Man Out of Time - A Captain America / Avengers Fanfiction

Epilogue

Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER:

"It's starting!" Gabriel Jones shouted.

"Shh!" Dum Dum Dugan grumbled, a stogie hanging out of his mouth. "How are we supposed to hear anything with Sweetcheeks making so much noise?"

"To whom do you refer to as these sweet cheeks?" a handsome, burly man with a heavy Norwegian accent growled. "Is it an endearment?"

"Don't get your pantyhose tied up in a knot, friend Baldur," Peggy Carter came up behind the usually good-natured Norse god and placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "Your voice is so proud and strong it is drowning out the magic. We must be quiet."

"I care not for the affairs of Midgard," another Norseman, Sigurd, pounded his fist upon his chest plate armor. "Nor this magical device ... Tell Vision. I have drink which desireth to flow!"

"Television," Gabriel Jones corrected. He ignored the glare Sigurd gave him and switched into the Norse language. "Friend Sigurd ... we have all cast wagers upon Commander Rogers. We would be honored if thou would join our sport and cast a wager thyself?"

"The odds are running 67 to one," Jim Morita said. His Asiatic features were highlighted by the Moghul armor he had taken to wearing once inducted into Valhalla. "Are thou too cowardly to place a wager?"

"Sixty-eight to one," Frenchie corrected. "Steve Rogers, he is a hero, that is true. But his adversary ... oui! I do not think he can defeat it this year."

"He has no motivation," Jim Morita said. "He has already won the prize which inspired him to do battle last year. I have bet, friend Sigurd, that he will find an excuse to avoid engaging the enemy."

"Ah!" Sigurd slapped Jim on the back. "You speak highly of this Commander Rogers, and yet you bet against him?"

"You didn't see the look on his face last year," Dum Dum Dugan laughed. He tugged at his uniform pants, a bit tighter than they had been on Earth from all the feasting, and sat down to stare at the television, chomping on his cigar.

"I am convinced," Sigurd said. "I wager use of Gram for one battle. If I am wrong, you can hack me to pieces."

Each morning after breakfast, all the heroes who had ever died battle hacked one another to second death to practice for the end of all worlds, Ragnarok. Come supper, the Valkyries would blow their horns and the spirits of the dead to pull their bodies back together (for the heroic dead took great pleasure in the fact they were already dead and a good dismemberment could do no lasting harm) and return to the great hall of Valhalla for an evening of drinking and feasting. Use of Gram, the sword Sigurd had used to slay Fafnir, would convey an advantage to whoever won the wager in the next day's battle.

Baldur, slain half-brother of Thor, stared at the magical device the Asgardians called Tell Vision.

"Tell me, friend Carter," Baldur asked. "Which way have you cast your vote?"

Peggy gave Baldur an enigmatic smile.

"She bet on Steve," Dum Dum Dugan twirled his moustache as he laughed. "She always bets on Steve Rogers."

Peggy took a long drag of her cigarette and thoughtfully exhaled.

"I seem to recall you all felt that way once, as well."

"Have you seen what that thing looks like this year?" Lieutenant Falsworth laughed. "Would you touch it?"

Just at that moment, the Tell Vision flashed to a preview of the villain in question, it's exterior seething as dark shapes lurked beneath the surface. An explosion of betting went on behind them as other heroes jumped in on the wager.