Entry tags:
Fic: Runaways-End of the Innocence
Title: Runaways: End of Innocence
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cat_13145
Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all!
Comic: Runaways
Spoilers: None. It's an AU
Rating: Probably best to be PG-13. No Warnings currently, but watch this space.
Wordcount: 717
Summary: What if Alex had kept his mouth shut when he found out about Pride?
Author's Notes: This is the start of what I hope will be an AU Universe. It contains two OC SHIELDs. More about them will be revealed in later chapters.
Author:
cat_13145Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all!
Comic: Runaways
Spoilers: None. It's an AU
Rating: Probably best to be PG-13. No Warnings currently, but watch this space.
Wordcount: 717
Summary: What if Alex had kept his mouth shut when he found out about Pride?
Author's Notes: This is the start of what I hope will be an AU Universe. It contains two OC SHIELDs. More about them will be revealed in later chapters.
Chase Stein ran. The rain falling down soaked him to the skin, but he hardly noticed.
The pain in his shoulder hardly bothered him either, though he could feel the blood pulsating from the wound into his shirt.
He was running for his life.
Gasping for breath, he skidded to halt, ending on his knees in a puddle.
“Come on, Chase.” He muttered. “Think. You can’t let them get away with this.”
His fingers searched his pockets, desperately searching for something,anything. Suddenly they closed over a slip of paper.
Yanking out it, his eyes ran over the faded blue ink. Unbidden he began to laugh.
*
The coffee was hot.
That SHIELD Agent John San thought, forcing a mouthful down was about the only thing to be said in its favour.
He leant back in his chair, his eyes running over the report Bukowski had asked him to compile.
The Colonel was not going to be happy. What it said, in a nutshell was that they knew who these people were, but they had no real proof. Leaning back in his chair, he massaged his eyes against the glare of the computer screen.
His phone was ringing. He blinked slightly surprised. It hadn’t rung since he left the force.
Slowly, he picked it up, glancing briefly at the number. A public payphone, anonymous. He ran briefly though a list of all the people he’d given this number too. It was scary to realise how many of them were dead.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” The voice is young, and scared. “Look, you probably don’t remember me. But my name is Chase Stien.”
He did remember. Despite all the domestic violence call outs he’d attended in his time, that one had stuck in his memory. He didn’t know why. Whether it had been the radio playing, the mother just standing by, or watching the mask that was the child’s normal face slide back into place. He seen similar things a thousand times, but that had just stuck his memory.
“Listen a lot of crazy shits happening. I don’t know if I even understand it myself.” He can hear the kid, no he must be nearly 18 now, swallow, “but you said if I ever needed help to contact you.”
“Where are YOU?” he asked, glancing at the automatic trace set up. Near the James Dean memorial,
“I’m not sure.” This is bad. He’s been a cop and a SHIELD agent long enough to recognise from the voice that something is wrong. The words are starting to slur together. His eyes scan the area desperately; someone has to be near there. He spots two blots on the readout, it’s not strictly speaking their call, but they are here, and they can reach him faster than he can.
“Stay where you are!” He said firmly, praying the kid would listen. “I’m sending someone to pick you up. Keep talking to me O.K.?”
“Alright.” The kid was sounding distinctly sleepy now. “Thanks.”
Agent San just hoped he was doing the right thing.
*
“Live fast, die young and have a good looking corpse?” James Buchan Barnes repeated the phrase, his head on one side, while his eyes rested on the woman standing next to him.
Cat shrugged.
“Summed up a generation, especially when he did so. Though admittedly whether a car crash leaves a good looking corpse, is another matter.” She sighed, as the SHIELD alert on her belt went off.
The message was short and simple. “Casualties near your current location. Proceed and secure.”
She sighed.
“Duty calls.” She observed.
*
The view swims in and out of focus. The pain in his arm is gone, but he feels sleepy.
He’s aware that he’s slumped to the floor, but he can’t remember when it happened. He can hear someone on the phone, yelling at him. Why are people always yelling at him?
Two figures are coming towards him. Black coated like angels of death. He can see them through the rain. They don’t seem aware of him.
He licks his lip. Why is he so thirsty?
He can see white faces, swimming in front of him. there’s a hand at his neck.
“He’s going in shock.”
Why is he so cold?
“...Medivan immediately.”
The world is going dark.
TBC?
The pain in his shoulder hardly bothered him either, though he could feel the blood pulsating from the wound into his shirt.
He was running for his life.
Gasping for breath, he skidded to halt, ending on his knees in a puddle.
“Come on, Chase.” He muttered. “Think. You can’t let them get away with this.”
His fingers searched his pockets, desperately searching for something,anything. Suddenly they closed over a slip of paper.
Yanking out it, his eyes ran over the faded blue ink. Unbidden he began to laugh.
*
The coffee was hot.
That SHIELD Agent John San thought, forcing a mouthful down was about the only thing to be said in its favour.
He leant back in his chair, his eyes running over the report Bukowski had asked him to compile.
The Colonel was not going to be happy. What it said, in a nutshell was that they knew who these people were, but they had no real proof. Leaning back in his chair, he massaged his eyes against the glare of the computer screen.
His phone was ringing. He blinked slightly surprised. It hadn’t rung since he left the force.
Slowly, he picked it up, glancing briefly at the number. A public payphone, anonymous. He ran briefly though a list of all the people he’d given this number too. It was scary to realise how many of them were dead.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” The voice is young, and scared. “Look, you probably don’t remember me. But my name is Chase Stien.”
He did remember. Despite all the domestic violence call outs he’d attended in his time, that one had stuck in his memory. He didn’t know why. Whether it had been the radio playing, the mother just standing by, or watching the mask that was the child’s normal face slide back into place. He seen similar things a thousand times, but that had just stuck his memory.
“Listen a lot of crazy shits happening. I don’t know if I even understand it myself.” He can hear the kid, no he must be nearly 18 now, swallow, “but you said if I ever needed help to contact you.”
“Where are YOU?” he asked, glancing at the automatic trace set up. Near the James Dean memorial,
“I’m not sure.” This is bad. He’s been a cop and a SHIELD agent long enough to recognise from the voice that something is wrong. The words are starting to slur together. His eyes scan the area desperately; someone has to be near there. He spots two blots on the readout, it’s not strictly speaking their call, but they are here, and they can reach him faster than he can.
“Stay where you are!” He said firmly, praying the kid would listen. “I’m sending someone to pick you up. Keep talking to me O.K.?”
“Alright.” The kid was sounding distinctly sleepy now. “Thanks.”
Agent San just hoped he was doing the right thing.
*
“Live fast, die young and have a good looking corpse?” James Buchan Barnes repeated the phrase, his head on one side, while his eyes rested on the woman standing next to him.
Cat shrugged.
“Summed up a generation, especially when he did so. Though admittedly whether a car crash leaves a good looking corpse, is another matter.” She sighed, as the SHIELD alert on her belt went off.
The message was short and simple. “Casualties near your current location. Proceed and secure.”
She sighed.
“Duty calls.” She observed.
*
The view swims in and out of focus. The pain in his arm is gone, but he feels sleepy.
He’s aware that he’s slumped to the floor, but he can’t remember when it happened. He can hear someone on the phone, yelling at him. Why are people always yelling at him?
Two figures are coming towards him. Black coated like angels of death. He can see them through the rain. They don’t seem aware of him.
He licks his lip. Why is he so thirsty?
He can see white faces, swimming in front of him. there’s a hand at his neck.
“He’s going in shock.”
Why is he so cold?
“...Medivan immediately.”
The world is going dark.
TBC?