The end of 2010 arrived with a quiet, heavy beauty.
In the Hayes household, the atmosphere was buzzing with that frantic, joyful energy that only comes once a year. To ring in 2011, Aunt Jenny had pulled out all the stops, inviting Aunt May and Peter over for a feast that could have fed half of Queens.
Just as Leander stepped out onto the porch to head over to help May with her bags, the sky began to turn. Tiny, crystalline white flakes began to drift down from the gray expanse above. Within minutes, the scattered dots transformed into a thick, silent curtain of white, enveloping Manhattan in a winter wonderland.
Leander watched the snowflakes dance with a strange sense of nostalgia. For him, snow had always been a marker of big changes. He walked the short distance to May's apartment, his boots crunching softly on the fresh powder.
He found Peter standing outside on the sidewalk, perfectly still. The boy was staring blankly at the sky, his face upturned. Snowflakes landed on his cheeks, melting into droplets that traced slow paths down his neck.
Aunt May came down the stairs a moment later, fussing with her satchel and looking around for her nephew. "Leander! Thank goodness. Jenny just called—the dinner's nearly ready. I saw the weather report; there's a blizzard warning for the whole tri-state area. It's so weird; we haven't had a real heavy snow in New York for years."
May walked over to Peter's side, taking his small hand in hers. "Come on, Peter. Brother Leo is here. Stop playing in the cold, or you'll be sneezing through the New Year."
Peter didn't give his usual exuberant shout. He lowered his head, and as he looked at Leander, the gathered meltwater dripped from his chin. It was hard to tell if it was just snow, but with Leander's enhanced vision, he saw the telltale redness around the boy's eyes.
Leander walked over and knelt slightly, taking Peter's other hand. "Hey, Pete. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine," Peter said, his voice a bit too high. He wiped his eyes and forced a smile. "I... I accidentally broke that robot toy you gave me the day before yesterday, Leo."
Peter reached into his backpack and pulled out the small metal figure. The arm had snapped clean off the torso.
May looked at the two of them and sighed, holding her umbrella over their heads. "We can fix it later, honey. The snow is getting really heavy; the roads are going to be a mess if we don't move."
Leander took the toy. He could see the fracture clearly—it was a clean snap through the internal axis. To a normal person, it was a trip to the trash can. To Leander, it was a five-second fix. He pressed the arm back into the socket, and under the cover of his palm, the metal molecules flowed like water, knitting back together into a seamless, unbreakable bond.
"There. Good as new," Leander said, handing it back.
Peter took it and tucked it away, but the spark still wasn't there. He was listless, his shoulders slumped as they walked toward Jenny's house.
After a dinner that left everyone in a food coma—roasted meats, mashed potatoes, and Jenny's signature pie—the adults migrated to the living room to gossip. Leander and Peter retreated to the upstairs bedroom.
"Peter, talk to me," Leander said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You've been off all day. Did someone at school say something? Flash Thompson being a pain again?"
"No, everyone's fine," Peter said, toyed with the robot. "It's not school."
"Is it a secret? Because you know I'm the best secret-keeper in the city."
Peter looked at the window, where the snow was piling up against the glass. "Leo... can we go outside? To the roof?"
Leander had modified the retractable balcony on the roof a few days ago, expanding it into a wide, sturdy platform. They stepped out into the freezing air, but the scene was dreamlike. The streetlights below turned the falling snow into glittering gold dust.
Peter reached out and caught a handful of flakes, watching them pile up in his palms. "Aunt May told me that Mom and Dad are gone... but she said that whenever it snows, they're looking down from heaven. She said they turn into snowflakes so they can come back to see me."
He looked up at the infinite white sky, his voice small and fragile. "Do you think she's right? Which one do you think is them?"
Leander felt a lump in his throat. He reached out and ruffled Peter's hair, then caught a few flakes of his own. "Peter... I never knew my parents either. Aunt Jenny found me on the side of the road during a storm just like this."
