'Lucky' Emo

He finally thought to send Kala to scope out HYDRA, because this was getting ridiculous, and was very satisfied when she came back with actual information and a report of having pushed Peirce out of his office (which just happened to be eight floors up- a guaranteed no-go for surviving that fall as a regular vanilla human being) through the window. 

He also didn’t come back as a ghost, so it wasn’t even awkward! 

Fury had indeed survived, since that guy definitely would have had some unfinished business to stick around for, but they couldn’t find him. That was fine, he was allowed to be mysterious; traces of his influence popped up every once in a while, so he was still kicking. Doin’ his thing, the usual.

Bucky Barnes was wandering around New York. He had briefly visited the History Museum to do some research on himself before stealing a laptop to do further investigating on and fleeing to Ohio, because he wasn’t dumb enough to stay in one of the most populated cities on earth. 

He set up a series of doctors and psychiatrists to keep an eye on him while he handled the emotional explosion goin’ down at Avengers Tower. 

Oh yeah, they found like a million HYDRA bases, there’s that. All over Europe, mainly, but he’d either have to do a field trip every few days soon or drop a particularly juicy hint to the Super Spies Fair for them to chew on. 

Maybe he could give tip of the more science-inclined bases to Barnes- get the man some closure. That could be interesting.

SHIELD was very obviously completely taken over by HYDRA. Coincidentally, HYDRA plants in SHIELD started mysteriously disappearing. Strange, really. A tragedy.

On a completely unrelated note, there were plenty of vengeful ghosts killed by HYDRA floating around with… loose morals, let’s say. 

He was slowly getting to grips with the facts that he had a spiritual army. It was an adjustment. A weird one, but manageable. In any case, it made him feel a lot safer, to be in the loop and actively stopping disasters before they can happen. 

It was nice to have something to bury himself in.

But something must have leaked to Asgard, (did ghosts hop dimensions? Was that a thing) because one stormy Thursday morning, the God of Lightning arrived.

Grim had been peacefully microwaving his cheap burrito when it happened. The tower didn’t rock per se, (it was too well built for that) but there definitely was an effect. A slight rumble under his feet.

He paused, plate in hand, and considered that.

He remembered Tony b*tching about the state of his roof every time Thor made one of his dramatic entrances, and sighed, making his way to the roof. 

Honestly, these men…

Thor was exactly everything he had been made out to be- big, blonde, cheerful, caped, confident, chock full of static electricity. 

Grim, a short, suspicious, well-read, mutant teenager, was not pleased.

“Hi. You lookin’ for Tony? He’s out, but the rest of the lot are in house. Thor, right?”

Thor blinked a few times before brightening up at the question. “Indeed, young one! Would you happen to be a worker at this fine establishment?”

Grim snorted. “Nah, I’m Tony’s newest stray. Come in, we’ve replenished our Pop Tarts stash since the last time you were here, I think.” He cut off the semi-cheerful welcome with a chilly stare. “And I have questions.”

Thor followed after him without question after that. He wasn’t sure if it was the jab or the bribery that did it, but he wasn’t complaining.

Thor was odd. He almost seemed to have a separate identity he shrugged off when he was more comfortable- he dropped the yelling and dramatic phrases and poses, seemed more thoughtful and… haunted? Guilty?

Fair enough, if Asgard is in the state he’s heard of. Medieval Norway deserved better. 

Grim put the small toaster collection in the main kitchen to good use and supplied the man with an entire box of Pop Tarts before hovering awkwardly around the room until Thor finally decided it was time to talk.

It didn’t take too long, fortunately. He only had to stall long enough to make a cup of tea. 

“Son of Stark,” Wooh, that’s a strong start if he’s ever heard one, here we go. “I am here because Heimdall, the watcher of all the realms, has sensed a great disturbance he could not describe within the realm. And yet you seem remarkably calm. How are matters here on earth?”

