Marvel: The Journey

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In the crisp autumn of 1945, Queens, New York, was a bustling borough, teeming with life and energy. However, within the walls of Peggy's house, the air was thick with tension and concern.

 

 

Lying on a stretcher in a dimly lit room was Ian, his face contorted with pain. His labored breathing echoed through the silence as Peggy, bustled about, clad in a sterilized mask and apron. The room was filled with various pieces of equipment, their metallic sheen glinting ominously in the low light.

 

With a steady hand, Peggy picked up one of the tools from the table and carefully began to extract a small piece of rock from the burnt flesh of Ian's arm. The room was silent except for the occasional beep of the nearby medical equipment, as Peggy's skilled hands deftly worked to remove the foreign object from Ian's wound.

 

Once the fragment was extracted, Peggy placed it carefully in a large bowl filled with a variety of debris, including dirt, rocks, and other items, all stained with Ian's blood. As she added the latest addition to the bowl, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man lying before her.

 

With a calm demeanor, Peggy continued to work, methodically removing any other fragments from Ian's wounds and attending to his injuries with care and precision. 

 

Peggy paused for a moment, glancing up at Ian, who lay on the stretcher with a stoic expression, his jaw set in determination. As she worked, she couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his bravery.

 

"Doesn't it hurt?" Peggy asked, her voice gentle and concerned.

 

Ian's response was immediate, his tone calm but resolute. "It hurts, but I can tolerate it."

 

As Peggy worked, she hummed softly, lost in thought as she tended to Ian's injuries. For hours, she labored tirelessly, carefully cleaning his flesh and ensuring that he was comfortable and stable.

 

Finally, as the procedure drew to a close, Peggy let out a deep sigh and massaged her shoulders and arms, feeling the ache in her muscles after such a long and grueling session. Glancing over at Ian, she knew that there was one more question she needed to ask.

 

"Will you tell me whose blood it was?" Peggy asked, her voice steady and professional.

 

Though she was curious, Peggy knew that the question was a delicate one, and she was careful not to push too hard. She waited patiently for Ian's response, her expression calm and focused.

 

Despite the pain he had just endured, Ian couldn't help but smirk at Peggy's persistence. She had been pestering him and he had been keeping her in suspense.

 

"If you keep taking care of me for a few more months, I will consider telling you," Ian joked, his voice weak but teasing.

 

Peggy narrowed her eyes at Ian, who lay on the stretcher with a mischievous grin on his face. With a playful air, she tapped the exposed, burnt flesh of his leg lightly with her finger.

 

"Ouuch!", Ian cried out in pain and gritted his teeth as Peggy tended to his wounds. He looked at her with a hateful glare, trying to mask the pain with a joke. "Damn, you vengeful woman! You can't even take a joke?!" he said, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Peggy rolled her eyes at Ian's attempt at humor. "A joke? From you? I would rather not," Peggy replied firmly, her tone serious and professional.

 

Despite the tension in the air, both Peggy and Ian were able to share a smile. They were both strong-willed individuals with a shared sense of humor, and their bickering was a testament to the close bond they had developed during Ian's recovery.

 

It was November of 1945, and Peggy was once again tending to Ian's injuries. With a steady hand, she carefully unwrapped the burn dressings from his face, revealing the extent of the damage caused by the accident. For a long moment, Peggy studied Ian's face, taking in every detail. 

 

Ian's nerves were on edge as he gazed at her. "Peggy? Are you okay?", he asked tentatively, sensing her unease.

 

Peggy took a deep breath, her stoic expression faltering. She picked up a mirror and carefully positioned it so that Ian could see his face. With a steady hand, she held the mirror in front of him, allowing him to see the extent of his injuries for himself.

 

"Ian," she said, her voice quivering. "I can only do so much by myself. But I'm here for you, every step of the way."

 

Ian gazed at his face in the mirror. Despite the progress that had been made, he could still see the scars and damage that would be with him for the rest of his life.

 

Peggy was by his side, her stoic expression faltering as she delivered the difficult news. She took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm sorry, Ian. I've done all that I can. The damage is permanent."

 

As Ian took in Peggy's pained expression, he knew that she was blaming herself for his disfigured face. Despite the despair that he felt, he knew that he had to be strong for her. He reached out and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

 

"It's okay, Peggy," he said softly, his tone calm and reassuring. "I'm grateful for everything that you've done for me. I don't blame you for anything. So please, cheer up."

 

Peggy looked up at Ian, tears glistening in her eyes. Despite his own suffering, he was still thinking of her, trying to ease her pain and worry. She was deeply touched by his kindness and strength, and felt proud to have played a small part in his recovery.

