Roberto sat on one of the chairs at the dining table, staring at the cellphone that was in his hand. The ticking of the clock behind him grew louder with every passing second, like a drumbeat hammering against his nerves. Sweat gathered on his forehead, trickling slowly down his temple. He was about to make a call he hadn't dared to in what felt like a lifetime—calling his parents. The same parents who had sent him away to be "cured."
He still doesn't know what they thought of him now. Disgusted with him? Will they finally officially disown him?
He drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out slowly. His thumb hovered over the keypad, then he punched in the number he still remembered by heart and hit call.
The ringtone buzzed once. Twice. Three times.
Then, finally, a click.
"Hello?" a voice came from the phone. It was a female's voice. "Who is this?"
She spoke in Portuguese. Brazilian Portuguese.
"Mama?" Roberto said, voice cracking slightly. "It's me. Bobby."
Silence.
The kind of silence that pressed on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Is this a joke?" the woman said. "I can't deal with this right now."
"You don't recognize your own son's voice?" Roberto said, louder than he meant to.
Another beat of silence.
"…Is that really you?" she asked, hesitant. "How are you... calling me?"
"With a phone. What else?" Roberto muttered, biting back the sharper words he wanted to say.
"That is you, alright." the voice said. "I heard you ran away from where they were supposed to cure you."
Roberto's hand clenched into a fist. "They didn't want to."
"Want what?"
"Cure me, Mama." continued Roberto. "They wanted to turn me into a weapon. Brainwash me."
"Don't lie to me, Bobby." she snapped. "They are a top-of-the-line medical institute. We paid them good money—to heal you, and to cover up what you did during that accident."
Roberto's heart twisted.
"They came to us after you ran. Told us if you ever came back, we should send you right back to them."
"That… 'institute' is the American government, Mama." Roberto gritted his teeth. "You know, for an archeologist you are awfully stupid in these sorts of things."
"How dare you talk to me like that." his mother snapped again, her voice sharp as a slap. "Where are you right now?"
"Oh now you're asking me that." Roberto scoffed. "For what? To report me to that 'institute'?"
"Answer me, Bobby." his mother demanded.
"I'm with the Avengers now," he said. "You want me to ask Captain America to tell you the same things that I said? So that you actually believe it? After all, you don't seem to believe in your own son's words."
"And can you blame me?" said his mother. "The Avengers? You're not lying, are you?"
"Why do I want to lie now?" Roberto muttered. "I can call you later. With Captain America on the phone."
"Then do that. I'll bring your father as well." his mother continued. "So now you're cured?"
"Cured?" Roberto frowned. "I haven't. And I don't want to."
"Bobby…" his mother muttered. "Do you not remember what you have done? What your conditions have caused? You killed a boy."
"Accidentally." Roberto said. "And besides, I killed a racist. I killed a bully."
"You killed a senator's son. Period." she said coldly. "If not for the cover up, our family wouldn't be in the same position as right now. Your father's company would have been destroyed."
Roberto squeezed the phone so tightly he almost cracked the plastic.
"And what would you have me do? Revive him?" Roberto muttered. "It's what I am now, Mama. It can't be changed."
"Then you can't come back." his mother told him. "As long as we cannot guarantee that all those things wouldn't happen again, you can't come back for a long time. You've hurt the company's reputation. You've hurt our family's status."
"I don't want to come back anyway," Roberto finally snapped, his voice shaking with rage. But underneath the anger, he felt something loosen, like a heavy chain falling away from his heart. "I don't want the family's money. I don't want the family's status. I don't want their damn fame. Tell Papa he can find a new wife—maybe she'll finally give him the son he always wanted. 'Cause you sure as hell can't anymore."
"Why you —"
He didn't wait to hear the rest. Roberto hung up, stood, and hurled the phone to the ground. It shattered on impact, plastic and metal scattering across the floor. His skin prickled with heat, smoke beginning to curl toward the ceiling.
"Fuck," he muttered, forcing himself back down into the chair, gripping the table edge. He closed his eyes, breathing in, breathing out, fighting to cool the fire inside before his powers erupted. It didn't erupt, fortunately.
