Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Have you ever thought to yourself, It really can’t get worse than this, and then things immediately get even worse? Well, that’s exactly what you were thinking when the guy you’d been talking to, Tom, showed up at your house, unannounced, and knocked on your front door with a giant promposal poster.

The problem definitely wasn’t that it seemed his entire friend group had shown up with him. Or the fact that they were all recording right outside your door, waiting for you to answer. Or the fact that you didn’t really want to go to prom with him, and you’d been sending him really dry texts the past few weeks, hoping he’d get the damn hint. Or even the fact that you’d answered the door in your swimsuit from practice earlier, towel wrapped around your waist, and probably with the most unflattering hair, so that you looked like a wet rat.

The problem was that this was the exact moment that your mom decided to come home from work. And holy hell was she pissed. Why exactly was she pissed and not overjoyed that her daughter was getting proposed to? That answer can be simplified to ‘You’re not allowed to talk to guys, let alone date anyone,’ so the pure idea of something exactly like this happening occurs only in your mom’s nightmares.

She pulled into the driveway like a scene out of a Fast and Furious movie, slammed the car door with the force of someone who’d definitely had a long day, and had the expression on her face that said, ‘Why the hell are there a dozen teenagers on my lawn?’ But not in that silly, kooky way that came from confusion. More like the angry, knowing way that came from someone who could immediately tell you’d been hiding something from her.

You swore your entire life flashed before your eyes as your mom weaved through the crowd, everyone parting around her like the Red Sea. It wasn’t until she pulled you inside the house and shut the door that you fully processed what was actually waiting outside for you. The attention you were going to have tomorrow at school, asking for an answer, was nothing compared to the (at least) 40 minute lecture that awaited you from your mom. While you secretly prayed your sister would come home soon, you knew it honestly wouldn’t help at all. Nothing could save you now.

ººº

You flop onto your bed, your duvet sinking quickly around your body. Most of the time, you’d cry during these lectures. Try to toughen up for a bit, nod along, and wait for the moment you could escape and lie down on the bathroom floor to finally let it all out. You never made it to the end. You could never just sit there while your mom yelled at you, with no chance to speak, without breaking. Today was the first.

Maybe it was something in the air. It’s already near the end of the school year; you could really care less what happens. Normally you’d be super high-strung; this year was definitely no exception, but all you could think to do was count down your days. Count your blessings that you could end junior year with no drama, good grades, a pristine college resume, top-tier stats and times for the swim season, and most importantly, you’d survive to see the day you’d be going on your trip to New York.

You really wanted nothing more than to get out of this toxic house. San Diego was beautiful, sure. Postcard-perfect, really. Some people would kill to grow up in La Jolla, minutes from the beach, with sunshine year-round, and a house on a hill with a view that screamed privilege. Though, most people probably didn’t grow up with a mom who was a local politician obsessed with image. Who treated every family moment like a press release, making sure that her two daughters were perfectly polished for every photo op. And most people didn’t grow up in a house where your dad walked out when you were ten, after years of yelling, breaking things, and pretending it was normal, leaving behind the kind of trust issues you can’t exactly unpack in school therapy.

Your mom had kicked him out after one especially bad night. You never forgot the sound of glass breaking, the way she’d pulled you and Jenna into her room and locked the door. Sometimes, when Mom yells now, it’s not even her voice you hear. It just sounds like his, sharper, louder, meaner. Like you can’t even escape it.

And lately, it’s been following you into your dreams. The shouting, the slammed doors, the footsteps down the hallway that used to make your stomach drop. You never talk about it, but the memories still crawl out when you close your eyes too long.

You turned on your side and buried your face into your pillow. A nap would sound good right now, if you didn’t already know where it would lead. Another nightmare, another night of waking up in sweat, gasping, heart pounding. You’d much rather stay awake and miserable.

