What Wicked Lurks Within (Avengers x Reader)

Chapter 7

Once the disbelief faded and you got your bearings, your fiery Eyes centred on Tony. "You see a dusty old bowl which contains what very clearly looks like dried-up blood, in a room your friend said was not here a minute ago and you fucking go and pick it up!?"

"Okay, I am sor-" Tony had barely finished his apology when you overpowered him, "What, do you have no survival instinct? None at all?" Clint kicked the bowl further away from him. "(Y/N), how do you know enough about necromancy, or whatever, to be sure about this?"

Your anger melted away, replaced by embarrassment. "I..." You cleared your throat, hoping that the attention would pass. It did not. "I had a...goth phase, back in the day." You could hear Bucky snickering behind you. "Shut it, Barnes. Anyway, the phase died, curiosity didn't. So now I have a plethora of potentially useless information."

Natasha inhaled sharply. She turned to you, her wide eyes laced with abysmal foreboding. You quickly looked away, feeling lost in the intensity. "That symbol," You pointed at the design that had initially riveted Tony, "is painted in blood. All of them are, actually. It is meant to cause unrest among the dead, let them know they are being summoned. That one," You pointed to another symbol, this time on the ceiling, "acts kind of like a lighthouse. Guides them through their path, shows them their destination. And that one... I don't really know what that's for."

"And what's this?" Steve ripped open a cabinet and the smell wafting from it made everyone turn their heads away. You evaluated the bones stored inside. "Uh, yeah. Necromancy ritualists consume human flesh and blood in order to make the procedure more effective, I guess."

"Isn't that just great? This place is cursed with black magic, everyone who has ever owned this place is dead-" Bucky was certain to keep on grumbling if it wasn't for your interruption, "Well, that's just because the last time someone owned this place was nearly half a century ago. And I don't think anyone successfully carried out necromancy here. It's too hard to even successfully fail at it."

You chuckled at your own little joke while the others offered you a withering look. "You guy- you guys don't get it, do you?" You questioned, sighing. "During necromancy, what you ideally want is to summon the spirit, the one you are actually looking for and not something nasty that is already seeking to get out, and get it to actually enter a body, essentially reviving it. But when you fail, successfully that is, you end up summoning something evil from the beyond. The spirit then proceeds to haunt the place."

"But that's my point. Most people don't even get there." You quickly added, "They are not only unable to conduct the ritual successfully, but also unable to fail at it successfully. Black magic is a truly onerous task." A superficial survey of the room concluded that some faces seemed like the secret of the universe had been revealed to them, while others looked like they wanted to punch you in the throat.

"(Y/N), what is....this?" A loud crash was heard and next thing you knew, Tony was waving some papers in your face which he had acquired by widening and a narrow crack in the wall. You were exhausted. "Would you all stop ripping this place apart?"

The papers were old - yellowed by time, browning at the edges. They were not the house papers, or any legal documents for that matter. They were handwritten, scrolled in a hurry -  or was it madness? The signs on it, you wished you had never seen them at all, much less a second time. "Tony, this is..." You held the papers away from yourself like a soiled diaper, "this is no joke. This is hardcore occult, meant to be a trap almost. To prevent the dead from going to the afterlife. You know what happens to spirits that can't escape to the afterlife."

"What?" Steve asked, all but certain he knew the answer. You shoved the papers back where they came from. "They are forced to wander in perpetuity. Eventually, they get frustrated, they forget what it's like to be human. Until they become exactly that - not human. But of course that is all, you know, talk. Stories."

"Cap? Steve?" Client tentatively called out when it became painfully obvious the man has zoned out. Lost, eyes staring at nothing and yet somehow, something. His breathing was shallow and his entire body was...shivering? "Steve, are you alright?" Bucky touched his friend's shoulder. The only response that came, which was not directed at him and he knew it, was Steve's mouth slowly falling open.

What Steve was seeing, he was grateful the others could not. He knew they could not, through the lack of sheer terror on their faces. He could see so many of them now, not just the little boy. They stood among his team like they belonged - decrepit, deformed and like you had said, no longer human.

Most of them rasped and clawed at their own decayed flesh. From what you had just explained, he could tell they were too far gone. Some still seemed human. Barely. One of them, a woman, stepped forward. Her neck was nearly entirely severed, hardly holding on by a few struggling ligaments.

"We are cursed to stay here, for eternity. Why? Why us? All we did was die here." Her eyes hardened and the pain in them morphed into anger, "Killed. Brutally murdered. Why should you deserve any better? Why should you deserve to walk out of here alive?" Steve's breath froze in his lungs. He could feel the cold spreading inside. He could also feel himself losing grip on reality. The woman was doing something, he couldn't quite tell, but everyone he was fading. All who remained were the dead.

A sharp, ringing pain rang out in Steve's cheek, causing a stray tear to slip out. You had slapped him. As his vision cleared, he could see you, furiously shaking him by the shoulders. "The hell is wrong with you, Steve? Snap out of it!"

Steve inhaled shakily and threw himself onto you, pulling you close and hugging tight. He would have kissed you, such was his ache for physical contact with something that lived, but he refrained for the sake of modesty. "It's okay. You're okay." You whispered into his hair, gently rubbing his back. You didn't know what was okay. You didn't even know what had been wrong that was now okay. What you did know was that your friend was in need of comfort and it was no time for questions.

Sam's scream was very briefly heard and was then cut off. Bluntly -  conspicuously bluntly. The team scrambled for the stairs as soon as recognition hit. Sam stood at his window, teetering on the edge. "Sam?" Bucky slowly called out, so as not to startle. "Sam, step back, you're gonna fall."

Sam did not acknowledge his presence, if he registered it in the first place. His stance threatened to falter at any moment. Tony's eyes met yours and  a silent conversation took place. Adhering to the plan formed therein, you looped your right arm over Sam's torso, Tony looped his left and the two of you pulled with all your might.

Admist the pandemonium, Natasha noticed an anomaly that made her stomach twist. "Steve." She gasped, "Your head..." Uncertain of what she was hinting at, Steve indeterminately touched the bandage wrapped around his temples. His fingers came back red and moist. The wound had opened up on it's own.

Tony, Sam and yourself fell back against the solid floor. Sam immediately sat up. "I don't like this place very much." He barely managed to get the words out. Bucky blandly regarded his friend. "Is that why you were jumping out the window?"

"Don't worry about that." Clint interjected, "We leave as soon as we are done with Wanda's funeral." Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he inhaled in relief for the first time since he had entered the room. "That's good. Let's... Let's do that."

-

Sleep was running late. Hence, even as the night wore on, you lay awake in your bed. Downstairs, the clock chimed at the strike of an hour.

'One, two...' You counted, 'ten, eleven, twelve. It's midni-' The thought had not even wholly come to you when the clock chimed again. 'Thirteen.' The thirteenth hour?

The night hid behind a veil of quiet. The air felt stale and the dark felt...darker. Pulling the sheets over your head, you forced yourself to sleep. It was better if you did, for the things prowling in the shadows had intentions much sinister.