Chapter10:
"Haha! Wahh, thank you, lass. Hoo boy, I thought I was done for!"
The elderly man's voice came from my back, wheezy but full of cheer.
"It's fine, sir. Just glad we found you in time," Anna replied.
He gave a long, theatrical sigh. "Ah, I'm not a spring chicken anymore. You know, when I was young, I could run through these woods faster than the wind. Heck, I once hit a bear from a thousand paces—"
I glanced at Anna as he went off on what had to be his fifth tangent since we picked him up. Was it some universal law that made old people start narrating their autobiographies the moment they had an audience?
"—and that's when I wrestled the bear to the ground! Let it know I, Heinrich, was the greater man!"
I raised a brow at the very probably made-up story. I wasn't about to call him out.
"Sir," I interrupted gently, "are you sure we're going the right way? There's a big property up ahead. I'd rather not trespass if it's someone else's."
"Ah! Magnificent, yes, yes. My little woodland hovel. Finally."
"…Little?" Anna muttered.
We both stopped dead.
The "hovel" in question was a three-story manse nestled among the trees, all clean stone, ivy-lined walls, and neat garden fences. The place looked like a fairytale manor with a modern flourish.
It was, in short, gorgeous. And also, judging by the craftsmanship, expensive as hell.
I wasn't poor back home, but this was a different kind of wealth. Anna seemed equally stunned; her jaw had quietly dropped as we took in the sight.
"Haha! Beautiful, isn't it?" the old man said proudly. "A pride and joy of the Barony of Zemo. My family built this house generations ago, and we've kept its beauty alive. Come, come, I'll give you a tour! Did you know—"
My brain short-circuited for a moment.
Zemo. Baron.
The words rattled around my skull.
It couldn't be. What were the odds?
"Mr. Zemo," I said, cutting in before he could start another story. "Are you still… the Baron, then?"
I tried to sound casual. It didn't work.
Anna noticed immediately; her eyes flicked toward me, worried. The old man, mercifully, didn't.
"Ah, no, no," he chuckled. "I handed the title to my son. I've retired from all that nonsense. My little Helmut runs the place now! Works for the army, too. A good man, even without relying on his name. Why, when he was—"
I tuned him out, my pulse spiking.
Helmut Zemo.
Heinrich Zemo.
Holy shit.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when a massive brown blur came charging straight for us.
I nearly jumped out of my skin before realizing it was a dog—an enormous, fluffy, tail-wagging bear of a dog that bounded toward its master.
"KAROV!" Heinrich rebuked in surprise, then laughed. "Down, boy! Don't bother our guests!"
The dog obeyed, sitting down with a guilty whine.
I exhaled, rubbing my temple.
Deep breaths. Just a sweet old man with a storytelling problem.
And the father of a future supervillain, which I probably should do something about.
I shook my head as the tension bled out of me.
Focus on the now.
Since he was still alive, it probably meant Baron Zemo wasn't a thing yet.
"Come in, come in! Ah, what a poor host I've been," the old man exclaimed, waving us inside. "Put me down, young man, you must try the things from my garden—"
I set him gently into one of the cushioned chairs near the entryway, careful not to jostle his leg.
"Mr Heinrich, I think you should rest," Anna said, already crossing her arms.
"Nonsense," he declared, attempting to stand. The attempt lasted all of two seconds before a sharp noise escaped him, somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and he fell back into the chair, clutching his side.
"Do you want us to call a doctor?" I asked, frowning.
"Bah, who needs a doctor?" He wheezed, half laughing, half grimacing. "I'm old and halfway to the grave anyway—what's he going to do?"
He bent over again, this time with a more painful wince.
Anna frowned and shot me a look, raising her hand slightly and miming toward the Sun Princess Ring.
I hesitated. Rationally, we shouldn't reveal anything. The guy was kind, sure, but I had no clue what his reaction would be to a magic ring. Then again, watching him struggle like that felt… wrong.
"It's fine," I said quietly.
Anna slipped the ring from her finger and crouched beside him. "This should help a bit."
"Wah, no need, I—ohhh…" Heinrich trailed off mid-protest as the ring's regeneration kicked in, the golden light seeping into his skin. The tension melted from his body, leaving him slumped in blissful relief.