Your older sister, Jenna, was the golden child. Three years older, effortlessly perfect, and currently attending UCLA because it made Mom look good. Everything for Mom. Mom’s favorite. Always had been. Everything you weren’t. And while she was off at college pretending to be humble, you were still here, fighting the urge to get up and leave, to run away. It’s not like Mom would even notice; you barely even see her at the house.

Speaking of running, literally, track was your second escape, after swimming. Something about it gave you that same numb, detached focus. It shut the world out. Shut her out. Just staying in motion. Like if you stopped for too long, everything would catch up to you.

You sat up in bed and looked out the window just in time to see your mom’s Audi backing out of the driveway. Again. Off to another campaign event or last-minute meeting, probably more interviews, more speeches about ‘values’ and ‘family.’ The usual. Your jaw tightened as you scanned the street out of habit. Tom and his friends were long gone. Thank God. No more phones in your face. You didn’t even know how they left.

You exhaled slowly, pulled yourself off the bed, and headed downstairs, still quiet. You grabbed some stuff from the kitchen: a granola bar, some grapes, and popped open the fridge for a bottle of sweet tea. You didn’t even think about it anymore. You were already moving. Throwing everything into your backpack: towel, sweats, hoodie, snacks, and headphones. Your fingers brushed your goggles as you zipped the front pocket. That’s where you needed to be. You picked up your keys as you hurried to the garage; the sun would start to set soon, and you had to make the most of the rest of this already shitty day.

The garage door groaned open as you grabbed your e-bike, hopped on, and coasted down the driveway. The wind hit your face instantly, cooler than you expected for a late afternoon. You took the same hill like you’d done a hundred times, weaving through the familiar turns, the ocean breeze tickling your skin as you grew closer.

When your tires hit the sand-sprinkled path, you exhaled for the first time in what felt like days. You locked up your bike, stripped off your outerwear, and headed toward the water. You stepped into the waves, and the cold rushed over your toes and your ankles. It was like the ocean didn’t care who your mom was. It didn’t care that your family was a carefully constructed disaster held together by broken promises and silence. Here, you didn’t have to explain why you didn’t trust that many people. Why you needed to keep everyone at arm’s length. Why you could barely look in the mirror some days.

You dove in, the chill shaking the breath out of your lungs, so for the first time today, you didn’t feel like you were drowning. The water never asked you for perfection. You could be free. For a single moment.

Chapter Text

You didn’t even check your phone until your fingers were wrinkly and raisin-like. The sun had started to set low beyond the horizon, and your skin was tight with salt and cold air as you finally collapsed onto the glowing sand, letting the last of your adrenaline drain out. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be that exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that only came from honest hard work and effort, not from countless stress headaches and sleep deprivation.

You dug your phone out of your backpack and blinked against the brightness of the screen. About 20 new messages, 6 DMs on Instagram, 5 missed calls, all from your friends, and one FaceTime, courtesy of your friends again. Yet you couldn’t stop staring at that stupid heart-eyed emoji that you’d just gotten from Tom. I guess I deserve this, you thought. You groaned, flopping back onto the sand.

Your best friend, Anne, had texted all about six times, all variations demanding you to answer your phone. Your other best friend, Liz, was blowing up the group chat with “did he actually do it????”

“wait people are posting it fr omg”

“you’re gonna be famous”

“BUT DW you looked so hot fr”

“yesss def not at all like a wet rat”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. You clicked to FaceTime them while you biked home. It wasn’t the safest move, but you were usually careful. Ish. Anne answered first, her face popping up against the background of her bedroom wall, which, of course, was half-covered in Iron Man/Tony Stark posters with grainy, small printouts of SHIELD logo sightings she found on Reddit.

“FINALLY,” she shouted, practically vibrating. “You live! Tell me everything, right now. Immediately. Before Liz has a full breakdown.”

“I’m not breaking down,” Liz’s voice cut in as her face joined the call, already holding a pint of ice cream. “I’m just emotionally invested.”

