Work Text:
This is a one-shot
It took him many years to figure out what exactly was happening to the dying man in front of him. The man was aging and he was not. Soldier never seemed to age in the few chances he saw his reflection. His hair grew longer, beard a little scruffier, but no, he never had aged like this man standing before him.
The man’s smile once bright, now dimmed in knowing sadness and his graying hairs crawling down his balding head. He looked down at the Soldier and signed for him to get up from the pod, which the Soldier does with no hesitation and follows the old man to where he expects the health room was.
To the Soldier’s surprise he was led to an unfamiliar door. The old man turned towards him and sign for him to leave the compound. To never come back and be free.
“Why? Why would I ever do that, Old Man?” He wondered silently.
“For the same reason as to why you not even dare to ask ‘why not leave?’ in the first place, Young Immortal.” The old man replied. “Now go and be free before they find us.”
And he did. . . .
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There were many times in his new life that he wanted to go back in time to find out why that man let him go. He knew he could build it, he was a Stark! The third and youngest nameless brother but still a Stark all the same.
Distantly, he wondered if his brothers remembered him from their childhood or if Howard had them forget him altogether that he ever had a third son. Only one way to find out, the oldest brother - Gregory. As high and posh he tries to act, Greg was just a little sweetie pie to him even though he hated Anthony.
Maybe he knows what my name was.
An old flash of a five year old Gregory’s day play clothes peered out the corner of his eye. Yes, he may actually pay Greg a visit first before any of the others found out he was gone.
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“Salvete, valete. Quid haec tandem XX annos venis?” Those were the words that he had first told to his brother with little to no hesitation as he walked through the door. (Hello, Goodbye. What have you been these last 20 years?)
Greg slammed the door shut as soon he ushered the young man to sit down. A young man who, in fact, resembled his youngest brother the most out of any other imposter that he’s ever seen. At this point, he was ready to settle for a fake version of his naive brother because point stands that the real one was dead.
The man settled himself into the chair provided hugging the comfy pillow with a blank expression.“Ego vero, frater. Non mentior.” (“For my part, brother. I not lie”)
Greg could’ve cried with joy if he was any less of a Stark, but he was a pure Stark and pure Starks didn’t cry - they rusted. “Where have you been? Why did you ever go away?!”
“Furto ablatum in domun suam.” He spoke regretfully. (“Was stolen from the home.”)
“Who? Who took you from us - from me?!” He demanded as he hovered over the younger, trying to be intimidating to hide how hurt he was. How close he was to breaking from how much rust there was. They were Stark men, men made of metal. Not emotions, they were above that, not just flesh. To most they were never human, and to others, they were a guardian. It's impossible to be a hero for a Stark because they were too selfish, too independent, too untrusting.
“Habemus multis hostibus. Quid vobis videtur?" The man said honestly. (“We have many enemies. What do you think?”)
“I don't know. That’s why I’m asking you.” Greg groaned in exasperation pouring himself a strong glass of vodka. “Want some?” He offered the glass to his brother over the coffee table from where stood.
“Volo revertetur in terram suam.”(“I want to return home.”)
Greg hesitated and set down the drink back down. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed himself a chair from the side of the couch and sat in front of him. Staring for the longest time as if he was trying to memorize every little change in the younger man. “You don’t. You wouldn’t want to after you know what he did.”
“Illud est? Patrem aut fratrem?” Was the curious reply. (“What is it? Our father or our brother?”)
Greg barked out a laugh as if he knew a terrible inside joke. He crossed his arms and tilted his head back laughing even harder. “Haven’t you thought that it was both?” He asked “why must it only be one? They’ve both forgotten you in the deep abyss of their minds. I was angered and left, to put it simply.”
The man rose from the chair with the pillow still in his arms."Visita nos praeteriti" (let us visit the past”)
Greg laid a firm hand on the man's shoulder. “After we take our rest, brother.”
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I miss the turns of the day at the end of lessons, when we were permitted to understand why all those people did what they do yet still not understand. There wasn’t enough in the world to satisfy everyone’s desires. There never was to begin with and if there were we’d want more. No one cares for that truthful thought though. It’s cursed to be the most ignored and truthful of all.
Most times though, I wish they would hear and others I dare to beg that I never did…
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“Salvete, valete.”(“Hello, goodbye.”)
“Oh… you’re still alive? We thought you had died for how long you’ve left us, little bro.” Tony too engrossed to properly register that his younger brother was actually there. He most likely thought it was a hallucination of some kind as a side effect of working too much again.
The man rested his head lazily on his propped up arm from the work table he was leaning on. His face was scarred with sightless eyes glowing back at Tony. He still looked as stunning as his smile was when he was a child. . . But now he's not that child…
Tony sighed and gave him the look. "Could you just drop the Latin speaking at the moment? I'm trying to be serious right now."
"No, brother I think not."
“Why are you here then?” Tony drunkenly questioned after taking a swig.
The man straightened and stalked over to his older brother. Tony failed to cover up his flinch when he was a mere five paces away.
“Thanos is coming for us.“