the museum files it looks like it contained multiple medical and scientific records compiled by a Dr. Friedrich Krauss.”

Tony's brows shot up and Mabel could feel the pairs eyes bore into her back.  The name seemed familiar.  It was just in the depths of her mind, a face she could almost see, a voice she could almost hear.  

“Mae,” Tony's voice was low.  “Do you know anything about Dr. Krauss?”

The blonde swallowed.  Sam and Tony seemed to know something she didn't.  It was written all over their faces.  What ached the most, however, was that she couldn't pull the information they needed to confirm whatever it was they knew.  She shook her head.  

“FRIDAY, what were the dates of the reports?” Tony questioned the AI, leaning back into his chair and watching the screen light up with scanned files.  

“Looks like they were clustered by year,1917-1922.  There were more years according to an achieve note but that was the bulk of it for the Paris museum.”

“Why don't you find out where the rest of the information is located, for funsies?”

“Already on it, boss.”

Tony grabbed a tablet off of the wall panel and began poking at the screen. The cabin was tense, Sam avoided eye contact while Tony knotted his brows in silent concentration.

“All right Foster, remember that game we were playing where you filled in information that was redacted?” He passed her the tablet and she could feel her cheeks flush at the mission report on the screen.  “This is the final level.  Boss fight.  Tell me a little bit about what happened August 11th, 1918?”

Her fingers froze on the glass surface of the tablet.  That had been the mission.  The mission to end it all and wrap up the war against the Germans nice and tidy.  

She hesitated for words before Tony spoke up again.  

“I'll make it easy for you,” he paused in thought before nodding to himself.  “Your team had been sent to retrieve something.  What was it?”

She frowned at an intrusive memory.  The schematics that Joseph had managed to bring back before dying.  The machine that killed thousands in a single heartbeat.  

“A death machine,” she answered, her voice cracking through the memories.  “The Germans had taken powerful scientific minds from around the world.  They rallied around this… cult that had remained fairly quiet during the war.  You know the cult today as Hydra.”

Sam stilled, listening to the woman talk.  They'd touched on Hydra from time to time, but everyone had been to nervous to touch the topic of how she'd ended up in the monster's hands in the first place.  She continued, her eyes flickering across the blacked out words on the screen.

“I had a four man team,” she recalled.  Marsh, Meyer, Thomas, and herself.  “I was the sniper and lead on the mission.  I handled the security forces while those three attacked from two different sides.   The enemy was supposed to be moving into the building we ambushed, so their numbers were reported to be low.”  She frowned at the lettering on the paperwork that confirmed the mission as a failure.  All four men had been reported deceased.

“They knew you were coming,” Tony mumbled, his fingers toying with his goatee while he continued listening in interest.  

“It all happened at once,” Mabel could still hear Meyer’s shouts in the back of her mind.  “They had stronger weapons, more men.   We had been a small reconnaissance team and were utterly unprepared for the ambush.  I jumped into the fray and got into the compound with Marsh.  I was so close to completing the mission.  I had to detonate a single bomb.  I'd already killed off their primary leaders…”

One bomb.  She needed to get it to the east side of the base, no matter the cost.  Mabel had been so close until she'd been caught.  

When the end of the gun had hit her head, her last thought echoed a prayer.  In that moment she was certain she was dying.  

And yet-

“What was it you were supposed to destroy?” Sam pressed.  His knuckles were white from squeezing his hands together.  

“Picture an atomic bomb,” Mabel tried to keep her voice level.  She held her hands up and mimicked the shape of the mushroom cloud.  “It irradiates, it attacks, and it destroys.  Now, imagine a weapon of similar capabilities that is detonated with no warning.  There's no mushroom cloud.  No time to run or cover.  With this weapon, they were able to potentially wipe out cities in seconds with no trace of the weapon itself.  Just the ruins it left behind.”

“How?” Tony demanded, his fingers pulling his holoscreen in front of him.

“I'm not a scientist,” she confessed.  “It was explained as a type of sound wave.  The Germans believed they had gotten their hands on a material of the heavens .  We called it ‘The Ark’.  They called it something that roughly translated to Peacekeeper.”

“Like the Ark of the Covenant,” Sam looked to Tony who let out a snort.  “Open the box and end all the wars?  You've read the Bible haven't you?”

“I saw Indiana Jones,” Tony replied.  “And even if that was fiction, something that powerful in the hands of some future terrorists is a bad combo.  Any idea what happened with it?”

Mabel shook her head and passed the tablet back to the billionaire.

“They captured me shortly after,” she replied. “I didn't see the light of day until the 1950s, at least that I remember.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence after that.  FRIDAY reported they were about thirty minutes from the city and Mabel could feel her shoulders tense at what was to come.