“You two are unwell,” you muttered, trying to keep your eyes on the bike path while not dropping your phone.

“No, we’re just amazingly devoted friends,” Anne corrected. “Who happen to now be best friends with a viral sensation.”

“I hate that for me,” you groaned. “Please tell me it’s not that bad. I mean, it really can’t be that bad, right?”

Anne’s eyes widened, quickly spewing out, “It’s everywhere. I’m sure the entire school knows by now, probably even the entire school district. From your point, it’s really not that bad; you just answered the door looking like a scary druid monster.”

Liz continued, “So from Tom’s pov he really should be way more embarrassed that he got turned down for prom.”

“So basically I’m gonna get a bunch of shit about it tomorrow,” you muttered.

Liz snorted. “The worst part was probably your mom, though.”

“She drives like she’s chasing fugitives, you’d think I brought home a war criminal, not a dude with a prom poster.”

Anne leaned closer to the camera. “Okay, but why the hell did he even do it like that? Like, what part of your very clear disinterest screamed, ‘Yes, I’d love for you to gather twelve of your idiot friends and record this for the internet’?”

“I don’t know, delusion? Toxic masculinity? Both?”

“Cringe,” Liz said. “But also iconic. Not for him, obviously. But for you? Legend.”

You groaned again, letting your head tilt back. “Can we not make this a thing?”

“It’s very clearly already a thing,” Liz said. “Just embrace it. For sure it’ll be old news by the time Tom finds another girl to harass.”

You snorted. “Can’t wait.”

“OOH! Also,” Anne added, a little too casually, “I got an alert today that someone new was spotted near a SHIELD site over in New Mexico.”

“Girl, I just got publicly ambushed by a dude who thinks skinny jeans and Nike sweaters are a fashion statement. Can we wait on the SHIELD conspiracy hour?”

“Maybe this new ‘hero’ will be hot this time,” Liz said, to which Anne clearly took offense. “I’m just saying, Tony Stark used to sell weapons of ‘mass destruction’ and all of a sudden flips the switch? Anyways, you can’t convince me that guy is attractive.”

“Excuse me? Are you dissing my pride and joy, Tony Stark, over here? Right after you were the one who said you wanted to go to prom together as friends, again, because she couldn’t find a ‘good enough’ man for every other dance,” retorted Anne.

“...Okay, that was probably the most overcompensation of overcompensations. Tony is just not hot,” Liz replied.

Anne held up her hands. “You’re seriously no fun. When it turns out an alien hammer crash-landed in the desert and no one tells us until it's too late, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

ººº

You finally coasted up to your house, your legs ached and your hair was crusty with saltwater, but at least your phone wasn’t still blowing up. One surprise, though: Jenna’s car was in the driveway. You blinked. Hadn’t seen that in weeks. Not during the week, anyway. The front door creaked open, and for once, it wasn’t just your own echo in the hall. You found her upstairs, sitting cross-legged on her bed, laptop glowing in front of her and a textbook tossed haphazardly beside it. She looked up and pulled out one earbud.

“Rough night?” 

You leaned in the doorway.“You heard?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were trending. And I saw Mom coming home yelling like someone committed treason on the front lawn.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” you scoffed. A pause. Not awkward, but heavy.

“I only came home because Mom guilt-tripped me,” Jenna said, not even pretending to sugarcoat it. “I had three finals this week. It wasn’t worth the two-hour drive.”

You shrugged. “Was I?”

She looked up sharply, like you’d hit something she didn’t mean or want to show. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m serious,” you said. “Do you really not care that much about me that you have to leave every day and then try to pretend we’re just one normal, happy family?”

“I had to leave,” Jenna said quietly. “It wasn’t about not caring. It was about… forget it. You’ll understand once you’re out too.”