Grim grabbed an orange and started peeling it with a knife- trying to get as close as possible to one long spiral, a challenge he’d been trying to do off and on for years. “It’s better than it could have been. The secret part of the government is crumbling, and honestly good riddance. It’s damage control now, really. Oh, and everyone just needs to sit down and talk, big surprise. Uh, lets see, the main enemy of the country infiltrated said secret government and when that little fact leaked everything kinda got messy. On the up side, no official restrictions on the Avengers and stuff. How about your corner?” Thor absorbed that with shocking calmness, mulling it over while Grim handed him a cup of coffee. He’d rather not be the one to get this guy drunk, and he reportedly preferred bean water over leaf water.

“A similar state. There is evidence of a wide cover up to hide the existence of the true heir to the throne, my older sister. Unfortunately, she is quite mad. Loki’s situation is also… complicated. May I ask, child, why you glow so?”

Grim looked up at the man, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Excuse me?”

Thor backpedaled slightly, wincing at the look he was giving the god(?). “Would you happen to be a seidr-user, young one?”

See-what?

Wait. 

If he’s even half Asgardian he’s going to be insulted. Or mad. Or sad. Maybe all three.

“A what?”

“A user of magics, a seer, a druid, a person of the mystic arts. The terms change as time flows.” Thor took a swig of coffee, possibly to avoid Grim’s burning gaze.

He reigned himself in, grumbling silently into his cup. “I’m… a seer of sorts, I suppose.” He glanced at the gaggle of medieval-looking strangers huddled around the man, curiously taking in the sights. Kala was introducing one of them to the concept of jello. 

Nope, pay attentioned, eyes on the prize.

Thor nodded respectfully. “I can see why the Man of Iron was intrigued by you, then, esteemed young one. May I talk with him?” Grim mentally flashed on Tony, currently doing his damndest to ignore his emotional state among a pile of scrap metal and hummed.

“Nah, but everyone else but him and Mr. America are open. Mostly, anyway. But first, I have some questions.”

He sat them down in the lobby, because that’s where all the serious emotional conversations happen around here, apparently. Otherwise, it was comfy, and had lots of exit points, so it worked fine. 

They still had their drinks, freshly refilled, and he maneuvered them to be directly across from each other. Nowhere to hide, but he’d probably nerd out once he was in deep anyway, so he’d be alright. 

“So. Actually a god or no?”

Thor shook his head. “Rumours of our abilities spread in the old days, likening us to gods. Truthfully, this did nothing for our egos, especially having just come out of winning a major war.” Grim nodded along, thinking of post WW2 America. “We have longer lifespans, helped by our advanced understanding of magic, science, and a natural-growing plant on Asgard, the Golden Apple. They have incredible healing properties, and every child is required to eat on by the time they are of age.”

Fantastic. He wouldn’t have taken well to any much different answer. 

“Ok, ok. Speaking of magic, what’s up with that whole thing? Loki’s case is clearly… not great.” In many ways, and putting it lightly. Thor grimaced alongside him, and went alogn with the interrogation. 

“I explained this once to Lady Jane. The idea of magic and science, in my realm, are much the same. There are many mysteries to the cosmos- much of what we do not understand or can merely temporarily bend to our will is deemed magic.” Yeah, that checked out. Wonder what he’d say about black holes?

Having the multiverse thing proved was nice too. 

(Does he have to care for multiple dimensions worth of dead people now?) 

He took a sip of tea and second to properly take that in. “Right. Tell me about Asgard. I’ve done research of what the Norse thought it to be, but I’m thinking they’re going to be a bit… off.”

Apparently Thor had been in sore need of a good vent, and Grim made a lovely willing ear if you didn’t mind him sorting away all that information for later.

About his failed coronation. About the possible war with Loki’s home realm, and the hidden adoption and Loki’s depression. About the ridiculousness of the legal system on Asgard, (it was even worse than the American one, and that was sayin’ something) something about a fighting arena, Odin’s hypocrisy and utter failures as a parent, his mother’s emotional labor and fabulousness as a ruler, about how he didn’t understand Loki anymore. His struggles as the hero to the throne of a bloody, broken kingdom. His wonder with Midgard, concern for his friends and allies. Though he did seem quite charmed with the idea of Tony ‘making a family’ by picking up sad smart children and all. 

Grim had a brilliant idea, texted Rogers, and bam, Stars and Stripes gets to rant about the Bucky Situation to a neutral party! They were kinda comforting each other with being close to the ‘villainous’ people, which was a vibe. 