 

Suddenly, her thoughts wandered on Steve, her beloved who had gone missing in action during the war. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him, and her heart ached with the uncertainty.

 

"I-If only Steve-" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

But Ian cut her off, his hand patting her shoulder gently. "Steve isn't dead, Peggy," he said firmly. "Believe me. Didn't he promise to take you out to dance?"

 

Peggy sniffled, nodding in response to his question.

 

Ian smiled reassuringly at her. "Steve never broke his word. What makes you think he would break the most important one?" he asked. "Moreover, you should have faith in him because he will return."

 

Peggy felt a glimmer of hope stir within her heart. Ian's words were like a beacon of light in the darkness, and she couldn't help but smile at his kind reassurance. With newfound strength, she resumed unwrapping the dressings from Ian's body, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

 

It was December 1945, and Peggy had been helping Ian to recover by assisting him in walking around the house. She held onto his hand tightly, offering him support as he took each step.

 

"Be careful," Peggy cautioned as she felt him stumble slightly.

 

Ian laughed it off and reassured her, "I'm fine! It's just a little misstep."

 

With determination, they continued to make their way around the house, slowly but surely, as Ian worked to regain his strength and mobility. Peggy remained by his side, supporting him every step of the way.

 

As time passed, Peggy and Ian's relationship deepened into something akin to that of siblings. They developed a unique bond built on a foundation of care and mutual respect. Occasionally, they would bicker with one another, with Peggy not hesitating to reprimand Ian when necessary. In turn, Ian would often talk back to her, but quickly learned to recognize when he had crossed the line, usually in response to the death stare Peggy would give him. Despite their occasional disagreements, they continued to support and care for each other, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

 

One evening, as they sat down for dinner together, Peggy gazed at Ian with a gentle smile on her face. She couldn't help but wonder how he was able to stay positive despite all the terrible things that had happened to him. She finally mustered the courage to ask him, "Ian, may I ask you something? How do you manage to smile and laugh despite the pain and scars you have endured?"

 

Ian's eyes sparkled with mischief as he replied, "Yes, Peggy. I do have the cure for everything that life can throw at me. It's something that can never be taken away from me."

 

Peggy's curiosity was piqued as she asked, "What cure is that?"

 

Ian's grin grew wider as he replied, "It's you, Peggy. You are the cure for all the pain and suffering that I have gone through. Your friendship and love have helped me to heal and recover, and for that, I will always be grateful."

 

Peggy rolled her eyes and said in an exasperated tone, "Can you be serious for one second?"

 

Ian stopped smiling and placed the spoon on the table. He sighed as he prepared to disclose something important. "The blood that I took from Auschwitz belonged to certain 'special' people," he admitted.

 

Peggy was relieved that Ian was finally opening up about the blood in the satchel. She asked, "Special?"

 

Ian nodded and said, "Special as in being able to manipulate metal bars, poles, or anything made out of a metal type of special."

 

Peggy's eyes widened with realization. "You mean mutants?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

 

Ian's eyebrows furrowed in surprise as he asked, "You know about them?"

 

Peggy nodded confidently and replied, "Yes, the SSR has encountered many people with extraordinary abilities. They're all around the world, Ian."

 

Ian turned to Peggy with a serious expression and asked, "Peggy, do you trust me?" Peggy looked at him with unwavering determination and replied firmly, "I trust you, Ian."

 

Ian took a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down a set of coordinates before handing it to Peggy. "Go to this location and bring the bag to me," he instructed her, his voice full of urgency. Peggy looked at the paper, her eyes scanning the numbers before she looked back at Ian with a determined nod.

 

With a newfound sense of urgency, Peggy set out on her mission to retrieve the bag. She drove to the location indicated on the paper and carefully navigated her way through the winding roads until she reached a secluded spot. The area was quiet and deserted, and Peggy could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she got out of the car and approached the designated location.

 

Upon reaching the designated location, Peggy uncovered the bag and was immediately drawn to the vials containing the blue serum. As she gazed at the vial of Super Soldier Serum, she realized the significance of what she had found. Despite her temptation to investigate further, she resisted the urge and gave the bag to Ian upon her return. She trusted him completely, knowing that he had proven his loyalty time and time again.

 

Ian then enlisted Peggy's help in obtaining some equipment, and she eagerly agreed. 

 

Ian eagerly descended into the basement of Peggy's home, his eyes alight with an intense excitement. With a devilish smile spread across his face, he carefully placed the vials containing Victor's and James' blood and the vial containing the Super Soldier Serum on a table. His hands trembled with anticipation as he muttered to himself, "Time to make my first serum!"