“Yeah, well, don’t act like I’ll be getting out of here anytime soon.” You started walking out of the room, stopping to say, “And by the way, you didn’t leave. Don’t pretend like you’re still not at Mom’s beck and call. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here right now,” you gestured around her room, “You’d be in your dorm. Away from us. From me.” You walked out. It wasn’t that you didn’t already get it. You just hated that you had to.

ººº

The next morning, school was a circus. You barely made it past first period without someone asking if you were officially dating Tom, if you said yes to the proposal, or if your mom was actually insane. All the usual high school nonsense, kids too bored with their own damn lives to have to live vicariously through others. Overall, nothing you couldn’t handle.

Until he stopped you at your locker during passing period. 

“Hey,” he said, a little too loud. “You never answered.”

You didn’t even look up. “That was my answer.”

Tom frowned. “Come on. Just tell me what I did wrong. You’re being cold.”

“Can you just get away from me? I’m really not in the mood for this right now.”

He stepped closer, the kind of move that was supposed to be intimidating but mostly just made your skin crawl. “I went out of my way to do something nice. Hell, if I asked anyone else they would have definitely said yes. Everyone thinks it was sweet.”

You slammed your locker and shrugged, trying to look indifferent. You didn’t really want to show him how much he got under your skin. “Everyone can be wrong.”

Before he could say anything else, Liz appeared beside you. “Didn’t you already get rejected yesterday?”

Anne flanked your other side, backpack slung over one shoulder. “We should head to class,” dragging your arm in the opposite direction.

Tom scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and finally stormed off. “Ugh,” Liz said. “And somehow he wonders why you dropped him…”

ººº

By your free period, you were buried in your notes, scanning your AP Physics grade over and over again. B+. Hanging there like it was taunting you. Everything else? Solid As. But Physics refused to fall in line. Prom is this weekend. Finals are next week. And the last day of school is right after that, meaning the countdown was real.

Then: New York. Just you, Anne, and Liz. One week with no parents and no pressure. Okay, there was some pressure. Your moms had planned half the itinerary to be ‘educational.’ Museums, historical tours, three Broadway shows (one picked by each of you), and maybe a campus visit or two to schools you had definitely ZERO intention of applying to.

But still. It was freedom. Away from your mom. Away from school. Away from crusty people and free of the stress of school (finally). You leaned back in your seat and stared at your college resume again. Solid and safe. You wouldn’t have to start applying until next year. You really didn’t want to. Mainly because the only ‘real’ options were UCLA and UCSD. Which were perfectly amazing schools with very, very low acceptance rates.

You just wanted out. Far out. Like the East Coast. Change-your-name-out. But that wasn't up to you. Not yet. You turned back to your notes and underlined the formulas again, trying to focus. If you were going to even dream about your trip, about college, about anything else…

You had to lock in. Finals were coming.

Chapter Text

You were somewhere over Kansas when you started to question every life choice that led you to this exact moment. A red-eye flight to New York sounded somewhat dreamy and luxurious when you planned it. Freedom. Adventure. Midnight takeoff, early sunrise over the East Coast. But five hours into the flight, with Anne drooling on your shoulder and Liz snoring softly against the window, you were starting to feel like maybe ‘dreamy’ had been optimistic.

You leaned your head back against the seat, earbuds in, watching the small plane icon crawl across the in-flight map. Three hours left. You could power through. You’d done worse - like somehow surviving junior year.

Anne had claimed the aisle seat purely so she could pace if she “got restless” (translation: needed to talk). Liz was wedged by the window, a blanket cocooned around her like a burrito, her iPad propped up on the tray table. You peeked over to see Heath Ledger’s face frozen mid-smirk.

“Of course,” you muttered, amused.

“Don’t judge,” Liz said, eyes still glued to 10 Things I Hate About You. “This movie is a masterpiece. A masterclass in romance and comedy.”

Anne tore her gaze away from her own screen just long enough to scoff. “Yeah, a masterpiece until Heath Ledger turned into the Joker and scarred me for life.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Please. If I had to choose between ‘Joker’ Heath and ‘Patrick’ Heath, it’s not even close.”

