Leander's eyes fluttered open as the soft, lazy morning light of Queens filtered through the window. For a moment, he didn't move. He just lay there, soaking in the warmth of the sun against his skin—a warmth that felt fundamentally different from the harsh radiation of distant stars or the cold, sterile glow of a spaceship's hull.
A thin, knitted blanket had been draped over him while he slept. From the kitchen, he could hear the faint, rhythmic clinking of a spatula against a pan and the hiss of sizzling eggs. Jenny was moving with a deliberate, exaggerated silence, trying her best not to wake the "tired boy" she thought he was.
George was sitting at the small dining table by the window, the morning newspaper spread out before him. He had positioned himself just right so that his shadow blocked the direct glare of the sun from hitting Leander's face.
Leander didn't get up. He just stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the plaster. A profound sense of peace, something he hadn't felt since he first arrived in this world, washed over him. In his previous life, he had dreamed of moments like this—simple, quiet, and safe.
Ever since he had woken up in this universe, hearing the name "Captain America" on the news and seeing the "Stark Industries" logo on every other building, he had lived with a silent, gnawing anxiety. His strange ability to "digest" metal and manipulate the world around him had brought excitement, but it had also brought a constant sense of urgency.
He knew what was coming. He knew about the Battle of New York, the disaster in Sokovia, and the inevitable shadow of the Mad Titan. That knowledge was a curse. He couldn't guarantee his own safety, and he certainly couldn't gamble on a coin flip—a fifty percent chance of survival—when the snap finally came.
That was why he had pushed himself so hard. Why he had spent those months in the vacuum of space, refining his control until he could feel the individual atoms in a block of steel. Originally, it was about survival. He just wanted to be strong enough to not die.
But now, lying on his aunt's sofa, he felt like he could finally breathe. He had survived the void. He had faced the Chitauri. He looked at his hand and imagined the blue light of the Space Stone fragment humming in his chest.
Thanos, he thought, a cold smirk touching his lips. Maybe when the time comes, you and I can sit down and have a serious talk about your 'family planning' ideas. As for that finger-snapping nonsense? You're going to have to go through me first.
"Leander? You're awake," George said, folding his newspaper. "I heard you mumbling something. You okay?"
Leander sat up, stretching his limbs until his joints popped. "Just thinking out loud, Uncle George. I'm fine. Mostly just hungry. Is that bacon I smell?"
"Jenny's been at it for an hour," George laughed. "Go wash up."
After a breakfast that tasted better than any five-star meal in the galaxy, George pulled Leander aside to the porch. He held up the newspaper, the headline screaming about Tony Stark's miraculous survival and the President's address regarding the Mandarin's attack on the Air Force One and the subsequent dockyard explosion.
"Leander, look at this," George said, his voice lowering. "The world is changing. Stark is alive, but the Avengers... people are talking, kid. Online, in the papers. They're scared and curious. What are your plans?"
Leander leaned against the porch railing, looking out at the quiet street. "This is just the prologue, Uncle. The universe is a lot bigger and uglier than people realize. The Chitauri? They were just the foot soldiers. They were working for someone much, much worse."
George's face paled slightly. "Worse than that?"
"Earth has been protected for a long time," Leander said seriously. "We have the Ancient One guarding the mystical side, and we have Odin in Asgard keeping the cosmic balance. But those pillars won't last forever. When they crumble, the walls come down. Whether it's beings from other dimensions like Dormammu or internal threats, the invasion won't stop."
He looked at George, his eyes reflecting a resolve that seemed far beyond his fifteen years. "I want to be another pillar, George. I want to make sure that when the walls fall, there's someone standing there to push back the dark."
George looked at the boy—who was now nearly his own height—and felt a swell of pride mixed with an agonizing fear. He reached out and squeezed Leander's shoulder.
"We want you to be safe, son," George said, his voice thick. "Our dream for you was simple: school, a career, maybe a family. A quiet life. But we can't keep a hawk in a birdcage. You aren't ordinary, and we shouldn't try to make you be."
He forced a smile, though his eyes remained watery. "Just... take care of yourself. And don't make me have to come up with lies for your aunt again. My heart can't take much more of that."
"I promise," Leander said. "I have to go take care of some things. I'll be back soon."
"Go on," George nodded. "I'll handle Jenny."
Leander smiled, turned toward the edge of the porch, and simply vanished in a flicker of blue light. George stared at the empty space where his nephew had stood, shook his head with a bitter, amazed laugh, and walked back inside.
The Underground Warehouse, New York City.
"Where the hell is he?" Chara paced the length of the concrete floor, her boots echoing. She looked at Zost, who was sitting at a desk cluttered with monitors. "The boss comes back from the dead, drops off some mystery woman, and then poof? He's gone again?"
Zost looked at the bandage on his own arm, then over at the corner where Lando sat in a wheelchair, staring blankly at a wall. "I don't know, Chara. He said to watch the woman. That was the order."
"We should just grill her," Dick muttered, leaning against a pillar and sharpening a knife. "If she's a threat, we take her out. If she's not, maybe she knows where the boss is hiding his stash of whatever made him that 'Golden Legend' thing on the news."
"Sit down, Dick!" Zost barked, slamming his hand on the desk. The sound made Dick jump. "The boss isn't our 'buddy.' He's the one who kept this crew from rotting in a gutter. If he wants us to watch a woman, we watch her. You get impulsive, you get us killed."
"I'm just saying," Dick grumbled. "The vibe is different now."
"Of course it's different," Chara whispered, looking at Lando. "Lando can't even walk. He's skin and bones. He needs the boss to find a way to fix this, or he's going to give up."
Zost's expression softened as he looked at Lando. He turned back to the security monitors, clicking through the feeds. He stopped on the camera inside the high-security holding room where Maya Hansen was being kept.
Maya wasn't in handcuffs—Leander had deemed them unnecessary—but she was trapped. She was pacing the small room, gesturing at a table as if arguing with a ghost. Zost had no idea she was one of the world's leading geneticists; to him, she was just a high-value package.
Suddenly, Zost's eyes widened. On the screen, a figure appeared out of thin air right next to Maya.
"He's here," Zost breathed, standing up so fast his chair flipped over. "Follow me! The Boss is back!"
Inside the Holding Room.
Maya Hansen was mid-thought, trying to figure out if she could replicate the Extremis stabilize-factor using the limited materials in the room, when a voice cut through her internal monologue.
"Maya."