It was honestly a little funny seeing him deflate like a balloon and sink deeper into the chair.
"What… what is this?" he muttered.
"Magic," Anna said with a small smirk.
"Ah, I see," he murmured sagely. "You're fairies…"
We both exchanged a look. Well. That wasn't the worst explanation that he could come up with.
The relief seemed to lull him further. His eyelids fluttered, his voice softening.
"Mr. Zemo, do you mind if we… partake in your hospitality for a while?" I asked.
"You're guests… feel, free…" he mumbled, words slurring as sleep finally took him. "Zzz…"
I watched him start snoring and sighed. "You're the one who's going to have to explain that ring when he wakes up."
"It's your ring," Anna shot back with a grin. "And for the record—dibs on the bathroom."
Before I could reply, she bolted down the hall.
"Oh my god, this bathroom is huge!" she squealed, her voice echoing down the halls.
I let out a breath and leaned back into the couch. For the first time in hours, I felt a bit of peace settle in.
Later. I could deal with all this shit later.
"Wake me up when it's my turn," I yelled, eyes already closing as exhaustion dragged me under as I lay back on a couch
I don't think I ever appreciated how amazing a hot shower felt. The warmth soaked into my bones, chased out the exhaustion, and left me halfway convinced that civilization peaked with indoor plumbing.
Now I was sprawled across the couch, basking in the soft weight of an actual good night's sleep. Switching the Sun Princess Ring back and forth to stave off fatigue had worked well enough on the road, but it couldn't hold a candle to a real bed and clean sheets.
From somewhere in the distance came the faint clatter of dishes and the low hum of a stove. The sounds of a normal kitchen clatter.
Anna poked her head out from the doorway, grinning. "Feeling good?"
"I was until you showed up," I said.
She clutched her chest dramatically, staggering back as if wounded. "Then I guess I'll just keep this to myself."
Before I could fire back, a wave of rich, buttery aroma filled the room—eggs, pancakes, something sizzling. My stomach immediately betrayed me with a growl.
"Mercy," I yielded without shame.
Anna's grin widened as she handed me a plate piled high with breakfast. Fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, a heap of greasy bacon, and sausages.
I dug in without hesitation, and it tasted phenomenal.
"This is fucking delicious."
"Thanks," she said brightly, grabbing her own plate and plopping down beside me.
After a few minutes of blissful breakfast, I glanced around. "Is the old man up?"
"Mr. Heinrich? He went out back," she said, chewing a bite of pancake. "Something about feeling like a 'spring chicken.' Said to help ourselves before he left."
I hummed, half-listening, mostly focused on the food. Still, she looked… lighter somehow.
"You look good," I said.
"Of course I do." Anna did a little twirl in her borrowed clothes. "My charm can finally shine again. Ugh, those prison rags were the worst."
I raised a brow. "How long were you even stuck there?"
She blinked at me, surprised. "You don't know? I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Know-It-All."
"I do know a lot," I said, pointing a fork at her. "But it's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"Let's just say I know the broad strokes. The shape of how things are supposed to go. But not the exact details."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Like what happened with the blue lady?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "Stuff like that. I know what might've been, and what could happen—but not what will. A lot of it's just… potential."
Anna leaned forward, curious now. "So what do you actually know about me?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "You grew up in the South. Had a strict upbringing. Your mutant ability to absorb life force. Beyond that, it's fuzzy. I know that, in one version of things, you become a superhero. Even goes by the name Rogue."
"Rogue, huh?" She tilted her head, testing the word. "Eh."
"Eh?" I gave her an exaggerated look of disbelief. "That name's iconic."
"I don't feel like superhero material." She snorted into her coffee. "You were right about the running away thing," she said after a pause. "But hey, I think I did okay for myself. For a while, anyway." Her tone turned lighter, but there was a thin edge of regret under it. "Then a few months ago, I heard this rumor about a plasma donation program near New York. They were paying stupid-good money, so I figured—why not? Easy cash."
She gave a small, humorless laugh. "Got snatched an hour after walking out."
I grimaced. "To be fair, there's literally no way you could've known."
