The Ant and the Boot

I woke up to Pepper’s scream.

I leapt out of bed, power surging into my fists, into my legs to carry me from my room and down the hall. I broke to a sudden stop on the wooden floor of the kitchen, nearly colliding with the other seven Avengers that had similarly burst into the room.

Tony stood at the center of them all, arm wrapped around Pepper. Pepper was crying with her hands over her mouth. Tony looked sick.

Everyone else looked sick, too.

And they were all staring, transfixed, at the TV.

I looked up, my stomach already bottoming out before I even read the headline. I didn’t have to - I knew those buildings that were falling. I recognized the smoldering wreckage. I had grown up on those streets.

I don’t know when the tears started to fall. I don’t know if I screamed. I don’t know if anyone came to comfort me. I couldn’t feel a damn thing as I watched the footage of my hometown scroll past, smoldering in ruins with smoke and ash billowing a hundred feet into the sky.

At the bottom of the screen it read: “Where Were the Avengers?”

I ran away from the TV, but I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.

I laid on the bathroom floor for a long, long time. I think it was over an hour before I had a coherent thought - until then it was just the ringing sound between my ears filling my brain, and the fizzing and crackling of my fingers as my power, bidden to me, jumped over me in a barrier with no more productive place to go. Finally, though, the thoughts formed:

We were supposed to have two more days. He promised that we would have two more days.

I don’t remember anyone opening the bathroom door. I don’t remember if they said anything. I only remember being lifted by strong arms off of the cold tiles and carried back into my room.

My head turned. I dimly registered that it was Thor.

“We were supposed to have two more days,” I said.

“I know, my sister,” he replied.

He set me down. Time passed.

I heard something break down the hall. Someone cursed loudly.

I heard someone crying nearby.

I eventually realized that it was me.

I cried until the tears stopped.

My eyes focused on my dress, discarded on the floor the day before. I stared at my dress for a long, long time.

Eventually, more thoughts came:

Loki had lied.

He had lied after he saw me with Steve.

He had lied to hurt me.

A whole city, my whole hometown, was dead - and it was my fault.

I don’t remember setting it on fire, but the dress in front of me crackled then burst into blue flames. I watched it burn, motionless. Then I watched as the flames began to spread across the carpet, rolling towards me with a high hiss.

I hoped that they would consume me.

The sprinklers started before the flames got far enough. I sat motionless, letting them run their course, then stayed there long after they had stopped, water dripping down my nose and plastering my hair and clothing to my skin.

The silence rang in my ears again.

I was almost dry by the time my door opened, silent on its hinges but casting a shadow over my floor. Footsteps approached me. My bed creaked and I bounced with someone else’s weight. Large hands pulled me up, pulling me into arms as thick as small tree trunks.

This could only be Thor, I thought to myself. I fit effortlessly into the cradle of Thor’s arms. I could hear his heartbeat, and his breathing. They replaced the ringing silence.

“I caused this,” I finally said.

“No, sister - I caused this,” he replied.

We held each other. We both cried.

Grief drowned out all life until night returned again.



I was on a jet to Detroit before the breaking news coverage had finished rolling.

Natasha sat to my left, steering the plane, lips pressed into a line so fine that her ruby red lips turned bluish white. Cap sat to my right, his hands on the metal armrests of his seat, knuckles the same color as Natasha’s lips. No one said anything. Hell, I didn’t have anything to say. Sometimes the enormity of a tragedy is so vast that even words get swallowed up into the void of it, and any attempts to fill the void with words feel cheap and insincere.

We stayed silent. Sometimes, you just have to let the void of unspeakable grief sit, yawning.

Cap slammed his fist on his metal armrest. I couldn’t blame him.

“Be careful with those, they’re expensive,” I said anyway. Like I’d thought, my words sounded insincere and cheap.

I thought to myself: I’m flying to the location of horrible tragedy. What words am I possibly going to find to say once I get there?