Bucky and Steve got the report that the others would be joining them while they'd been scouting a Hydra cell in Harlem. It was right before an explosion blew them and their small squad of SHIELD agents into the middle of the road.

The team had been swamped the last couple of weeks.  After months of silence, it seemed like the terror group was having a type of renaissance.  They had new weapons, new members and murmurs suggested a new leader had taken control.  

The team was trying their best to keep it all together but with random attacks throughout the city and now the world… it was becoming a bit of a mess.  

The backup was more than appreciated.  

After Tony’s call and the disaster of an intel mission, the super soldiers had returned to the Tower.   They were a little worse for wear from the mission, their clothes lightly singed while they made their way to the debriefing room.

“God, I'm gone for a week and you two nearly get yourselves killed,” Tony entered the meeting room where the pair was being debriefed by Natasha.  

“They had twice the numbers we'd estimated,” Bucky scowled, leaning back in his chair and huffing a sigh.  “Barely got a few good hits in before Stevie called us back.”

“They ignited the safe house like it was nothing,” Steve explained.  His hand were clasped in front of him on the table.  He knew he'd made the right call to abort the mission, it just bugged him that Hydra had gotten the jump on them.  They should have had the upper hand with the intel they’d been given.

“Sounds similar to what I'm hearing in Paris,” Tony “tsk’d” under his breath and dropped down next to Barnes to listen to the rest of the debriefing.  

“We found two more safe houses on the Eastern Seaboard with what information you two managed to get from them,” Natasha pointed to a screen over her shoulder.  “We can dispatch teams to both, or wait until we have to intervene.  Are we planning a response for Paris?”

Tony sat up, realizing the question had been directed toward both him and Steve.  

“You have the information,” Steve gestured for the brunette to take the lead.  Tony swiped a hand from his tablet upward, pulling the Paris attack images onto the screen.  

“We have tentative images coming in from the security cams and civilians.  Whoever it was, they were ballsy.  The museum was set to open roughly an hour after the attack,” he zoomed in on a bulky man in armor.  “Now I don't want to jump to conclusions, so I'll let you all simmer on this figure.”

The man in the video looked directly at the camera for an instant, his disfigured face making a small smirk before the image cut out.  

“That's Crossbones,” Steve's expression shifted from interest to fury.

“I thought he died before the Accords?” Bucky shot a look around the table.  “Or did he not?”

Natasha swallowed and spoke up.  

“We never found a body,” she muttered, a sidelong look in Steve's direction.  “There were survivors of the blast, so it's possible…”

“Or a copycat,” Steve announced firmly.  Bucky knew that the events in Lagos had weighed heavily on his friend’s conscious.  It'd all been an accident.  Hell, from what Bucky had seen of the footage, if Wanda hadn't intervened, there would have a much higher casualty count.  

“Regardless,” Tony passed around a few bound packets of paper to the trio.  Bucky's attention immediately drifted to a familiar name on the document: Hydra.  “These are some of the documents they may have gotten their hands on in the vault.”

“Dr. Krauss?” Steve eyed Tony before sending a concerned glance in Bucky's direction.  The paperwork outlined some of the doctors work post-World War 1.  It was gruesome, disgusting and exactly what Bucky expected a Hydra scientist to be involved in.  

What Bucky didn't expect was the sinking feeling in his stomach or the shaking of his hand from pure rage.  He hadn't realized that what had happened to him had been standard procedure by the time he'd come around.  By the second page, the doctor had outlined his final patient; a female, roughly 26 years of age, blonde hair, and hazel eyes.  

He could have smashed a fist through the table.  

“Buck?” Steve broke the former assassins concentration.  Bucky looked up, his eyes wild at the trio of faces watching him carefully.  

“What are we doing about it?” The soldier demanded, his flesh hand clenched in a fist under the table while he attempted to pull his head straight.  

“We need figure out where he’d go next,” Tony decided firmly.  “If there’s a possibility he’d slip into one of the Hydra safehouses stateside, we do that.  Do we have any information on Hydra cells internationally?”

“I have my people working on it,” Natasha replied.  “Fury also has SHIELD agents listening all over for murmurs.”

“If this is Crossbones, we need to handle this very carefully,” Steve warned the group.  “He knows Bucky’s triggers, and now he knows Krauss’ research.”

“The things that haven’t been redacted over the years,” Tony mumbled with a sigh of relief.  “We still have time.  What we need to focus on is on the last page of the packet.”

It was a photocopied print out from a military record from August 11th, 1918.  

“This is-?” Natasha began but was interrupted by Stark.  The redhead shot him a glare, but allowed him to continue.  