"Language," came a voice from behind.
Roberto jerked around. Captain America stood there, arms folded loosely, a patient expression on his face.
"Captain..." Roberto looked down, ashamed. "Sorry... for the mess."
Steve stepped closer, glancing at the ruins of the phone. "Looks like that call didn't go well."
"They didn't believe me," Roberto said. "And now... I'm not allowed to come back."
Steve pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "Do you want to go back?"
Roberto didn't answer at first. Steve simply raised an eyebrow, waiting him out.
Clicking his tongue, Roberto muttered, "Don't get me wrong, Cap. My family's rich. I've had everything handed to me. But sometimes... you wonder if your parents actually love you—or if they just love what you represent. Their legacy. Their image."
Steve hesitated, then said gently, "They must love you, in their own way."
"Nice words," Roberto said, a bitter smile curling his lips. "But not once did my mom ask if I was okay. Straight to business."
He leaned forward, locking eyes with Steve. "About school. And a new life..."
"You've made a decision?" Steve asked.
"I'll finish high school," Roberto said firmly. "I'll build a new life here. Away from them. On my own terms."
Steve smiled, proud and a little sad, and rose from his chair. He gave Roberto's shoulder a firm, reassuring pat. "That's good."
—
Meanwhile, on the other side of the compound, Dani wandered the halls, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She didn't have a destination in mind — just a need to move, to find her bearings. Then, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed down the corridor. Curious, Dani followed the sound until she came across the shooting range.
Inside, Natasha Romanoff was firing round after round into a target. Dani stayed at the entrance, mesmerized by the precision of it — the way Natasha moved, the way each shot snapped through the air like a whip. Loud, sure. But also strangely beautiful.
After a final shot, Natasha sighed, lowering her pistol. She turned — and spotted Dani standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Can I help you?" Natasha asked.
"Oh — no, no," Dani stammered, raising her hands. "I was just... looking."
Natasha chuckled. "Well, you've looked." She tilted her head. "You interested in guns?"
"Um, not really."
"Ever shot one before?" Natasha asked, her tone light as she unloaded the weapon.
"Uh... does shooting a bow and arrow count?" Dani offered, shifting her weight. "My grandpa used to take me hunting. I'm pretty good — not, like, Hawkeye good, but…"
"Good thing I'm not Clint," Natasha smiled. She set the gun down and wiped her hands on a cloth. "But, speaking of Clint — we've got some of his old gear gathering dust in the warehouse. Want to try it?"
Dani hesitated. "I don't think—"
"Come on," Natasha said, already striding past her, a small grin on her face. "You look bored out of your mind. Shooting a few arrows will fix that."
Before Dani could argue, Natasha was practically dragging her along the corridors toward the warehouse.
Inside, Natasha pulled out an old bow, a handful of steel-tipped arrows, a quiver, and a pair of worn gloves. She tossed the gloves to Dani. "Suit up."
Dani hesitated again, but finally slid them on. The gloves were a little loose, but manageable.
Soon, they were back at the range. Natasha stood aside, arms crossed, watching quietly as Dani stepped up to the line. She could feel the weight of the bow in her hand, familiar and foreign all at once.
Dani took a slow breath. She pictured her grandfather beside her, his patient voice in her ear. She nocked an arrow, drew back the string, focused—Thwip.
The arrow buried itself deep in the dummy's forehead. Bullseye.
"Nice shot," Natasha said with an impressed whistle. "Feel free to use the range whenever you want. Clint's not going to mind you borrowing his gear — so, consider it yours now."
"Uh, thanks, Miss Romanoff," Dani said, a little stiffly.
"Just call me Natasha," she replied with a small smile. "We're going to be living under the same roof anyway."
"Right... Natasha," Dani muttered, still getting used to the idea.
Natasha slung her hands into her pockets and started toward the door. "I'll see you around, Dani. You can have the room to yourself for now."
Dani hesitated, then blurted out, "Um, Miss — I mean, Natasha?"
Natasha paused, raising a questioning brow.
"I was wondering..." Dani shifted on her feet. "If you could maybe... teach me how to defend myself?"
Natasha turned fully now, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's a little sudden. What's got you thinking about that?"