"Doesn't make me feel less stupid," she muttered.
"Yeah, well, hindsight's 20/20," I said, stretching and getting up.
Anna shot me a look. "That's supposed to be comforting?"
"Hey, I'm not a therapist. Closest thing I've got to emotional support is sarcasm."
She snorted despite herself, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The room softened around the sound—quiet light through the curtains, the smell of coffee still lingering.
We kept talking for a while after that, the conversation drifting. She teased me about my "mystery man routine," and I countered with something about her Southern accent getting thicker when she was annoyed. The rhythm settled into something easy, almost comfortable.
Somewhere in between, she leaned forward, elbow on her knee… "You know, for someone who's always thinking three steps ahead, you sure can be stupid sometimes."
"Am not. I'm smart as they come." I flexed my muscles.
She snorted and hesitated about to say something.
The front door slapped open as a rambunctious old man
"Haha! I'm back, my fairy friends!" Heinrich's voice rang out, booming and delighted. "And you must meet my son!"
Anna straightened instantly, a little embarrassed, while I turned toward the doorway—
And froze.
Because standing there was a man who looked exactly like his father, only younger. Sharper. Same refined posture, same aristocratic eyes, same faintly amused expression that carried just a bit too much calculation.
A carbon copy of Helmut Zemo.
Just as I'd seen him on screen.
The very much not supervillain greeted us with a perfectly polite smile—the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Ah. You must be the ones who saved my father's life," he said, tone polite to the point of precision.
"Yeah," I replied, matching his formality with forced casualness. "Found him taking a nap in the woods. Figured leaving him there would've been bad karma."
Zemo's gaze flicked toward the living room, where Heinrich was wandering around doing this and that, looking like the picture of contentment. "Then I suppose I owe you my gratitude," he said evenly. "He's… not usually so careless."
"It's fine," I said with a shrug. "Just enthusiastic."
A faint, polite chuckle escaped him, though his eyes never softened.
Heinrich, blissfully unaware of the tension, clapped his hands together. "Come, come, Miss! You must see my garden—it's still the pride of the Zemo estate!"
Anna blinked, glancing between us, then at the older man's eager grin. "Uh, sure," she said, giving me a look that clearly translated to don't start anything.
I gave a small nod back, as subtle as I could manage.
They disappeared through the glass doors to the backyard, Heinrich's cheerful voice fading into the distance.
The silence that followed felt heavy.
I turned just in time to see Zemo's posture shift—no hesitation, no warning. A gun was suddenly pointed at my head.
The metallic click of a slide chambering a round cut through the quiet.
"Alright…" I muttered, exhaling. "That escalated quickly."
He leveled the pistol at me, eyes sharp and unflinching. "What did you do to my father?"
"...Pardon?"
"He's old," Zemo said, voice steady but edged. "His health was deteriorating, and he refused to see a doctor. I return home to find him running and jumping as if nothing ever ailed him. No pain, no fatigue. That's not medicine."
He took a step closer. "So tell me. What did you use on him? Steroids? Methamphetamine?"
I raised my hands slightly. "Magic?"
That earned me nothing but a cocked gun.
"Funny," he deadpanned.
I couldn't help myself. "You've got good trigger discipline," I said. "Not a twitch of hesitation. Respect."
"Answer the question."
I sighed. "You really wouldn't believe me."
"Then try me," he snapped, his accent sharpening, the mask of civility beginning to crack.
My calm apparently irritated him more than any lie could. His jaw tightened, the barrel rising another inch.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "American? Chinese? Russian? Which country thinks they can trespass on my family's land?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't your father tell you?"
Zemo hesitated, gun still raised. "Tell me what?"
"That we're fairies," I said flatly.
For the first time, his expression changed—disbelief flashing across his face.
Fair reaction, honestly.
"Don't waste my—of course fairies aren't—"
Before he could finish, I blinked out of existence.
I reappeared behind him, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Are you sure?"
Zemo's response was immediate—a sharp curse as he spun and fired. The shot cracked through the room.
I tilted my head just enough for the bullet to whistle past my ear and bury itself in the wall behind me.