“Mabel filled in where she could,” he explained.  Bucky scanned the document and noticed that Mabel’s neat handwriting filled in the spaces where the typed information had been blacked out.   “We’re talking a world ending machine.  She believes it works with sonic waves or something, to destroy entire cities without a single trace.”

“That’s impossible,” Bucky scoffed, but narrowed his gaze while he continued reading the details of the report- right up to where it noted four elite soldiers had lost their lives in its pursuit.  A lump formed in his throat and he coughed.

Mabel wouldn’t have risked her life for something as petty as a rumor.  She had a good head on her shoulders, despite her more impulsive tendencies.

“I thought the same thing until FRIDAY dug through the original SHIELD leak,” he pulled up a frozen black and white image.  It was grainy, reminding Bucky of the soundless films he’d watched with Steve back in the day, the theaters had saved money by showing aged films in lieu of newer ones for their poorer audiences.

Tony started the clip.  It was a shaky image of a forest.  Bucky couldn’t quite figure out where the forest was, but the video’s intentions became clear.  In seconds, without so much of a shift in the camera, the entire forest was wiped flat.  

Even nuclear bombs left behind some skeletons.  

“It’s authenticate,” Tony voiced the concern before anyone could speak.  

“FRIDAY found it in a buried archive on the SHIELD server from Hydra.  It was really the only media they’d been able to store from that period, aside from a few photographs.”  He pulled up a black and white image of a mustached man.  “At least we finally put a face to the monster.”

“That’s Krauss?” Steve looked to Tony for confirmation and the billionaire simply nodded.  “Has Mabel seen this?”

Tony frowned and shook his head.  

“Sam, Bruce, and Wanda are working with her later tonight,” the look he gave the group was painful.  “It probably won’t be pretty, but we need to tap into that head of hers and find out everything we can,”

“And use her like a guinea pig?” Bucky spoke out before he could stop himself.

“She volunteered,” Tony corrected sharply.  “I wouldn’t subject anyone to this without their consent.”

Bucky growled a profanity under his breath before Tony dismissed the meeting.  He certainly wasn’t happy about Mabel being subjected to what seemed like rapid memory recollection, but he respected her choice.  

Even if, in his opinion, it was a stupid one.

Mabel was curled up on her bed, neatly organizing the photos she brought onto the walls around her.  It wasn’t much, but it made the sterile white and grey room a little more like home.  

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her early century daydreams and she softly called for the guest to enter.  

To her surprise, Wanda entered the room, a weerie expression on her features.

“How are you settling in?” she asked, glancing politely at the pictures scattered across Mabel’s bed.  

“Just finishing unpacking,” Mabel reported, gesturing to her empty suitcase at the corner of the room.  Wanda looked at the relatively untouched room and gave the woman another small smile.  “Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this evening,” she crossed the room to sit on the edge of Mabel’s bed, giving the blonde plenty of room with her photographs.

“I’ve been writing down everything I can think of,” Mabel gestured to a closed notebook next to her bed.  “And focusing on the specific missions, like Sam suggested.”  She eyed the Sokovian curiously, the brunette woman’s expression shifting slightly.  

“We don’t have to do this,” Wanda stated, looking down at her hands.  “It’s a painful process that nearly destroyed Bucky.  Tony is asking you to pull memories that have been buried by torture and abuse.  It will all come back.”

Mabel spine straightened and she bowed her head, considering Wanda’s words.  

“Would a more specific memory help?” she asked quietly, her eyes drifting to a photograph of the Avengers that Sam had given her.  In particular, she studied Steve’s familiar features.  “It’s a painful memory, but if I can remember specific details it might help.”

“Do I know this memory?” Wanda’s voice was barely above a whisper.  

“You know the agony associated with it,” Mabel replied, her eyes flicking up to meet the hero’s.  “And the last moments of it.”

“Joseph Rogers' death,” Wanda realized without hesitation.  “It was a mission, was it not?”

Mabel nodded slowly, pulling bits and pieces of that particular day forward.  He was dispatched to retrieve documents from a lab outside the front.  Slip in, grab them, slip out.  The cult, somewhat unknown at the time, was losing funding.  

There were very few guards.  Honestly, it’d been one of the cleanest missions since Mabel had enlisted.  The team stole the documents, but on their way out- that’s when it turned into a disaster.  

“He had the original blueprints for the device,” she explained, the idea beginning to take shape.  “I saw them.  It was brief, but I did get the chance to look at them before he died.”

Wanda paused in thought.  Mabel could practically see the young woman weighing the pros and cons of pulling up that particularly painful memory.  

“We will have to start with his death,” she stated after a few seconds of silence.  “That’s the anchor.  Sam mentioned to me that it already might be connected to one of your triggers, which is understandable.”

