Marvel Imagines: Book Two

The Fallen (Avengers X Reader)

You couldn't decided what was worse. The fact you had fallen from your place at your fathers side and was forced to rebuild your body, or the fact you now had to walk along side the humans you helped design.

Life on earth was pitiful. Humans, a vile race with a ridiculous lack of morals are now your equals. Sort of. It was a cruel joke. Their corruption was not your doing, it was your younger brothers, he found the undoing of your fathers work to be a pass time. A hobby. So, why were you being punished?

It possibly had something to do with the fact you almost killed Michael. A simple misunderstanding including your other younger brother, a sword and a god like wrath of a very pissed off archangel.

Now, here you are, bound by chains at a facility run by the organisation called SHIELD. Personally, you preferred HYDRA, at least they actually did something interesting every now and then. However, their love for killing innocents was a bit of an issue, and world war two was maybe a bit too. . . cynical for your taste.

Two men guard the door in the left corner of the room made from stone and metal. In their hands are guns, specially designed, strange bullets. You cock your head to the side, tongue clucking as you try to figure out what they're made from. Not lead, that would be too simple. Something heavier, stronger but not entirely deadly.

For half an hour you had sat in what appeared to be some reenforced box, wrist bound to a chair incapable off holding you. Leaving would be easy, but you wanted to see what these stupid men had to say. It must be something important, a proposition perhaps. They had been looking for you since you had landed in a smouldering pit somewhere in the middle of Missouri just two days ago.

It felt like you had been here for a life time, and not a human life time. You were old, like really old, and these last two days had felt longer than the last several billion years you had helped your father create whole worlds.

The electrical currents in the air prickle your skin as a key card opens the door guarded by pointless men with less than friendly faces. Your eyes roll as a man steps in, black coat reaching past his knees, patch over one eye. If he was supposed to seem threatening, he wasn't doing a very good job of coming off that way.

"There is no record of you anywhere, why is that?" He slaps a file down on the table outside of your cage. You quirk a brow, give him a once over as you lean back in your chair.

"Mi non vis respondere." You respond with a smile, fingers tapping the rhyme of a hymn against the cool metal pressed to your skin. The man looks more than confused, clearly he had never learnt Latin, and you knew that. His thoughts were louder than most, probably something to do with him acting like a walking, talking secret. "Humans, so uncultured, so. . . far from what you once were. Now, answer my question. How long do you think it will take me to get out of this box?"

Your eyes flash over to a mirror, obviously two way. A group of seven stand behind it, some dressed in what seemed to be high-tech Halloween costumes and the others like normal people. Their minds were less than stable, especially one who seemed to shut out anger as much as possible.

"Well, if you want my honest opinion, I'd say never. That right there is three and a half inches of ballistic glass and--"

"Tungsten. Yes, I know, and I didn't ask." Your head cocks to the side, eyes landing on a man dressed in the colours of the American flag. Enough time had been spent studying this continent to know each of its flags, accents and fossils. "Steve Rogers, war hero, out of his own time. Brave, honourable, an honest man who only lies if it has benefit. Director Fury, why don't you invite the growing crowd inside?"

Fury's throat clears, he nods and signals for the seven to come in.

The first, Steve Rogers, a soldier out of time.