I don’t think I ever found the words. I got there and I spoke, sure, but it was all hollow bullshit. Everyone knew that it was. No one clapped. Someone threw something. I let it hit me. It was a rock. Blood dribbled from my temple as I was quickly escorted away by private security.

Cap said something that had a better reception. Nat never said anything at all.

We got back in the plane. We flew back without ever saying a word.

I have to say something, I thought to myself, many times. I’m the guy who always says something. Even if I say the wrong thing, it’s my job to pull everyone together.

Just give me a little bit longer, I pleaded back with myself. This is too big, even for me. Let someone else make the first move.

My jaw was clenched so tight that I felt one of my teeth crack. No one else ever made the first mood.

“So, I’m famished,” I said, lying, my voice loud and awful and hollow in my ears. I couldn’t imagine eating a damn thing. “Any ideas for dinner?”

“Is this really the time?” Cap shot back, his voice filled with all the tension that he’d been carrying since that morning.

“I’d say it’s past that time. We haven’t eaten a thing since morning and the sun’s about to set.”

“Stark, can you just show a single shred of decency for once in your miserable life.”

I smiled hollowly. “Hey, you know that it even says in my file that I’m self-obsessed, I’m just towing the line.”

Cap decked me in the jaw. It was the first thing I’d felt that day. Cap looked pissed as hell, but I think it was the first time he’d let himself have an emotion today, too. His shoulders relaxed a fraction for the first time, even if he didn’t realize it. When I turned, I caught Nat wearing an almost invisible smile, too.

I shut my mouth again, swishing my own blood. I’d done my job.

The sun was low in the sky when we got back to our secret island hiding place. I went inside and ate a burger that I didn’t taste and I threw up immediately after.

I went to bed with Pepper. We had the worst sex of our lives. We went to bed without seeing or talking to another living soul.

A new day dawned. When I woke up, I finally didn’t feel hollow.

I was filled with rage. I was one hundred percent sure that, no matter what it cost, I was going to kill a god.



While I took very little satisfaction out of the initial carnage, I reveled in the fallout of the destruction of Detroit. Like a proper mortal, I spent a large portion of my day glued to the TV: I watched the press coverage, the responses - and most importantly, the absolute outcry of the world against the Avengers for failing to stop the tragedy. I drank in the faces of Stark, of Natasha, of the loathsome thieving Captain as they tried to form apologies for the atrocity that they were helpless to stop. I saw a fellow mortal throw a rock at Stark’s head - and I couldn’t help but smile a little.

They had gotten so sure of themselves after they stopped one single attack in Chiapas. Now let them remember that it was only through me that they had that victory - and without me, more carnage like today would follow.

Take for granted their alliance again, and the blood was on their hands.

I walked down a city street as the evening drew in, ordering a drink from a vendor that hung out the window. I felt a small, uncomfortable feeling of pity as I sipped it - the drink was far inferior to the drink I had had in Detroit shortly before - and I threw it away unfinished. Still, for the first time in a while, I felt some strength in my stride, brimming with the anticipation of the groveling and apology that soon awaited me.

Groveling from that miserable Stark.

An apology and a promise of undying fidelity from Dove.

Perhaps they would allow me to end the life of their good Captain America as a peace offering.

As I walked back to the place I slept for the night, I saw on the late night news that someone - or someones - had vandalized the Avengers tower. I smiled. Yes, the carnage had been excessive, but it had done its job wonderfully.

I settled into bed, deciding that I would invest in a haircut and a nicer set of clothing in the morning - Dove had said that I looked like a drug addict in my current condition, and I wanted to look my best to accept her apology.

Finally, I thought to myself, I’ll be able to have my wife at my side again.

Yes, the carnage had done its job. I would still have to pay the platitudes to the death titan, of course, but once he had been successfully dealt with, the Avengers, my willful bride, and the world would all finally kneel at my feet.