Dani swallowed hard. "I guess... I'm feeling a little useless." She took a breath. "In our group, it's three guys, three girls. The guys — they can all fight. Illyana's... well, Illyana. And Rahne can turn into a wolf. But me? When we fought off S.W.O.R.D., I didn't do anything. I just ran." Her voice cracked slightly. "I couldn't even protest. I wasn't just useless — I was dangerous to my own team because of my powers."
She fumbled for words, nervous. "I'm working on controlling that part. But... I was hoping you could help me not be useless in a fight. I mean, if you're too busy, I understand—"
"Hey," Natasha interrupted, her voice softer. She walked back to Dani, resting her hands lightly on the girl's shoulders. She looked Dani straight in the eye.
"I get it," Natasha said. "It feels awful — standing there, helpless. Trust me, I know that feeling better than you think."
Dani nodded, biting her lip.
"But listen," Natasha continued, her voice low. "Fighting isn't always the first or best option."
"I know," Dani said quietly. "But after everything S.W.O.R.D. did... If I can't defend myself, next time — who knows what could happen?"
Natasha exhaled slowly, her hands falling back to her sides. She clenched a fist at her side, a flicker of something dark passing through her eyes.
"I'll warn you now," she said. "I'm going to be tough on you."
"I can handle it," Dani said, straightening her back.
Natasha cracked a small, approving smile. "Alright, then. I'll see you later."
With that, Natasha turned and walked away, the steady click of her boots echoing off the walls, leaving Dani standing alone in the stillness of the range.
–-
Hal and Illyana stood side by side in front of an imposing old building: 177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village, New York City. The Sanctum Sanctorum.
Hal glanced at Illyana — and for the first time in a long while, she looked... nervous.
"What's with the long face?" Hal asked, half-teasing.
"It's not every day you meet another Sorcerer Supreme," she replied, her voice calm but tight. "And I'm still young. Inexperienced."
"You'll be fine," Hal said with a scoff. He stepped up and raised his hand to knock — but Illyana stopped him with a sudden, quiet word.
"Wait."
Hal turned back to her. She hesitated, glancing down, then back up, her expression unreadable.
"I don't know what your business is, Hal," she said carefully.
Hal raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"This." She gestured vaguely around them. "All of this. You're the one who suggested coming here. You know the name of the previous Sorcerer Supreme. You know things that... most people on Earth don't."
"And what exactly do you want me to say?" Hal muttered.
"I don't want you to say anything. Your secrets are yours to keep," Illyana said simply. She turned back toward the Sanctum. "But... if you have any connection to this place — to magic — I need to know now. Otherwise, you shouldn't come inside. I'm here representing Limbo. Representing myself. I don't want a babysitter. It'll make me look weak."
Hal's mouth curled into a half-smile. "No magic here. No ties to this place."
"Then stay outside," Illyana said firmly. "This is my business."
Hal chuckled, stepping away from the door. "I didn't think you were here to show off your strength — but fair enough."
"Thank you," she nodded briskly.
"I'll just hit the bookstore across the street," he added, shrugging. "Need some new books anyway."
Illyana didn't answer. She had already turned back to the heavy doors, gathering herself. Hal crossed the street, weaving through a few passersby, and pushed open the bookstore's door. A little bell jingled overhead. The warm, dusty smell of paper and ink wrapped around him like a blanket.
Hal wandered through the narrow aisles until something caught his eye — a shelf stacked with GED prep books.
He let out a quiet sigh and pulled one down.
After weeks of running, fighting, scavenging meals from whatever they could carry, and shedding blood for the first time in two lifetimes, the sudden shift in pace rattled him more than he expected.
Now, instead of looking over his shoulder, he was flipping through textbooks. Instead of survival, it was study. Instead of noise and fear, there was silence.
But despite the strangeness of it, Hal smiled.
For the first time since his 'rebirth', he didn't have to wonder what the next hour would bring. No ambushes. No desperation. Just a day to breathe.
He knew it wouldn't last forever — this was a lull, a fleeting transition — but for now, he decided to live through it. To let himself just… be.
Even if it felt strange.