“Obviously Christian Bale wins,” Anne said, leaning in like this was the world’s most serious debate. “I mean, have you seen him in The Dark Knight?”

You smirked. “Anne, didn’t you literally just say you’re watching Revenge of the Sith because of Hayden Christensen?”

Anne didn’t even blink. “I contain multitudes. Sometimes we can like multiple things.”

You snorted, shaking your head, and turned back to your own screen, playing Happy Death Day. Not exactly first-class cinema, but it wasn’t too scary, and it had a weirdly cute love subplot buried under the murder-mystery chaos. Perfect airplane content. Besides, you didn’t need to be clutching the armrest every time something jumped out of a closet. The flight attendants already looked like they were seconds away from cutting someone off from the coffee.

For a while, the cabin filled with the quiet hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of someone shifting. The three of you were an odd little tableau: Anne mouthing Star Wars lines under her breath, Liz quietly quoting Shakespeare from her rom-com, and you counting the minutes until landing.

At some point between Tree’s fifth death and your fifth bag of pretzels, you all synced up and started watching Crazy Rich Asians together. After a ten-minute debate, of course. Liz wanted The Notebook. Anne wanted Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. You just wanted peace. In the end, Crazy Rich Asians won because it was the only movie Anne hadn’t memorized and the only one Liz didn’t cry over.

“Fine,” Anne relented. “But I’m picking the next one.”

“You said that last time,” you said.

“Yeah, but this time I mean it.”

You barely made it halfway through before the cabin lights dimmed completely, the soft purple glow of night settling over the rows. For a moment, it was quiet. Peaceful. Just you and your best friends, halfway across the country, suspended between yesterday and everything new.

ººº

The sun was barely up when the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to New York City. The local time is 6:27 a.m., the temperature's a comfortable sixty-four degrees…”

Liz groaned. “6:27 should be illegal.”

Anne was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Do you think Stark Tower’s visible from the airport? DO YOU THINK WE’LL SEE IRON MAN OH MY GOSH.”

You blinked at her. “Anne, it’s literally 6 a.m. You think Tony Stark’s out there waving good morning to the planes?”

“Maybe!” she said brightly. “He’s rich. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, including sleeping in.”

The three of you shuffled off the plane, bleary-eyed, hair tangled, and already starving. JFK was chaos: lines of people dragging suitcases, announcements echoing over the PA, the smell of must everywhere. You were too tired to process it properly. You grabbed your checked bag, texted your mom a quick ‘landed safe’ (which, of course, got a ‘call when you can’ reply, definitely half-hearted), and herded Anne and Liz toward a cab.

The drive into Manhattan was quiet at first. Then, predictably, Anne started pressing her face to the window like a five-year-old on a field trip.

“Is that Central Park?” she asked.

“No,” Liz said. “That’s a random patch of trees by the freeway.”

“Oh.” Anne frowned. “Do you think Tony Stark’s in there?”

You sighed, but couldn’t help grinning. “Anne, he doesn’t live in the park.”

Liz nudged you. “Yet. Not until I rob him of his riches and make him homeless.”

ººº

By the time you reached the hotel, the sky was bright gold, skyscrapers glinting like glass towers out of a postcard. You dropped your bags in the lobby storage (your room wasn’t ready yet, of course) and stepped back onto the street, all three of you buzzing despite the exhaustion.

“Okay, Navigator,” Liz said, bumping your shoulder. “Where to first?”

You grinned, pulling out your phone. “There’s this cafe I found on Instagram. Supposed to have the best matcha lattes in the city. Cute interior, pastries that look like art, AND still somewhat underground.”

“I’m listening,” Liz said.

“I’m sold. I’ll do anything to get some caffeine in me right now,” Anne added.