"...Okay, yeah, maybe not my best idea." I grimaced and raised my hands. "Sorry, was just trying to prove a point."
Zemo's stance didn't falter—tight, squared shoulders, muzzle still aimed at my chest—but uncertainty had crept into his eyes.
"What are you?" he asked quietly.
"Human," I said, stepping away from the wall. "Just… with a little extra."
"That's not an answer."
I sighed. "You asked for it."
So I talked. About Hydra's infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D., every member I knew, every operation I could remember. Pandora's box was already open.
So I might as well sic as many people on Hydra's ass as possible.
Zemo's jaw tightened as I mentioned S.H.I.E.L.D. serving as Hydra's front.
Silence stretched long enough for the ticking of the grandfather clock to fill the room.
Then, at last, he holstered his gun—slowly, deliberately. "You understand how insane this sounds."
"Oh, completely," I said. "But I'm not the one who built Hydra bases under the Alps, so…"
He was about to respond when a door slammed open down the hall.
"Hah! There you are, Helmut!" Heinrich's voice rang out cheerfully. "Are you threatening our guests again?"
Zemo turned stiffly. "Father, I was—"
"No excuses," Heinrich said, wagging a finger with sternness. "These young people saved me! I was given a vision from the gods themselves—I would've died! You should be thanking them, not pointing guns!"
"I was verifying their intentions," Zemo said tightly.
Heinrich waved him off. "Bah. You've always been too paranoid. They are fine."
Anna's laughter drifted faintly from the garden. I fought the urge to grin.
"Fine," Zemo said at last, exhaling through his nose. "If we are to repay your 'rescue,' then come. I'll see what I can do to… smooth your situation."
He turned toward the hall, tone dry but reluctantly polite. "You'll need identification, yes? Travel papers?"
"That'd be great," I said, matching his stride. "Appreciate it."
Zemo didn't answer, but only an exasperated sigh as he gestured for us to follow him.
The road stretched long and narrow through the misty forest—probably one of those half-forgotten routes that hadn't seen maintenance since the Cold War. Zemo's car moved through the fog with quiet precision, engine purring under the steady rhythm of the wipers.
I sat in the passenger seat, watching the blurred trees slide past. Anna leaned against the rear window, humming softly to herself, the sound barely audible over the rain.
The landscape began to thin as we descended from the forest ridge. Through the fog, a small cluster of weathered military structures came into view—concrete bunkers, sagging barbed wire, old insignias painted over with newer ones. Ahead, a checkpoint glowed under the pale yellow of floodlights.
Zemo nodded toward the sign at the gate. "An old listening post," he said. "Now it's… something else."
"Something else?" I asked.
"A little of everything," he replied. "Black market exchanges. Off-the-books logistics. Occasionally, my business contacts operate here under military pretense. It keeps things quiet."
We rolled up to the checkpoint. Two soldiers in faded green uniforms stepped forward, rifles slung low. One tapped on the window.
Zemo lowered it halfway, his tone shifting to that effortless blend of command and familiarity. "Colonel Zemo," he said smoothly, flashing a document. "Bringing guests through for a meeting with Adler."
The guard studied the IDs, glanced at us, then nodded. The barrier arm lifted with a slow creak.
As we drove through, I caught the faint hum of machinery deeper in the compound—engines, maybe generators. The base wasn't large, but it was alive. Too alive for an abandoned outpost.
Zemo steered past rows of barracks and supply sheds, headlights sweeping over rusted doors and stacked crates. The air smelled of oil, metal, and damp concrete.
"Keep quiet and let me do the talking—"
He didn't finish.
A low rumble rolled through the ground. Then came the flash.
The shockwave hit a heartbeat later, tearing through the courtyard with a roar that shattered glass and sent dust billowing into the air.
The car jolted, tires screeching as debris rained down. Fire blossomed from the hangars ahead, the heat slamming against the windshield.
Anna shouted something from the back, but I couldn't hear her. Zemo yanked the wheel, slammed the brakes, and the car skidded sideways to a stop just as another explosion rocked the far side of the compound.
Smoke and alarms filled the air.
"Fucking… Marvel," I growled, forcing myselfs uprights.