Mabel hummed in agreement and allowed her to continue.  

“Perhaps if I can pull out the full memory from that point, we can get an idea of what to look for,” she spoke as her thoughts rolled around in her head.  “It might just work.”

“We should talk to Dr. Banner,” Mabel confirmed with a short nod at her companion.  “And figure out the best way to transcribe the information from me to you to a way Tony can understand.”

“Leave that to me,” Wanda stood up from the bed and offered a hand for Mabel.  “We were due to start soon anyway, would you join me in the lab?”

Mabel moved a few pictures and took the woman’s hand, allowing Wanda to guide her through the hallways of the Tower.

“It’s a gorgeous view,” Mabel commented, glancing at the nighttime skyline that surrounded the building.  “Bigger than it used to be.”

“The foundations may crumble, but home will always be home, my friend,” Wanda smiled warmly and pulled her toward the elevator where they chatted about Wanda’s homeland.  

“All Pietro and I knew was war,” she confided as the numbers on the elevator counted upward.  “Sokovia has a difficult past.  Have you read of it’s founding?”

Mabel shook her head, frowning sympathetically to her.  

“I made it through the 1980s before we left,” she confessed.  That was another thing Mabel hoped to focus on during her stay.  The geography of the world had shifted so many times throughout the years, she was having trouble keeping up.  From what she understood, Sokovia was a result of the Soviet Union breaking up, but Mabel didn’t know the specifics.

“There was a very strong culture with my people that differed from other regions,” Wanda explained.  “Unfortunately, our numbers were small and within those numbers, we simply could not agree.  That’s the short version.”

“I’m very sorry you had to suffer through that,” Mabel looked to her with sincerity.  “No child should lose their innocence through violence.”

Wanda didn’t say a word, as the elevator had arrived at their destination and their attention fell on Bucky waiting outside the lab.

He was pacing, barely glancing up to acknowledge the women.  He did a double take and saw Mabel standing with the psychic and briskly walked over, grabbing Mabel’s upper arm forcefully and pulling her aside.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing?” he questioned in a low voice.  “Because I don’t think they are going to tell you the details of how fuckinghorrifying this is.”

“We did it before,” Mabel stated dryly, she shook her head trying to follow his thoughts.  She pulled her arm from his grip and studied him over.  He was more expressive than Mabel had ever seen him.  There was worry, anger, confusion, and a tiny bit of agony as he spoke.  

“This is something else entirely,” he warned.  “It’s the opposite of the wipe.  You’re forcing the memories they pushed away, back to the surface.  It’s excruciatingly painful and I need to know that you’re doing this willingly and not because Stark guilted you or you have this hero-complex.”

“Anyone would do the same thing in my position, Bucky,” Mabel said with a soft shrug.  “You did it.”

“I didn’t do this,” he noticed Stark walking out of the lab to greet Wanda and turned to block Mabel out of view.  “You’re pulling it all out at once.  Didn’t they tell you that?”

She bit down on her bottom lip and looked away before speaking.

“I suggested it.”

He paused, clearly at a loss for words.

“You could hurt someone, or yourself,” he reached and grabbed Mabel’s shoulders gently.  “Please rethink this.”

His plea made Mabel’s heart ache in a way she hadn’t felt since Joseph’s death.  The particular feeling startled her and she pulled away from his grip.  

“I spoke with Wanda and we’re going to try something a little different,” she admitted, matching her eyeline with his.  “It will be difficult, but she says it is possible to pull off.  She’s talking with the others right now.”

Mabel was frozen in place while Bucky digested the information, his face exposing some of his thoughts.  The slight tug of his lips suggested unease, the tiny arch in his brow suggested irritation.  

“I need to me in there with you,” he decided firmly, offering Mabel no other alternatives.  “I don’t care if we have to kick Stevie out.  You’re not doing this alone.”

“Tony will be there,” she smirked, watching that slight arch in his brow.  

“Even more reason for me to be there,” he threw an arm around Mabel’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his torso.  Mabel felt herself stiffen at the sudden gesture, unfamiliar with the less conservative forms of public affection.  Slowly, she wrapped and around around him and he pulled away, satisfied with their agreement.  

“Let’s get this over with,” he commented, gesturing her toward the lab and opening the door for her.  

“Miss Mabel Foster,” Tony greeted from across the lab with a nod.  “Wanda told us your idea and I’ve got to say, you might be a genius.”

“That’s big coming from you,” Bruce scoffed with an eye-roll.  “It’s a good theory. We're willing to test it, if you’re up for it.”  

Wanda, Tony, Bruce, and Bucky all looked to Mabel expectantly.  

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

PART 13