The city unfolded around you as you walked: honking cars, the smell of bagels and the stench of the sewers seeping out of storm drains. The café turned out to be tucked between a plant shop and a bookstore, all warm light and wooden tables. You ordered a matcha and a bran muffin; Liz got something called a ‘strawberry cloud latte’ and immediately declared it life-changing; Anne went for a black coffee, simply ‘because Tony Stark drinks it,’ then added about 20 packets of sugar.

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure he doesn’t drink anything that costs less than twenty dollars. Or use his morning coffee to consume an ungodly amount of sugar.”

Anne shrugged. “A girl can dream.”

After breakfast, you wandered toward a park that was small, tucked away between streets, with benches and little patches of sunlight filtering through the trees. You all kicked off your shoes, stretched out on the grass, and let the jet lag hit full force. Liz scrolled through her phone. “Okay, explain to me why every hot guy in New York is walking a dog. Is that a thing? Is it like a law?”

“Probably because women think it’s cute,” Anne said, not looking up from her screen.

“Statistically smart.”

You smirked. “You just say ‘statistically’ to sound smart.”

“Statistically,” she said, “that’s true.” You threw a napkin at her.

Anne, of course, was already doom-scrolling through Reddit, the glow of conspiracy-level excitement on her face. “Guys,” she said suddenly, sitting upright. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Liz groaned. “If it’s another ‘SHIELD sighting,’ I swear-”

“No, listen!” Anne thrust her phone at you. A headline glared back: ‘Masked man attacks gala in Stuttgart, Germany - claims to be a god.’

Beneath it, grainy photos showed a tall man in green and gold armor, a strange horned helmet gleaming under the lights.

Liz frowned. “Who is that? Some sort of cosplayer?”

Anne shook her head, eyes wide. “He called himself Loki. And get this - apparently Captain America showed up.”

Liz snorted. “You mean the guy who was on all those old war posters? He’s, like, ninety.”

“Not anymore,” Anne said, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “They unfroze him.”

You blinked. “Unfroze him?”

“Yeah! Like, cryogenics! Frozen in ice, seventy years, revived by SHIELD. I told you SHIELD was real!”

Liz stared at her. “That still sounds hella fake.”

“Fake or not, this guy apparently attacked someone to steal his eye,” Anne said, scrolling furiously. “And Iron Man was there too! People are saying there’s footage of both of them!”

You exchanged a look with Liz. “She’s actually serious,” you said.

“She’s always serious,” Liz replied.

Anne was still talking, barely breathing between words. “If they’re both in Germany, then something’s happening. Like, maybe aliens, or magic…”

“Anne,” you interrupted gently, “you need sleep.”

She looked affronted. “Sleep is for the uninformed. I need answers.”

Liz snickered. “That explains a lot.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Anne - she was just… Anne. The kind of person who could make an intergalactic invasion sound like a fun group project. Still, you loved her for it. Eventually, the three of you drifted from the park to the next parental-approved stops on your itinerary: the Met (‘for culture’), Rockefeller Center (‘for photos’), and the New York Public Library (‘for academics,’ according to all three moms).

The Met was actually kind of fun - Liz flirted with the guy at the ticket desk, Anne tried to find an Egyptian exhibit that looked ‘mystical,’ and you mostly wandered, letting the quiet hallways swallow the noise of the city. Rockefeller Center was crowded, all neon signs and tourist energy. Anne kept pointing at random skyscrapers like they might belong to SHIELD. Liz bought a pretzel, took one bite, then immediately dropped half of it on the sidewalk.

By the time you reached the library, it was past 1pm, and the combination of jet lag, heat, and sugar crash had all three of you dragging your feet. You all somehow found your way back to the hotel, your room finally ready, and collapsed variously around the space.

You let your eyes drift shut for what was supposed to be ‘5 minutes.’ When you woke up, sunlight had shifted, slanting a golden haze across the wooden table in the room. Liz was snoring quietly and Anne was scrolling again.

“More SHIELD news?” you mumbled.

