The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

ISSUE #21

'Rictor!' (Y/N) shouted desperately, 'Rictor!' His breath heaved as he pulled himself out of the rubble which had buried him. 'Where is Rictor?' A red mist fell upon him, clouding his view, 'WHERE IS RICTOR?' The mist dissipated, revealing the ruins of his bedroom. Dust and ash filled the air, almost choking him. His television had fallen from the wall, along with all of the books which had been organised alphabetically on the shelf above his desk. The posters of his favourite films lay torn on the ground, surrounded by broken chunks of drywall. The photo album Natasha had gifted him four years ago lay open on a collage of Bucky and himself, covered in dust. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his jacket. 'Rictor?' he called, 'Rictor?'

A cough sounded from beneath his bed, '(Y/N)?' a hoarse voice asked. (Y/N) aimed his hands at the bed, lifting it up into the air slightly and throwing it into what used to be his ensuite, where it proceeded to crumble into sharp pieces of splintered wood.

'Rictor,' (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief. His fiancé got to his feet, stumbling towards him. Rictor held him tightly against his body, brushing a hand through his now unruly (H/C) hair.

'(Y/N), you're bleeding,' he said, holding (Y/N)'s face in his hands and inspecting the gashes which leaked the blood that was now dripping down his forehead and cheeks, 'I need to get you to a hospital.'

'No,' (Y/N) shook his head adamantly, 'I need to get you home – where you'll be safe.' He took hold of Rictor's hands, 'Home,' he stated, his eyes closing as he concentrated on Rictor's Williamsberg apartment, 'Take him home.' A burgundy fog enveloped the pair, only dissappering when they were stood in front of the fireplace in the centre of Rictor's living room.

(Y/N) (L/N) walked up to the window, drawing open the curtains and staring down at the street below him. Outside, people were embracing each other as they reunited. '(Y/N), what's happening? What's going on?' questioned Rictor, standing incredibly still and looking increasingly perplexed.

'We fixed it Rictor,' (Y/N) said plainly, looking his fiancé in the eyes, 'we brought everyone back.'

Julio Richter stepped forward, his arms snaking around (Y/N)'s waist. '(Y/N), you're hurt, we need to get you to a...'

'Rictor?' an unfamiliar voice called from the kitchen, 'Rictor?' It grew louder as footsteps approached them.

Rictor's eyes flashed between the kitchen door and (Y/N), who looked up at him, his lip trembling. 'We fixed everything Rictor,' he said, his voice shaking slightly, 'everything.' His eyes closed as he began to focus on the Avenger's Compound, concentrating as hard as he could on returning to his friends, who were most likely in need of his help. The familiar force of chaos magic began to pull at his limbs, preparing to drag him to where he wished to be. Before the spell could be cast completely though, he opened his eyes – quickly wishing he hadn't. An unfamiliar, lean, blonde-haired, man was embracing his fiancé, making his heart ache; meeting Julio Richter's confused, longing, gaze almost made it break.

***

The sound of approaching footsteps stirred Steve Roger's from his concussion induced slumber. 'Come on buddy, wake up,' Tony Stark's voice spoke as he bent down and nudged Steve's shoulder gently. Steve Rogers sat up quickly, inhaling a mouthful of dust from the fallen debris around him which he swiftly coughed up. 'That's my man,' Tony sighed, sounding relieved as he handed Captain America his shield, 'you lose this again, and I'm keeping it,' he threatened.

Steve climbed to his feet, nursing his aching head in his hands. 'What happened?' he questioned, his eyes darting around at the devastation. The whole compound had been reduced to piles of broken bricks and ash.