He thought back to those first desperate days in this world—the hunger, the cold, the fear. "I was starving. I was ready to steal just to stay alive. Then I met Jenny. She took me to get three burgers—best things I ever tasted—and she didn't ask for a thing in return. She and George gave me a home when I had nothing."
Leander looked at his hands. In his previous life, he had spent fourteen years in an orphanage. He had known kindness from strangers, but he had never known the warmth of a family until he arrived here. He remembered how a new quilt or a donated toy was the highlight of his month. He remembered giving his own toys to the younger kids because he knew what it felt like to have nothing.
He had grown up on movies, especially the Marvel stories. He had dreamed of Iron Man suits and heroics. Now, he was living in that world, and the regrets of his old life were being healed by the love of the people around him.
"Peter," Leander said, blowing gently on the snow in his palm. "I don't know where my parents are, but I know they'd be proud of me. And yours? They loved you more than anything. There might be big, complicated reasons why they couldn't stay, but the best way to show them you love them back is to live a great life."
He reached out his hand. Several scraps of metal he'd left in the attic flew to him, glowing with a soft purple light. As Peter watched in awe, the metal twisted and braided itself like silk. Leander had seen the old photos of Richard and Mary Parker in May's hallway.
Within seconds, he had forged a perfect, lifelike sculpture of the Parkers, their arms around each other, looking down with warm, protective smiles.
"I hope this helps you remember," Leander said, handing the silver model to Peter.
The ten-year-old boy clutched the sculpture to his chest. The metallic likeness of his parents felt warm in the cold air. "Peter, Daddy and Mommy will always love you," he whispered, repeating the words he barely remembered from a dark hallway years ago.
The dam broke. Peter grabbed Leander's arm and sobbed silently, finally letting go of the grief he'd been carrying all day. Leander just held him, shielding him from the wind until the boy eventually cried himself to sleep.
Leander carried him back inside and tucked him into bed. He went back to the living room and poked his head in. "Aunt May, Pete's out for the count. He's going to crash here tonight."
"Thanks, Leo," May said, her eyes soft with gratitude.
Leander went back to the balcony alone. He pulled out his new Stark Phone, the screen glowing against the darkness. He started scrolling through his contacts, a small smile on his face.
To: Tony Stark - "Happy New Year, old man. Try not to blow up the workshop before midnight." To: Pepper - "Happy New Year! Thanks for keeping Tony sane." To: Jane Foster - "Hope the stars look good tonight. Happy New Year." To: Dr. Banner - "Stay calm, stay green. Happy New Year, Doc."
He skipped Nick Fury. He didn't want the Director thinking they were buddies. He paused on the name 'Shuri.' I'll have to figure out a way to send a message to Wakanda later, he thought.
Thousands of miles away, in a deep, lightless military bunker, the atmosphere was far from festive.
A lone guard walked the perimeter of a high-security cell. Inside, a man was suspended by his limbs in a heavy metal frame. Tubes were snaked into his veins, pumping a constant stream of high-grade sedatives and suppressants into his system.
"Give it up, Emil," the guard muttered. "You're never seeing the sun again."
Emil Blonsky—the Abomination—didn't move. His head hung low, his breathing shallow.
Once the guard's footsteps faded into the distance, Blonsky's eyes snapped open. They were bloodshot and filled with a prehistoric rage. His body had mutated further in the dark; bone spurs were beginning to erupt from his spine, tearing through his skin.
He bit down—CRACK—shattering one of his own teeth. With a violent, blood-slicked movement of his tongue, he spat the tooth with the force of a bullet. It struck the glass tube of the drug delivery system, shattering it instantly.
The suppressant fluid began to spray onto the floor.
Blonsky's body began to heave. His muscles expanded, snapping the smaller restraints like they were made of string. He raised his head, a low, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. The monster was awake, and he remembered the boy who had blinded him in Harlem.
The new year was starting, and for Emil Blonsky, it was time for a rematch.