Anne nodded, eyes wide. “Loki just showed up in New York. There’s footage on every channel. And…they’re saying Stark Tower’s lighting up.”

You sat up, blinking sleep away. “Wait. Like, right now?”

“Right now.”

Chapter Text

You let your eyes drift toward the muted glow of the TV as Anne scrambled for the remote, her fingers fumbling against the buttons until the image sharpened into chaos.

The fight was happening in Midtown. The footage was shaky, the voice of some terrified reporter shouting over sirens.

Above the skyline, a beam of light tore through the clouds, a rippling column of blue energy spiraling into the air.

Liz sat up fast. “Oh my god, that’s…”

“...Stark Tower,” Anne finished breathlessly. “It’s literally Stark Tower.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. A swirling portal hung over the city, growing wider with every pulse of light. Out of it, shapes began to fall - metallic, sleek, moving too fast to track. The reporter’s camera swung wildly, catching only glimpses of fire and smoke, people running, a flash of green somewhere among the chaos.

Liz pressed her hands to her mouth. “Are those… aliens?”

Anne’s grin was almost manic. “Chitauri,” she said like she’d been waiting her whole life to say that word. “They’re real.”

You stared at her. “Anne, you just learned that word thirty seconds ago.”

“I know, but still!”

Liz frowned, leaning forward as another explosion rippled across the screen. “Okay, so what are they even doing here? Is this, like, a movie shoot?”

You shot her a look. “Does that look like a movie shoot?”

The sound of car alarms and screams bled faintly from the TV speakers, even though Anne had kept the volume low. Anne’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re saying Loki opened the portal. Something about the Tesseract.”

“What’s that? Some kind of bomb?”

“Kind of. But not really.” Anne’s eyes gleamed the way they did whenever she launched into conspiracy mode. “Okay, so, back during World War II, there was this Nazi science division called HYDRA, right? They were led by a guy named Red Skull, yes, that’s his actual name, well, villain name at least, and he found this glowing cube thingy called the Tesseract. It’s supposed to be cosmic energy or something. Anyway, he tried to use it as a weapon, but then Captain America stopped him, crashed a plane into the Arctic, and SHIELD recovered the cube years later. Along with the Captain.”

Liz blinked. “You… sound way too confident about this.”

Anne shrugged, scrolling furiously through Reddit again. “I read about it a couple weeks ago. People said SHIELD was hiding alien tech. And now,” She jabbed the screen. “Proof.”

You didn’t answer. You were staring at the footage, the outline of a figure descending in green and gold. His cape billowed as he landed on a rooftop, eyes gleaming, mouth curved in something between a smirk and a promise. For some reason, you couldn’t look away.

Then Anne’s voice snapped you back. “Can you believe this? Actual gods. Actual aliens. New York freaking City.”

Liz flopped back against the pillows, groaning. “We picked the worst time to come here.”

“Are you kidding?” Anne said. “This is the best time. We’re literally witnessing history.”

Liz pointed at the window. “I’d rather witness history from somewhere farther away from the explosions, thanks.”

You got up and crossed to the window anyway, parting the curtains. From your hotel, the skyline looked distant enough, but you could see faint smoke curling over the rooftops, the afternoon sun hazy with it. You exhaled slowly. “We’re far enough. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Liz muttered, “unless Iron Man crash-lands into our hotel.”

Anne looked at her incredulously. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You turned back toward them, and for a brief, surreal moment, all three of you just sat there in silence. The air conditioner hummed. The city shimmered beyond the glass. The world was ending, apparently - and yet you were still in a hotel room with two of your best friends, arguing about a fictional billionaire. Suddenly, your phone buzzed with a text from your mom. ‘Hope you’re staying safe. Saw something on the news.’ No call. No real worry. Just a line of words that felt like an obligation. You stared at it for a moment before tossing the phone facedown. You should’ve been scared. But mostly, you just felt… small. 

Liz sighed, lying back down. “Wake me up when they win.”