Grim’d occasionally bump in with psychology tidbits and advice (“When he’s stabbing you and not aiming for somewhere fatal it’s like… play-fighting, I guess? Punch him back or whatever.”) but mostly brooded on the couch in silent contemplation.

Asgard was indeed a massive disappointment to the Norweigan people. He wondered if there’d be a formal apology if the Asgardians got their sh*t together enough for it. 

Odin was a tyrant, they did more glorious combat whatever than the Romans, (including beating them in the fighting arena department) had run out of things to conquer and flailed in peacetime, and were extremely violent and testosterone-poisoned. Like, toxic masculinity to the max.

Grim fully planned on taking the place by storm if at all possible. As it was, New York was a mess, with a great, glowing trainwreck yet to happen on the horizon.

He excused himself to do a round of healing in the area, because New York will never run out of injured dead (and living) people. His stash that was on his desk was mostly exhausted, so he went over to Medical and robbed the pantry of the older stuff (most wounds that transfered over in death were phycological- the brain knew it had been hurt and therefore created injuries. Someone who remained so deep in the denial that they didn’t fully comprehend what had happened to them therefore wouldn’t be hurt once they sat up out of their body. Therefore, they wouldn’t care about the quality of the med stuff, as long as it worked. Especially when it had to go through a different layer of reality in order to touch them).

It was pretty standard stuff, enough to almost take his mind off the whole god and mythology thing. Not really, but it was close. 

He wonders what happened to Loki. Maybe it’s better that the US gov’t didn’t get him, but from what Thor was hinting he didn’t think it was good.

Couldn’t they see torture wounds? Mental breakdowns, coercion?

Also, the whole magic-user thing. Were his eyes magic? Or was he just weird on like, an interdimensional level? 

Maybe he could get Thor and Tony to have Loki ‘teach’ him so he could actually talk to the guy. That could work.

How was he supposed to explain the concept of mutants to the god of thunder?

He rubbed at his eyes, and stopped at a convenience store to buy more gum and canned coffee.

There was plenty of other things to worry about, though. A junkie having a crisis about his life ending (literally) and in serious need of a good therapist, a heart attack victim not quite sure how to watch their family go through their own mourning process, a service dog that was very insistent on trying to help him. He was lovely, his tag said he was named Cody, and he was one very fluffy German Shepherd. 

No major cleanup to do- he had been present for the Goblin thing, the most recent major attack, so he’d been able to show up the next morning and play doctor-therapist easy peesy without anyone panicking about who he was. 

If Tony knew about his abilities, did he have to keep all the med stuff out on the desk still? It was getting mildly annoying, having to repack it whenever he went out to help folks, and the dip in that comforting weight at his shoulder was also noticeable. 

There was also the fun job of playing medium, and walking that delightful line between ‘how do you know this much about me and my dead loved one are you some sort of stalker’ (which is especially enjoyable when said ghostly loved one is yelling at both him and the still-living family member and he’s just kinda left standing there, extraordinarily tired) and ‘you’re just a scam or some punk spiritualist, scram.’ 

One cop in particular had been pretty up in arms about the whole thing, under the whole ‘manipulating grieving people’s feelings and wallets’ which he would have been prety down with and would probably have been able to talk his way out of, had it not been for his partner, who really didn’t care who it was as long as he got to get some frustration out on the nearest poor-looking schmuck.

So, anyway, either Tony or the Horsemen had a new name on the sh*tlist (he hadn’t decided who yet) and he had some bruising on his ribs, but nothing he couldn't handle.

He stopped by the public garden to check on his unofficial plot, a herb garden absolutely bursting with plants, pollinator homes, custom DIY irrigation, shaders for the sun-sensitive lot, and was generally pretty chill. He got a good haul, and spent the next hour or so chilling in the center lobby grinding it all up on a moderately uncomfortable bench. 

Feeling very much like a punk street rat witch, he wandered around, people-watching, just vibing. 

Paganism was about to get rocked.

He couldn’t wait.

On that note, he drew himself up and summoned a mixture of excitement, curiosity and determination. Back to the Tower. 

He had a god to interrogate, and another to bait down from the heavens. And hell if he’d be too chicken to finish the job.