summary: after ' escaping' from the avengers with the tesseract,he fell in to an another trouble.on the the way he found he wasn't alone.so much angst , fluff, spoilers for endgame and Loki Series ep.........
"Poke her," comes another voice, whispered close, "Go on - yea, poke her!"
Ouch.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
In the half-blacked-out haze of disorientation, pain is really the only solid thing you're aware of - the rest of your existence is just barely-there at this point. Like a wisp floating in the dark. Just there, but not really.
However, a persistent poke, poke, poke is quick to drag you out of the depths and solidify the fact that, shit, you're alive.
You inhale sharply as your head bobs back.
"Oh, shit-"
"Language!"
You snap your eyes open.
You suppose, now, that there's nothing in this universe that could have prepared you for the sight before you. No. No, not even a god damn funhouse of mirrors - because even then, each reflection was you. Not...
Not this.
Not a gaggle of... you's? You plural? Us? We?
, you come face to face with the childhood visage of yourself.
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She offers a girlish, toothy grin.
Your mouth parts and the horror remains. As you inhale, you try to stamp down a more immediate sense of panic and instead, swivel your gaze to the person beside you at the small, four person kitchen table.
Then, the man. You, actually, but if you were a lanky, tall man with a pile of curls on his head - and even he seems non-exempt from the mischief of the younger you; while he smiles at you, you can only squint critically at his lab coat. It's singed, torn
"Hi," he says warmly.
You blink. "Hi...?"
Then, trilling.
"Language," comes the snide chirp from the young girl at the head of the table as she forks her sad looking microwave dinner - you know that purple tray well. It had been your constant companion during many family movie nights.with your family.family.that was not a family.
You blink between the trio - sorry, quartet - with growing horror. If that was even possible. But it is. Because this is...
This is a nightmare.
You tug at the straps on your wrists tying you down to the wooden chair as you swallow down a strangled groan.
skip >.........
you escape from there with the kid.
You point the rear-view mirror at her.
The teenager in the passenger's seat scoff. Her red converse are on the dash, knees bent. Her hair flies around her in the wind, and she leans her arm out the open window.