Anne huffed. “You’re missing everything.”

“Exactly,” Liz said, pulling the blanket over her face.

For a long while, the three of you stayed like that. With the world outside burning, the TV flickering quietly, the city’s noise barely reaching your window. You just felt like a tiny part of something you’d never be able to understand.

ººº

The battle ended about an hour after. The portals closed, the ‘Chitauri’ vanished, and the skyline went eerily still. By morning, it was all headlines. ‘The Avengers Save New York.’ Anne replayed clips over breakfast like they were highlight reels. “See? Captain America, Iron Man, Thor - actual gods walking among us.”

You stirred your coffee. “So that’s it? They just… saved the world?”

“For now,” Anne said ominously. “But SHIELD’s covering something. They always are.”

You snorted. “Maybe they’re just cleaning up.”

“You seriously can’t tell me you don’t want to know what happens next.”

You shrugged. “I guess I don’t.” But you didn’t mean the fight. You meant you. The trip. The distance. The chance to breathe before everything went back to what it was.

ººº

The next week blurred by like scenes in a movie. You walked everywhere - Central Park, Times Square, the Brooklyn Bridge. You saw Stark Tower from a distance, a single letter still missing from its sign. Liz took a million photos, all aesthetic and mysterious. You got sunburned. Anne almost got hit by a taxi because she was too busy trying to ‘spot Hawkeye.’ You laughed more than you had in months. At night, you’d all crash in the hotel room, limbs sprawled across the beds, the air smelling faintly of takeout and cheap shampoo. Anne always had theories - about the Avengers, the portal, that cube thing. Liz countered every one with sarcasm. You mostly listened, half-drifting, letting their voices fill the silence.

“Apparently Iron Man’s tower is gonna be the new Avengers base,” Anne said one night, scrolling through Twitter. “And Captain America’s joining SHIELD. Thor went back to Asgard or something.”

Liz threw a pillow at her. “You need a new hobby.”

Anne caught it midair. “Knowledge is my hobby.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s one word for it.”

ººº

One afternoon, you all took the subway to Queens. It smelled like metal and popcorn and a hint of something burning, but Anne insisted it was ‘authentic.’ You ate lunch at a tiny Thai place tucked between a laundromat and a thrift store. The owner smiled at you like he’d seen a thousand tourists before. The curry was just the right amount of spicy, the rice fluffy, and Liz nearly cried when she accidentally ate a whole chili pepper. 

Before heading back, Anne stopped at a corner deli. “I read about this place - Delmar’s Deli. Apparently, it’s a neighborhood staple.” You walked out with sandwiches and sodas, the afternoon heat pressing down. The sky was a clean blue, and for once, there was no sign of smoke or chaos. 

ººº

The week slipped away faster than you wanted. You visited NYU, Columbia, and a dozen coffee shops along the way. Anne was already planning her ‘SHIELD internship.’ Liz fell in love with every random guy you passed. And you had already started to imagine what it would be like to stay. To study here. To wake up to sirens and skyscrapers instead of quiet streets. To finally feel small in the best possible way.

But then the flight home came closer, and the thought of returning to the same routines, the same halfhearted attention, crept back in. On your last night, you all stood by the window again, looking out over the city. Lights shimmered across the skyline, the faint outline of Stark Tower and the Empire State Building catching the glow. You could spot the Statue of Liberty out to the side if you squinted just a little. Just past the city lines.

Anne sighed. “Do you think they’re still out there? The Avengers?”

Liz grinned. “Probably at brunch.”

Anne glared. “I’m being serious.”

You smiled softly. “Yeah. I think they are.”

Silence stretched between you, comfortable this time, you were just happy to be in good company. When you finally crawled into bed, your heart felt heavy. Tomorrow, you’d leave. Go home and pretend things were the same. But as the lights flickered outside and sleep began to pull you under, you realized the truth. You hadn’t escaped anything. Just paused it. That void was still there, lurking, waiting.